Chapter Forty-Eight: The Greatest Secret of the Han Lands

Yin Hu was an excellent choice.

“This man betrayed his brother to seize power—can he really be trusted?” Meng Di hesitated.

“Yin Hu governs the clan as a concubine’s son; many within resent his authority. With a little support, he would swiftly turn loyal,” Ji Ran replied, ever pragmatic when it came to matters of benefit. “My lord could arrange a marriage alliance with one of your trusted subordinates.”

Another marriage alliance—Meng Di chuckled. Ji Ran would make an excellent matchmaker.

Xiao Wu had been among the earliest to follow her and had played a pivotal role in the Yin Hu affair. He was a fitting candidate. Yet, calling him ‘Xiao Wu’ all the time was hardly appropriate. Ji Ran proposed that, since he was a trusted confidant, he should be granted the surname Meng and named Meng Wu.

It was a good idea. In that case, Xiao Liu could be renamed Meng Lu as well.

Those who had come with Meng Di to the Han lands were also appointed to positions: Old Jing, Gan Ying, Ji, and others. Only Gan Jiang showed no interest; for him, the opportunity to forge swords was the best reward.

Henceforth, the Han territories were divided into three factions. The largest was naturally Meng Di’s own kin, the Hán clan. Next came Meng Wu and the cadre of loyal followers. The families of Zhao, Mao, and Nangong, indecisive and slow to pledge their loyalty, were not openly suppressed but gradually drifted from the center of power, banding together into a faintly distinct force.

Ji Ran was quite satisfied with this arrangement. As for the lower officials, the city magistrate Han Qu would take care of appointments; this was not something Ji Ran needed to trouble himself over.

Aside from Han City and Gumei, there was in fact another fortress in the Han lands, built near the iron-smelting gorge—heavily guarded and known to few.

Ji Ran had known nothing of it until Meng Di brought him for a tour.

“To think such sharp weapons exist!” Staring at the gleaming iron swords and arrowheads, Ji Ran drew a sharp breath, bowing to Meng Di in apology. “I was wrong to claim you did not know the art of smelting, my lord.”

Meng Di smiled. “This is Han’s greatest secret and most vital strength. It would be stranger if you had known.”

The fortress was called Ironhold. It housed a thousand craftsmen and laborers, with Gan Ying as its master. Meng Lu commanded a company of five hundred soldiers as its garrison. Both answered solely to Meng Di, and no one else was permitted to interfere.

No one within the fortress could leave easily, but they were well supplied with grain.

Besides forging weapons, Ironhold also had the task of supplying Han City with a batch of farming tools each month and receiving shipments of black stone from the city.

“Bronze must still be smelted,” Ji Ran advised, recovering from his shock. “It will be of great use in the Central Plains; besides, some should be distributed to the Han troops to avoid drawing suspicion.”

That was easy enough. With black stone, both copper and iron could be produced much more efficiently, and supplies could be readied in a short time.

Gan Jiang no longer bothered with ordinary weapons. Muttering in front of his furnace, he was absorbed in his own designs. Meng Di, not wishing to disturb him, directed Gan Ying to escort the others elsewhere.

Security was even tighter here. Meng Lu personally oversaw the area, and apart from Ji Ran, no attendants were allowed inside.

After passing through a long corridor, they emerged into a wide clearing.

“What is this?” Ji Ran asked, eyeing an unfamiliar device. It resembled a bow, yet it was shorter and stouter, with a wooden stock in the center. Even with all his knowledge, he could not identify it.

“This is called a crossbow,” Meng Di said, stringing the weapon and handing it to Ji Ran.

Meng Lu stood by, guiding Ji Ran as he aimed at a distant tree. Ji Ran squeezed the “hanging blade,” and with a sharp twang, the bolt shot out, boring straight through the trunk.

“This was crafted at the lord’s command,” Meng Lu explained. “With a little training, even an ordinary soldier can shoot as skillfully as a master archer.”

Meng Di had long wanted to equip his forces with crossbows. Of the artisans Ji Chao had brought, a large number were sent to Ironhold for this very purpose. To keep the secret, each craftsman made only part of the weapon; the final assembly took place here.

“Incredible! With this, even a woman or child could kill a man in armor,” Ji Ran exclaimed, eyes gleaming.

“It’s not so easy,” Meng Di replied with a smile. “These are difficult to make, and not as swift as bows and arrows. They must be used with coordination on the battlefield.”

Crossbows had their drawbacks, of course. Meng Di had solved these in his previous life: simply divide troops into squads to wind and fire in succession. On the western campaigns, Han infantry had routed the Xiongnu cavalry, all thanks to the power of the crossbow.

“A crossbow consists of three main parts: the stock, the bow, and the mechanism,” Meng Di explained.

The stock was the wooden body Ji Ran saw, shaped like an arm—sturdy and unyielding. The bow was mounted at the front, similar to an ordinary bow. The mechanism, the most crucial part, was made of bronze and set into the body. The “tooth” at the front held the string, with the “mountain sight” behind it, and the “hanging blade” below for firing.

To shoot, the string was drawn and caught on the “tooth” of the mechanism. The bolt was placed in the groove atop the stock, aiming was done with the “mountain sight,” and pulling the “hanging blade” released the “tooth,” unhooking the string and firing the bolt.

“With the strength of Han, only a few crossbows can be made each month,” Meng Di lamented.

“A weapon of the gods should not be mass-produced,” Ji Ran nodded. If such things could be made by the tens of thousands, every soldier armed with a crossbow would sweep aside all rivals—what use would there be for anyone else?

“The craftsmen are also attempting a much larger crossbow, which requires several men to draw and can fire bolts hundreds of paces,” Meng Di said, pointing to a massive crossbow nearby. “Though it is even more costly to make and harder to aim, it will still be formidable in battle.”

Eyeing the bolts as thick as a child’s arm, Ji Ran shivered involuntarily. Even to someone unversed in military matters, “hundreds of paces” sounded incredible. If realized, could it not slay a general in the midst of ten thousand troops?

“My lord, this place is of such importance—after you head north, who will be entrusted with its command?”

This was precisely what plagued Meng Di. In the days spent with Ji Ran, he had come to understand the art of rule: balance power and divide authority. But Ironhold was too critical to entrust to any single faction.

“It must be held by someone you trust above all others. Why not leave it in the hands of Lady Qiu’er?”

“Qiu’er? Is she reliable?”

“Lady Qiu’er represents you, my lord. That alone is enough.”

Meng Di pondered, but could think of no better option. For now, it would have to do.

Autumn winds rose again. With all arrangements settled, Meng Di left a thousand soldiers under Meng Wu, granting Han Qu temporary authority to recruit troops in case of emergency.

Supplies were ample and men plentiful. Meng Di ordered Han Qu to keep a rotating force of a thousand recruits on constant training and guard duty. Should war break out, they could be swiftly mobilized and handed to Meng Wu’s command.

He himself, along with Ji Ran and two thousand elite troops, took a mountain path out of Yue, heading straight for the state of Lu. Besides Su’er, he brought Jing Che along especially—Jing Che was nimble and swift, and might prove invaluable.

Lu lay just north of Xu. By now, Xu had ceased to exist, but Wu still seemed unable to control the vast region. Bandits infested the marshes, remnants of Xu who had nowhere else to go and turned to robbery.

A few of these fools tried to accost them, only to be dispatched by Jing Che with ease. With nothing better to do, Meng Di interrogated them and learned that a momentous event had taken place in Wu.

He Lü was dead.

After the Wu army returned, they marched straight for Gusu City and encircled it completely.

Fu Gai, ever the reckless hedonist, chose to indulge himself rather than resist, determined to enjoy himself while he could. Ultimately, the city’s clans joined forces to bind him and cast him from the gates. Out of brotherly affection, He Lü merely banished him.

After cleaning up Fu Gai’s mess and digesting the spoils of the campaign against Chu, He Lü spent half a year reorganizing his army to settle the score with Yue. At the battle of Zuili, the Wu forces were routed by the “insignificant” nation of Yue, and He Lü’s toe was severed. His wounds worsened upon returning home, and he succumbed at last.

So that was why not a single Wu soldier was to be seen along the way.