Dawn of the Empire

Chapter 9: Setting Out

September 15, Year 30 of the Republic Huang Qianzong sent men to escort Takurai back to the 8th Unit. This barbarian had already recruited the dozen or so remaining members of his tribe to serve under Huang Qianzong, so his usefulness had diminished. Since it had been decided that each unit deploying troops would be assigned a guide, it made more sense to return this man directly to Ou Yang. According to the moral standards of the era, since Takurai had gone directly to Ou Yang to sell himself into service, he was considered Ou Yang’s personal slave. Therefore, Huang Qianzong also sent a document certifying Takurai’s status as a slave. However, this slave certificate also noted that Takurai had earned two merits—a reward for recruiting over a dozen able-bodied slaves for Huang Qianzong. Huang Qianzong also promised Takurai that if they actually managed to find those Di people, he would consider awarding Takurai additional merit depending on the circumstances. If Takurai were to become a commoner and Ou Yang refused to release him, Huang Qianzong would use one of his own personal slaves to exchange for him. Takurai was deeply moved by this, but he dared not place too much faith in Huang Qianzong’s promise. No one would risk offending a citizen of the First Rank for a new slave like him; he felt it would be good enough if Huang Qianzong could put in a good word for him when the time came. His future still depended on what he could earn from his official master. Ou Yang tested Takurai’s abilities and found them to be quite good. His archery wasn’t as good as Wukeshan’s, but he ranked second in the village. In hand-to-hand combat, he wasn’t as skilled as Heheli and Batu, but he was stronger than everyone else and could be considered third. All things considered, he was certainly one of the strongest men under Ou Yang’s command—and as a private slave whose entire earnings, along with his very person, were registered under Ou Yang’s name, he was arguably the most trustworthy person in the village for Ou Yang, who had no family of his own. Takurai has even sparked jealousy among the able-bodied male slaves. As the saying goes, “The local overseer is more powerful than the county magistrate”—the private slaves of the elite warriors always receive a larger share of the spoils whenever they go hunting. Moreover, since private slaves aren’t listed on the imperial estate’s ledgers, they’re exempt from logging duties. Although they don’t receive that meager annual ration of grain, they have more free time; just in terms of gathering firewood alone, who knows how much more they can collect. More importantly, whenever Ou Yang borrowed bows and arrows, Takurai was sure to get a share. Whenever he took a set, naturally one fewer villager would be equipped with a warbow and iron arrows. Several slaves whose archery skills hovered around the top ten in the village grew anxious, each fearing that Takurai would take the set that was rightfully theirs. However, these feelings of jealousy had no effect on Ou Yang; he simply had to distribute the weapons according to skill level, and no one dared to question the decision of the Plate Armor. Early October, Year 30 of the Republic Ou Yang led the selected 32 men (including Hu Lanshan, who was in charge of driving the carts, and the newcomer Takurai) back to Anxi Garrison once again. If Ou Yang had been leading a hunting party on his own, he could have set out directly from his village, but this time, the Thousand-Captain had mobilized the men under the pretext of a military campaign—a different matter entirely. Everyone had to assemble in town first before setting out together. As a result, the Anxi Garrison was much livelier than usual at that time. The Thousand-Captain’s garrison in the Anxi Garrison was divided into eight platoons, with each platoon contributing 20 soldiers, plus more than 10 support personnel. Adding the 38 men directly under the Thousand-Captain’s command in the town, as well as the Thousand-Captains and platoon leaders themselves, the total force for this operation numbered 320 men. They were organized into nine squads, each representing their respective villages or towns. Including Ou Yang, only four out of the eight village units were citizens. Furthermore, Ou Yang was the only one who actually held the qualification of a “xiucai” (scholar). Although imperial law stipulated that all citizens were equal, the unwritten rule that scholars were held in higher esteem still held sway in this frontier region. In that sense, Ou Yang was already one of the top three figures in the Anxi Garrison Thousand-Captain Corps. Several platoon leaders came over to exchange pleasantries with Ou Yang. Since they were all colleagues and were about to go off to war together, Ou Yang naturally wouldn’t give anyone the cold shoulder—a gesture that actually earned him considerable goodwill from several of the platoon leaders. Before dawn the next day, each squad lit fires to prepare meals. Huang Qianzong distributed one slaughtered sheep to each squad leader, and the combat troops—who were actually the twenty men selected from each squad and, according to the unwritten rule, counted as combat troops—each received a white flour steamed bun. This feast, rarely seen even during the New Year, sparked waves of cheers. Hamaha hadn’t been officially selected as a conscript; he could only be considered an auxiliary soldier tagging along. Still, he was given two mixed-grain flatbreads, each weighing three liang, and a bowl of mutton soup. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d eaten meat—was that back when his parents were still alive? In Hamaha’s gradually fading memories, his father had been a formidable hunter, and his mother, a beauty renowned far and wide. Every evening, his mother would roast fragrant rabbit meat for him and his younger siblings, and the whole family would gather around the hearth to listen to his father recount his hunting techniques. This dreamlike, happy life was shattered by the Tatars’ westward migration. All the surviving young men and women of his tribe were carried off, while the elderly and children were left behind to fend for themselves—the Tatars, now reduced to the status of homeless dogs, were not even willing to waste time killing these “useless” people, as the Empire’s army was hot on their heels. Perhaps due to the extreme difficulty of maintaining logistics, the imperial pursuit force came to a halt not long after crossing the Pamir Mountains. Along the way, they seized the children from various tribes that the Tatars had abandoned; the Tatars, in the midst of their westward migration, could not afford to care for them, but for the empire, they were a valuable source of slaves. Hamuha and his younger siblings were among them, and miraculously, not a single one was lost. Hamuka didn’t know whether to hate the Tatars or the Han Chinese who had driven them westward. Or perhaps he didn’t dare to hate either of them. When the Tatar Khanate still existed, Hamuha’s tribe had been a target of plunder; now that the Tatar Khanate was gone, they were still enslaved by the Han, yet they continued to refer to themselves without hesitation as “servants,” because most Tatars were skilled with bows and horses and were more favored by the garrison officials than the Di people. No matter where he was, Hamuha had long understood the principle that the strong prey on the weak. The most recent example was that newcomer, Taklai. Perhaps because the Di people had a grudge against him, this barbarian had repeatedly provoked several Di slaves in the village during his few days there; on one occasion, he nearly beat one to death. Pai Jia was furious, but he merely punished Taklai with twenty military canings—simply because Taklai was still useful and, moreover, was his master’s personal slave. Hamaha had long known that Di slaves simply couldn’t afford to cross such a man, so he had endured the several provocations directed at him. If he wanted to stop fearing people like Taklai in the future, he would have to prove himself on this campaign. An elderly Dog Rong half-soldier who hadn’t been selected to join the expedition had once sought him out in secret. This distant relative, who shared some blood ties with Hamuha, had spent an entire night rambling on about the basics of military campaigns. All the Di people in the village now viewed Hamuha—whom Pai Jia had specifically placed in the expeditionary force—as their hope for future social advancement. Hamaha had made up his mind: never mind that the enemy was a group of Di-Qiang with sheep’s horns—even if they were a Quanrong tribe, he would show no mercy. Beep… beep… beep-beep A warrior clad in breastplate blew a bronze trumpet, and everyone immediately assembled in their respective armor units. Imperial military regulations defined the meanings of various sounds: the Paijia were equipped with bamboo whistles, the thousand-man commanders used trumpets, and higher-ranking officers used waist drums and large drums. On the battlefield, a squad leader who misheard the drum signals would be beheaded; for the rank-and-file soldiers, however, it was sufficient to clearly distinguish the squad leader’s commands and the two drum signals for assembly and charge. Huang Qianzong and several squad leaders stood on a makeshift platform. Fully clad in armor and leaning on a genuine steel broadsword, he gazed coldly down at the chaotic ranks below. This time, he had summoned his men under the pretext of a formal military campaign—unlike previous hunting expeditions. Unless a higher-ranking officer issued new orders, he now held absolute authority over the troops. The soldier blowing the trumpet was Huang Qianzong’s most favored eldest son, who was now reduced to serving as a messenger at his side. Fortunately, if they achieved a favorable outcome in this campaign, he would have the opportunity to secure a military rank for his eldest son. Therefore, this campaign was of the utmost importance to Huang Qianzong, and he would not tolerate any trouble from the commoners or slaves below that might hinder his campaign. Besides, the Empire’s military laws were strict; for a Thousand-Captain to execute a few people was no big deal. Hundreds of veteran hunters were intimidated by Huang Qianzong’s stern expression; the noisy crowd gradually quieted down and formed nine small squads organized by village and town. Horses, sleds, and handcarts were neatly arranged behind the formations, tended by the stablehands and cart drivers from each unit who were not deployed to the front lines. At the front of each formation stood a soldier holding a flagpole. Huang Qianzong’s banner was a small square red flag edged in black, while his military standard was a triangular red flag with a black border. Red was the imperial color, and all flags had a red background. Distinguished by their size and border colors, black borders served as the emblem of the garrison troops. The one raising the flag for Ou Yang was Heheli, as he was the only commoner soldier among the eight-man unit. This was also a form of reward for him; Imperial military law stipulated that in the heat of battle, if the flags and drums remained in order, the officers and soldiers in charge of them would each be awarded one merit point. Given the Empire’s current military strength, this merit point was practically a free gift, not to mention that the steel-tipped spear was a precious luxury for Heheli. Perhaps he lacked the eloquence, or perhaps there was simply no need. Huang Qianzong did not deliver any rousing speeches to boost morale; he merely waved his hand forcefully and roared, “Advance!” At that moment, the Di Yi soldiers below erupted in a chorus of shouts: “Charge!” “Charge!” Ou Yang detested this kind of inhuman, ghostly screeching; he had once banned such cries in his own Pai Jia Village. But Huang Qianzong and the other Paijia clearly didn’t mind. Seeing the men in his own unit shouting along wildly, Ou Yang felt that his efforts to guide them toward the path of civilization had failed. He muttered under his breath, “A bunch of barbarians.” To his surprise, a plate-armored soldier from Unit 1 standing nearby overheard him. This soldier, named Liu Chenyong, was considered the second-highest-ranking military officer in Anxi Garrison after Huang Qianzong. Having recently retired from the regular army, he wore a full set of heavy infantry plate armor, with a Medal of Loyalty and Bravery hanging from his chest at all times. His face was rugged and burly; a scar running from his forehead straight down to his jawline distorted the left side of his face, giving him an exceptionally ferocious appearance. Liu Chenyong forced a grim smile and said to Ou Yang, “The Di Yi barbarians are all like that—no different from beasts. But for us warriors, their barbarity is actually a good thing; they make perfect cannon fodder. Captain Ou, please don’t take it to heart.” Liu Pajia spoke loudly enough for everyone on the stage to hear. Song Wenmu, a Pajia from the 7th Unit, retorted, “If you know the Di Yi barbarians are no better than beasts, yet you mingle with them, you’ve truly brought shame upon your own class.” This Song Pai Jia came from a well-to-do family in the interior; it was said his family had produced several jinshi. He himself had studied for several years and constantly regarded himself as a scholar, but had never obtained the xiucai qualification. It was unclear whether he had come to the Western Regions to garrison the border with the hope of earning extra points on his exams. He was the kind of Pai Jia who particularly disliked hunting, and he never treated the Di Yi commoners and slaves under his command with any kindness. Ou Yang certainly did not want the senior officers to clash over a thoughtless remark of his just as they were about to set out on campaign, so he stepped in to smooth things over: “Pai Jia Song is absolutely right, but these Di Yi are beasts kept by the Son of Heaven. Strictly speaking, we are here to tend these beasts on behalf of the Son of Heaven; mingling with them is hardly a disgrace to our dignity.” After all, Ou Yang had already earned the title of Xiu Cai—he was a true scholar—and his words provided a face-saving exit for both sides. Song Wenmu refrained from further subtle jabs and simply bowed his hands, saying, “Brother Ou speaks most wisely. I have learned a lesson.” Liu Chenyong chuckled twice and whispered to Ou Yang, “He claims to disdain associating with beasts, yet he keeps several Di Yi concubines at home to warm his bed. I wonder where his ‘dignity’ lies?” Ou Yang let out a bitter laugh and said nothing in reply. It was surprising that the rivalry between the civil and military branches existed even among this group of low-ranking officials. Below the stage, the various units formed ranks and set off one after another, while the streets were packed with townspeople. Composed mainly of Di Yi slaves and their families, they had come to see off the departing troops. Occasionally, they would whisper among themselves about the fine game previous hunting parties had bagged, breaking into bursts of light-hearted laughter from time to time. Among the people marching in formation along the road, Hamuha clutched tightly a pendant made from half a dog’s fang. It was the tooth of his father—the man who had bravely tried to protect his wife and children with a stone axe as he faced the Tartar cavalry. “Watch over me, Father. I will surely become a warrior like you and raise my younger siblings well!”