Chapter Eleven: The Formation of the Army

“Your Majesty!” Wu Zixu’s voice trembled with tears as he threw himself to the ground. “Your Majesty, the entire state of Wu has schemed tirelessly for years to reach this moment—now that the city of Ying is within sight, how can we talk of giving up so easily?”

Everyone looked on, unable to bear seeing Wu Zixu, his hair now white, weeping bitterly. What had been a brilliant surprise attack had been delayed by days of rain; the mountain roads were slick and difficult, slowing the army’s advance. Was this truly the will of Heaven? How else could Chu experience such persistent rains in the heart of winter?

King Helü remained silent. He understood all too well Wu Zixu’s urgent desire for vengeance, but as the ruler of a nation, he could not risk the fate of Wu for the sake of personal vendetta.

“Master Zixu, the elite forces of Wu are all gathered here. By the time we reach Ying, the Chu army will have taken full defensive measures. At that point, it will be impossible to advance, and retreat would be no less difficult than reaching the heavens.”

“Wu cannot afford such a gamble, Master Zixu. The strength we now possess has been accumulated over generations. We must not let it be destroyed in a single moment.”

Seeing that King Helü was inclined to withdraw, the generals quickly voiced their agreement.

Wu Zixu choked back his words, then suddenly turned to Sun Wu as if grasping a lifeline. “Changqing, you are always resourceful—surely you have a plan, don’t you?”

Sun Wu sighed. To be honest, the continuous rains had left the soldiers exhausted and hungry; even if they pushed onward to Ying, they would not be fit to fight. The essence of a surprise attack is its unpredictability, but now the Chu army would soon learn of their movements—the element of surprise was lost.

Yet Wu Zixu had once recommended and supported him; Sun Wu could not simply stand aside. He replied slowly, “There is a strategy, though it depends on whether Your Majesty is willing to take the risk.”

Nang Wa received news on the road that the Wu army was approaching Ying, and was greatly alarmed, ordering his troops to march swiftly.

After crossing the Han River, and still seeing no sign of the Wu army, he finally breathed a sigh of relief and entered the palace to see King Zhao.

These past days, the city of Ying had been filled with unease; the streets and markets were quiet and deserted. As Nang Wa walked through, he frowned—how could the capital of Chu be so desolate? He immediately ordered all taverns and shops to reopen; no household was permitted to keep its doors closed.

Xiong Zhen praised Nang Wa’s speedy arrival, lauding his loyalty.

Nang Wa, of course, did not mention his earlier retreat. He claimed he had besieged Lord Cai for many days, and was on the verge of victory, but upon receiving the king’s orders, he had rushed back day and night, expressing regret at the missed opportunity.

Xiong Zhen comforted him, assuring that once Wu was repelled, the tiny state of Cai would be easily conquered by a minister of his talents.

Zi Xi watched with cold eyes; though he disliked Nang Wa’s character, he had to admit the swiftness of the return.

The three—king and ministers—agreed to muster their forces and launch a decisive attack to annihilate the Wu army and capture King Helü.

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Nang Wa established a grand camp south of the Han River and convened a council of war.

At this time, Chu still possessed considerable strength: several thousand war chariots and tens of thousands of foot soldiers, making it a dominant power among the feudal states. Yet their vast territory meant their forces were spread thin. Fortunately, with the army returning from Cai, they could amass over a hundred thousand troops near Ying in a short period.

Shen Yinshu proposed that Nang Wa should personally oversee the defense at Ying, blocking the Wu army’s advance, while he would go to the borders of Qin and Jin to summon reinforcements. Together with Dou Xin’s troops stationed at Fangcheng, they would follow the Huai River eastward, severing Wu’s retreat and trapping them in the mountains and forests.

The return of the army greatly pleased Nang Wa, strengthening his trust in Shen Yinshu, and he agreed at once.

Though Chu often fell behind Wu in border conflicts, its deep resources now allowed its war machine to operate at full force, threatening to swallow the Wu elite in a single stroke.

Fangcheng, nestled among mountains and rivers, was the northern gateway to Chu. Successive rulers had built countless fortifications and stone walls here, winding through the peaks.

After Dou Xin withdrew his troops to Fangcheng, he gathered warhorses, increasing his cavalry to five hundred. Meng Di was promoted to deputy general for his battlefield merits, taking command of the cavalry.

Bai Bing, feeling too ashamed to remain with the army, returned to Ying with Nang Wa.

War now seemed distant, even to Dou Xin, though anxiety lingered.

From the open grounds, shouts of encouragement rang out—it was Meng Di dividing the cavalry into two teams for a competition.

Chu’s generals had always held archery contests, though these were elaborate and ceremonial, called the “archery rites.”

Meng Di had only one requirement for his cavalry: after three drumbeats, every rider must shoot all ten feathered arrows from horseback, and the team with the most hits would win.

At first, enthusiasm ran high; everyone shouted and cheered. But after several rounds, faces grew weary and arms heavy. Many struggled to keep their balance, colliding with others or falling from their horses.

The observing generals shook their heads at the sparse arrows on the targets—was this training? Archery was supposed to be a noble pursuit, yet these rough men had made a mess of it.

Fortunately, Meng Di’s prestige was great, and with Dou Xin’s support, no trouble arose.

After the contest, Meng Di did not let the cavalry dismount. Except for necessary relief, all riders had to remain on horseback, even eating with their steeds.

Save for the original scouts, many had never ridden before. After more than ten days, all were noticeably thinner, and Peng Ji and the others complained bitterly.

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By merit, Peng Ji was now eligible to be ennobled, entering the ranks of the aristocracy.

Once he returned to Ying and was formally recognized, he would undergo an examination and, like his father, become a halberd-bearer, standing proudly at the right of the chariot—his lifelong dream.

Yet now he was conflicted. Cavalry training was grueling, but also brought joy. He enjoyed camaraderie with his fellow soldiers.

More importantly, his instincts told him that following Meng Di offered far greater opportunities for military merit than serving as a chariot guard. Torn by these feelings, he complained yet trained diligently.

For others, things were simpler. Except for the original scouts, most cavalrymen were drawn from foot soldiers and servants such as Gan Ying. To learn horsemanship and archery, what was a little hardship?

Thanks to this relentless training, their riding and archery skills improved rapidly. At least, fewer were falling from their mounts due to collisions or excessive force drawing the bow.

Dou Xin privately asked Meng Di why he pushed the training so urgently, causing losses from injuries and exhaustion.

Meng Di could not explain. He simply felt that this calm would not last long; if the cavalry could not be made battle-ready in a short time, they would become a liability in war.

Finally, the remaining three hundred cavalry stood in formation before the camp, awaiting inspection.

Each was blackened and thin, yet their backs were straight, eyes bright with resolve, standing silent and still—only the occasional snort from their horses broke the quiet.

At a command, all mounted their steeds, drew bows with the drumbeats, loosed arrows, and recovered their bows in one swift motion.

The formation was not neat, and many arrows missed their targets.

Yet Meng Di smiled with satisfaction. “Good. They can ride, they can shoot—they are ready to become an army.”