Dawn of the Empire

Chapter 3: The Armored House

When Heheli stepped outside, he saw the able-bodied men from every household pouring out, wielding axes and composite bows as they ran toward the large house in the center of the village. It was the finest house in the village—a spacious compound built with massive timbers, bricks, and tiles—prepared for the Armored Warrior who had yet to arrive. Old Man Guan Nong’s house was also nearby; no one dared to live in that house, so it remained empty. The villagers had originally intended to find Old Man Guan Nong, but when they arrived, they discovered him standing at the entrance to that empty courtyard, flanked by a tall stranger. The man wore a dog-fur hat with the ear flaps pulled down—it looked warm. He wore a gray, knee-length, padded cotton coat, bulging with cotton stuffing; his entire figure resembled a large bear. Hanging from the cowhide belt at his waist were a pistol, a broadsword, and a square leather box—Heheli knew that box contained gunpowder for short-barreled firearms. Such an outfit would be considered a family heirloom in any commoner’s household. The man raised his right hand, clad in a dog-skin glove, to shield his face, so his features remained unclear. Just then, another sharp whistle sounded from his raised right hand. Only then did the villagers realize the whistle had been blown by the stranger. They began whispering among themselves, each forming their own guesses about his identity. “It’s the Lord of the First Rank,” Wukeshan, who had just run over, whispered into Heheli’s ear. “He’s finally here.” The villagers, who had already vaguely guessed the man’s identity, gradually fell silent. They all turned to look at the stranger, as if trying to discern his background from his face. A third whistle sounded. The man lowered his right hand, and the sharp-eyed Wukeshan noticed that it was indeed the bamboo whistle the village had kept all along but had never blown. Everyone finally saw the Pai Jia’s face. He was very young, with only a light fuzz of downy hair at the corners of his mouth and on his chin. His complexion was very fair; in the Sheng Yi tribes, such skin tone would certainly be mocked as effeminate, but no one here dared to laugh, because Han scholars generally looked like this. The villagers knew that scholars were taught that the Di Yi were beasts, not human beings, and that they would not value the lives of commoners and slaves like themselves. If anyone laughed out loud and embarrassed the officer, he would immediately order the execution of a few people to assert his authority—and they wouldn’t even have a chance to cry. The man asked coldly, “Who else is missing?” After three whistle blasts, any militia member who hadn’t arrived would be punished—that was military law. The old man Guan Nong, who had been standing with his back bent beside him, immediately leaped in front of the villagers and shouted, ““Who else is missing? Don’t you know that military law stipulates twenty military canings for anyone who fails to report to the squad leader’s door after three whistle blasts? The squad leader blew the whistle—didn’t you hear it?” He gestured wildly at Heheli, shouting, “Heheli, go tie up the absentees!” Heheli chuckled to himself and stood motionless. What a fool—now that the Village Head had arrived, who was he to speak up? A monkey that’s ruled for too long forgets how to suck up even when a real tiger shows up. Sure enough, Pai Jia, his face icy, kicked Old Man Guan Nong in the butt. The old man let out a cry of “Ouch!” and fell to his knees in front of Heheli. A low chuckle rippled through the crowd—this old man had really made a fool of himself today. Pai Jia tapped Old Guan Nong—who was lying on the ground, gasping for air but too afraid to utter a sound—with the tip of his foot and said, “Get out of the way!” Old Guan Nong wouldn’t dare complain; he crawled to the edge of the crowd on all fours, yet continued to bow and scrape in Pai Jia’s direction with a fawning smile. “Is your name Heheli?” Pai Jia lifted his chin, nodded once at Heheli, and asked. “Yes, my lord, this servant’s name is Heheli.” As he answered, Heheli had already dropped to his knees, his hands pressed against the ground as he crawled before Pai Jia. In truth, he knew that Han military law prohibited kneeling within the camp; strictly speaking, once Pai Jia blew his whistle, they were already inside the camp. But Heheli couldn’t gauge Pai Jia’s temperament, so he had no choice but to follow the Jurchen custom for greeting a master. “Rise.” As expected, Pai Jia did not take offense. He ordered, “Take two men and go find those who haven’t arrived yet. Have them kneel off to the side for now.” “Yes, sir.” Heheli quickly summoned Wukeshan and another burly Tartar man named Batu, then turned to go find them. Once they had gone a good distance, Batu said with some concern, “Lord Pai Jia looks like a scholar. What are we to do?” Heheli glanced back and, seeing that Pai Jia was indeed out of sight, replied, “Don’t worry. This Pai Jia blew his whistle the moment he arrived—he might not be the quiet type after all. Let’s see if he’s brought his family with him. If not, as long as we can persuade him to go out hunting once, we’ll head to those tribes of the wild Di to see if we can snatch a couple of young women for our master. I’ve heard that scholars these days take pleasure in keeping young Di women as concubines. Once our master gets a taste of that, why should we worry about having a hard time in the future?” Wukeshan and Batu both found this reasoning sound. Wukeshan said cheerfully, “No wonder you, Heheli, have been so eager for a lord to arrive and aren’t the least bit afraid of the scholars—it turns out you had a plan all along.” The 8th Jia of Anxi Garrison had a total of only seventy households, seventy-six able-bodied men, and thirty “half-able-bodied men.” According to the *Great Hua Code*, men aged eighteen to forty were classified as able-bodied men and served as the main force for tax collection, conscription, and corvée labor. Those aged fourteen to seventeen and those over forty but under fifty were classified as “half-able-bodied men”—a concept that was essentially meaningful only in frontier regions, as these were the only places that required “half-able-bodied men” to supplement the shortage of able-bodied men. Only three able-bodied men and seven half-able-bodied men were missing. It was unclear whether they hadn’t heard the whistle or had simply been slow to arrive. Heheli and the others dared not show favoritism; once they were found, they were simply made to kneel in front of the neighborhood head’s gate. The group was now assembled. The platoon leader slipped the bamboo whistle back into the pocket of his cotton coat, then pulled out a palm-sized iron plaque engraved with tiny characters. He flashed it before the villagers’ eyes and declared, “My name is Ou Yang. From now on, I am your platoon leader. Rein in your wild ways. If any of you dare fail to arrive within three whistles, don’t blame me for being ruthless.” No one here could read, but everyone knew that the iron plaque symbolized the village head’s authority. With it, commoners were somewhat better off—at the very least, they couldn’t be executed without cause—but the lives of slaves were entirely at the mercy of the village head. “Aye!” “Understood!” Everyone below—whether commoners or slaves—knelt down and acknowledged the order in various languages. Only then did the Armored Officer turn to the old farm manager, who was still bowing and scraping, and say, “Go check the grain reserves at each household. I’m going on a hunting expedition at the end of the month. Twenty men from the village will accompany me; each must prepare ten days’ worth of provisions. Those with insufficient reserves may borrow from me temporarily.” No one had expected that this Chief, who looked like a bookish scholar with a pale complexion, would go hunting as soon as he arrived—but this was exactly what everyone wanted. Overcome with delight, the group of non-Han people began leaping and howling as if they were still in their home tribes. The loudest among them was Heheli. Though he looked rough around the edges, he knew quite a bit about the Han people thanks to his wife. He understood that the Han held scholars in high regard, so having a village chief who was a scholar by background yet also enjoyed hunting was like drawing the best possible lot—it was sheer good fortune. Ou Yang raised his hand to quiet the crowd’s howls. He deeply disliked such bestial cries, but since they were merely expressing their excitement, he felt it inappropriate to forcibly suppress them; he could only resolve in his heart to discipline them later. He glanced at the few men still kneeling there and said to Heheli, the only one whose name he currently knew, “Twenty strokes each for these slave laborers. You and the two men who apprehended them just now will carry out the punishment. The half-laborers will be spared this time, but any future offenses will not be treated lightly!” This was already a very lenient punishment,as those half-grown boys and the old man were often undernourished; another twenty lashes would surely kill them, whereas the few able-bodied men, with their thick skin and tough flesh, could withstand a few blows without harm. Heheli and his men dared not show favoritism; they fetched several thick wooden sticks and mercilessly lashed the backs of the three unlucky men twenty times. The three, however, showed remarkable fortitude, gritting their teeth and not uttering a sound. After enduring the punishment, they even kowtowed to the squad leader before standing up. Ou Yang was truly amazed by the resilience of these “barbarians”; there was certainly a reason why they had caused the Empire so much trouble in the past. He had been in this world for over two years now. Although this world had publications like magazines, Ou Yang had never encountered the genre of science fiction, and online forums and web novels were completely unheard of. To Ou Yang, the vast array of ghost, fox, and monster story picture books seemed far too clichéd. Thus, his only remaining hobby from his previous life was military history; now, he took great pleasure in collecting old books and newspapers, as they contained numerous battle reports from over a decade ago detailing how renowned statesmen and valiant generals had led expeditions into the grasslands to destroy the Tartar Golden Khanate. Ou Yang found nothing strange about a great Central Plains empire—one that possessed firearms, artillery, and even steam engines already in use on ships—conquering the “barbarians” to the four quarters of the world. However, he was baffled by the accounts in the old books and newspapers of the massive casualties these “barbarians” had once inflicted on the modernized Central Plains armies. How on earth had these people managed to repeatedly break through massive formations while facing flintlock muskets and smoothbore cannons? In another world, Ou Yang would have dared to claim he had some understanding of famous battles from both the East and West. In that reality, it was rare for modern armies to have their square formations breached head-on by nomadic barbarians from a semi-feudal, semi-slave society. Occasionally, when a modern army suffered losses of a thousand or so men, it was practically enough to make the backward side proud for a hundred years. Ou Yang’s family was not wealthy, so—both to secure the funds needed to continue his education and to indulge his own modest passion—he traded his pen for a sword after earning the title of Xiucai, enlisting to serve on the frontier amid the astonished gazes of his teachers and classmates. By the way, Ou Yang strongly suspected that predecessors who had traveled through time had already beaten him to this world. Judging solely by the education system, this world implemented a tiered system of upper elementary, high school, and university. The titles of “Xiu Cai,” “Ju Ren,” and “Jin Shi” seemed more like professional designations from his previous life, requiring separate examinations to obtain. Elementary school is compulsory in this country; children of commoners and citizens must attend, though graduation is not guaranteed. To obtain a “diploma,” students must pass the proficiency exam—essentially a policy of “easy entry, strict exit.” Surprisingly, the curriculum placed equal emphasis on literature, history, mathematics, and physical education. After studying in this world for two years, Ou Yang discovered that the mathematical proficiency of a Xiucai was roughly equivalent to that of a second-year middle school student on Earth. Although he had not yet entered high school, he could roughly gauge that the academic level of a Juren would not be lower than that of a high school student in his previous life. Moreover, there were even courses similar to physics and chemistry! In a country still steeped in ancient traditions, this was nothing short of incredible. High school was not part of compulsory education. As a “Xiu Cai,” Ou Yang served on the frontier not only to earn the money and grain needed for tuition—so he wouldn’t have to live as a penniless scholar—but also for another reason: when taking the exams for “Ju Ren” and “Jinshi,” scholars who had served on the frontier received bonus points…