Chapter 154: The Last of the Martial Infantry

This was a trap. Zhou Shi understood the moment he charged out at the head of the group — those so-called "conscript laborers," after coming under attack, had formed ranks and were resisting in perfect order. That well-drilled, flawless formation was all too familiar to Zhou Shi.

"Where would Huyou Township get so many Qin soldiers?"

But he realized the truth in an instant. When they left Huyou Township, the laborers had indeed been laborers, but after reaching Waihuang, the laborers had been swapped out for Qin soldiers! And the carts might not even be carrying grain — they were hiding weapons and crossbowmen too!

As a bronze whistle sounded from the dark-faced Qin official, from the dozens of carts in the entire convoy, a Qin elite soldier burst out of nearly every one, leveling crossbows and firing at the young bravos charging out of the woods.

Zhou Shi narrowly dodged that volley, but he saw that to his left and right, several of his men had already pitched forward onto the ground — groaning in agony, or in an instant, utterly lifeless...

He rose, he shouted, he waved his arms — but not to rally a charge. He was ordering everyone to turn around and retreat at once!

Yet in the chaos, Zhou Shi's command could not be relayed in time. Those brawling, bloodthirsty wandering swordsmen still seemed unaware of what was unfolding ahead, still hollering at the top of their lungs, rushing forward wave after wave to throw their lives away.

And from the other end of the woods, Zhou Shi's trusted men also burst out, fifty strong.

But what greeted them was a rank of Qin soldiers already in formation, every man raising the dagger-axes and spears carried on the carts, their blades reflecting a blinding glare under the sunlight...

Zhou Shi had learned long ago, in the wars of years past, that at equal numbers, a rabble had not the slightest chance against battle-hardened Qin soldiers. But separated by the Qin convoy, Zhou Shi could only watch helplessly as those fifty men were encircled by dagger-axes and spears, their lives reaped.

Fortunately, they had bought the others on the far side time to withdraw.

But the Qin soldiers were soon in pursuit. The dark-faced Qin official blowing the bronze whistle held his sword, the Qin men disguised as laborers bearing shields in front, the Qin crossbowmen from the carts following behind with their crossbows, doggedly harrying the Wei men, refusing to let them break away cleanly.

And so Zhou Shi could only lead the few dozen men he had left, fighting and retreating through the woods.

In a lull between clashes, Zhou Shi caught a glimpse of Chen Yu's figure — only, it was with his back turned to him.

This Confucian scholar had talked a grand game, but when it truly came to a life-or-death battle, he hesitated and would not advance. In the end, gritting his teeth, he abandoned that nephew of his, abandoned the young bravos, abandoned Zhou Shi fighting a desperate rearguard action, and slipped away into the woods with a few wandering swordsmen.

"As I thought — never trust these Confucian scholars..."

His plea for aid unanswered, Zhou Shi sighed inwardly, but his hands did not slow in the slightest. A Qin man disguised as a laborer charged at him with a short sword; Zhou Shi gently deflected the blade and thrust his sword into the man's neck, scalding hot blood splashing onto his face.

The sword — this was the "toy" he had been swinging since the age of understanding, and it was Zhou Shi's most familiar companion through all these years.

The one who had first pressed a sword into his hand was his father.

Many years had passed. His father's image had grown somewhat blurred in Zhou Shi's mind, but he still remembered, beside the hearth at home, his father telling him the history of the Martial Infantry...

This professional army, founded by General Wu Qi, had once been the pride of Wei.

"General Wu raised seventy thousand troops and none under heaven could stop him. In those days, for twenty years the Qin army dared not set half a step west of the Yellow River!"

"And of those seventy thousand soldiers, fifty thousand were Wei Martial Infantry!"

From some time unknown, Zhou Shi's family had served as Martial Infantry for generations. They were granted fields and houses by the state of Wei, and had bondservants to till their land and tend their herds. And the men of the Zhou family, from the moment they were born, had but a single duty: to be Martial Infantry, to fight for Wei!

But to become Martial Infantry, one had to pass a rigorous examination.

In his seventeenth year, Zhou Shi took part in the Martial Infantry trials outside Daliang. By tradition, he and his companions donned three layers of armor, took up dagger-axe and sword, strapped on powerful crossbows, filled their arrow cases with fifty crossbow bolts, and had to carry three days' rations. Setting out from Daliang, within half a day, they had to reach the banks of the great river a hundred li away!

Bearing the heavy load, trotting the whole way, panting and gasping, Zhou Shi nevertheless, just as the setting sun was about to dip away, drank that faintly muddy water of the great river.

Like Kuafu chasing the sun, he threw himself down at the riverbank and drank his fill for half a quarter-hour before the second person reached the endpoint.

Without question, Zhou Shi, with his outstanding performance, became a proud Martial Infantryman — but to his astonishment, he discovered that those companions who had not met the standard had likewise become Martial Infantry.

There was no helping it. Wei was weak and no longer had the standing to pick and choose. So long as one was the son of a Martial Infantryman, so long as one was not too hopelessly far off the mark, one could inherit the father's or grandfather's post.

Looking around him, that year's Martial Infantry numbered barely over a hundred. The mighty army of fifty thousand of old had now dwindled to a mere few thousand.

Before Zhou Shi could share this good news with his father, he learned that his father had already fallen in the Battle of Ji against Qin!

Not even his body was brought back. As for his head, it had likely been hacked off by the Qin soldiers and taken back to claim merit.

By this point, three successive generations of the Zhou family had died at the hands of Qin men. And from that year onward, the young Zhou Shi inherited his family's blood feud with Qin!

It was around that year, after burying his father's cenotaph, that Zhou Shi glimpsed his own fate.

Unlike ordinary men, a Martial Infantryman would not die in his bed, amid the wails of wife and concubines and children. He would die on the battlefield, his corpse wrapped in horsehide...

Those Martial Infantrymen who came before him, across several generations, must have numbered over a hundred thousand in all. Most of them had fallen in battle, in one defeat after another: fallen at Shimen, fallen at Anyi, fallen at Guiling, fallen at Maling, fallen at Yique, fallen at Huayang, fallen at Liangyou...

The places where Martial Infantrymen fell in battle drew ever closer to Daliang, and the power of the state of Wei drifted ever further from revival and glory.

"Where, then, shall I die?" Zhou Shi wondered.

"Within this stretch of woods?"

The stabbing pain of the wounds on his body brought Zhou Shi, weary from battle, back to his senses. He looked around him. Those still holding on were now pitifully few; the rest were either dead or had fled and scattered.

And those Qin men, relentless in pursuit, were still closing in from every direction.

Zhou Shi had been fighting and retreating through these woods for a full half-hour. The wounds on his body grew more and more numerous; though none were fatal, the ceaselessly flowing blood left him exhausted and drained, the sword in his hand heavier and heavier.

But this dense forest terrain was to their advantage. The Qin crossbowmen could not keep up in time, and in the narrow spaces, it was easy to create one-on-one situations — and at such moments, when two foes meet on a narrow path, the brave win!

Zhou Shi raised his sword once more and strode forward. He shouted at the top of his lungs, urging his companions to turn and fight. Since they could not escape anyway, they might as well drag a few more Qin men down to the Yellow Springs with them!

Battle narrowed to the space before his eyes. Zhou Shi's martial skill was exquisite; in single combat, he was never at a disadvantage. He clashed with three men in succession, he unleashed a slaughter, his long sword stirring a gale of bloody wind and rain, his arm dyed red all the way to the elbow.

"Wei Martial Infantry!"

In the heat of battle, Zhou Shi seemed drunk. He raised high his chipped blade and bellowed the battle cry of those bygone years. The sword, full of notches, gleamed with a bloody light under the high noon sun. It was as if he had returned, many years ago, to the battlefield facing the Qin army — his companions, armored and bearing dagger-axes, were forming their square phalanx, straining to withstand the charge of the Qin army's elite shock troops.

The Martial Infantry do not die; the battle does not cease!

Yet, when he struck down the last Qin man before him and shouted in exultation, then looked around him once more, he was stunned to find that the Qin men had not grown fewer, while his own men were slowly being reaped, slaughtered!

That fourteen-year-old boy who, before the ambush, had lain behind Zhou Shi, clutching his spear shaft, so terrified he nearly wept — he had tripped and fallen as they fled. Three Qin soldiers surrounded him, their swords rising and falling upon him...

A fellow Martial Infantryman who had followed Zhou Shi since Yangwu, using the narrow spaces between the trees, was locked in a tangled fight with two Qin soldiers. He was just trying to finish off the Qin man he had hacked down with another thrust of his sword when a long spear pierced through his belly...

And that loud-voiced young bravo from Waihuang, brought by Chen Yu and newly joined to their ranks — he had cursed loudly as he skewered a Qin soldier against a tree, only to be struck on the crown of his head from behind by a long bronze-shod staff. Blood streamed down his face; his legs buckled and he dropped to his knees, already lifeless...

Zhou Shi also saw that dark-faced Qin soldier who had escorted this grain convoy and single-handedly orchestrated this ambush. He had lingered all along just outside the front line of battle, moving through the woods only with his small squad. Methodically, they reinforced every one-on-one engagement, overwhelming the Wei men with superior numbers, and then, to those who could still rise, they delivered a swift, clean death.

Zhou Shi was enraged. He tried to rush over to aid his companions, but did not guard against a crossbow bolt from afar, which shot clean through his thigh with solid force!

He crashed to the ground, and his vision went black. When he opened his eyes again, only the dead remained around him.

Footsteps were slowly drawing near. It was the Qin men. They were closing in around Zhou Shi, but every one of them was cautious, for Zhou Shi, even while fighting and retreating, had still managed to slay six men — he was no simple figure.

The searing pain from his leg made Zhou Shi clench his jaw, but he still leaned on his sword and forced himself to stand.

"It seems this place... is where I shall be buried."

Zhou Shi's yellowed beard was matted with blood and mud, and a bitter smile crossed his face.

The Wu Soldier phalanx — unmatched under heaven!

If he had his comrades beside him, Zhou Shi would fear nothing.

But one by one they had fallen in battle, one by one they had vanished. Now, over ten years later, he looked around blankly and realized with a shock:

He himself was the very last Wu Soldier left…

The dozen or so Qin men before him were not so arrogant as to duel Zhou Shi. At the barked orders of that dark-faced Qin clerk, three crossbowmen stepped forward. From ten paces away, they slowly raised their hand crossbows at Zhou Shi, who could no longer shift even half a step…

Zhou Shi had long known he would die one day; he did not fear death. That Confucian scholar Chen Yu was right: one who eats another's food does not shirk his hardships. In all his life, Zhou Shi had never received the honored treatment of Wei's kings and lords, nor been a retainer in a nobleman's household — but he was a Wu Soldier. That origin destined him to share Wei's beginning and end, to live and die with it.

In these two months of struggle, Zhou Shi asked himself, he had already done right by the generations of his family who had received the grace of Wei's lands and houses. Even if he could not drive the Qin men from Wei territory, even if his meager strength could not save Wei.

Still, he had nothing to regret, nothing to lament. At the very least, he had killed no fewer than ten Qin men by his own hand — he had broken even.

The dark-faced Qin clerk's hand was raised high, ready to give the order to loose at any moment, and the crossbowmen had already drawn their strings, ready to pull the trigger at any moment.

"Chen Yu said that Zilu was a Confucian scholar, who held that a gentleman does not let his cap be askew even in death."

The Qin clerk's face was expressionless as he swept his hand down!

"I am a Wu Soldier. Even in death, I will uphold a Wu Soldier's dignity."

The crossbowmen pulled their triggers. Those crossbow bolts came howling in, growing larger and larger in Zhou Shi's eyes — and he burst out laughing!

"To die in battle as a Wu Soldier is a glorious deed. Your father here shall face axe and halberd with a smile, as sweet as syrup!"

His thoughts stopped abruptly. A succession of wet thuds rang out — several crossbow bolts pierced through Zhou Shi's chest and belly, taking his life.

In the final moments of his life, this veteran Wu Soldier still had his eyes wide open. Leaning against the tree, both hands propped on his sword, he stood ramrod straight — dead, yet not fallen.

Heifu stepped forward and bowed to Zhou Shi's corpse with clasped hands, a bow so deep his hands nearly touched the ground. The Qin soldiers behind him were likewise solemnly moved; they put away their blades and bowed in unison.

Then Heifu raised his sword blade, said an apology, and without the slightest hesitation, struck off Zhou Shi's head!

Zhou Shi — the veteran Wu Soldier who, over ten years later, was supposed to lead troops north to seize Wei territory on King Chen's orders, and ultimately retake Daliang, fulfilling the dream of restoring his state.

In this historical time and space, he died within the borders of Waihuang County, in a nameless grove, beheaded by a Qin clerk named Heifu, whose name was unknown among the feudal lords…

In this world, there would be no more Wei Wu Soldiers!

(End of chapter)