Chapter Twenty-Three: The Whole Clan Seeks Allegiance

The hills behind were covered entirely in bamboo. At a single command, the entire tribe took to the slopes to cut it down. Slender bamboo strips were woven into fish traps, bamboo poles fashioned into casting nets shaped like umbrellas—ingenious fishing implements. No fishing nets? The mountains were full of fine vines; they selected the thinnest, most resilient strands, wove them simply, and made do as best they could.

Indeed, as the saying goes, many hands make light work. With several thousand people laboring together, a great pile of fishing gear was swiftly produced. When countless fish, shrimp, turtles, and crabs were heaped along the lakeshore, the entire Han tribe was in an uproar, every eye gazing at Jing Chuo with reverence.

Jing Chuo, for his part, was both secretly pleased and impatient with the tribe’s slowness. Had this been Jing Family Village, they’d have starved long ago. By the next morning, as fish, shrimp, and shellfish poured ceaselessly from the traps, some began to offer prayers to the fish god.

Creating a fishpond proved difficult—the mountain stone was hard, and no water source could be diverted. Yet most of the tribe lived along the creek. Qiu’er, quick-witted as ever, proposed damming the stream with rocks and reinforcing it with bamboo strips to form ponds of various sizes. For this, Meng Di praised her highly, and she strutted about with pride for days.

Next, it was time to plant the fields. Even with Meng Di’s current prestige, the tribe hesitated at the notion of burying their precious rice grains in the earth. The elders gathered around Lei, whispering their reluctance. Some wondered aloud whether the bird god of Chu was the same as their own.

Lei found it hard to decide, until Han Qu, considered the most knowledgeable in the tribe and accustomed to leading people down the mountain to trade with the Yue, whispered a few words in his ear.

“Very well, we’ll do as you suggest,” Lei declared.

It was nearly time to set out. Just then, Gan Ying reported discovering ore in the mountains. Meng Di knew Gan Ying had been a craftsman before being conscripted, and recalled that, except for Han Qu’s mysterious longsword, the Han tribe made do with stone knives and wooden clubs. She decided to leave Gan Ying behind with Jing Chuo and Ji. The ring-hilted sabers she had used in the army were out of the question, but perhaps they could at least manage to forge a few decent weapons.

When news spread that Meng Di was departing, Lei led the elders to bid her farewell, bringing along a young man who stood quietly behind him.

Lei cast aside his wooden staff, knelt down, and declared with deference:

“Our Han tribe has struggled in these mountains, little different from the aboriginals, with our people often captured and enslaved, suffering endless humiliation. Now, by meeting you, we have been granted a heaven-sent opportunity. The Han tribe wishes to pledge itself to you entirely; please, take us under your protection!”

“Please take us under your protection!” the crowd echoed, all falling to their knees.

This startled Meng Di—she had only meant to extend a helping hand to the impoverished Han, never expecting the entire tribe would offer itself up.

“Is it that you look down on the hill people?” Lei asked loudly, seeing Meng Di instinctively wave her hand.

“It’s not that. Besides, you’re not truly hill people at all,” Meng Di replied, knowing how sensitive and stubborn the Han were on this point.

“Is it because you think us weak? Weak as we may be, we have over a thousand able-bodied men, ready to serve you!”

“To be honest,” Meng Di admitted, “I have no rank, no territory. My role as envoy for Chu may end at any moment. You wish to follow me, but I myself have nowhere to settle.”

“You need not worry, my people may remain here,” Lei replied, beckoning the young man forward. “This is Zhan, steady and reliable. He will lead five hundred of our finest to follow you.” He then had Zhan swear a solemn oath by their ancestors to obey Meng Di in all things.

“Sir,” Lei said again, leading the others in kneeling, “our Han tribe is willing to entrust our fate to you. All of us are ready to die for you, so long as we are not condemned to linger in these mountains, forever driven as outcasts.”

Looking into Lei’s clouded eyes, Meng Di saw pain, defiance, hope, and longing all mingled together. She had never known a single expression could convey so much, so clearly.

Since everything had fallen into place, Meng Di put aside further protest, clasped her hands in acknowledgment, and said sincerely, “With the trust of the chieftain and all of you, I will do my utmost to find the Han tribe a place to call home, so that every one of you may walk the world with dignity!”

Surveying the five hundred sturdy men standing at attention, Meng Di was well satisfied. Though unused to war, they were the tribe’s best hunters—robust, sure-footed in the mountains. With proper training, they could become a formidable force.

Lei insisted that Qiu’er join the entourage, claiming it was improper for Meng Di to be without an attendant. Yet the lively Qiu’er hardly resembled a proper maid.

Accompanying them to the foot of the mountain, Han Qu handed Meng Di the longsword. After Consort Tang’s death, King Yun of Yue, stricken with remorse, had sent the sword as a token. Though Han Qu had accepted it, he could not let go of old grievances, but after more than a decade, those feelings had faded.

“If you should meet my poor nephew, please pass this sword to him,” Han Qu requested.

Once down the mountain, Qiu’er, like a bird set free, refused to stay confined to the carriage and spent the journey pestering Xiao Wu and Xiao Liu to teach her to ride, filling the days with laughter.

As for this less-than-competent maid, Meng Di could only shake her head with a wry smile, ordering the Han to wash the colored juices from their faces. The group quickened their pace toward the capital of Yue.

The capital of Yue was called Kuaiji. When Yu the Great tamed the floods, he had gathered the lords here, rewarded merit, and was buried in this very place.

Kuaiji leaned against Mount Kuaiji, surrounded by water on all sides, its inner rivers crisscrossing the city—a site easily defended and hard to attack. The city gates were heavily guarded; Meng Di’s party was stopped outside the moat. Only when a group hurried out to speak with the attendants did a man step forward, bowing apologetically: “Fan Li, Lesser Minister of the Northern Gate, greets the esteemed envoy. Forgive us for not welcoming you sooner.”

Fan Li? The very Fan Li later revered as the God of Wealth? In her past life, Li Ling, though from a noble family, had few histories in her collection. Besides Goujian, she had heard of few people from Yue, but Fan Li was one.

Meng Di scrutinized the unremarkable, worried-looking man before her—now merely a gatekeeper, not yet the celebrated figure of later years. Perhaps she had grown accustomed to the company of princes and generals, for in truth, Northern Gatekeeper of Kuaiji was a position of great importance.

“Minister Fan, there’s no need for ceremony. May we enter the city?”

Fan Li glanced at the long line behind Meng Di and hesitated. “Are all these your attendants?”

Meng Di looked back—the Han had disguised themselves as personal guards with bamboo bows and arrows, making for a formidable retinue.

“What? Would you have my attendants camp outside the city?”

Fan Li wavered, unable to find a reason to refuse, and finally led them within, hastily sending a report to the palace.

The city felt tense, with few people in the streets, and Fan Li spoke little, escorting the party straight to the guest lodge before taking his leave. The lodge’s rear courtyard was spacious enough to accommodate all the followers.

Before long, a line of soldiers appeared outside the lodge. When questioned, they replied merely that they were under orders to stand guard.