Chapter 586: Comrades in Arms

In Guanzhong, in Qian County, south of Mount Liang, lay Zhaoling Village. A nameless stream flowed past the village's southern edge, wound around several great parasol trees at the foot of the mountain beyond, then ran eastward.

On closer examination, this was not really Mount Liang at all, but Mount Jiuzong, also called Mount Jiujun. The village took its name, Zhaoling Village, from the Zhaoling Mausoleum of Emperor Taizong of Tang, which stood here.

Li Xiaofeng, son of Li Hao, Vice Director of the Chancellery and concurrently Minister of Revenue of the Shu Kingdom, and himself a Supervising Secretary, had already arrived in Guanzhong.

Because Li Xiaofeng was in fact traveling in secret to the Zhou capital to make preliminary soundings of Zhou's attitude, he had not brought many attendants or made a showy arrival.

However, this was only Li Xiaofeng's own impression of concealment. In truth, from the moment he left Chengdu, he had been under constant surveillance by the Zhou Brocade Guard.

The reason the Li father and son were so highly valued was, of course, to plant a nail deep within the highest bureaucratic ranks of the Shu Kingdom.

That the Li father and son had been chosen, however, had nothing to do with Zhang Zhao.

Although before his transmigration Zhang Zhao had indeed been rather fond of and attentive to history, even so, it was already good enough that he could remember that Meng Shu had a man who had made a family tradition of writing surrender memorials, and who had been mocked both in his own time and by later generations.

If he could also remember exactly who it was and what his story had been, that would be far too much to expect.

So the choice of Li Hao and his son as the point of entry was actually the result of joint discussion between Zhang Liecheng and Cao Wantong, the helmsman of the Hexi Trading Company.

Because after synthesizing all the available information, the two of them had keenly detected in Li Hao a latent commitment to the ideal of unification.

Thus, after Zhao Erlang, the intelligence centurion in Shu, sent word back, under the orders of Cao Yuanzhong, the Chang'an garrison commander and Governor of Jingzhao, the upkeep and repair of this lonely grave in Qian County began at once.

And by a very fortunate coincidence, this lonely grave had in fact long been under the care of the Qian County magistrate's office.

For in the year when Zhang Zhao first entered Guanzhong to put down the rebellion, the rebels of the Zhangyi Army had been entrenched in Qian County. Though it had not suffered as terribly as Jingzhou, by the time the Hexi Army recovered Qianzhou, thirty or forty percent of the city's residents were gone.

Zhang Zhao therefore ordered that the murdered commoners who had no surviving kin be buried together in a mass grave, and when a site was chosen, it happened to be placed just outside Zhaoling Village.

Later, the nineteen Weizhou volunteer soldiers and civilian laborers who had died in the assault on Qian County were also buried there.

Still later, by the time Zhang Zhao entered Guanzhong again, the graves had gone so long without care that it was no longer possible to tell which were the Weizhou volunteers and which were the common graves of the Qianzhou victims.

In the end, Cao Yuanzhong made the final decision: they would simply all be maintained and venerated together.

So when Li Xiaofeng, after immense effort, finally located the place, he could scarcely believe his eyes.

He had expected to see a desolate village, withered parasol trees, and graves that perhaps did not even have earthen mounds.

But what he actually saw was a village brimming with vitality. Farmers and their wives were cheerful and busy everywhere, and the old folk sat contentedly at the village entrance, pointing and commenting.

What they were pointing and commenting at, however, was not Li Xiaofeng and the other outsiders, but the half-grown boys of the village, who were forming ranks at the village head.

At the very front stood a rather sturdy youth, holding a wooden staff as his weapon and drilling the others with an air of great seriousness.

It really was drilling. Li Xiaofeng observed carefully: the youth, wielding his "cavalry lance," directed the half-grown boys. One moment he had them form a square formation to meet the enemy, shouting "one-two-one" commands in a strange accent and advancing to the rhythm.

The next moment he had them form an arrowhead assault formation, charging and striking fiercely.

After a few steps, the youth let out a sharp "Ding!" from his mouth, and the half-grown boys all halted.

Then he shouted "Bang! Bang!" and the boys advanced as one.

Following the commands, they also shouted in unison: "Woo! Woo! Yulin! Yulin!"

The officer of the Xiangwu Army of the Shu Imperial Guard beside Li Xiaofeng suddenly opened his eyes wide. Drawing a sharp breath, he turned and said to Li Xiaofeng:

"These half-grown boys of ten or so advance and retreat with discipline, understand the signals of gong and drum, and have the heart to form ranks and watch over one another.

If they keep training like this, in a few more years they will be formidable soldiers indeed!"

And that was not all. After the youth had drilled the boys in forming ranks and advancing and retreating, he also tested them in archery.

Though they used only bamboo bows and shot bamboo arrows whittled from bamboo strips, and the accuracy was, limited by the materials, admittedly nothing special.

Yet they actually had proper rewards and punishments. Those who shot well were appointed by the youth as squad leaders, and those who shot poorly were smacked on the backside with bamboo strips.

Those who became that day's squad leaders had their eyes narrowed to slits, looking immensely pleased with themselves.

Those who had been smacked on the backside were flushed red with humiliation, their eyes blazing as if about to shoot fire.

The Chief Officer was utterly shaken. He opened his mouth, wanting to tell Li Xiaofeng beside him that the military discipline of these half-grown boys was already better than that of the ordinary imperial guards of the Shu army.

But on second thought, it seemed too shameful, and he could not bring himself to say it.

After dithering for a long while, he only managed to turn bright red in the face, and in the end all his thousand words turned into a single curse, though it was unclear whether he was cursing himself or someone else.

At the same time, Li Xiaofeng felt something unusual in his heart as well. He had not noticed the discipline or the formations; what shocked him was the strange competitiveness of these children.

What kind of children were these? Playing a game as if it were a real battle.

But then, a strange sense of pride rose in his chest. These children were all his fellow Guanzhong folk!

The group had just reached the village entrance, before they had even seen the parasol trees, when hurried footsteps sounded behind them.

The Chief Officer jumped in fright, thinking the children had overheard his cursing and were coming to make trouble for him.

But the children swarmed past and rushed to the ferry crossing at the village head. Li Xiaofeng and the others exchanged glances and followed to take a look.

After only a few steps, they saw a boat coming from the opposite bank. A white flag was planted on the boat, and on the flag was written a large black character "post." It was a courier arriving.

But unlike the couriers of Shu's post stations, this post boat carried not only letters and such, but also a great many strange and varied objects.

"Li Yinsheng! Is Li Yinsheng here?" Several officials disembarked from the post boat, and the one in the lead began shouting.

Country folk's names were like that: whatever time one was born, add the hour and it made a fine name. Such Yinsheng and Chousheng names were common not only in Guanzhong but also throughout the territory of Meng Shu.

"Here! Here! I'm here!" Li Xiaofeng recognized him: this Li Yinsheng was the very youth who had earlier been using the long staff as a cavalry lance.

"Here, this is the Jiangnan glutinous rice lard cake your father sent you. This horizontal saber is also for you, said to have been found on an officer of the Southern Tang. There are also several strings of cash and two bolts of brocade — you'll need your mother to come carry those."

At these words, Li Yinsheng leaped three feet into the air. He snatched up the horizontal saber, which could pass for a long dagger, and immediately began swinging it about with a whoosh.

Forward grip, reverse grip, thrusting, slashing, upward cuts and sweeping strokes — it was all remarkably methodical.

The old folk around him also cheered him on with beaming faces, while some pointed out corrections to his technique.

After brandishing it a few times, Li Yinsheng turned around and loudly asked the courier, "Sir, did my father fight bravely? How many heads did he take?"

The Chief Officer happened to overhear Li Yinsheng's question and spat contemptuously under his breath. "An unfilial wretch. He doesn't ask whether his father lives or dies, only whether he fought bravely."

The lead courier also smiled broadly, took out a paper edged in red that looked like a victory bulletin, and read aloud:

"Li Dalang of Zhaoling Village, assigned to the Fifth Company of the Third Battalion of the Zhangwu Garrison, at the battle of Mengzhu Marsh fought heroically and routed the rebel army, taking four heads and capturing and killing one Chief Officer of the Southern Tang Longwu Army.

Merit rated as middle formation, two turns of honor, promoted to squad leader in the Zhangwu Garrison, advanced one rank in the official scale, to the junior ninth rank, Chengxin Lang."

When he had finished reading, the lead courier, for the first time, clasped his hands and bowed to a youth who wore no shoes and whose trouser legs were of uneven length.

"Congratulations, young lord. From now on your family is a household of officials. At every season and festival we shall come bearing the Sage's rewards, and you may enter the county school to study the civil and martial arts, stand before officials without kneeling, and keep to the road without yielding."

The post-station chief finished his salute, and the three post riders also saluted with clasped hands and bowed, shouting in unison: "Congratulations, young lord!"

Li Yinsheng was struck by this immense surprise, feeling as if heaven and earth were spinning. His small body trembled slightly, and he even forgot to return the courtesy.

Just then, his mother, Li née Han, arrived. She was riding a thin horse, and leading the thin horse by the reins was the village head of Zhaoling Village.

Li née Han had been full of alarm at first, but when she learned that her husband was now a company commander in the imperial guard and had also received a rank official of the ninth grade, lower class, she wept aloud for joy right there at the ferry crossing. The people around her hurried over and offered congratulations without pause.

The village head, however, was accustomed to such scenes. While comforting her, he chatted with the post riders. He too had only hurried over after hearing that Li Dalang had received an official rank.

According to the law, when a village produced a brave and battle-worthy rank official such as this, the village elders and the village head of that district were also entitled to rewards, and a fine mark would be recorded against their merits.

Before long, Li née Han finally recovered from the immense surprise. She swiftly stuffed a large piece of lard cake into her son Li Yinsheng's mouth, then distributed the lard cake—which had in fact already gone bad—to the children.

The salt, sugar, and tea bestowed by the Sage were right there at the ferry crossing, and a little was given to each household in the village.

After dividing it all up, Li née Han hardened her heart again and cut several feet from that splendid Jiangnan brocade to give to the village women, so they could make handkerchiefs.

Finally, she hoisted the remaining one and a half bolts of brocade onto her back, took her son by the hand, and prepared to run toward the neighboring village.

Her maiden family was in the neighboring village. Her old mother had always looked down on this son-in-law, thinking that Li Dalang had nothing but brute strength—he could wield blade and spear, yet only knew how to farm at home, so poor that even rats wept at the sight of him.

Li née Han was going to carry this one and a half bolts of brocade to make her old mother a cross-collar ruqun dress, and see whether she would still have the nerve to open her mouth and scold anyone.

One after another, the Guanzhong sworn followers from Zhaoling Village who had gone out kept receiving rewards or sending home a little money and goods. In the end, only the third son of the Han family at the end of the village had nothing come back.

In the Han household there remained only an old father with bad legs, an old mother blind in one eye, and two half-grown grandsons.

The eldest son of the Han family had gone to Fengxiang Prefecture to make a living, the second son was an apprentice in Chang'an, and the third son had gone off as a sworn follower.

The old mother of the Han family no longer dared look at the post boat. An ominous intuition hung over everyone's hearts.

Sure enough, one post rider brought out a xiqin—the early form of what later generations would call the erhu—and began to play it, wailing and sobbing.

The other two attendants brought out a black pottery jar, tied around with a red headband.

The old mother of the Han family recognized that headband at a glance. It was the one she had made for Han Sanlang with her one blind eye when he went off to war.

"My son!" The old mother of the Han family let out a heaven-shaking, earth-shattering wail and at once fainted dead away from grief.

The women around her gathered close—some pinched her philtrum, some rubbed her chest.

Amid the mournful sound of the xiqin, the three post riders solemnly stood in a triangular formation. The post-station chief handed the black pottery jar to the old father of the Han family, whose face streamed with tears.

"May I ask, honored official—was my son brave?"

To ask whether his son was brave? This was a matter of the utmost importance, because if he had won merit, then all was certainly well.

But for one who had died, besides dying bravely in battle, there was also the possibility of being executed on the battlefield for disobeying orders, being killed as a deserter, dying of illness, and so on. Therefore it was necessary to ask clearly before the coffin could be sealed and the final judgment passed.

Everyone was watching the post-station chief, waiting to see how he would answer. For there had indeed been deserters—the neighboring township had one, and in the end he was reviled by ten thousand people, and his whole family moved away overnight.

At this moment, even the hand pinching the old mother's philtrum stopped. If Han Sanlang had truly been a coward and a deserter, the one pinching her philtrum resolved to go home and wash her hands with soap pods to rid herself of the bad luck.

The post-station chief understood this, of course. He drew from his bosom a length of silk, densely covered with writing.

"This is a letter of condolence written to you in the Sage's own hand."

The moment they heard it was written by the Sage, it was tantamount to an imperial edict! Everyone at the entire ferry crossing knelt down.

The old father of the Han family also placed Han Sanlang's ash urn on a table, then knelt down.

Li Xiaofeng and the others exchanged glances, then helplessly knelt as well.

But at that moment, the post-station chief pulled the old father of the Han family to his feet. "The Sage has said you need not kneel to listen. Standing is fine."

"Han Sanlang of Zhaoling, a man of Qianzhou in Jingzhao Prefecture. In the first year of Shaoming he joined the army to campaign against the rebels. He fought the enemy with reckless courage, heedless of his own body; blood flowed and floated shields, yet his will never wavered. By the shores of Mengzhu Marsh he slew three of the enemy; upon the walls of Tianchang he was first to ascend.

Alas, Heaven did not favor him. He suffered five wounds, and neither medicine nor stone could heal him. He perished within the city of Tianchang, in the prime of life at nineteen. The eulogy reads: 'Brave!'

Alas! We have lost a loyal and courageous minister, and you have lost a filial and beloved son. We share the same grief.

Old sir, restrain your sorrow, and do not let grief consume you. Sanlang's name is inscribed in the register of the valiant, and later generations may look upon it with reverence.

We bestow twenty thousand cash in consolation, to provide for you and your wife in old age. If you can adopt a son to continue his line, We shall support him."

It was somewhat bookish, and most of the villagers did not fully understand it—but that was precisely the intended effect.

And Zhang Zhao had written two hundred such condolence letters in total—an honor reserved only for those true warriors.

Han Sanlang, for example, had been the first to scale the walls of Tianchang. Had he not died in battle, he would have been one more warrior among the ranks.

At this point the village head hurried over, reached out with one hand to clasp the old father's hand, and said:

"The Sage has granted twenty thousand cash for you and your wife's old-age support. If you can adopt a grandson under Sanlang's name, then each month, by presenting this silk at the county office, you may receive twenty cash in child-rearing allowance. The Sage will provide for the child until he reaches eighteen. If the child proves capable in both civil and martial pursuits, he may also go to school."

The old father of the Han family wept aloud a few more times, then pulled the younger grandson before the post-station chief and the village head.

"The second son has only one child; the eldest has three. Let one be adopted under Sanlang's name."

The village head and the post-station chief exchanged a glance and immediately began processing the adoption paperwork and certification.

The half-grown child held the ash urn somewhat dazedly. He did not yet know that his fate, from this moment on, had begun to change.

And the woman who had been pinching the old mother's philtrum, upon hearing that Han Sanlang was a warrior for whom even the Sage had personally written a condolence letter, and that the consolation money alone was twenty strings of cash, drew a deep breath and pinched down hard.

The old mother of the Han family jerked in pain, her throat rolled, and she slowly came to.

At that moment, the village head's son arrived driving a donkey cart carrying a coffin. The coffin was lacquered black—clearly top-quality goods—and the old people around watched with eyes shining with envy.

In those days, when an ordinary person died, being able to make a coffin from a few thin planks was already good enough. A coffin costing several thousand cash like this one was simply beyond their means.

"This was prepared for my own use after a hundred years. But Han Sanlang is a warrior of the Sage, so it is only right that he use it first.

All the able-bodied men and boys of the village, come lend a hand. Women and children, go set up the mourning hall and prepare the food.

Erlang, go hire a drum and music troupe. This is a great event for our Zhaoling Village, and it must be done with full honor and splendor!"

When the villagers heard this, they answered with a roar of assent. The village head then spread a square of hemp cloth on the ground, and everyone threw things into it.

A few copper coins, several feet of white cloth. Li née Han also hardened her heart, and from the half bolt of brocade that remained, she cut off another three feet or so and put it in.

The crowd publicly appointed the village head to manage the funds. Then the fishermen went to find fresh fish, those with sheep slaughtered them, and households with white flour brought out white flour. The whole village was enveloped in an atmosphere of grief and pride.

The Shu Army Chief Commander who had come with Li Xiaofeng stood stunned for a long while, and finally stopped making sarcastic remarks. He looked at Li Xiaofeng, his eyes reddening, and asked: "If I died fighting in battle, would the official household give me such an honor?"

Li Xiaofeng did not know how to answer, but his expression already gave the answer.

To make the Meng official's son — who grew up with a silver spoon in his mouth and doesn't even know what the outside world is like — feel such empathy with the people below.

Absolutely impossible!

At this thought, Li Xiaofeng cupped his hands and said, "Village chief, we are traveling merchants from Shu. I play the xiqin and the suona, and this young lord is skilled at drumming. If you do not mind, we would like to lend a hand."

Two days later was the day of Han Sanlang's funeral procession, and Zhang Xiaobao happened to arrive here just then.

His company had grown larger and larger, now numbering over thirty men in all.

These men all had family members who were either ill, elderly, or still too young to endure a long journey, so they had not been able to go to the Eastern Capital. They had now requested long leave and returned home for a visit.

They happened to arrive just at the hour of Han Sanlang's funeral procession. Without Zhang Xiaobao making any arrangements, the thirty-odd men immediately donned their armor and took up swords and spears, preparing to follow the funeral procession slowly up the mountain to see Han Sanlang off on the way to his grave.

None of them looked down on Han Sanlang for being merely a sworn follower from Guanzhong, far beneath their own status as personal army and imperial guard soldiers. Every one of them grieved at the loss of a brave comrade.

Old Father Han and Han Dalang and Han Erlang had also returned. Seeing more than twenty armored rank-holding officers come to see their younger brother off, they were moved beyond words.

They brought the boy who had been adopted into Han Sanlang's line, and three generations, grandfather and grandsons, knelt before the coffin, kowtowing one by one to everyone in thanks.

As the sky began to lighten, with a single call of "Lift!", drums and music sounded, and weeping rose in a chorus.

But then from the funeral procession rose the loud singing of "How Can It Be Said You Have No Robe?"

Amid the shouts of "Let us sharpen our spears and lances," the able-bodied men of the whole village — over a hundred of them — lifted Han Sanlang's coffin and bore it toward that cluster of great parasol trees.

(End of Chapter)

Related