Chapter 87: Faking the Fall

"Grandfather, your grandson has wasted decades in obscurity. Now at last he has a chance to restore the glory of the Han clan."

The Swallow-the-Hu General, Han Wei, was an old commander already sixty-nine, his beard a great white bush. Yet when alone in camp, facing a mulberry-wood spirit tablet, he called himself "your grandson" at every turn — anyone watching would have found it absurd.

Han Wei's grandfather was named Han Yanshou — a common-as-dirt name in the Han dynasty before the single-character given name became the rule. His family had known prosperity: Han Yanshou had served as Governor of Huaiyang, Yingchuan, and Left Pingyi, earning a reputation for virtue and the deep love of the common people. The tragedy was that Xiao Wangzhi later impeached him, and Emperor Xuan of Han, that befuddled ruler, heeded slanderous words, so that Han Yanshou was sentenced to death. On the day of his execution, thousands of officials and commoners escorted him to Wei City; young and old clutched the carriage hubs, vying to offer wine and pour out their feelings. Han Yanshou could not bear to refuse them, and together they drank more than a dan of wine.

Then, still drunk, he gave his last command to the three sons who had come to see him die: "You must never serve as officials, lest you repeat your old father's ruin."

The three sons took it as a warning and all resigned from office, never to serve again. Thus the Han clan lived as commoners for a generation. Though Han Wei never met his grandfather, he often heard his father and uncles tell his story, and he nursed a bitter hatred for the house of Han. When the Xin supplanted the Han, he clapped his hands in delight, cast his grandfather's warning to the back of his mind, and took office, zealously helping Wang Mang suppress the resurgent Han loyalist clans across the land.

It was only a pity he had entered officialdom rather late. In that ossified bureaucratic system it was hard to stand out; after many years of struggle he had risen no higher than Colonel.

So Han Wei, in his impatience, filled his memorials with grand boasts, vowing to emulate the Han-era Li Ling: to rampage through the Xiongnu and annihilate the barbarians with a mere five thousand men!

Wang Mang adored such fiery heroes and promptly promoted him to Swallow-the-Hu General. Regrettably, in the two years that followed, the court and the Xiongnu never came to blows. Only now, at last, had Han Wei been sent to war.

"If this campaign succeeds, I can leapfrog the Deputy Generals, rise several more ranks, restore my family's two-thousand-dan glory — and perhaps even be enfeoffed as a marquis or a count."

Just then a subordinate clerk came to report that the Colonels and Majors of every company and battalion had assembled in camp. Han Wei donned his imposing armor and strode into the main command tent. The dozen or so men inside rose and bowed with clasped hands: on the right, the Colonels of the regular troops; on the left, Liangqiu Ci, Colonel of the auxiliary troops and the Boar-Rush Braves, with Diwu Lun standing behind him.

"Gentlemen, dispense with the formalities."

Han Wei swept his gaze over the assembly, lingering especially on Liangqiu Ci and the several Majors behind him. His eyes rested a moment longer on Diwu Lun — that qilin-skin officer's cap was truly conspicuous.

Han Wei first delivered a lengthy speech on national duty and the Son of Heaven's sagely wisdom, then said: "Our destination is the Upper River Agricultural Commandant garrison in the northern part of Weirong Commandery. The entire journey is over two thousand eight hundred li. We must determine how many days it will take and where we shall halt each day."

"In this general's view, marching forty li a day, finishing in seventy days, and arriving in mid-fourth month — what say you?"

At these words, the Colonels and Majors in the tent groaned inwardly. The general was far too hasty. Liangqiu Ci ventured cautiously: "General, thirty li in a day's march is the ancient rule. Forty li — might that not be… excessive?"

Diwu Lun had been reading the military texts Yan You gave him. Sunzi had long ago stated: if you race a hundred li for advantage, only one in ten will arrive on time; at fifty li, only half; at thirty li, two in three.

Now that Han Wei insisted on forty li, it meant straggling would be just as severe, and the soldiers would be exceptionally exhausted.

Han Wei, however, cared nothing for the soldiers' lives. Sternly he said: "If we march thirty li a day, we will not reach the Upper River Agricultural Commandant until the end of the fourth month. The military situation is urgent as fire. A single day's delay, and the Xiongnu may end their internal strife and regain stability. How can we not hurry? The matter is settled!"

With the marching schedule fixed, they next assigned each unit its position. After all, the two Colonels together commanded over ten thousand men, and the roads were narrow — they could not advance in a swarm; there had to be an order of precedence.

Han Wei, a veteran of many years in the army, was well versed in these fundamentals: "The army divides into the Advance Force, the Main Force, and the Rear Force. The Advance Force marches one day ahead of the Main Force, clearing the way as the vanguard. The Rear Force marches behind the Main Force, guarding our rear and collecting stragglers."

He appointed his most trusted Major to lead the Advance Force, then added: "An army without baggage is doomed; without provisions, it is doomed. One battalion of Boar-Rush Braves must accompany my Advance Force. I wonder — does Colonel Liangqiu have any bold, keen warriors under his command who would volunteer?"

Without waiting for anyone to rise, Han Wei called out the name of the man in the qilin-skin cap: "Major Diwu — some days ago, before His Majesty himself and in front of the entire army, you stole the show, and your troops were judged the most orderly. Are you willing to take on this heavy responsibility?"

Every gaze in the tent swiveled toward him — some envious, some jealous. Diwu Lun, however, rose unhurriedly. Only then did Han Wei notice that his right arm hung in a white hemp sling, apparently broken, and that he walked with a limp. He made his way to the center of the great tent, clenched his teeth, and with difficulty performed a deep bow.

Han Wei stared in astonishment: "What has befallen Major Diwu?"

"I recently acquired a new saddle and stirrups, and took a fall while testing the horse." Diwu Lun's face was full of shame. "For the general's weighty task, this subordinate ought to accept the command. But with my hand and leg in this state, I fear I will need months to recover. If I were to accompany the Advance Force, I worry I would delay urgent military business."

"Can you not simply lie on a baggage cart and let the soldiers pull you?" Han Wei was displeased, his face hardening. "A true man serves his country unto death — would he shrink back for a few minor injuries?"

That depends on which country, Diwu Lun thought. If it were two thousand years from now, and the nation called, no matter how afraid, you would grit your teeth and go. But if it means shedding your blood and laying down your life for your Great Xin…

Diwu Lun would rather be a coward.

He sighed and said: "I beg to inform the General: it is not only my body that forbids it. That this subordinate should fall from his horse just as the great army is about to march — it is an omen of ill fortune. I fear I am, like Li Guang, a man of unlucky destiny. How dare I serve as the Advance Force? If I alone perished on the road, it would be nothing — but I dread bringing ruin upon the General's great enterprise."

These words had the men in the tent nodding in agreement. Diwu Lun had grounds for this. When he was studying the military texts annotated by Yan You, he had discovered that beyond marching and formations, they also contained a great deal of material on sacrifices, exorcisms, curses, and talismanic wards — matters belonging to the "yin-yang of warfare."

For instance, the selection of who should serve as the vanguard was a matter of great deliberation. Diwu Lun's fall from his horse on the eve of departure was somewhat inauspicious; he was indeed unsuited for such a weighty responsibility.

Han Wei had no choice but to drop the matter. To himself he thought: "I had assumed Diwu Lun, who volunteered for this campaign, was a brave man like myself. I meant to raise him up, so that together we might ride beyond the frontier, strike the Xiongnu, and win great merit. Who would have thought he is a man of unlucky stars and a timid heart? What a pity!"

The Swallow-the-Hu General was still somewhat displeased. He swept a cold smile across the tent: "Since Diwu Boyu refuses to be the head of a chicken, then let him be the tail of an ox!"

……

As for Diwu Lun, the moment he limped back into his own camp and was alone with Diwu Biao, Xuan Biao, and the others, his injuries instantly healed.

So this was in the style of Zhang Yi, the Qin chancellor of the Warring States — faking a carriage fall and a tumble from a horse!

Xuan Biao asked with great concern: "Commander, which division have we been assigned to?"

"We march with the Rear Force." Though Han Wei, furious at his lack of ambition, had shunted him all the way to the rear, Diwu Lun was beaming with delight. "The Rear Force follows one to three days behind the Main Force. We can rest a few extra days, then set out at a leisurely pace."

Diwu Biao, having re-entered military service, still harbored some thirst for glory and could not quite understand why Diwu Lun would feign a fall and play weak. He muttered: "Clan head, this was actually a fine opportunity. If we had served as the Advance Force and won General Han's favor, he might later have recommended you to the court for promotion to Colonel!"

Diwu Lun shook his head. "With my present ability, I can manage one battalion, but not an entire regiment. What use is there in craving high office and noble rank beyond my means?"

He unwound the sling from his arm. "The Advance Force must keep one day ahead of the Main Force. If they encounter broken roads or damaged bridges on the way, they must make temporary repairs. And the regulars have always looked down on the Boar-Rush Braves — all the heavy, dirty work would surely be dumped on us. When we reached our destination, we would still have to arrange their meals and lodgings."

The regulars would march light and preserve their fighting strength — but we auxiliary troops would be worked to death.

Though no matter which division you were assigned to, such things were unavoidable, the pressure was greatest when marching with the Advance Force.

"To keep pace, the Advance Force must cover not forty li a day, but fifty. The regulars have plenty of carts and horses — and what do the Boar-Rush Braves have? Only their two legs, and they still have to push and haul the baggage and provisions. If they fail to keep up with the Advance Force and delay military operations, they will be reprimanded. If they force themselves to keep up, given the physical condition of the men in this camp, after more than two months, I fear half of them will drop dead on the road!"

True, there were other Majors who would rather let a few more useless Boar-Rush Braves die if it meant winning Han Wei's favor. But Diwu Lun had no such need. He knew very well why he had joined this army.

Diwu Lun's expression grew grave. "I would rather forgo this so-called general's esteem than see the soldiers under my command die needlessly!"

Diwu Biao dared say no more, while Xuan Biao was so moved by Diwu Lun's words that he was on the verge of tears.

On the day before the army marched, though Diwu Lun's faked fall could not be openly proclaimed, the story of how he had refused the Advance Force and chosen to march with the Rear Force — all to spare his soldiers excessive toil and sudden death — spread through the camp.

The eight hundred Boar-Rush Braves felt even more fortunate to have such a commander.

As drums and gongs sounded in unison, the banners of the Advance Force vanguard set out. A Major of the auxiliary troops had eagerly volunteered, taking Diwu Lun's place and marching ahead with them.

That Major rode high on his horse, brimming with arrogance and perfectly at ease — but behind him, the Boar-Rush Braves could only follow in despair, driven onward under the threat of the regulars' blades and spears.

Their appearance was exactly the state this very battalion had been in months before: their bodies mere skin stretched over bone, gaunt as withered timber. To describe them with the phrase "swan-like forms and starveling complexions" would be an understatement — they were living skeletons, wraiths in human shape.

As for their clothing, apart from a few tattered rags tied around their waists to barely cover their shame, their upper bodies were clad in the thinnest of straw rain-capes. Straw sandals without socks — some even went barefoot.

As for their coloring, the sun had long since baked them uniformly black; their true skin could scarcely be seen, only the whites of their eyes rolling in their faces.

As for their gait, they pulled one another along, propping each other up. Though no rope bound them, they naturally formed a single chain, trembling and shivering, pushing and hauling the baggage, staggering and stumbling forward. The moment anyone slowed by half a step, the spear-shafts in the regulars' hands came smashing down hard.

The Boar-Rush Braves could only trudge onward like beasts of burden. Their sole hope was that a day's bitter toil might earn them a mouthful of the grain carried on the carts they pushed.

The soldiers under Diwu Lun's command crowded around the gate, watching this scene with aching hearts. And that afternoon, they also received a great gift from Diwu Lun.

It was over eight hundred pairs of sturdy cloth shoes. Diwu Lun personally toured the camp and distributed them to every man, in large, medium, and small sizes.

The soldiers took the shoes and bowed in profuse thanks. In the past, their clothing and footwear had mostly been embezzled by the Company Commanders and junior officers — sometimes never issued at all.

But ever since Diwu Lun arrived, not only were clothes and shoes distributed in full, but before this long march, Diwu Lun had also spent his own money to buy them in Maoling, giving each man an extra pair. At market price, it had cost him at least forty thousand cash.

Diwu Lun, however, had his own reckoning: "Forty thousand cash might save four hundred men's legs and lives — is it worth it?"

Some would surely mock him: a woman's soft heart, unfit for great deeds.

But Diwu Lun only thought: "In times like these, is there any shortage of harsh, brutal generals?"

"If it comes to matching that, no matter how hard I steel myself, I could never equal the other Colonels and Majors, never equal Han Wei, and still less the slave masters of Guanzhong."

"To win men's hearts, I can only go against the current."

The Boar-Rush Braves who received the sandals all kowtowed to Diwu Lun, pouring out endless thanks. Diwu Lun only said to them: "This journey is long. I know none of you wish to go, but the regulars are flanking us — any who try to desert may be shot down on the spot. That road leads to death."

"Reaching the fertile lands of New Qinzhong, on the other hand — there is still a path to life."

"So this Major hopes that, with this extra pair of sandals, every man will help his fellows, and all of you will walk together to the frontier fortress!"

"Should any man die by misfortune, this Major will bury him beside the road, raise a wooden marker, and write his name upon it."

Diwu Lun bowed with clasped hands to the crowd, and the crowd knelt in obeisance to him. A word that had first spread when the men were jesting among themselves now passed from their lips and became the name that all eight hundred Boar-Rush Braves acknowledged together.

"Aye."

Eight hundred voices roared as one: "We are the soldiers under Major Diwu's command. We are… the Diwu Camp!"

…

PS: Chapter 3 at 18:00. Votes requested.