Chapter 109: Yellow River Ballad

The wooden boats cut through the waves, long oars rising and falling, slapping the river's surface — the rushing water sounded almost like a song.

Diwu Lun stood at the prow. Behind him was the standard-bearer, though the banner was furled. Further back were fifty soldiers, heads wrapped in yellow cloth and bodies clad in lamellar armor — some gripping spears, others clutching shields. At the stern was the leader of the drum corps, Diyi Jiming. Since the great drum could not be brought along, today he had only the small drum slung across his body with cloth, the other end bound to his waist, a wooden mallet in his hand.

This was no joke. Many in the Boar-Rush Braves had never sat in a boat in their lives. Even those who claimed to have ridden one before had only crossed the Jing River — how could that compare to the Yellow River, where the floodwaters stretched wide between banks? After autumn the waters ran high, spanning several li; the crossing alone took a full quarter-hour.

The landlubbers grew dizzy just looking at the water, let alone the swaying and rocking of the boat, terrified that the boatman might capsize them with one careless move. Many men who on shore were iron-boned and unyielding now sat pale-faced like young brides, hands gripping the gunwales and refusing to let go.

Add to that the uncertainty of what enemy and what situation awaited them after landing, and everyone was on edge. Some could not hold back and had already vomited their breakfast into the boat.

Diwu Lun felt a little queasy too, but he held it in and even shouted, "Jiming! Sing us a song!"

One reason Diyi Jiming had been chosen as leader of the drum corps was his booming voice. The man was hardly afraid at all and simply asked, "Shall I sing 'Fighting South of the Wall'?"

That was an anti-war song — unlucky. Diwu Lun told him to pick another. Jiming cleared his throat and sang a xianghe song that had spread from Jiangnan and grown popular across the realm; young or old, nearly everyone could sing it after hearing it once.

"South of the river, one can pluck the lotus — lotus leaves so lush and full."

Diwu Lun beat time and joined in: "Fish play among the lotus leaves."

Slowly, others began to sing along: "Fish play east of the lotus leaves…"

From the boat following close behind them, voices rang out too: "Fish play west of the lotus leaves."

"Fish play south of the lotus leaves, fish play north of the lotus leaves…"

The song echoed across the Yellow River. After this maddeningly simple tune had been sung through a few times, perhaps because it distracted them, the unison singing let them find a sense of safety in the group. The soldiers' hands gripping their spears were no longer so stiff.

As everyone's breathing eased a little, the six boats crossed the Yellow River like fish, drawing nearer and nearer to the western bank.

They could see the reeds and rushes on the shore, dark and thick, and the refugees' eyes brightening with startled joy at the sight of boats approaching. The more impatient ones were already standing in the water, ready to clamber aboard the moment the boats touched shore.

"All troops, attention!"

Diwu Lun shouted the order: "Rise! Spears upright!"

"The old rule — whoever breaks our formation is the enemy!"

"Aye!"

The Boar-Rush Braves answered in unison. As soon as the boats reached shore, they rose at once — a motion they had drilled countless times since half a year ago. And whenever they met bold, death-defying souls who tried to scramble onto the boats, the soldiers showed no mercy, ramming a spear shaft straight into the offender's belly, leaving them writhing in pain in the water.

Faced with boat after boat of soldiers bristling with killing intent, the common folk on the bank grew afraid — more afraid than they were of the barbarian horsemen behind them. They even began to wonder: had these troops come now only to loot while the house burned, or to cut off their heads and claim false merit?

"I am Diwu Lun — Diwu Boyu!"

The crowd was noisy, so Diwu Lun had Jiming and others with loud voices shout for him: "The Filial and Righteous Major garrisoned at Tewu County!"

After all, they were separated by only a single river. People in the three counties on the western bank had heard Diwu Lun's great name — at market fairs, in the idle talk of travelers and merchants. But that was, after all, only hearsay from a neighboring county. To people of this age, an outsider could not be trusted, a foreign accent could not be trusted. The crowd was silent — utterly unlike how, back in his home commandery of Liewei, once Diwu Lun had made his name, a single wave of his arm could rally a hundred men to answer his call.

Diwu Lun could not control what they thought. He only finished shouting his message: "Beyond Tewu, this is not my duty to defend. But I cannot bear to see the common folk scattered in the barbarian dust. Today I have brought troops across the river to form ranks and cover your retreat. Heed the orders of my subordinate leaders and board the boats in proper sequence."

"Pingdan, you and your men take a hundred people and arrange the boarding — the old, the weak, women, and children first."

Diwu Pingdan and Diwu Fu acknowledged the order. But when they set about organizing the boarding, many who had just moments ago been scrambling to get ahead now hesitated and hung back. Diwu Lun understood: they thought the soldiers meant to seize their wives and daughters.

In this Xin Dynasty, soldiers looked on the people as grass and livestock; the people looked on soldiers as bandits. The mutual distrust was not built in a day, nor could it change in a day. Diwu Lun simply let those willing to board go first.

And just as the Boar-Rush Braves were disembarking one after another, parting the crowd and forming up on the sandy, muddy flats, two li ahead at the Northland West Canal — the young gallants who moments ago could no longer stomach the barbarians' arrogance and had turned back to fight them — finally could not hold against the ever-growing number of barbarian riders and came retreating in defeat!

…

"We could still fight — why retreat?"

The youth who, unwilling to swallow the barbarians' insolence, had taken up his sword and led the men back to fight was named Meng Ze, a man of Lian County.

The Meng clan of New Qinzhong was said to be descended from General Meng Tian of the Qin dynasty. After driving back the Xiongnu in those days, he had left a son in the region, who survived the great chaos at the Qin dynasty's fall, hiding his name and remaining there.

But now the Meng clan was merely a household of middling means. Meng Ze was like any ordinary young man — fond of horse-racing and cockfighting in ordinary times. But today the cocks were left at home, and his horse he had given to his parents to ride; he could only fight on foot.

He had always esteemed martial valor, and against Xiongnu soldiers who were themselves herders called up for service, he did not come out at a disadvantage. But the farmers around him had no pillar to rally around and fell into chaos. For one, they saw more and more barbarian riders ahead; for another, they learned that troops from Tewu County were coming to their aid from behind — so there was no business left for commoners — and they began falling back in disorderly rout.

This retreat exposed their backs to the barbarians. After a volley of arrows, several more men around Meng Ze fell dead. He too could only retreat while swinging his sword, until he stumbled over a corpse and fell to the ground.

As he tried to rise, a barbarian had already seized the moment, spurring his horse forward in a charge, straight blade raised high, ready to strike Meng Ze down!

Meng Ze's pupils dilated — he thought it was all over. In that hair's-breadth instant, an arrow came flying from behind him and struck the barbarian dead-on!

This arrow carried tremendous force. From a hundred paces away, it struck the barbarian on the left side of the chest near the shoulder, piercing his leather armor. The force of the impact sent him flying backward off his horse, crashing heavily to the ground. By the time the dazed barbarian scrambled to his feet, Meng Ze had already closed in, driving his sword into the man's heart. He even took the head as a trophy, carrying it as he retreated.

Only then did Meng Ze see the man who had saved his life: a stalwart warrior standing atop an abandoned supply cart, drawing his bow and loosing arrows without pause — none other than Wan Xiu!

The arrows he had failed to loose at Dong Xi in days past were all arranged for today. Wan Xiu held a great bow, drawing it with his thumb. The arrowheads were all iron-forged and sharp; without iron armor, they could not be withstood. Each time he drew the bow, it was like a full moon, slowly taking aim at the barbarian riders pursuing the farmers. Though he might not kill with a single shot, he always left them battered and wounded, retreating in frustration.

The Fifth Battalion had already formed a horizontal line a li beyond the ferry crossing, standing like a great shield between the barbarian riders and the common folk. The front ranks of spears and halberds were leveled. If any fleeing commoner, too panicked to pick his path, blundered into them, death would be his own fault.

Meng Ze and the others passed around the flanks of the horizontal formation one after another. The boy still wanted to join the ranks and fight the barbarians alongside them, but the Seventh Squad leader berated him and drove him off. Unwilling to accept this, he stood with a few other locals who still had fire in their blood several dozen paces behind the formation, thinking to join them in killing a few stray barbarians.

The Xiongnu had moved as if entering uninhabited land these past few days and had long since lost all order. Though three or four hundred riders had reached the riverbank, they belonged to different tribes. Those who had not yet seized enough captives or sufficient spoils saw so many people gathered at the riverbank — like jackals spotting a flock of sheep crossing the river — and could not restrain their greed. Even with the Fifth Battalion arrayed and waiting, the barbarians still probed forward.

After all, even the Swallowing-Barbarians General's several thousand men had been wiped out on the battlefield, and ever since entering New Qinzhong, city gates had stayed shut, the soldiers too cowardly to venture out — all of which fed the barbarians' insolent arrogance.

As the barbarian riders drew nearer and nearer, already within a hundred paces and beginning to test the range by halting their horses and loosing arrows at the Fifth Battalion, Zang Nu, who likewise bore the responsibility of long-range shooting, could only fret helplessly.

"Major, our crossbows got damp crossing the river."

His face was mournful. Was not the very soul of a bow or crossbow its stock? Made of wood, horn, tree resin, insect lacquer, and animal sinew, it was acutely sensitive to humidity. The slightest change would affect range and accuracy; no amount of wiping would help.

Zang Nu tested one. The six-dan crossbow, whose optimal range was normally sixty or seventy paces, now required the enemy to close to forty or fifty paces to achieve the same force.

"Then let them come close before shooting."

"And if the barbarians don't come close?"

The Xiongnu horn bows were for lobbing shots, using the falling force of the arrows. When the wind was favorable, they could loose from very far away. They were not stupid deer — they would never come that close.

And so, from the very start of the engagement, the Fifth Battalion became live targets. The Xiongnu probed at eighty to a hundred paces, drawing their bows and lobbing arrows; stray shafts fell ceaselessly into the formation.

Fortunately, the wind was blowing from the river toward the shore, working against the barbarians. And over the past two days, Diwu Lun had emptied the county armory's stores, putting lamellar armor on every man in the front ranks — which was also why they had been so afraid of the water earlier: if they fell in, the weight would drag them straight to the river bottom.

Diwu Lun himself wore heavy lamellar armor, and on his head a helmet. Even so, he had taken two arrows. One was a bone arrowhead and simply snapped on impact. The other was an iron arrowhead, lodged in the iron plates of his lamellar armor. Diwu Lun felt as though someone had punched him — his shoulder hurt terribly — and he simply reached up and broke it off.

Even with the advantage of armor, now and then a man would grunt in pain and fall wounded. Such scattered losses would not devastate the army, but they could chip away at morale bit by bit. Even though in ordinary times they prided themselves that the Fifth Battalion was "unrivaled under heaven at standing firm in formation," to be passively beaten like this was utterly maddening! Not to mention the barbarians laughing ceaselessly in the distance, even tying up captives before their very eyes and dragging them off behind their horses.

Only Wan Xiu and a handful of other archers capable of long-range shooting could offer any counterfire from atop the supply carts, but they could not change the larger situation.

Men like the Seventh Squad leader were already grinding their teeth in fury, petitioning Diwu Lun for permission to attack.

Diwu Lun only stared at the chaotic mass of barbarian riders opposite them. He could see they were no elite force either. In ordinary times they were common herders; in wartime they moonlighted as cavalry. Riders frequently collided with others' horses as they maneuvered. And here the land was flat as far as the eye could see — no place to hide an ambush behind them.

"The barbarian raiders are a hundred paces from us."

"And two hundred paces behind them is the Beidi West Canal!"

The Beidi West Canal was one of the two great canals on the west bank of the Yellow River in New Qinzhong, fairly close to the river. Though not as broad as the Yellow River and shallower too, it was still an obstacle — crossing it on horseback, up or down, took some time. And that was without mentioning that they were currently halted among the fields, where the crisscrossing footpaths and irrigation ditches would also slow the horses considerably.

The Xiongnu had had things far too easy these past few days of killing and plundering, and now they had the audacity to cross the canal and approach openly. Diwu Lun's Fifth Battalion was arrayed with its back to the water — but wasn't the enemy in the same position?

As the arrows lodged in the front-rank armored soldiers grew more and more numerous, the fury pent up inside them swelled in equal measure. It was like a swarm of mosquitoes buzzing and biting all over your body — it didn't hurt, but it itched, and that itch traveled from the armor straight into the heart, scratching at the soldiers until they could hardly bear it.

Rage is like a strong spice: a little sharpens the senses, but too much numbs them. Neither too little nor too much — just right.

Amid the stray arrows, Diwu Lun summoned Wan Xiu and the other centurions over and gave them his plan in person.

This was their only chance to turn the situation around, and they could not proceed as they normally would — advancing a few paces, then dressing ranks. If their advance was too slow, the barbarians would simply withdraw at their leisure.

It had to be a charge!

"Pass the word: when you hear the drum, just charge straight ahead. Drive the barbarian raiders into the canal!"

"But the moment we move, we're bound to fall into disorder." Wan Xiu was worried. The men's stamina varied; even for elite troops, charging three hundred paces in armor was extremely difficult.

"Then we fight in disorder!"

"Then we kill in chaos!"

Diwu Lun snapped another stray arrow off his armor plate, hurled it hard to the ground, took up a shield, and drew his sword, pointing it forward.

"Beat the drums!"

……

PS: Chapter 2 at 18:00.