Chapter 48: 047 Military Arts and Martial Skills

"The cragged face of Tianchi Mountain looms in layered gloom; a lofty recluse dwells in a bamboo hut set aslant. At the end of fasting, monkeys offer fruit at the third hour… Worldly cares already washed away, the true nature stands revealed; no need to hang a monk's robe beneath the pines."

This poem was written by Fei Yuanlu, head of the Hanzhu Academy, two years ago while visiting Tianru Temple.

The temple lies at the foot of Jiuyang Mountain north of Hekou Town, built during the Wanli years, with generous donations from every branch of the Fei clan.

The eighth day of the fourth month was the Buddha's Birthday Festival — the birthday of Shakyamuni, they said.

Devout men and women from the area made plans to go together to Tianru Temple to bathe the Buddha. It was a pity that Wei Jianxiong had been sent to Taihe County to search for books and missed this golden chance; otherwise he could certainly have used the occasion to slip away for a tryst with Miss Chen.

The Guangxin Prefecture prefectural examination also began at last.

With so many young students registered, the examination hall simply could not hold them all, so they were tested in batches by county — standard practice in Jiangxi and Zhejiang.

For the xiucai, this was also a prime chance to earn money!

Every candidate needed not only a government student from his own county to act as guarantor; for the prefectural exam he also had to have a stipend student as guarantor.

Stipend students were government students who drew a salary — xiucai in the truest sense. During one prefectural exam, a man might serve as guarantor for a dozen or more candidates, securing his living expenses for the entire year.

The eighth day of the fourth month, the Buddha's birthday, the prefectural city holding its examination — and Zhao Han turned eleven.

By coincidence, Zhao Han and Shakyamuni shared the same birthday.

The whole academy was on holiday, and many students were sitting the exam. Quite a few teachers had also gone to the prefectural city to earn guarantor fees in their capacity as stipend students.

In the bamboo grove.

Xu Ying was silently memorizing Mencius.

Pang Chunlai, leaning on his cane, sat cross-legged in the center. "The method of setting camp follows no more than two principles: securing oneself and pinning the enemy — attack and defense, nothing more. Whether to take the offensive or the defensive must be decided according to the actual situation…"

"On an ordinary march, one may set camp on high ground. Even if camped at the foot of a mountain, one must send men to occupy the ridge above. This guards against a surprise attack. If one can rest one's back against a mountain strongpoint and face open, level ground, combining offense and defense, that is naturally best…"

"Should there be special orders to prioritize pinning the enemy, then the camp must be placed at a strategic point on water or land — the equivalent of driving a nail in behind the enemy's back…"

"When setting camp, one must avoid both flood and fire. In summer especially, never choose low, damp ground, or you may suffer the disaster of drowning an entire army. Where brambles grow thick, the enemy can creep close unseen and mount a fire attack with ease. If no other ground can be found, you must clear all brambles and weeds beyond the camp perimeter…"

"Though one must guard against flooding, going without water is equally impossible — men and horses alike depend on it to drink. To find water, observe the birds and beasts: where wild horses and gazelle appear, where flocks of birds gather, there is usually a water source nearby…"

Zhao Han, Fei Ruhe, Fei Chun, and Fei Yuanjian all sat on the ground, listening with rapt attention. This was far more interesting than the Four Books and Five Classics.

After expounding on how to choose a campsite, Pang Chunlai suddenly said, "Today we stop at choosing ground; tomorrow we shall discuss setting camp. First let me test your progress in arithmetic."

"Ahh!"

Everyone except Zhao Han let out a wail.

In truth, there was nothing so terrible about it — just mixed addition, subtraction, multiplication, and division.

The three Feis bent over their problems, scratching their heads and fidgeting restlessly.

Pang Chunlai paid his students no mind and read an ancient essay for his own pleasure. He was fond of Su Shi's "Discourse on the Marquis of Liu," and at once began to recite with a rhythmic sway of his head: "Those whom the ancients called men of heroic excellence must possess qualities surpassing the common run. There are things human feeling cannot bear to endure: a common fellow, seeing himself insulted, draws his sword and rises, throws himself bodily into the fray — this does not yet count as courage…"

Xu Ying was still silently reading Mencius. His memory was superb; at most four or five silent readings and he could retain it. Then he would review it once a day to deepen the impression and prevent forgetting it after too long.

Zhao Han had nothing to do, so he picked up the bamboo spear beside him.

He had practiced thrusting countless times already, and not long ago Wei Jianxiong had also taught him parrying techniques.

Parrying was far more complex, and it absolutely required combining offense and defense — parrying while simultaneously preparing to shift into a counterstrike.

After practicing for a full quarter-hour, Zhao Han turned his head and saw that the three Feis were still working on their arithmetic problems. It seemed lower-primary-level word problems were giving them real trouble.

At last, Fei Yuanjian held up his scratch paper. "Teacher, I've solved it."

Pang Chunlai took the paper, looked it over, and nodded approvingly. "Well done. You are improving quite rapidly."

Fei Yuanjian was immediately delighted. He could not match Xu Ying in recitation, nor Fei Ruhe in fighting; he could only study arithmetic diligently, and in this way find some small sense of his own worth.

Zhao Han was delighted too and called out, "Quick, come spar with me!"

Practicing parrying could not be done foolishly alone; one absolutely needed an opponent to fight.

Fei Yuanjian was useless — in the past he had relied entirely on numbers in a brawl, and only recently had he begun learning martial arts alongside Fei Ruhe. He raised a bamboo staff and launched an attack full of holes; Zhao Han parried it aside with ease, then struck back and hit him on the shoulder.

"Again. Your center of gravity is off — don't let your front foot step out too far." Zhao Han corrected his mistake.

Fei Yuanjian was actually improving quite fast, all of it corrected through sparring, without all those empty, flashy moves. After adjusting his footwork, his strikes were indeed much steadier, but Zhao Han again parried his weapon aside, and his waist took Zhao Han's counterblow.

Fei Ruhe, still working on his problems, kept glancing toward the sparring ground, itching to jump in at once.

"Can't solve it?" Pang Chunlai asked with a smile.

Fei Ruhe scratched his head. "Teacher, this problem is just too hard."

"Nonsense!"

Pang Chunlai took up his cane and drew a line segment on the ground. "Our main army has already marched three hundred li, advancing fifty li a day. The relief force hurries eighty li a day…"

Fei Ruhe stared at the two line segments on the ground and muttered, "If you'd drawn the diagram earlier, I'd have solved it earlier."

"Can you not draw the diagram yourself? Have I not taught you how!" Pang Chunlai scolded.

Fei Ruhe, impatient to go fight, said, "Teacher, give me another problem of the same type, and I'll definitely be able to solve it."

Pang Chunlai casually altered the problem's details, tossed it to Fei Ruhe, and said, "Go work on it!"

Perhaps it was the lure of hurrying off to practice martial arts, but Fei Ruhe seemed suddenly to see the light. He drew line segments himself with a bamboo twig and swiftly solved this pursuit word problem.

He threw down brush and paper, seized his weapon, and roared with laughter. "Here I come!"

Fei Chun finally finished his problem too and, staff in hand, joined the fray. The four split into two pairs and plunged into a grand melee.

And Xu Ying, his gaze still fixed and unwavering, went on silently reading Mencius.

Pang Chunlai looked on quietly. His eyesight was very poor; even at close range he could make out only a few blurred figures. Yet his mood was exceedingly cheerful; stroking his beard, he smiled the whole while, as if he could already see the day their rebellion would succeed.

This rotten old man was full of mischief. Whenever he was alone with Fei Yuanjian, he would pour all manner of poisonous ideas into his head, luring Fei Yuanjian into hostility toward his own clan.

Because his mother had killed herself, Fei Yuanjian already deeply hated his clansmen. Guided in this way by Pang Chunlai, his state of mind gradually shifted, until his whole heart was set on taking revenge against his clan.

After a bout of fighting, everyone was exhausted.

Fei Ruhe dropped down onto his backside and panted, "When we're grown, why don't we set up a stronghold on Ehu Mountain? I'll be the stronghold chief, Zhao Han the second chief, Yuanjian the third chief, and Xu Ying will be the military advisor…"

"Young master, what about me?" Fei Chun cut in anxiously.

"You'll be the quartermaster — all the food, clothing, and supplies for the stronghold, and forging weapons, will be under your charge," Fei Ruhe said.

Fei Chun brightened at once: "Then I'll be the shopkeeper." Then he looked puzzled. "The northern foot of Ehu Mountain is our family's land, and most of the rest of Ehu Mountain belongs to other branches of the Fei clan. Who are we supposed to rob?"

Fei Yuanjian suddenly said, "Rob the Fei family — take from the rich and give to the poor!"

"Right, the Fei clan has vast estates and great wealth, a few robberies won't mean a thing to them," Fei Ruhe said foolishly.

Fei Chun offered an idea: "If you ask me, start with Shitang Town. The paper mills there make a fortune!"

"Rob them all, who cares whose they are," Fei Ruhe said, patting his big belly.

Yanshan paper came in a full range of grades, several dozen varieties. Shitang Town merely produced the finest memorial-grade paper; there were several other paper-making centers like it.

There were also tea-processing centers — Yanshan's river red tea was sold across the realm.

Zhao Han said in a jesting tone, "What's the point of robbing the rich to feed the poor? Might as well raise a banner and rebel."

Fei Ruhe jumped in fright and stuck out his tongue. "No way — that costs you your head. All those heroes at Mount Liang, weren't they eventually granted amnesty by the court?"

"I'm just talking, haha," Zhao Han laughed.

Fei Chun said in a low voice, "Brother, you mustn't say things like that carelessly. I've heard that plotting rebellion means the extermination of nine clans."

"Extermination of nine clans, my ass," Fei Ruhe said scornfully. "Back when the Prince of Ning rebelled, if they'd really exterminated nine clans, my mother's family would have been wiped out long ago. Would I still be sitting here talking to you?"

Fei Ruhe's mother came from the Lou clan of Jiujiang — precisely the wife's clan of the Prince of Ning.

Fei Chun patted his little heart and said with lingering fear, "Good that they don't exterminate nine clans."

Fei Ruhe scolded, "What are you saying? Don't tell me you really mean to rebel?"

Fei Chun suddenly caught himself: "Right, I'm not rebelling, so why should I care how many clans they exterminate?"

A bunch of little brats talking nonsense — Zhao Han smiled and went to sit beside Master Pang.

Pang Chunlai said quietly, "I saw the court gazette for the first month yesterday. The Emperor has ruled on Wei Zhongxian's treason case and seems intent on launching widespread judicial purges. Troubles within and without, and now factional strife at court — it seems the realm truly is headed for chaos."

Zhao Han shook his head. "For Jiangxi to fall into chaos, it would take successive years of great disasters."

"That is true — Jiangxi is unlikely to descend into chaos," Pang Chunlai said. "In a few more years, when you've grown a bit older, perhaps we can go north."

"We'll talk about it when the time comes," Zhao Han said, in no hurry.

He had just turned eleven, and by the traditional reckoning of nominal age he was only twelve.

A little brat — what could he do?

The urgent task at hand was to diligently hone his skills and, along the way, make some friends.

(End of chapter)