Chapter 32: Building a Career (Part 1)

Captain Deng simply smiled faintly, stood up, and said to Liu Yu, “After drinking so much wine, I still haven’t thanked you all for your kindness, yet I offer this as a gift.”
With that, he stood up, turned around, and picked up his shiny braid. “Bring me scissors.”
His action immediately won the goodwill of everyone in the Xiliu Camp. Sima Tai blurted out, “What a true man!”
Someone rushed to fetch scissors. Holding his braid, Captain Deng said, “It’s a good thing for the Xiliu Camp to join my Black Flag Army. But if I insist on keeping my braid just because of such a trivial matter, it might cause many complications. I’ve given up the thought of returning home for life. It’s better to add luster to your camp as a token of my gratitude.”
Just then, scissors were handed to him. Deng Shichang took them and glanced at his braid again, looking pensive. “I’ve worn this braid since I was young. It’s been almost forty years now. I’ve achieved nothing and am living in exile abroad. Only this braid reminds me that I am Chinese.”
It was absurd—this braid, a symbol of the Tartars, had become a symbol of being Chinese. Yet Liu Yu couldn’t laugh. Liu Suiyun, observing Captain Deng’s deep attachment to the braid, said, “Captain Deng, since you’re reluctant to part with it, there’s no need to use the scissors.”
Captain Deng smiled bitterly. “Reluctant? Of course not! We’re all from the same province in the western region—what’s there to be reluctant about? If only the Black Flag Army had the Xiliu Camp as the only unit standing out, that would be a problem.”
With that, he swung the scissors and cut off the braid that had accompanied him for forty years.
At first, there was silence, followed by cheers tinged with tears. Sima Tai respectfully bowed deeply to him. “A true man should achieve fame far and wide.”
Captain Deng’s face was also wet with tears, but he forced a smile. “Fame far and wide? If you brothers regard me as a friend, when the day comes for me to return home, please bury me in a simple coffin and offer incense for me every year.”
“A true man!” Now Liu Yu too gave a thumbs up. “I won’t forget what you said today.”
That was Liu Yu’s promise.
With Captain Deng and Huang Shouzhong’s assistance, the Xiliu Camp successfully set up its permanent camp outside Shanxi City.
The village, abandoned due to war, was quite large, and it wouldn’t be a problem to station five hundred people there. Everyone did their duties with great enthusiasm.
The Xiliu Camp wasn’t just about repairing houses; everyone worked together to transform the old camp into a fortified military base according to Liu Yu’s vision.
However, Liu Yu remained low-key. Following Captain Deng’s advice, he could requisition Vietnamese laborers from the defense area to build barracks. But so far, he hadn’t assigned a single laborer or requested any funds or supplies from the defense area.
This was originally the duty of the Vietnamese villages in the defense area. Given that Vietnam’s tax burden was very low, this should have been a good thing. But in the eyes of the Vietnamese, they preferred not to have such benefits.
The reason was that, alongside the low taxes, there was heavy forced labor imposed by the government. Every Vietnamese man had to work for the government for at least sixty days a year without pay, providing his own food, and even bearing the cost of clothing and travel.

In Northern Vietnam, the forced labor imposed on the Vietnamese was particularly severe; in many villages, the people were either required to serve in the military or perform unpaid labor under orders from the Vietnamese authorities. Now that Huang Shouzhong had assigned six or seven villages to Liu Yu, he had full authority to conscript laborers, but Liu Yu ignored his advice and relied solely on the Xiliu Camp’s own efforts. What puzzled Huang Shouzhong even more was that, even after normal garrison duties, if they didn’t conscript laborers or gather supplies within their area, they should at least send troops to patrol it. Yet so far, the Xiliu Camp had remained firmly within its own camp, not venturing outside a single step. Occasionally, they sent people with copper coins and silver to purchase supplies, at prices much higher than those charged by other camps. It was precisely this low profile that led Huang Shouzhong to reach the same conclusion as Captain Deng: “The Xiliu Camp either stays hidden or soars to the heavens; it either remains silent or astonishes everyone with its action.” As for the governor of Shanxi and other Vietnamese officials stationed in the city, they watched this military force outside the city with anxiety. Though not outright terrified, they were prepared for the worst—cannons were ready on the city walls, and the governor was ready to die defending the city. They exaggerated the threat posed by the Xiliu Camp to the extreme. What scared them most was that even if the Xiliu Camp did not attack the city, if the governor ordered an attack to destroy them, with the Black Flag Army inside and the Xiliu Camp outside, there would be no chance of survival. It was only when orders from Huang Zuoyan arrived to support the troops that the governor finally calmed down and immediately ordered the collection of supplies. This time, their efficiency was surprisingly high. They sent more supplies than Huang Zuoyan had requested—five large fat cows, eleven large fat pigs, twenty jars of rice wine, sixty dan of rice, and many other items. Led by a seventh-rank official with over a hundred laborers, they arrived at the camp and shouted, “The governor of Shanxi sends us to comfort the Xiliu Camp. We are here to comfort them, not as enemies!” They had actually scared the Xiliu Camp to death. After witnessing the massacre of soldiers on the riverbank, the governor couldn’t eat for an entire day. Even with his eyes closed, he saw scenes of blood and corpses; with his eyes open, he felt as if Mount Tai was pressing down on him. Besides the Black Flag Army, how could such a calamity arise? Those over two hundred men were among the bravest soldiers in the Northern Vietnamese army—such elite troops existed only under Huang Zuoyan’s command. The governor tried to recruit such desperate fighters but failed to find a way. Yet even such elite soldiers couldn’t hold out against them for even fifteen minutes. Soldiers who returned after the battle said that each soldier in the Xiliu Camp had three Western-style repeating rifles. Once loaded, each rifle could fire continuously for an hour, shooting three thousand bullets per hour. Such advanced weaponry was beyond the governor’s imagination—he simply couldn’t conceive of how so many bullets could fit into the barrels. But the scenes on the riverbank, which he had seen with his own eyes—traces of bullets everywhere—showed that the Xiliu Camp must have fired at least eight thousand bullets, despite having no more than a hundred soldiers. There was no other explanation except that their rifles had an endless supply of bullets.

Of course, though the governor had some insight, he still found it hard to understand. It was only when he remembered how France had launched two military campaigns against Vietnam in the past, with firearms said to be extremely advanced, enabling just a few dozen soldiers to defeat tens of thousands of Vietnamese troops, that he could grasp it.