Chapter Twenty-Nine: Han Valley

The City Lord’s estate was buzzing with excitement, a cacophony of dialects vying for attention. Listening to the chattering of rustic tongues, Meng Di’s head spun with confusion. Thankfully, the Han tribe people acted as translators, though some conversations required several rounds of interpretation before their meaning came through.

Farming was not something that could be usefully discussed with the Han tribe, so instead, Meng Di had summoned elders from every village and town in the east, west, north, and south, asking each to introduce their own circumstances. The discussion had lasted an entire day. With wine and a feast provided by the City Lord’s estate, spirits were high; many wished the meeting could go on forever. Tales of tigers, leopards, wild beasts, legends of gods and monsters, neighborly disputes, and family gossip filled the air with a barrage of words, leaving Meng Di nodding off amid the din, questioning whether he’d been too optimistic in convening such a gathering.

At that moment, an old man with only a few teeth left caught Meng Di’s attention. With trembling hands, he gestured and stammered for a long while, conveying that to the west of Gumei City, half a day’s journey further west, lay a river. Its upper reaches were bordered by a vast expanse of flat land.

“How vast?” he was asked. The old man circled his arms repeatedly, unable to encompass its size, simply repeating, “Very, very large.” Because it was nestled amid mountains, thick with trees and prowled by wild beasts, few people knew of it.

“This is it!” Meng Di exclaimed, clapping his hands in excitement. A river and a plain—nothing was lacking. He ended the meeting on the spot, despite the crowd’s reluctance, and arranged for an immediate survey of the site.

Though the distance wasn’t great, the journey proved arduous. Fortunately, the old man had hunted in these mountains in his youth. The party hacked through undergrowth, winding their way to the summit. Before them lay a broad basin, surrounded by endless green mountains, with rivers like jade sashes weaving through the land. Confronted with such vastness, Meng Di felt a surge of pride and let out a long, exultant cry to the heavens, echoed by the cheers of his companions.

Han Qu approached respectfully. “Please, my lord, grant this place a name.”

A name? Meng Di racked his brains but found no inspiration. Since this land would one day be sown with rice, he decided simply: “Let it be called Han Valley.”

“Han Valley! Yes, Han Valley!” the crowd shouted, their voices ringing with excitement.

After the excitement faded, Han Qu approached Meng Di with a worried look. “My lord, though this place is fine, we do not know if the Bird God will favor it. Without rice blessed by the Bird God, relying on fishing and hunting alone cannot feed so many people.”

It seemed the methods of cultivation needed to be spread quickly.

“Don’t worry—the Bird God has said that within this domain, I have the final say.” With that, Meng Di turned and descended the mountain, leaving the others astonished in his wake.

Without delay, Meng Di returned to the city and ordered a fire to be set in the basin. Even Xiao Wu and Xiao Liu, who had witnessed the torching of Wu’s camp, were awed by the sight. Thick smoke billowed skyward, the crackling of flames audible for miles. Spring trees did not burn easily, but the ground was thick with years of dead branches and leaves. The fire raged for three days and nights, consuming just a corner of the basin. Still, it was enough for now, and the thick layer of ash would make the soil fertile come spring.

Rivers crisscrossed the basin. On Ji’s advice, they dug canals along the streams. The Han tribe worked with exceptional zeal, a fervor the townsfolk of Gumei could not understand. Meng Di resolved to give them the best land.

The conditions were generous: each household would receive ten acres, with the rest to be cleared by themselves. In the first year, the City Lord’s estate would supply the rice seeds, and there would be no rent. From the second year on, rent would be collected at a rate of one-tenth.

Ji, experienced in farming, coveted the rich soil and shamelessly asked if his village might also be relocated. This reminded Meng Di that the domain included several large lakes and many rivers. He quickly dispatched Jing Chuo to bring the people of Jingjia Village. Whether fishing or fish farming, these could become major sources of food.

In the distance, Qiu’er came bounding over barefoot, grinning. “My lord, everyone says you’re the reincarnation of the Bird God.”

“The Bird God?” Meng Di looked at his mud-stained hands. “Do I look like a bird to you?”

“Hee hee! Grandpa the chieftain says so, so it must be true!”

So be it, Meng Di decided to carry the burden. “Has your father returned?”

“Oh! I almost forgot—he’s waiting for you at the City Lord’s estate!” Qiu’er squealed, quickly covering her mouth.

Han Qu had now been appointed Deputy City Lord. Including the Han tribe, the population of the territory was nearly ten thousand, not counting the various tribes scattered in the mountains and forests.

The administrative structure was not yet complete. Meng Di had spent his previous life in the military. Apart from Han Qu, Ji and Jing Chuo were appointed as agricultural officers, responsible for farming and fishing, respectively. Han Zhan remained commander of the First Qu, overseeing city defense, though Gumei City was too small and his men had to be stationed outside the walls.

He had considered whether Gan Ying might serve as the official in charge of smelting, but it was said that Gan Ying was still searching for ore in the deep mountains and had not been seen.

A new main city would need to be established, ideally near the center of the territory—Han Valley seemed a good choice.

But the most pressing need was for more capable administrators. The thought gave Meng Di a headache. Apart from Han Qu, all the locals were unfit for the role. Besides, having too many Han tribe members in management was unwise; even without understanding politics, Meng Di knew it was never good for one group to wield all the power.

He had not yet reached the city gate when Han Qu, impatient, intercepted him on the way, beaming with joy—a sure sign of good news.

“Well, did you meet the King?”

“Yes, yes! The King received me in person and granted a hundred bushels of rice—the finest seed rice,” Han Qu replied, now familiar with the new farming terms he’d learned recently.

“Aren’t you his uncle? Would he dare treat you poorly?”

“No, no. The King is still the King. I dare not call myself his uncle any longer.” Han Qu waved his hands in alarm, then paused, his tone turning mournful. “The King has treated the Han tribe so kindly. If Tang’er knew in the afterlife, she would surely be glad.”

Meng Di was a little bemused by Han Qu’s contentment, but he himself preferred not to trouble Gou Jian.

They entered the city together. There was so much rice that the storehouse could not hold it all; sacks were stacked up to the steps, and the guards doing the carrying were grinning from ear to ear.

Circling the storehouse, Meng Di asked curiously, “Did Gou Jian only give rice, and not send people?”

“There are people! The King said he would relocate two villages from Shitang, all skilled in farming and sericulture.”

“Good. When those two villages arrive, treat them as treasures. Whether this reincarnated Bird God succeeds or not depends on them.”

Han Qu was still uneasy making jokes about the gods and simply rubbed his hands in embarrassment.

A strange sound, “coo—coo,” came from the back courtyard. Meng Di started in surprise and asked, “Did you bring chickens here?”

Han Qu chuckled. “When the King heard you enjoyed admiring chickens, he sent over a dozen of the palace’s finest birds. The royal poultry keeper came too and is training them in the courtyard.”

The royal poultry keeper? Meng Di almost burst out laughing, and strode off toward the back courtyard.