Chapter 84: Taking Flight

"My skill, Your Majesty, is the ability to move a great army across water without boats or oars!"

The Palace Attendant relayed: "His Majesty asks you — how would you accomplish this?"

"The rivers of the northern frontier are very shallow. One need only tether cattle and horses together with ropes, make them lie down in the river, then lay planks atop them. Linked beast after beast in this way, a host of a million can cross!"

The visitors from Xinfeng in Guandong who mounted the platform all claimed to possess wondrous skills that could aid the Son of Heaven in attacking the Xiongnu, but as Diwu Lun listened, he found it all rather farcical.

The first bridge-building master had barely finished when the man behind him stepped forward and declared: "My skill, Your Majesty, is the ability to produce a kind of pill that allows a great army to carry no field rations — the troops need only swallow the medicine and they will feel neither hunger nor want!"

Diwu Lun listened, dumbstruck. It sounded so familiar — was this the legendary shinobi… field-ration pill?

The Palace Attendant relayed: "His Majesty asks you — how would you make these pills?"

The man replied: "The ingredients should be aconite, winter wheat, mountain yam, licorice, Job's tears, and rice, all ground to powder and steeped in liquor for three years. Once the liquor has evaporated, knead the paste into pellets the size of peach pits and dry them in the sun. Eating merely three pellets a day will sustain a full day's strength — no need to worry about consuming grain supplies! A hundred-thousand-strong army could march light and far on expedition!"

As he spoke, he even produced a few blackish pellets to present to the Emperor. Wang Mang naturally would not eat such a thing. With a wave of his hand, he designated the Right Master of Fates, Kong Ren, to taste them — after all, Kong Ren had already been appointed "General Master of Fates" and charged with overseeing the northern front.

Kong Ren held the blackish "field-ration pills," who-knew-how-long they had been rolled, and caught a whiff of something faintly rank. He clenched his jaw, steeled his heart, and shoved them into his mouth.

After chewing them down with water and swallowing, Kong Ren's expression turned exceedingly ugly, ample testimony to the revolting taste. Yet he patted his belly and declared, with some astonishment, that he did indeed feel a sense of fullness.

Watching this clown's farcical performance, Diwu Lun sneered inwardly: Eating shit will fill you up too.

Next came the third man, the one Diwu Lun cared about most. His hair was sparse, he wore coarse cloth garments, his complexion was sallow, his frame slender and slight, his limbs long, without a trace of excess flesh on his body — he looked light and nimble indeed.

He gave his name as Xu Feilian, a man of Qi, and with lowered brows and deferential eyes he prostrated himself and kowtowed before Wang Mang.

"His Majesty asks: you claim you can fly, traveling a thousand li in a day, and spy out the Xiongnu's true situation — is there truth in this?"

Xu Feilian, somewhat nervous, replied with a tremble: "That was but an exaggeration by my fellow villagers. I cannot truly fly a thousand li in a day, but I can launch from a high place, glide over the battle lines, and observe the enemy's full disposition."

The assembled ministers buzzed with discussion. Some scoffed, yet others felt it could not be dismissed outright. Cui Fa, Marquis of Explaining the Portents, even said: "I have heard that Gongshu Ban once fashioned a wooden kite to spy upon the city of Song. If this truly works, would not the enemy's formations lie entirely before our eyes?"

The Palace Attendant reported back to Wang Mang, who merely pointed a hand toward the edge of the high platform: "Let him try it!"

The platform was at least ten zhang high — jumping off would mean death or crippling injury if one survived. Xu Feilian simply had the "wooden kite" he had brought delivered up. The contraption was a wooden frame covered with cloth and studded all over with long bird feathers. The frame had ring-and-pin mechanisms; Xu Feilian strapped himself in, then gripped the rings on the two wings with all his strength.

Under the gaze of the entire crowd, he drew a deep breath, began stepping backward, backward, all the way back to where Diwu Lun and the others stood — then tilted his head up, closed his eyes, and went still.

"Why hasn't he flown yet?" Liangqiu Ci stood on tiptoe, peering.

"He's waiting for the wind to shift," Diwu Lun guessed, feeling as though he was about to witness the first flight test in human history.

Even as they spoke, the wind shifted. Xu Feilian suddenly sprinted forward, dashed to the edge of the platform, and leaped!

"Ahh!"

From the ministers to the gentlemen guards atop the platform, no one had imagined he would truly dare to jump. They surged to the platform's edge to look — even Wang Mang could not resist rising to his feet to watch.

Riding the wind, Xu Feilian did not plummet straight down to his death. Instead, he glided downward at an angle, the broad cloth-and-feather wings of the wooden kite spread as wide as possible, his body held as taut and straight as he could manage.

Aided by the wind, he managed to glide over a hundred paces before touching down — already quite impressive. Only his landing had clearly not been practiced: he tumbled head over heels several times on the ground. The man himself suffered no serious harm, but the gliding wooden kite was wrecked in the fall.

Diwu Lun let out a breath of relief on the man's behalf. Of the three today, not all were mere charlatans — but the arts they offered, fine for self-amusement, were utterly unreliable when it came to marching and warfare.

When Xu Feilian, dusty and disheveled, returned to the platform to beg Wang Mang's forgiveness, Wang Mang took no offense. He merely said: "I have heard that Mozi, on Mount Lu, hewed wood into a falcon. He spent three years making it, yet it flew but a single day before breaking — much like today's affair."

Though he knew full well that the wondrous skills these three men presented were all unreliable, Wang Mang deliberately put on a show of great delight. He appointed all three as Logistics Consultants, bestowed carriages and horses upon them, and attached them to the great army.

After all, if these street-performer tricks could fool the common soldiers, they might at least boost morale a little.

Diwu Lun tilted his head and asked: "Colonel, what sort of post is 'Logistics Consultant'?"

Liangqiu Ci explained that it was roughly equivalent to an army advisor — an empty sinecure. He merely shook his head and said: "I only hope those fellows don't end up assigned to our unit."

Well then — now the northern expedition army boasted not only Yellow-Turban Strongmen, Boar-Rush Braves, and "giants," but also a "bridge-building master," "field-ration pills," and this "air force." Everything one could possibly want, all neatly assembled. To Diwu Lun, the scene felt at once absurd and all too real.

"Just missing the bean-scattering conjuring of soldiers, and the set would be complete."

On the other side, Kong Ren, having at last recovered from the taste of those blackish field-ration pills, did not forget to glance at Diwu Lun from afar and mutter mocking remarks in a low voice to Chen Chong beside him.

"If Yang Xiong had possessed this skill when he threw himself from the pavilion, he wouldn't have broken his leg!"

…

"Halt!"

The Emperor's audience had ended. Diwu Lun had just descended from the high platform when a shout came from behind. He turned to look — it was Huan Tan, who moments ago had been up there directing the music masters striking the stone chimes, now hurrying after him. In his hands he held a cloth satchel, which he pressed into Diwu Lun's grasp.

"This is a letter from Yan Erudite. He is returning to his commandery and feared he would not see you, so he asked me to bring it. Open it once you're back at camp."

Diwu Lun acknowledged this, but as he felt the satchel, his fingers found many hard bamboo slips within.

Huan Tan said: "There are also several military treatises. Erudite said that he has now lost his office and authority, and has no voice at court to help you. These works on the art of war may be of some use to you."

It seemed that after being swept up in the vortex against his will, Diwu Lun had not only made enemies but also gained friends. He bowed with clasped hands: "Master Junshan, please thank Lord Yan on my behalf."

After waiting a moment and seeing Huan Tan's expression remain as calm as ever, Diwu Lun found it strange: "Master Junshan, is this all you wished to say to me?"

Huan Tan adjusted the sword hanging at his waist and frowned: "What did you think I stopped you for?"

Diwu Lun said: "Today on the high platform, when I had audience with the Son of Heaven, my words bordered on sycophancy. Faced with an ill-timed war and so many absurdities, I held my tongue and said nothing. I thought perhaps Master Junshan had come to chastise me."

Huan Tan laughed in spite of himself: "You take me for one of those cynics who rails against the world?"

Was he not? The impression Huan Tan had left on Diwu Lun was precisely that of an eccentric, sharp-tongued provocateur.

Huan Tan shook his head: "Laozi and Zhuangzi were also wildly unconventional, yet they merely witnessed the misrule of Zhou and Chu — they never sacrificed themselves by forcefully remonstrating. Boyu, you misunderstand me deeply."

Huan Tan walked alongside Diwu Lun and spoke of his own past: "In the time of Emperor Ai of the former dynasty, I was but a minor Palace Gentleman. I was on good terms with Fu Yan, Marquis of Kongxiang and father of Empress Fu. At that time, Dong Xian was in favor, and Empress Fu was losing the Emperor's regard by the day. Fu Yan came to ask me for counsel, and this is what I taught him."

"'Punishment cannot be applied to the guiltless; crooked wickedness cannot triumph over the upright man. Better to dismiss your retainers with thanks, devote yourself to humility and integrity — this is the way to cultivate oneself, set one's house in order, and avert calamity.'"

"'Cultivate oneself, set one's house in order, avert calamity' — this is also my way of navigating the world. Do not think that because I once mocked that Gongsun Shu, I would therefore be willing to remonstrate forcefully to the Emperor's face and point out the ills of the realm. Forgive Huan Tan, but I cannot — I still wish to live a few more years."

"Being such a man myself, how could I demand of others what I do not demand of myself?"

Diwu Lun understood. It seemed he had indeed misread Huan Tan. To have survived the reigns of Emperor Cheng, Emperor Ai, and Wang Mang unscathed, Huan Tan was deeply versed in the art of self-preservation. Behind his usual jesting and mockery lay a shrewd mind.

He would never commit the folly of speaking too deeply with a shallow acquaintance. Only to those he deemed worthy of honest counsel would he speak the unvarnished truth.

Huan Tan, for his part, understood Diwu Lun's conduct: "Your feigned compliance today, your flattery before the Son of Heaven — it is because Chen Chong bears the blood-debt of having driven your own teacher to death. The enmity is already set. Men as petty as Chen Chong and Kong Ren will surely seek to cut the weeds and eliminate the roots. If you do not find a way to protect yourself, you can only stretch out your neck and await the slaughter."

"Now you have entered the Emperor's sight and made him remember you. Gaining the rank of Attached Lord gives you a brief respite. Moreover, the Master of Fates of the Five Majesties' power lies mainly in the Six Districts and Six Commands of Chang'an — they have no influence within the army. Once you reach the border commanderies, you will actually be safer. Only beware of Kong Ren: he has been appointed General Master of Fates to oversee the great army and may make trouble for you."

Huan Tan then pointed at Diwu Lun and added: "That said, you must still hold to your original heart, cultivate yourself and rectify your conduct. Do not let the mire stain you too deeply. Otherwise, I shall have to give you a thorough scolding on Ziyun's behalf! After all, Ziyun's disciples are my disciples."

Diwu Lun let it pass with a smile. To him, Huan Tan was more like an outspoken friend. From now on, he would drop the honorific "Master" and address him directly by his courtesy name.

At this, Diwu Lun remembered something: "Junshan, you also hold the rank of Fucheng — may I ask what deed of merit earned it?"

Huan Tan rolled his eyes: "During the Regency, when Zhai Yi raised troops in Dong Commandery, the present Son of Heaven, as the false Acting Emperor, was so beset by enemies within and without that he could not eat. Day and night he held the child emperor, praying and reporting at the suburban altars and ancestral temple. He also issued a declaration modeled on the 'Great Announcement,' proclaiming that he was merely emulating the Duke of Zhou in the regency, wholeheartedly upholding the House of Han, with absolutely no disloyal intent."

"At the time I was Grandee Remonstrant, ordered to proclaim the Duke Who Pacifies the Han's most sincere words to all under Heaven, to put an end to Zhai Yi's 'slander.'"

Diwu Lun understood. Back then, Huan Tan had been, in effect, the propaganda chief of Wang Mang's faction, proving useful in quelling Zhai Yi's rebellion. That was why, after Wang Mang usurped the throne, he rewarded services and enfeoffed him as Fucheng.

But when Wang Mang, no longer content with merely ascending the dais, finally took that step, it was undoubtedly a brutal slap to Huan Tan's face. The more fervently he had once believed in the Duke Who Pacifies the Han and labored to promote him, the more sickened he felt afterward.

Had Huan Tan been willing back then, with his talent and learning he could have soared straight up to the blue clouds — ranking among the Nine Ministers would have been all too easy. Yet afterward, Huan Tan fell silent and obscure, keeping the Xin Dynasty at arm's length. Probably, like Yang Xiong, he had seen through it all and his heart had died.

"May I ask, Junshan — when was the last time you received your Fucheng stipend?"

Diwu Lun had heard that a Duke received an annual cash stipend of eight hundred thousand, Marquises and Earls four hundred thousand, Viscounts and Barons two hundred thousand, and Fucheng also got one hundred thousand. A grasshopper's leg may be small, but it's still meat.

Huan Tan said crossly, "Over ten years now, and I've received it exactly once. It's the same for you — no matter which hamlet you're enfeoffed in, those stipends on paper will be delayed and delayed forever, always with the excuse that the geography is not yet settled. They grant you the furrow and soil first, but it never actually reaches your hands."

So Wang Mang was simply catching a wolf with empty hands — giving Diwu Lun nothing but a unicorn-skin cap, an empty title.

Diwu Lun was about to return to camp. Just as the two were parting, Huan Tan called him back, unfastened the sword at his waist, and tossed it over.

Diwu Lun caught it smoothly. It felt heavy in his hand; the scabbard was utterly plain, without a trace of ornament. But when he drew the sword and looked, he realized it was no ordinary object: the cold gleam shimmered, it could sever a floating hair — a fine blade indeed!

Compared to the ring-pommel saber Diwu Lun wore, whose edge was no sharper than a kitchen cleaver, this was superior beyond all measure.

"Junshan, this is…"

Huan Tan said, "This is a sword forged by Wang Junda of Chang'an."

No wonder the craftsmanship was so superb. Diwu Lun knew that Wang Junda was a renowned swordsmith. It was said that in the fifth year of Shijianguo, he had forged a sword for the Emperor Wang Mang, named "Triumphant Over Ten Thousand Li, It Subdues."

Wang Mang was exceedingly fond of it, and "Triumphant Over Ten Thousand Li, It Subdues" replaced the former dynasty's Gaozu Serpent-Slaying Treasure Sword, becoming the new Sword of the Son of Heaven.

Huan Tan said, "Yang Ziyun is a master of the fu, and Wang Junda not only can forge swords but also possesses superb swordsmanship. I once wished to study under these two masters. Ziyun told me, 'He who can read a thousand fu will write fu well.'"

"And Wang Junda said, 'He who can observe a thousand swords will understand the sword' — a marvelous coincidence of insight. This sword was a gift to me from Wang Junda."

Diwu Lun declined: "It is far too precious. A sword by Wang Junda — not merely a hundred thousand, even a million could not buy it on the market."

Huan Tan shook his head: "I am nothing but a petty, pedantic scholar. Carrying this sword in Chang'an, at most I use it to hurl at the fat rats in my house — it is truly too great an injustice to the blade. Better to let you wield it: strike down barbarian invaders abroad, slay corrupt officials at home, and let it drink its fill of blood."

With that, Huan Tan cupped his hands toward him and said, "Boyu, on this journey to the frontier, no matter what — survive."

Diwu Lun accepted the sword and gave Huan Tan a deep bow.

And Huan Junshan, laughing up at the sky, turned and walked away: "Because I am most curious to see whether, in days to come, you can become what Ziyun hoped for…"

"A scholar for all under Heaven!"

……

PS: Chapter 2 at 18:00.