Chapter Twenty-Eight: The Fief

Where had Tan Zhi gone in the end? Gou Jian and Fan Li both harbored their suspicions, yet with tacit understanding, neither mentioned it again.

Only Meng Di and his most trusted follower knew the truth.

That day, Han Zhan had said, “There’s a hidden passage behind the royal mausoleum of Yu.”

Years ago, the Han clan had guarded the royal mausoleum. For reasons unknown, they had secretly dug an underground passage. With the passage of time, Han Zhan had only heard the elders casually mention it, and even he did not know its exact location—only that it bore a mark unique to the Han clan.

So Meng Di sent his most trusted man up the mountain to search for it. Only when the sacrificial rites began did he receive Han Zhan’s signal, his heart finally at ease. At first, he had merely wanted to see if he might rid himself of Tan Zhi by seizing the opportunity, never expecting such a flawless result.

As for what exactly had happened to Tan Zhi, Han Zhan did not say, and Meng Di did not ask. The passage was now sealed forever, and the truth would be buried in history.

“How should I reward Brother Meng?” Gou Jian sat in the depths of the palace, his fingers lightly tracing the jeweled sword Meng Di had presented.

After several days of chaos, the court of Yue had swiftly stabilized, bolstered by the strong support acknowledged by King Yu. Fan Li had become the greatest hero, and now knelt before Gou Jian. He had some knowledge of the Han clan—they had long been considered part of the mountain tribes by the court. Even when Yunchang, moved by Consort Tang, had later ordered that they should not be hunted down, it was not something to be made public for now.

Gou Jian had no objection. These distant relatives whom he had never met could hardly evoke any sense of kinship. Besides, the term “mountain tribes” left him feeling somewhat humiliated. Since childhood, he had taken pride in his descent from the bloodline of Yu the Great—no matter how dire his exile.

“I wish to grant Brother Meng a fief. What do you think of that?”

“Your Majesty, Lord Meng is an envoy from Chu. How could he be granted land in Yue?”

“Xiao Wu and Xiao Liu said that Brother Meng cannot return to Chu.”

Fan Li rose to his feet and bowed solemnly. “Your Majesty, you are no longer the foot-soldier called Li, nor the second prince Gou Jian. You are now the King of Yue. Whatever happened in the past, you are the king now, and they are your subjects.”

“Then I can never call him Brother Meng again?” Gou Jian sighed in quiet regret.

In truth, ever since his ascension, this sense of distance had only grown more pronounced. He understood, yet found it hard to let go.

Seeing Gou Jian’s determination to grant land, Fan Li reconsidered and proposed an alternative: to grant Meng Di the mountain forests where the Han clan resided. This would both satisfy Gou Jian and show favor to the Han clan.

There was one further reason Fan Li did not voice: that region, at the western border of Yue near Chu, was mountainous and remote, its governance merely nominal—a burden to the kingdom. This was the perfect chance to be rid of it.

News of the grant spread through the court, causing an uproar. To be granted a fief was to be raised in rank—at the very least, to the level of a grandee. By what right should this man from Chu, who had merely stood in line at a ceremony and spoken a few words, receive what the court’s ministers could never hope for in a lifetime?

No one valued this wild, barbarous land. It was said that not even one’s own guards could be fed there, and who knew when the mountain tribes might sweep in and strip it bare. Still, that did not stop the ministers from uniting to pressure Gou Jian.

Gou Jian had not yet learned how to deal with his ministers. An exiled prince suddenly made king, he was not yet capable of iron-willed decisions. But on this point, he was stubborn.

In the deadlock, Fan Li suggested a compromise: grant the land but not the title. This irregular arrangement surprisingly won unanimous approval.

In a fit of contrariness, Gou Jian swept his hand over the map of mountains and rivers, and encircled over a hundred li west of Gumei.

Meng Di was well pleased. At first, he had only acted out of camaraderie, never expecting so much. Now that Gou Jian was unexpectedly King of Yue, there was no need to be coy—he accepted the gift with gratitude.

At last, he had a place to call his own. Did it matter if it was barren? In his former life, the Han armies had marched into the Gobi and the desert—what hardship could this be?

The fief was named Han. None knew what deep sentiment Meng Di had poured into that name; they only found it odd, for the Han River did not flow there.

Brother Meng, this is all I can do for you, Gou Jian thought quietly as he watched Meng Di’s party depart through the city gate.

On the journey, Meng Di reflected on all that had passed.

Fan Li was appointed Grand General, leading tens of thousands of soldiers to the Wu-Yue front. Thus, Meng Di’s mission to Yue was complete. Now it was time to consider the future.

In his previous life, the Han armies had always faced their enemies head-on, relying on overwhelming strength to sweep aside all opposition. In this world, however, he found himself forced again and again to take unorthodox paths, even resorting to tricks and feints. It did not suit him.

In the end, the problem was weakness. In this chaotic era, strength remained the only true authority.

Gumei was a mountain fortress. Upon hearing of Meng Di’s arrival, the city’s commander packed his belongings at once and returned to Kuaiji with his servants.

At last, he could leave. The commander longed to laugh up at the sky. After years spent here, he had arrived with heavily-laden wagons, and now could not even fill one for the return journey. If he stayed any longer, he’d have to sell his wagons to survive.

The Han clan had received word and awaited him outside the city. With the commander and his men gone, the Han clan took up their new role as the lord’s retainers, moving about the city openly at last.

“My lord!” Lei knelt before Meng Di, his voice choking with emotion. In just over a month, Meng Di had brought the Han clan astonishing fortune.

“Chief Han Lei, you are now relatives of the King of Yue. Do you wish to seek an official post at court?”

“My lord, you jest. Now that we have pledged allegiance, we will follow your every command,” replied Lei, shrewd and weathered with age, well aware that claiming kinship was not so simple.

Along the way, Meng Di had learned much. The surrounding mountains and valleys were home to many Yue tribes, a constant headache for the court. Only the area around Gumei could be truly controlled.

Like the Han clan, these tribes lived by hunting and gathering, and when times grew hard, they would descend in bands to raid the lowlands. If the Yue army pursued them, they melted away into the forests, vanishing without a trace. Over time, the court gave up, content simply to hold Gumei.

But to Meng Di, these tribes were a precious resource.

To subdue them, one must first conquer their hearts, then tempt them with reward. Now, with the Han clan’s hardy, agile youth at his disposal, it would be no great feat to track down each tribe in turn.

This time, his trusted follower had distinguished himself at Kuaiji, pleasing Meng Di greatly. But their numbers and equipment were still lacking. To develop military strength, the first priority was securing food. With sufficient grain, there would be ample soldiers.

After careful consideration, Meng Di resolved to develop agriculture first. On his own fief, with prestige already established, he no longer needed to cloak his actions in superstition.

Yue’s agriculture was well developed, but mainly in the fertile north and east near the coast. According to Fan Li, those lands were dotted with villages, where men plowed and women wove, and the abundance of fish and rice was inexhaustible—enough to support Yue’s resistance against mighty Wu.

Here, however, the mountains left little land for cultivation. The few suitable places still relied on primitive slash-and-burn methods, living at the mercy of the heavens. That was why the court had never bothered to invest effort here—it simply wasn’t worth it.

Therefore, the first step was to find arable land. After making a circuit around Gumei, Meng Di reached his conclusion.