Chapter 882: The Martial Spirit of Han Sons

In Guanzhong, in Qian County, several hundred men were battling across the fields with bamboo poles.

This was no disorderly brawl — they fought in formation with a high degree of organization.

The sturdy men in the front rank held bamboo poles in neat horizontal lines and struck at one another, while the shorter ones carried bamboo bows and kept loosing arrows made of bamboo strips into the sky.

Drums coordinated every advance and retreat; the men chanted work calls, moving forward and back as one, even striking at nearly the same rhythm.

The fight quickly grew extraordinarily fierce. The young men refused to back down even when their heads were split and bleeding, for this concerned not only their personal standing but also their position within the clan.

Whoever showed cowardice on such a battlefield was essentially finished — at ancestral sacrifices he would not even be permitted to enter the clan hall, his sisters would fail to marry into good families, and he himself would never take a good wife.

More importantly, these people could only survive by banding together as clans. Under the brutal social laws of the tenth century, whichever clan gained a reputation for being easy to bully and weak would immediately be oppressed by everyone.

Even the officials would come to squeeze such a soft persimmon. The runners would point a finger: this year the harshest corvée labor falls to the X family.

Thus on such a battlefield there was simply no room to retreat — only to fight and strive with one heart.

This state of affairs had formed the martial spirit of the Han lands ever since the Qin and Han, the very gene by which the Han armies of Qin, Han, Sui, and Tang could march beyond the frontier, face enemies several times their number, and still fight tenaciously.

For generation after generation of Han sons had been tempered from childhood in just this sort of low-intensity combat.

From an early age they knew what cowardice in a fight would bring upon themselves, their families, and even their clans.

Correspondingly, a fierce man who was skilled in bow and horse, wielded spear and staff, and dared to beat and kill, held a standing in the surrounding villages unimaginable to later ages.

That was why, back at Yanhe Fort, old Blind Man had staked his life to leave his descendants the status of a Long March Brave.

Of course, when such things became common, it easily produced a landscape full of local strongmen. The later a dynasty's period, the more it weakened the court's control over the localities.

Therefore after the Song, as centralization gradually strengthened, this village spirit began to be suppressed until it was whittled down to almost nothing.

The men of high standing in the villages changed from fierce men skilled in bow and horse and wielding spear and staff into bookish scholars reciting "thus and so."

This is truly a double-edged sword!

A martial spirit in the villages has its drawbacks, because it weakens the court's control — for example, at the end of the Han and the end of the present Tang, every region was under armed separatist rule, with arrogant and domineering warriors and endless rebellions.

But the advantage is that even in the chaos of the late Han, the warriors of the Central Plains could still easily crush the surrounding barbarians.

Even after the Five Barbarians ravaged China, the Han strongmen of the north still found a way to survive, and the Han warriors headed by the ancestors of the Li Tang imperial house were able to rise again.

At the same time, the Song and Ming dynasties, which suppressed village martial spirit and regarded strongmen as floods and savage beasts to be eliminated on sight, also had their good side.

High centralization made the whole realm more like a single whole, vitalized the economy of all under heaven, linked every direction, greatly raised the sense of common identity, and — when no powerful foreign enemy appeared — made the overall political situation more stable.

But the drawbacks were equally obvious: the Song and Ming dynasties each produced the catastrophe of losing the realm, plunging the nation into an abyss.

Whether it is good or bad is truly hard to judge.

On the hillside the battle continued. The Li and Wei families here had nursed grievances for years over irrigation and such matters; the slightest friction would trigger a great clan brawl that gave the officials endless headaches.

In truth, Old Father Wei watching from afar had an even worse headache. Gazing at his sons shouting and fighting fiercely in the distance, he closed his eyes in anguish.

Too many sons! Too many sons!

Old Father Wei was full of vigor and had fathered seven sons in all, every one of them dragon-spirited and tiger-fierce. All had served in the Inspection Office, served as rotating sworn followers, and were regulars of the spear-and-staff society and the archery society.

But apart from the eldest and the third, the other five sons neither understood nor cared to farm.

The court had allotted perpetual-holding fields and per-capita fields, but these sons of his disdained farming as beneath them and basically went through the motions a few times and left it at that.

This infuriated Old Father Wei so much that he and the eldest and third sons had to huff and puff, nearly working themselves to death, to plant their perpetual-holding fields.

The per-capita fields they truly could not plant could only be rented out. But now no one much lacked land, and these were mostly medium- and low-grade per-capita fields, so they could not fetch a good rent — only slightly better than leaving them fallow.

"All of them are stuffed full and have nothing better to do." Having watched to the end, Old Father Wei delivered his verdict.

That verdict was correct, because according to the course of history, Guanzhong, Hexi, and Longyou were beginning to decline step by step in this timeline.

The great cause was naturally the gradual cooling of the climate and the southward shift of the rainfall line. Guanzhong and the three lands of He-Long, once rich places with ample rainfall in the Sui and Tang, began turning into the semi-arid northwest.

Of course, Guanzhong's situation was somewhat better than the He-Long region, but only by so much. The overall climate and grain yields were steadily declining.

At the same time, due to over-exploitation, the forested area shrank drastically, and all manner of environmental problems kept emerging.

Even the most fertile fields, after a few natural and man-made disasters, would turn into medium or even low-grade fields. Once the rainfall was gone, no matter how good your irrigation works, they could do little.

But Zhang Zhao's move of planting corn, sweet potatoes, orange melons, and the like first in He-Long had inadvertently given these three lands a powerful transfusion.

One could say it pushed the per-mu yields of these three lands back to — even beyond — the yields of the High Tang.

This was the concrete reason behind Old Father Wei's "stuffed full and nothing better to do." Guanzhong, adjacent to He-Long, had after three years taken on a large share of the expanded planting range of the new crops.

The surge in yields meant that a household like Old Father Wei's, which did not even properly farm its per-capita fields, could live quite well on its perpetual-holding fields of over thirty mu per person.

Seven sons — that was seven insatiable gluttonous maws! In a single day they could clang-clang down a dozen or twenty jin of corn buns alone.

But with the higher yields of the new crops, thirty-odd mu per person not only let them eat their fill, it also let the five more gifted of the seven sons go off to practice spear and staff.

One must understand that martial training, even the most elementary, requires a large intake of protein.

And once per-mu yields rose, the medium- and low-grade fields and irrigation works that people had previously thought little of instantly multiplied a hundredfold in value.

When an acre of land, carefully tended, produced only one or two hundred jin, that land was not worth fighting over.

But when the same land, farmed with a little care, could produce four or five hundred jin, it was worth splitting heads and shedding blood over.

On the "battlefield," the Wei brothers fought ever more fiercely — perhaps the bloodline of their famed ancestor, the great general Wei Gao, was reawakening in them.

The five Wei brothers, useless at farming, were all powerfully built. Though of peasant stock, they had learned to ride by borrowing other families' warhorses, and their horsemanship was quite good; their spear-and-staff and archery skills were outstanding.

Under their leadership, the Li family was beaten back step by step by the Wei family, shrieking in pain, on the verge of collapse.

Just then, a gong sounded from the river bend in the distance. A great banner of the Xinyang Inspection Office and twenty or thirty inspection soldiers with spears and sabers appeared before the eyes of the able-bodied men of the Wei and Li families.

Disaster! If they were caught now, they might well be sent to repair the river dikes — work that could work a man to death.

In an instant, the young men of the two families who had just been brawling scattered like birds and beasts and ran for their lives!

"Hahahaha." The inspector of the Xinyang Inspection Office laughed loudly and said to a man beside him who looked like a palace attendant:

"Look, Master Song. I told you that when it comes to the fierceness of Qian County's people, if our Xinyang Inspection Office claims second place, no one dares claim first."

"Good, good, good!" Master Song's eyes shone as he said "good" three times in a row. Now that the Sage had ordered the three Great Kings to take up their fiefs in Hezhong, it was precisely such fierce and brave warriors that were needed to pacify the barbarians.

With that, Master Song pointed at the young men of the Wei and Li families withdrawing rapidly like a startled herd of cattle and said: "Who knows — among these men, a great many lords and regional rulers may yet emerge."

"May Master Song's auspicious words come true!" The inspector edged a little closer. "Let me tell you, sir — I too have a brother-in-law and a nephew who know only how to wield spear and staff and do no productive work."

But he was skilled in archery and horsemanship, could wield spear and staff, and his family had long since prepared armor and a warhorse. If the master could recommend him to one of the Great Kings, he would be endlessly grateful, and there would be another generous reward besides."

Master Song smiled politely, rejected the folded banknote in the patrol officer's hand without even glancing at it, then looked at him seriously and said:

"I can help with the recommendation, but the man must first come before me for inspection. Anyone with real ability will absolutely rise to glory."

What a joke — though Master Song was a eunuch, he was a military eunuch, and one who was about to accompany the Great King of Anguo, Zhang Xianyu, to Hezhong.

He could not let any crooked melons and split dates slip in — if everyone ended up dead together in Hezhong, that would be a fine sight.

Old Father Wei sat ramrod-straight at the head of the dinner table while his old wife and eldest daughter-in-law brought the dishes out.

The staple was a few white-flour steamed buns. It was the busy farming season now, and this was high-intensity physical labor, so these were for the eldest and third sons, to build them up.

The rest was almost all cornmeal buns — big, sweet, and fragrant, and apart from being a bit throat-catching, they were also a perfect staple, accompanied by a pot of millet porridge with diced sweet potato added.

The main dish was a plate of tomato scrambled eggs. Old Father Wei loved this dish — sour and sweet with a touch of savory saltiness, and best of all there was plenty of sauce, which made it the ultimate delicacy for dipping cornmeal buns.

The rest was a big pot of stewed squash with a little salt added — the taste was passable, and there was enough to fill every belly.

Finally there was a small dish of peanuts pickled in vinegar, Old Father Wei's exclusive privilege as head of the family. He liked to use those few peanuts to accompany a sip of wine — it could be counted as the sole enjoyment of this old farmer who had once taken part in the campaign to destroy Shu as a conscripted laborer.

But before Old Father Wei could properly enjoy himself, the door was shoved open with a bang, and his five sons, each built like a bullock, came storming in with a rush.

The five brothers were badly frightened, terrified they would be seized to work on the river dikes. They came in to find the food already laid out, and having fought for half the day, they were ravenous. Five pairs of green-glinting eyes fixed on Old Father Wei, waiting for the old father to permit them to start eating.

Old Father Wei carefully moved his dish of vinegar-pickled peanuts in front of himself, stuffed the white-flour buns into the hands of the eldest and third sons, then nodded.

The eldest had just taken his white-flour bun and was carefully breaking off a large piece under the table to slip to his wife, and another large piece for his three-year-old son — in that quiet moment, the family of three, all secrecy and mystery, was filled with sweetness.

Then — clang, clatter — there came a sound like beating war drums, and the bowls, plates, and dishes on the table were struck into a jangling clatter.

Hands like countless afterimages thrust and parried through the air; plates spun and whirled back and forth across the table, never quite touching down completely.

At last, when the spinning plates landed and were no longer struck into clatter, the ten-odd jin of cornmeal-steamed buns had nearly bottomed out, the big pot of stewed squash was cleaner than if a dog had licked it, and the sweet potato porridge was so clear you could see your reflection in it.

Apart from the tomato scrambled eggs, which they had not dared to devour too recklessly, everything else had been successfully wiped out — startling the three-year-old nephew into staring wide-eyed at his uncles, his eyes like bronze bells.

Of course, on ordinary days they would not dare to eat with such abandon. Our Great Zhou rules the realm by loyalty and filial piety, and the old father's authority in the household was still very formidable.

The reason they dared to be so unrestrained now was that the five Wei brothers were afraid of being seized to work on the river dikes, and after this meal they planned to go hide at their maternal uncle's house in the neighboring county for ten days or half a month.

Old Father Wei still doted on his sons. Although their refusal to engage in productive work greatly displeased him, when he saw his fourth son staring fixedly at the vinegar-pickled peanuts in his hand, Old Father Wei quickly pushed a few over to his grandson, then savored the vinegar taste himself and handed the dish to his fourth son.

Then the fourth and fifth sons, still not full, each picked up another cornmeal bun and happily began sweeping up the remains, dipping them in the vinegar sauce.

"Steam two more bags of buns for them, and pack some pickled vegetables," Old Father Wei instructed the eldest daughter-in-law, then fumbled about on his person for a good while before finally producing a pouch containing some copper coins.

He intended to give them to his sons so they could buy some cakes on the road to visit their maternal grandfather and uncle — that way they would have a proper excuse.

In the silent air, the door was suddenly shoved open again with a bang, and the entire Wei family jumped in fright.

As the door opened, wave after wave of gong sounds came from outside, as if the world had once again connected itself to them.

The person who entered was Elder Zhang, the village elder of this township, wearing silk clothes that on ordinary days he would not even let anyone look at.

These had been awarded by the authorities after Elder Zhang led the township to win distinction in tax payment the previous year. In Zhangzhou, ordinary farming households were not permitted to wear silk clothing.

The moment Elder Zhang saw the five Wei brothers — tall and brawny, broad-shouldered and thick-waisted, faces full of fierce flesh — his face broke into a delighted grin, as if he were looking at five great silver ingots.

"Wei San! Great joy, great joy! The Sage's second, fifth, and tenth sons — the three Great Kings — are going to Hezhong to establish their administrations, and they are conscripting brave men of our Qian County to follow the kings on campaign! Your family's Five Wei Tigers — your chance to win merit and build a career has come!"

"Ah!"

Old Father Wei shot to his feet. He opened his mouth, instinctively wanting to refuse. These were sons he had raised through twenty years of bitter struggle — to send them ten thousand li away all at once, who could bear it?

But the word "no" simply would not come out of Old Father Wei's mouth.

Because he knew very well: without the Sage, he would have died long ago in some soldier's uprising or another. Without the Great Zhou, even if he, Wei San, had not died in the chaos of war, he would likely have starved to death in the great Qian County flood more than twenty years ago.

Without the Sage, there would be no corn, no sweet potatoes, no tomatoes and peanuts that he loved best — none of the good days they had now.

So even with Old Father Wei's stubbornness and reluctance, upon hearing the Sage's conscription, for all his unwillingness he could not utter that word "no."

The room was utterly silent, but a sudden glint of light flashed through the eyes of the Wei family's eldest daughter-in-law — though she quickly caught herself and lowered her head sharply.

The five younger brothers at home did no productive work, practicing spear and staff every day, and what was worse, they ate enormously — she could not finish in a whole day what one brother ate in a single meal.

If they went off on campaign with the kings, their permanently allotted fields would not be taken back, but would still be farmed by their closest kin.

With five fewer mouths to feed, things would immediately become far, far more comfortable. Perhaps they could even save enough money to hire a famous teacher for her eldest boy to study letters and martial arts, then enter the county school, and in the future rise to glory.

The third Wei brother shot a quick glance at his eldest sister-in-law, then shifted his gaze away with some unease.

By law, when a brave and able-bodied man went off on campaign with the kings, the family immediately received a settling-in allowance — not much, only about three to five strings of cash per person.

But he had five brothers! That came to several dozen strings in one go.

The third Wei brother, nineteen years old and still unmarried, was unwed precisely because the family had too many brothers and too little money. But with this money, he could immediately marry a wife as beautiful and virtuous as his sister-in-law.

"Father, your son wants to go. Your son has practiced martial arts for over ten years — bow, horse, spear, and staff, he can use them all. Your son does not want to farm. Your son wants to become an official!" the fourth Wei brother said in a deep voice.

"Father, when your son wins a title in Hezhong, he will buy two field-working black slaves to plow for our family, so that Father and the elder brothers won't have to work so hard," the fifth Wei brother added.

Old Father Wei, grown shrewd with age, had taken in every reaction in the room, and he understood in his heart.

The eldest and third sons, faces to the yellow earth and backs to the sky, had supported the five brothers for all these years — they had already done well enough. Now the time had come.

Amid the sobbing of his old wife and Elder Zhang's delighted congratulations, Old Father Wei slowly nodded. In that instant, he even felt a faint sense of relief.

The so-called Buwayhid usurper-chief Adud al-Dawla's encroachment on Samanid Persian territory could be said to be true, and could also be said to be false.

It was true because in recent years the Buwayhid dynasty had been constantly trying to digest the Khorasan region that originally belonged to Samanid Persia, with both sides seesawing back and forth in Khorasan.

It was false because the intensity of this seesawing, after nearly ten years, had already become far less fierce, and the Buwayhid dynasty had not launched any large-scale military operations recently.

So this western campaign of the three kings was actually because the opportunity to annex Samanid Persia had arrived. Zhang Xianyu and the others were going west precisely to swallow Samanid Persia completely.

In these nine years, Guo Zhou'er had done very well. Using the advantage of her status, she had successfully brought the Six Laws Sect into Anxi City, and in terms of followers it could now stand toe-to-toe with the Tianfang faith.

But behind this great expansion lay ever more intense conflict.

Stirring up the Samanid Persians' hatred of the Arabs was a double-edged sword, because while it made the Persians hate the Arabs, it also made them loathe the Han people, who were outsiders just the same.

The seesawing of these years had basically been a tug-of-war between Arabs allying with Persians to attack the Han, and Han allying with Persians to attack the Arabs.

And now, the matter had reached the time when it ought to be brought to an end.

Because the Persians and Sogdians who could be pulled to the Han side had basically all been pulled over already; those who could not be pulled over would be hard to pull over even in another ten years.

At the same time, an earth-shattering event had also occurred in Hezhong.

That was the death, last year, of Sage Zhang's loyal servant, the anchor of Hezhong's troika, Governor-General of Ningyuan, posthumously enfeoffed as Prince of Dunhuang and given the posthumous name Loyal and Steadfast — old Zhang Zhong — who passed away from illness at the age of eighty-one.

The death of old Zhang Zhong brought great changes to the balance of power in Hezhong.

The contradictions between the Great King of Zheng, Bai Congxin, and Duke of Dinghai, Lu Zhen — who had already been governing their fiefs in practice for more than ten years — on one side, and the Great King of Jin, Li Congde, and Guo Zhou'er on the other, gradually surfaced.

This western expedition of the three kings had two purposes: first, to let their sons mourn old Zhang Zhong; second, to send Zhang Xianyu — the Great King of Anguo, whom Zhang Zhao had painstakingly cultivated for twenty years and who already possessed the qualities of a great ruler of his generation — to Hezhong, to become the leader of the Han kings and factions there.

To avoid infighting among their own people, and to direct their strength further west, thereby laying a foundation for the future.

(End of Chapter)

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