Chapter 272: Dark Clouds Bear Down Upon the City

Xiangli Ge lied. There weren't thirty Mohists in Ruyin City — not even ten. Aside from himself, there were only three.

"Xiangli Ge won't be coming back."

Atop the walls of Ruyin, Master Deng — the sole and final leader of the Southern Mohists of Chu — looked up at the sun overhead, sighed, his face tinged with sorrow.

Apart from the aged Master Deng, the nine-chi-tall giant Kur Li — built like a solid wall — and the gaunt, rotten-toothed Qichi, whose teeth had been ruined by a childhood of hardship, exchanged a glance, equally grieved.

Unlike the three of them, who had become Mohists only partway through life, Xiangli Ge came from generations of Mohists. He was Master Deng's most prized disciple, and the only one among them capable of conducting diplomatic persuasion.

A pity the man was too stubbornly idealistic. Even with his eyes shut, Qichi knew the Qin army outside would never abandon its assault on the city, yet Xiangli Ge insisted on going to try.

"It seems reading too many books can make a man foolish," Qichi, who had joined the Mohists less than two years ago, thought to himself.

Now, with Xiangli Ge long gone and not returning, the three suspected he had likely offended the Qin general with insolent words and had his head cut off as a blood sacrifice to the war banners.

Yet none of them doubted that he might have been too ashamed to return after his persuasion failed, or that he had simply surrendered.

"Any Mohist that fragile would have drifted away and left long ago over the past twenty years — they couldn't have stayed until now," Master Deng said.

Master Deng was now a decrepit old man with loose teeth and shaky hair. He was the "Master" to Xiangli Ge, Kur Li, and Qichi — the one who had imparted to them the doctrines of the Mohist school. And he alone had been fortunate enough to witness that scene forty years ago, when the Southern Mohists gathered several dozen men, answered Lord Pingyuan's plea, and rushed to Handan to join with all the realm's righteous and aspiring souls in helping Zhao's elderly, women, and children resist the tyrannical Qin army.

Master Deng had been only eighteen or nineteen then, and at that time, the Southern Mohists were still flourishing.

But that was their final glory. Afterward, when Wei attacked Wei, the Mohists helped Wei defend its city; most of them were killed or wounded, leaving only Master Deng and a few others who had stayed behind in the south.

Those men are gone now. While the living congratulate them on a worthy death and their communion with the ghosts and spirits, they must also begin recruiting new Mohists to replenish their ranks.

Yet in this age, ambitious scholars all pursue fame, wealth, and rank. Mohism is no longer a prominent school of thought, nor is it favored by the feudal lords. Who would still be willing to become a Mohist?

Warriors would rather be wandering knights-errant, freely avenging grievances, than submit to the Mohists' strict rules for disciples that forbid private feuds.

Scholars would rather be Confucians, with wide sleeves and broad sashes, speaking in grandiose terms and entering the service of enfeoffed lords — far better than Mohists, who wear coarse fur and hemp for clothes, straw sandals for footwear, and bury their heads in working with wood and stone.

The Southern Mohists disciplined themselves rigorously, endured hardship and toil, and ran counter to social custom by vigorously advocating frugal funerals. They dreamed that everyone in the world would be as abstemious and restrained as they were, and love all people as they would their own flesh-and-blood brothers. All of this made people shrink back in awe. Even the common folk would rather remain artisans, merchants, farmers, or even singers, dancers, acrobats, physicians, pharmacists, diviners, and invocators than become Mohists.

The Mohists proclaimed the Will of Heaven, advocating that the great should not attack the small, the strong should not bully the weak, the many should not harm the few, the cunning should not deceive the naive, the noble should not scorn the humble, the rich should not flaunt before the poor, and the robust should not seize from the aged…

Yet people in this world delight in clinging to the strong alone and using that to bully the weak. Who is willing to help the weak resist the strong and uphold righteousness?

So in the end, the Mohists grew fewer and fewer, and those who occasionally joined them were only those from vulnerable groups grateful for Mohist aid — and even they died off one after another…

Though Kur Li stood nine chi tall, he was simple-minded. Once, when he was being mocked and toyed with on the street, Master Deng rescued him, after which he woodenly followed behind the Master, never leaving his side.

Qichi came from a poor family and was an artisan from north of the Huai River, laboring for an enfeoffed lord and living a passable life. But when the flames of war between Qin and Chu ignited, his family was caught in it and every last one of them died. Master Deng and Kur Li pulled him out from a heap of corpses, and after that, he too joined the Mohist ranks.

As for Xiangli Ge, he was a Mohist by lineage, possessing a persistence and stubbornness inherited over two hundred years.

These four people alone formed the last of the Southern Mohists…

"Now, only the three of us remain to defend this city."

A bitter taste filled Qichi's mouth. "An old man, a fool, and me — a man bereft."

The scene was truly ironic. With Ruyin in imminent peril, those protecting it were not its enfeoffed lord Dou Ran, nor Xiang Yan, but three such men as these.

Qichi was somewhat pessimistic. He did not believe that relying on a mere three Mohists could enable low-walled Ruyin to withstand the Qin army's assault.

He asked Master Deng, "Master, you once told me that in ancient times, there were those who understood the methods of defending a city, yet internally they did not care for and soothe the common people, and externally they did not forge peace. With few troops of their own, they distanced themselves from states with many troops; with weak strength of their own, they slighted powerful states. In the end, they lost their lives and their state was destroyed, ridiculed by all under Heaven… Therefore, one must be cautious when helping others. Handled poorly, understanding the methods of defending a city can instead bring ruin upon oneself."

"Are we now likewise ruined by our own arts of city defense?"

"It is the Covenant."

Though aged and frail, Master Deng, like them, wore a short coarse-hemp tunic and busied himself atop the wall. He said, "The successive Grand Masters left a final injunction: should there be an unrighteous war where the strong bully the weak and a great state invades a small one, and the weak and small appeal to the Mohist school for help, the Mohists must not refuse!"

Because of this Covenant, over the past two hundred years, who knows how many Mohists have died in city-defense battles. Yet still they pressed forward wave after wave, as if their sacrifices could turn into kindling, so that the flame of their ideals might never be extinguished…

Master Deng turned around and pointed at the local residents below the wall who, under the arrangements of Chu's enfeoffed lords and the Mohists, had come to the wall to assist in its defense. "Qin and Chu have fought three times in two years; the people cannot bear such hardship. And now the Qin army has entered Chu's borders, cutting down their crops, slaughtering their sons and younger brothers. The myriad people are terrified, seeing Qin as wolves and tigers. Compared to Qin, they are of course the weak and small. At this very moment, what they most long for is someone who can help them keep the wolves and tigers outside the city walls, so they are not devoured alive."

He then pointed at those enfeoffed lords, ministers, and grand officers who, in the face of imminent catastrophe, had finally set aside their noble status and also conscripted their wives and concubines into the ranks to boil water and help below the wall. "These are the rich and noble of ordinary times. Yet when the Qin army breaks through Chu, it fells their trees, topples their city walls, fills in their moats, seizes and kills their livestock, burns their ancestral temples, and carts away their heavy ritual vessels. Right now, they too are helpless weaklings and bereft ones. If they do not strive to save themselves now, they can only be reduced to meat on the chopping block."

The Mohists did not join every war without choice. Only when the weak raised their voices and hoped for aid would they become embroiled in the conflict — and they always stood on the side of the weak.

The unilateral slaughter of the weak by the strong can never be permitted!

This made Qichi think of himself. When he had been lost and helpless amid the chaos of soldiers and a city in peril, it was the Mohists who had saved him.

"Moreover."

Master Deng smiled. "This city may not necessarily be impossible to hold. Although Ruyin's walls are not high, they are very sturdy. The defensive equipment is ready, and firewood and provisions are ample. This is precisely why I had everyone abandon Hu City and concentrate our defense here."

"This disciple understands."

Qichi nodded, his slightly shaken heart settling. He once again walked among the soldiers and civilians, issuing them orders.

Large numbers of commoners gathered atop the wall, adding bricks to the battlements — progress was good. But on the other hand, the cluster of ramshackle buildings sprouting below the wall was a terrible eyesore. They clung tightly to the wall, just like barnacles on a ship's hull. Among them were shops, taverns, residences, and the women's quarters of cheap prostitutes.

According to the Mohist rules for city defense, all structures within ten paces inside the city wall must be completely cleared away, leaving nothing behind. Otherwise, they could easily be ignited by flaming arrows shot by the enemy and cause chaos.

After arranging for men to demolish these buildings, Qichi added to a Chu military officer, "Inside the city, wherever enemy arrows from outside can reach, all woodpiles and houses must be coated with a layer of mud."

He was in charge of directing the defensive preparations below the wall. Kur Li, being a simple man of few words, merely wore his sword and went to help the commoners carry heavy earth sacks.

And Master Deng was their pillar. At that moment, he was atop the wall, having the craftsmen install the Mohists' lethal device: the repeating crossbow cart!

This mechanism, placed on the city wall, used a timber with a circumference of one span and five cun to make a crossbow bed. The bed weighed one hundred and twenty jin and could successively fire sixty large crossbow bolts, each ten chi long — its killing power was immense! But it required ten men to operate. Master Deng could only temporarily instruct some of the city's crossbowmen, hoping this device would prove useful against the enemy.

The three Mohists and the three thousand soldiers and five thousand civilians within the city, all in the midst of their tense defensive preparations, were interrupted by the urgent clanging of gongs at dusk!

"The Qin army is here!"

The shrill cry rang across the top of the wall. Everyone's face stiffened, and then they all rushed up to the wall to resist the enemy.

The Mohist method of city defense called for the entire populace to take part. For every fifty paces of wall, besides sixty soldiers, there must also be ten men, twenty adult women, and ten elderly and young — one hundred people in total. The soldiers guarding the towers below the wall were to be one man per pace. Only by this standard could the defense be sufficient.

At present, the manpower inside the city could just barely fill the top of the wall according to this standard.

It should have been a scene of clamor and chaos. Yet the Chu soldiers and civilians atop the wall all stared at the distant enemy in terror and unease. Apart from the warning drums and gongs, the wall was utterly silent.

Qichi also climbed onto the wall and stood beside Master Deng and Kur Li. Now he understood why no one was speaking.

He saw, two li away, black war banners fluttering in the wind, gleaming dagger-axes, spears, swords, and halberds arrayed in stern and dazzling splendor. Rank after rank of black-armored Qin soldiers marched in orderly formations, columns of chariots and cavalry protecting their flanks. Under the command of deep, resonant drums, they advanced with uniform steps, pushing hastily constructed siege engines, resolutely marching toward Ruyin.

So this is the Qin army…

On the city wall, the people of Chu forcefully suppressed the terror in their chests. Many commoners could not keep hold of their dagger-axes and spears, and involuntarily stuck out their tongues to lick their lips to soothe their nerves. Watching the enemy gradually approach the wall, everyone's heart pounded with neurotic rhythm to the advancing steps of the Qin army.

So too did Qichi. This solitary artisan who had joined the Mohists only two years ago remembered those terrifying Qin soldiers from the war when Wang Ben invaded Chu, and the deaths of his wife and children.

"Qichi, your legs are shaking."

Master Deng, standing to the side, remarked flatly, then looked at Qichi. Those aged eyes seemed to say to him: "Descend the wall now, leave the Mohists now, and there is still time…"

Master Deng had already lived long enough, had taken part in countless wars, and had long since grown indifferent to death. Facing the mighty Qin army before him, he felt no fear whatsoever in his heart. Instead, there was an indescribable sense of solace. If they could hold the city, it would naturally be a good thing; if they could not, and he died here, would that not also be a form of release?

He was ready to die, but his three disciples did not have to be, especially Qichi, who could completely shed this brown robe and go back to being his craftsman.

Yet Qichi straightened his back and said softly, "It's the wind!"

He bared a mouthful of rotten teeth and laughed. "It's the wind making my legs shake!"

The slow-witted Kuli spread his broad, thick palm in confusion, only to find there was not a breath of wind atop the wall.

But in Qichi's eyes, there was. That formless wind was gathering into a storm a li away in the distance, rolling up dense, oppressive layers of cloud and bearing down on Ruyin City with the force of toppling mountains and overturning seas!

Yet as Mohists, they would never bow or yield to any tyrannical power!

Summoning his courage, he stepped forward and, together with Kuli, stood shoulder to shoulder to the left and right of Master Deng.

…

One li below Ruyin City, Centurion Heifu, ordered to serve as the follow-up force and cover the first wave of soldiers seizing the wall, was within these very layers of cloud, steadily advancing with the thousand men under his command.

When he raised his head, he could see, atop the low wall of Ruyin City, among the trembling Chu soldiers and civilians, three Mohists in brown robes standing shoulder to shoulder, smiling in the face of death…

They were like three stubborn salmon amid the towering, surging waves of this great era—when everyone else knew the times had changed and learned to drift with the current, they alone persisted in swimming upstream against it!

(End of Chapter)