Chapter Twenty-Two: Teaching to Fish

The mountain path was somewhat difficult to traverse, but Hanqu let his daughter ride on his shoulders and strode ahead with ease.

His daughter was named Qiu’er. At this moment, she was gazing at Meng Di with curiosity, occasionally making a silly face before burying her laughter in her father’s back, completely lacking the guarded restraint she’d shown in the carriage.

Hanqu always smiled indulgently and patted his daughter gently. From time to time, a whistle sounded along the way, as if sentries were watching over them from afar.

Seeing the group’s curiosity, Hanqu explained with a laugh that this was how his people communicated signals. He demonstrated a few whistles, some long, some short, and from the distance, other trilling replies echoed back.

As they walked, Hanqu recounted the tribe’s history. Their tribe was called Han. They had originally lived in the north, where snow and ice ruled and the cold was unrelenting.

Countless generations ago, their chieftain had followed Wuyu, the illegitimate son of Shaokang, Emperor of Great Xia, on a long journey to this place, to guard the tomb of their ancestor, the Great Yu.

Over time, Wuyu’s descendants had fallen short of their forebears, and the family had gradually declined. Eventually, they even forgot their duty to guard the Tomb of King Yu, and the Han tribe was driven away.

With nowhere to go, the tribe sometimes fought with the natives of the mountains and forests for territory, sometimes intermingled with them. After so many years, their bloodlines were thoroughly mixed, and it was impossible to tell who was who.

Yet they stubbornly clung to the Han surname, passing down from generation to generation both their longing for their homeland and their ancient mission.

"It’s said the royal family of Yue today are Wuyu’s descendants, and they’ve revived the ancestral sacrifices at King Yu’s tomb. Have you tried reaching out to them?" someone asked.

“We did. They didn’t acknowledge us at all. King Yunshang of Yue treated us as rebellious mountain tribes, brought soldiers to attack us, and abducted our people. My sister Tang was taken to be his consort,” Hanqu said bitterly.

Qiu’er asked softly, “Is that Aunt Tang?”

“Yes. Your aunt was miserable in the Yue palace and passed away not long after. I heard she left behind a child, but I don’t know what became of them.”

Hanqu struck a tree with his fist. “It’s hateful—Yunshang is a formidable warrior with well-guarded halls. I snuck into the palace several times but could never get close. The last time, I was captured, and if it weren’t for your aunt threatening her life, I’d never have made it out.”

Qiu’er hugged her father’s neck obediently, and the group fell silent, the mood subdued.

When they finally reached the tribe, they were greeted with enthusiastic warmth. The tribe was large—according to Hanqu, numbering several thousand—spread across a few mountain peaks.

The chieftain, Lei, Hanqu’s father, came forward with a smile. “Thank you, sir, for saving my granddaughter!”

Meng Di hurriedly returned the courtesy. “Chief, there’s no need for thanks. With the strength of your noble tribe, I’m sure you would have recovered Miss Qiu’er easily. I merely happened to be in the right place at the right time.”

“Qiu’er is mischievous, always sneaking down the mountain. She deserved a hard lesson.” Though the words were stern, his eyes were filled with doting affection.

By now, several bonfires were blazing on the open ground, with all kinds of food laid out. The tribespeople were exuberant, as if celebrating a festival.

Chief Lei invited everyone to sit and brought out his treasured fruit wine. Grain was scarce in the mountains, and this wine was reserved only for rituals or the most honored guests.

It was not just gratitude for saving the chief’s granddaughter that moved them, but the fact that Meng Di and his companions did not regard them as mere mountain barbarians; this was what the Han people valued most.

Host and guest alike enjoyed themselves.

As the atmosphere grew livelier, the young men and women of the tribe began to dance around the fires. Except for Gan Ying, who remained reserved, everyone else joined in merrily.

The fruit wine was mild, but with each person offering a toast, it was difficult not to get tipsy. Meng Di felt a pleasant haze settle over him. Through blurry eyes, he seemed to glimpse a beautiful woman, bright-eyed and with white teeth, her long sleeves swirling in the firelight as she danced, her skirt fluttering like the wings of a bird.

“Bi’er…”

The next day, Chief Lei asked Qiu’er to accompany the guests on a tour. The mountain scenery was beautiful, with dense forests and crisscrossing streams.

They came to a cliff where many Han tribespeople were gathered, praying.

Qiu’er bounced her way through the crowd, closed her eyes reverently before a carving of birds on the cliff, and began murmuring incantations, her devotion evident.

Jing Chuo asked curiously what she was doing.

“Worshipping the Bird God, of course.”

“Why worship the Bird God?”

“Because the Bird God gives us food! In spring, he sends many little birds to help us farm, and in autumn, we harvest rice to eat. Look over there—aren’t there lots of little birds?” Qiu’er looked at him as if he were an idiot.

Jing Chuo scratched his head. His own village lived by fishing and hunting, not farming, but the nearby village had rice paddies, and things didn’t work like this.

Among the cavalry was a man named Jie, a farmer by birth, who couldn’t help but snort with laughter. He immediately attracted a round of hostile glares from the tribespeople.

Jie hurried to Meng Di’s side and whispered, “Sir, in spring you plant rice in the ground, and in autumn you harvest it. It has nothing to do with the birds.”

Meng Di nodded. He had never farmed in his previous life, but he’d seen enough rice fields to know that mighty Han owed its abundance of grain to no Bird God.

He asked Qiu’er to show them the fields where the little birds supposedly farmed. Here and there, in all shapes and sizes, were patches of land. Indeed, flocks of birds chattered and perched there. According to Qiu’er, wherever there were many birds, rice would grow. Unfortunately, the birds seemed to settle wherever they pleased, so the tribespeople had to spend a lot of effort searching for new patches.

Having grasped the situation, Meng Di asked Qiu’er to take them elsewhere, but for the rest of the time, she pouted and sulked, evidently offended that no one believed her story.

He sent word down the mountain for the guards to settle temporarily in a nearby village, then spent three more days surveying the Han tribe’s territory.

The Han people were puzzled—what could possibly be so interesting in these mountain hollows? But they didn’t wish to dampen their guests’ spirits.

Meng Di’s mind gradually formed a plan.

From the very beginning, it was clear the Han people suffered from severe food shortages, living mainly on hunting and wild vegetables. The rice gathered from the “bird fields” was meager and hoarded for emergencies.

Though the mountains held great lakes and many streams, no one seemed to fish. On rare occasions, someone could be seen by the shallows, club in hand, trying to stun a fish—if they managed even one after half a day, the whole tribe would cheer.

Fish farming, needless to say, was unheard of. In Jingjia village, Old Jing had often remarked that fishing was a matter of luck, with some days yielding much, others little. So every family dug a small pond to keep any extra or small fish alive, scooping one out to eat whenever they wished—this was called a fishpond.

Thus, the Han people, for all their rich surroundings, were starving on a mountain of treasure. Jing Chuo, who had followed along, was too carefree to notice such things, simply treating it all as a pleasant outing.

Upon their return, Meng Di called for Chief Lei and the elders, revealing his identity as an envoy of Chu. The Han people had assumed Meng Di was a noble scion traveling for pleasure—never expecting such high status. Their respect grew, for they knew well enough how vast and powerful Chu was.

In their words, Meng Di had already sensed their yearning for life in the lowlands. Yet, branded as mountain tribes, they were trapped in the forests, growing ever more backward and impoverished.

With a light cough, Meng Di proclaimed, “As I passed through this land, I felt the call of the Bird God and the Fish God. They wish me to teach you the ways of fishing and farming, so you too may become as prosperous as the people of Chu.”

Thanks to Zuo She’s teachings, Meng Di no longer believed in spirits or gods, but he understood that only by invoking their names could he act here. If he were to bluntly declare that there was no Bird God, they might have turned on him.

Joy appeared on the Han people’s faces. Chief Lei, leaning on his wooden staff, asked tremulously, “Can we truly live like the people of Chu?”

“Indeed. This man here has been appointed by the Fish God to teach you fishing,” Meng Di replied, pointing to Jing Chuo.

“Me?” Jing Chuo, who had been enjoying himself, was startled when Meng Di singled him out. He quickly puffed out his chest and declared loudly, “Yes, yes! The Fish God has said—we must teach fishing, and teach a great deal of it!”