Huo County lay beautiful beneath the misty rain.
Though the nearby mountains were bare, the tea hills were green, and the crops in the fields were full of color. Within the county stood houses of white walls and dark tiles, stone-paved roads carpeted in moss, and the Pi River flowing past. By the riverbank, people in conical hats and straw rain capes sat fishing with their rods.
Peaceful, harmonious, beautiful.
At a time like this, such a feeling was a luxury.
War raged everywhere outside. Northern Anhui and Shandong were suffering famine, while the Qing court was still moving troops to resist the enemy. The common people had been ravaged beyond recognition by soldiers and bandits passing through. Displaced refugees fled in panic toward places with food. Some took the opportunity to traffic women and children, while others made a fortune selling rice and meat.
Of course, Huo County was not truly so peaceful. One only had to look at the great cluster of shacks outside the city, and the gaunt, skeletal commoners within them, to be dragged back to reality. That was what was real.
The people of Huo County knew there was war outside, and they knew famine was raging elsewhere, but they were not overly worried or panicked. After all, every household had able-bodied young men, and they all worked for Wang Da. They all knew the bandit stronghold in the mountains could house tens of thousands. It could be said that, apart from the unpleasant county magistrate and his ilk, everyone in Huo County now had a considerable awareness of what it meant to be bandits—and some were even looking forward to it.
Because ever since hearing that Wuchang had fallen, Wang Yan had ordered the people of Huo County not to pay taxes from this