Chapter 331: Nails

As one of the Masters of Writing, Zhu Di had no idea that, among the court gentlemen responsible for carrying Diwu Lun's bamboo-strip memorials and documents, such a huge blunder had occurred during the few days he was away in Weinan.

All his energy had been focused on the task Diwu Lun had assigned him: traveling from place to place, recording what he witnessed in this Weinan "nail-pulling" campaign, and then returning to report to the King of Wei.

"Originally, Guanzhong had no fortified manors — those existed only on the frontier, for defense against the Qiang and Hu tribes."

Standing atop the Wang Zun family's fortified manor on the edge of Baling, the campaign's overall commander Wan Xiu had just won his first victory and was in good spirits, so he chatted a little more with Zhu Di.

"In the Han's heyday, the capital region was stable. Although eminent families and powerful magnates managed their estates and mansions, they were under the court's control. Even when there were minor bandits, fences and high walls sufficed for defense."

Wan Xiu continued: "It was only under Wang Mang that Guanzhong suffered a great upheaval. Two men from Huaili, Zhao and Huo, raised troops in response to Zhai Yi's revolt against Wang Mang. Their numbers swelled until they reached a hundred thousand. They attacked Chang'an and ravaged the countryside, forcing many great clans to rally their kin and defend themselves, and so they built these fortress-like residences one after another."

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From that time on, the more astute powerful families saw that troubled times were coming. By the end of Wang Mang's reign, order in Guanzhong grew ever more chaotic, and fortified manors naturally sprang up like bamboo shoots after rain.

The Wang clan residence before their eyes could indeed be described as a "fortress."

The moment Zhu Di stepped through the manor's main gate, he could feel the unique sense of enclosure and security that such architecture provided. Looking up at the sky, he felt as if he were standing at the bottom of a barrel-shaped canyon. The walls were four zhang high, no less than city ramparts.

Every room had flared attack ports, used for ventilation and light in peacetime, but serving as firing slits for defense in wartime. Four corner towers — east, south, west, and north — overlooked everything from on high. There were also two hidden wells for drawing water, and the storehouses were stocked with grain. If besieged, the defenders inside could hold out for a very long time.

After looking around, Zhu Di said: "It's much the same as the Diwu clan's fortified manor, just larger and sturdier."

Many powerful landlords would enclose their residences within large fortified manors of high ramparts, thick walls, and clusters of watchtowers. From then on, they often lived deep within these manors, enjoying banquets, music, and dance. When they occasionally ventured out to hunt, they were surrounded by banners and retinues, even running rampant through the countryside with no one able to restrain them.

They also imitated military organization to train their clansmen, retainers, and younger kin, who thus became the manor's private armed force, called "retainer troops." In peacetime, they were tenant farmers tilling the outer fields; in wartime, they were soldiers. Amid the great chaos in Guanzhong, each family seized the chance to further absorb refugees, their power swelling several times over, each becoming a little kingdom unto itself.

Back when Diwu Lun raised his army at Hongmen against Wang Mang, attacking the various counties and entering Chang'an, the Weinan magnates hid inside these fortified manors, watching the banners change atop the city walls. At that time, Diwu Lun was beset by troubles within and without, and could do nothing about them.

But now, after Diwu Lun strategically shifted to Weibei and defeated Liu Bosheng — the man in whom the Weinan magnates had placed such high hopes — he finally had a free hand to deal with these fortified manors.

"The King is absolutely determined to train his troops." Wan Xiu had already torn up many letters of surrender. Diwu Lun had only one demand for the magnates who had sided with Liu Bosheng: choose to surrender, open your fortified manors, and submit to his mercy!

Over thirty powerful families in Weibei had been dealt with so harshly by Diwu Lun before they could even do anything — how much more so for those in Weinan? Naturally, they were unwilling. Some fled with their entire families to Hanzhong or Youfufeng; others resisted stubbornly, pinning their hopes on the Western Han coming to their rescue, or on the winter snows forcing the Wei army to retreat in defeat.

But they were destined for disappointment. For this "nail-pulling" campaign, the Wei army had made thorough preparations. Diwu Lun had seized the Chang'an arsenal and found quite a few fine items: bundles of strung bows, great yellow crossbows, and even two-axle, three-wheeled repeating-crossbow chariots!

These long-range weapons had been sharp tools for repelling Liu Bosheng when he crossed the Wei River; now they became instruments for attacking the manors.

Meanwhile, the artisans of the Privy Treasury had used timber from Mount Ganquan and Mount Li to build a large number of devices such as cloud ladders and assault carts, along with trebuchets whose accuracy was constantly being tested. In Zhu Di's eyes, using equipment meant for attacking large walled cities to strike fortified manors felt rather like "killing a chicken with an ox-slaughtering blade."

The officers thought the same, but Diwu Lun said one thing: "When a tiger hunts a rabbit, it still uses its full strength."

The real reason, however, was…

"It can't be helped. No matter how good the equipment, the soldiers still need to practice with it."

Wan Xiu said: "The flying stones weigh twelve jin, launched by mechanism, and can be hurled over a hundred paces. But to throw them accurately — that's like playing pitch-pot with your feet. Far too difficult."

So the various fortified manors of Weinan had become a training ground for the engineers, while the magnates and their retainer troops inside had to watch, hearts trembling with fear, as stones flew over their heads. Though the rate of fire was extremely slow and the accuracy very poor, whenever a stone happened to strike a manor, walls would crack and tiles would fall, smashing heads and drawing blood. The retainer troops and retainers of several manors, unable to bear this terror, simply tied up their masters and surrendered.

And tasks like how an assault cart rams a gate, or how a tower cart sets its ladders against the manor walls — these were all delicate jobs where skill came only with practice.

The retainer troops gathered at each fortified manor were actually not that numerous — varying around a thousand or so. Advancing at a measured pace, Wan Xiu marked cross after cross on the map over each target.

"Baling County was dominated by Wang Zun, who fled to the Western Han, along with five other families, including the descendants of Chen Ying, Marquis of Tangyi — those who had their marquisates restored in the Yuankang era of the Han. All have been either subdued or overcome, every one rooted out."

"Next is Duling."

"The Zhang, Xiao, and other families of Duling are all scholar-official clans from the former dynasty, with lofty gates and high thresholds…"

Those who followed the King of Wei prospered; those who opposed him perished. No matter whether you were a great clan from the former dynasty or not, the army would roll over you without mercy.

Although the great Guanzhong clans were only in their budding stage, Diwu Lun showed no softness. Those who should be united would be united; those who should be strangled would find a pretext to be strangled.

When Zhu Di arrived to inspect the Shi clan's fortified manor in Duling, the one attacking it was Qin He. He had been a Centurion during the Hedong campaign and was still a Centurion now — simply because Qin He had bad luck. He had been placed under Dou Rong's command, and his unit had shared that misfortune, gaining not a shred of merit in the Battle of Tongyuan.

Now that they had been reassigned to fight in Weinan, the soldiers were all very enthusiastic — after all, for many, this was their homeland.

Qin He told this approachable young Master of Writing about how he himself had once lived inside a fortified manor.

"My family were tenant farmers in the past. We had no land of our own and could only rent seed from the manor's master. Regardless of cold or heat, we bent our backs every day to farm for him."

Qin He recalled his life before he became one of the Boar-Rush Braves: "Back then, I had two wishes. One was to own my own land. By great fortune, I met the King, and that was fulfilled in Wu'an, in the Wei domain."

"The second — when I leaned on my hoe and watched the manor master ride out in his chariot to hunt, I would also think: what does it actually look like inside that fortified manor? Is sleeping beneath those thick walls and eaves more comfortable than my thatched hut with its earthen walls?"

Now he had also fulfilled that extravagant wish of his youth. The bandits and disorderly soldiers occupying the Shi manor had fired their crossbows only a few times before being scared off. Qin He and his men rushed in, and after mopping up the remaining enemies, they finally got a glimpse of its interior.

Once inside, the rough-and-ready soldiers all began to appraise the Shi family manor with their comments:

"Look at these walls — so hard! Even the flying stones couldn't smash them. They must have mixed rice paste into the rammed earth."

"The paintings on these walls are beautiful. And that bird on the roof corner — so spirited!"

Zhu Di laughed. "That's a peacock."

"Peacock? What kind of bird is that? I'll get one for my own home someday."

"And look at this well — bah, so deep!"

"You lout, you didn't have to spit into it to test the depth! We still need to drink this water!"

"You're lucky I didn't piss in it!"

Another man bent down and ducked into the outer rooms where the slaves were kept, took one look, and came out coughing and cursing: "So dark! To think the Shi clan is so wealthy, yet the slaves' quarters are no different from ours — cold and hard, truly fit for dogs and pigs to sleep in."

"Those are the lowliest slaves. If you can win the master's favor, you get to live in the inner courtyard — eat good food, sleep on a warm couch, wear fine clothes."

Everyone burst out laughing. Coming from humble origins, their greatest aspiration in the past had been to become that kind of "head slave," able to carry a whip, stand under the shade of a tree with hands clasped behind their back on a sweltering day, watch the other slaves work, and viciously lash anyone they didn't like the look of!

But now, things were different.

Watching the soldiers' demeanor, Zhu Di found it rather strange and asked Qin He: "Centurion Qin, you've all entered Chang'an, even seen the palaces. Why are you still so curious about this little fortified manor?"

Qin He scratched his head and laughed. "Master of Writing Zhu, it's not the same."

"The palaces — that was just a quick tour to see the spectacle. In the future, they'll belong to the King of Wei anyway. They're too distant from us; envying them is pointless."

"But these fortified manors are different…"

What was different? Unlike Liu Bosheng, Diwu Lun would not give away palaces and manors. Palaces were taken into public ownership — they could serve as ready-made spaces for textile workshops and the like later on. As for the fortified manors, aside from those returned to families like the Shi clan as "horse bones," the rest became army garrisons, securing the land distribution in Weinan before spring. In short, he wanted the forty thousand soldiers who had risen with him at Hongmen to receive land in Weibei and Weinan — to achieve his goal of "equalizing the fields."

But unlike the new recruits, the hearts of the veterans had grown much larger.

Qin He chuckled. His deputy also laughed sheepishly and began to speak of his own dreams: "We are all among the eight hundred officers and men who followed the King of Wei westward. Most are now officials — Company Commanders, Centurions, and the highest among us have even become Majors! Everyone has been allotted land according to their accumulated merits. Those with more have several hundred mu; those with fewer have over a hundred mu."

That was right — they were no longer the Boar-Rush Braves who had nothing. They were now small landlords with fertile fields, fine houses, and even tenant farmers to work the land for them!

"We can't read, so we'll never be high officials, and we don't dare hope for much else — we just look forward to the day when we can be like this."

Qin He stamped on the gray stone bricks beneath his feet, stretched out a hand toward the fort stronghold's courtyard overhead, and said longingly: "To go back to the land, and with the gold and silk the King bestows, build a big stronghold house just like this one!"

……

In the last ten days of the eleventh month, when Zhu Di returned to Weibei, Diwu Lun was already preparing to set up a full Secretariat system.

Because the kingdom was newly founded and everything was kept simple, the Secretariat Gentlemen played a much smaller role than they had under the Han, mainly handling the receipt and dispatch of documents in the hall and keeping the maps and records. Diwu Lun refined their duties, reducing the number of people who could handle memorials to five. Zhu Di was made chief, and the rest were mostly cautious boys. He also tightened the rules: in the Secretariat, loyalty that is not absolute is absolute disloyalty. Anyone who let themselves be bribed to swap the order of documents, as had happened before, would be executed regardless of the reason!

Zhu Di had also heard about the earlier incident. He simply and carefully handed over his own report. He was the King of Wei's eyes and ears. They would also be sent out to travel around, and when Diwu Lun could not get away, they would faithfully relay back news from the front, so that it could be checked against the rough memorials of the ministers and generals — only then could he avoid "the King's blindness growing severe."

After hearing Zhu Di's account, Diwu Lun rose to his feet, feeling a sense of melancholy loss.

"Those men who are now helping me tear down strongholds — is their own greatest dream to one day own a stronghold like this?"

"Yes, yes indeed. The heart of one man is the heart of a thousand, of ten thousand men."

Diwu Lun's palm clenched and then relaxed. Then were the nails he was so obsessively pulling out of Guanzhong right now meant to be driven in as even more "nails" in the future?

After pondering for a long time, he said to himself: "They can be driven in, and they must be! But not in Guanzhong — they must be driven in elsewhere!"

……

"Cen Peng, that brat, that betrayer of virtue!"

In the last ten days of the eleventh month, at Yao Pass in the Lantian hills, the southeastern gateway to Guanzhong, the remnant troops of Liu Bosheng were manning the defenses. When they saw the "Cen" banner raised by the invading Wei army, their curses and spittle never stopped.

These voices reached the ears of Cen Peng, the commander of this campaign, like a cold wind scraping his face — raw and painful.

The overall commander for this battle was the Marquis of Shangyan, Zheng Tong. He shot Cen Peng a sidelong glance; he too held Cen Peng's double-dealing in considerable contempt and assumed Cen Peng was just here to coast on military merit. He said coldly: "They curse like that to throw our army into confusion. I was worried about it, but General Cen here seems utterly unmoved."

Cen Peng gave a bitter laugh. "General, have you ever known a moment of shame?"

Shame? No one understood those two words better than Zheng Tong. Though of low birth, he had once been the finest young man for ten villages around. But after he joined the Boar-Rush Braves, he encountered a superior with peculiar tastes and was pinned down and humiliated! Those leering grins and the searing pain — he would never forget them!

From then on, Zheng Tong became a different person — brutal and fierce, deeply wary of anyone who came near him, struggling to survive amid sneers and contempt. Until the day Diwu Lun took them over, arrested all the officers, and placed a blade before them. Zheng Tong was the first to take it up, to bloody the blade and wash away his own disgrace.

But a few months ago, here at Yao Pass, he had been shamed once more. Inept at directing a siege, Zheng Tong had lost his composure, and victory had slipped through his fingers at the last moment.

"I am not the only one who wants to wipe away his shame." After years of ups and downs, Cen Peng had begun to carry himself with the bearing of a great general. He knew that with few winter campaigns to fight, every commander was scrambling for a battle. Diwu Lun had specifically assigned Cen Peng to Yao Pass in the hope that he could prove himself and use a victory to silence the critics.

But handling his relationship with his colleagues would be a major challenge going forward. Yet no matter how hard it was, this hurdle had to be crossed!

Because he, Cen Junran, also wanted to use the art of war that Yan Erudite had taught him in Wancheng, and taste once more what "victory" felt like!

"Right now, there is only one thing on my mind." Cen Peng bowed to Zheng Tong with clasped hands.

"And that is to take this mighty pass for the King, and slam shut the great southeastern gate of Guanzhong!"

……

PS: Chapter 3 at 23:00.

(The following was added after posting; it doesn't count toward the word count.) A quick note: I decided long ago to take a break after finishing this book. Quite a few people know, and it's been talked about in the comments section. It's mainly for health reasons — I need to rest. I'm just a lazy donkey: not only do I piss and shit the moment I'm hitched to the millstone, but the second I see a slope, I'm off!

Second, my condition, energy, knowledge, and life experience are almost unable to keep up with the pace of serialized writing. I'm just a young guy of thirty, and what I studied was Chinese ethnic history, an obscure field focused on Dai tusi chieftains. I only picked up pre-Qin and Han history on the side while writing, over several years, and barely managed to cope. Now my belly is completely empty.

Just like a human lifespan, an author's creative lifespan is limited. In the future, I might have a kid, take a doctoral exam, and try out a different kind of life.

It's sunny and warming up in Kunming. Saying all this out loud makes me feel unusually light — I won't be losing sleep over gains and losses anymore.

The New Book is already past the halfway mark. The remaining million or so characters will be tighter in pace. I'll just treat it like a man with only half a year left to live, wanting to live each day fully — writing as I go and cherishing every bit of it. A fist clasped in salute.