In the winter of the Chanyuan Alliance, Zhao Ke was fired from his official post due to a grain case and was exiled to an abandoned military camp on Hebei Road for detention.
Three sides of the village wall collapsed, the village gate fell to the ground, and the old grain found in the grain cellar was all moldy. There are less than twenty households of old, weak, women and children under his command, and they have not had a full meal for three days. The Liao army team from the north came to clear the grass valley every now and then, and the official document from the imperial court to dismantle the military stronghold was already on the way. No one thinks this village can survive this winter.
Zhao Ke didn't run away. He led people to plow the land and plant wheat, dig soil and bake bricks, mend walls and dig wells. Scrap iron was beaten into a knife, hard wood was made into a pickaxe, and a bamboo tube was blown into fire to forge a short knife.
Lao Zhangtou took out the mulberry bow that had been hidden for many years, with six arrows, and started teaching archery on the drying ground with his lame legs. The quiver was hung on his waist and he shook it every step of the way. Liu Da built a blacksmith furnace behind the stronghold and struck arrows with a clanging sound. Sparks splashed on the hay and he quickly stamped them out with his feet. The middle-aged man who always lowered his head did not look at other people's bowls every time he ate, and left after drinking. However, he spoke a few more words to the passing salesman, and Lao Zhangtou heard the word "Kaifeng".
The Liao army's camp moved half a day's journey south. The fireworks in the north never dispersed, sometimes far away and sometimes close. The stockade has built walls, dug wells, and has knives, but when there are more people, there will be less food. When the stockade gets bigger, people will disperse. The Liao army will not only come with those few people next time.
Zhao Ke squatted under the wall and chewed the last grain of rice at the bottom of the bowl. He didn't know whether the village could survive until next spring.
Pure historical farming, no time travel or golden fingers. On the Song-Liao border before and after the Chanyuan Alliance, the story of an abandoned village from scratch to one.
