Chapter Sixty-Two: Concealing One’s Talents and Biding One’s Time

Yang Hu consolidated his troops and, without haste, set out for Fei City the following day.

After absorbing the prisoners, his strength grew significantly. Including Shusun Zhe’s soldiers, he now commanded over ten thousand men. This surge in power rekindled his ambition to eliminate Meng Di. If Meng Di was besieging Fei City, he would surely surround and attack it; Yang Hu wondered what expression he would wear when Gongsun Buyou suddenly appeared behind him. Yang Hu found this rather amusing—trying to play political games with him was still too naïve.

If he destroyed Meng Di and seized Fei City by force, he would undoubtedly provoke a fierce retaliation from the Three Huan clans, and the people of Lu would rise up in opposition. His foundation was not yet secure, so this was not the wisest course. Yet, if he aided Meng Di in capturing Fei City, he risked nurturing a future threat. Meng Di was not someone easily controlled, unlike the likes of Ji Wu; he could easily become another Gongsun Buyou, turning into a mercenary power unto himself.

After much deliberation, Yang Hu decided it was best to deplete Meng Di’s strength, then later install a trusted confidant to keep him in check, making Meng Di a nominal lord of two cities without real power.

To his surprise, even as he drew near Fei City, there were no signs of battle. Had the Meng clan not come after all? Yang Hu was puzzled.

Suddenly, a distant voice called from the city wall, “Congratulations to Master Yang for achieving your wish!”

Yang Hu was startled. Peering intently, he saw a vaguely familiar figure. Drawing closer, he realized it was indeed Meng Di, and he could hardly believe it.

“Meng Di…”

“Has Master Yang come to Fei City as my guest?”

“Oh, no.” Yang Hu’s mind raced, but in a heartbeat, he composed himself and smiled. “Meng Di’s accomplishments are truly astonishing—I am impressed.”

Then, straightening his expression, he added, “The Three Huan are making unusual moves. I must return immediately. But Meng Di, do not forget the agreement between us.”

The two exchanged glances and burst into laughter, both understanding that neither could do anything to the other at this moment. Maintaining a façade of alliance was the wisest course.

Yang Hu was not the only one astonished; the Three Huan and Duke Lu were equally incredulous. Even Zhong Sun Heji sensed that events were not unfolding as he had anticipated, but with Gongsun Buyou eliminated, there was cause for celebration.

Thanks to Meng Di’s strict secrecy, no one knew the details of how Fei City was taken.

A period of quiet consolidation would now be necessary, to accustom the people of Lu to the new order and avoid being entangled too soon in the struggle between Yang Hu and the Three Huan.

Confucius, after all, did not come to Meng City. He was recommended as steward of Zhongdu, and despite Meng Di’s attempts to persuade him to stay, Zilu insisted on serving him, leaving Meng Di feeling helpless.

As the year drew to a close, the most important event for Meng City was the ancestral sacrifice of the Meng clan.

Although such rites were typically held in spring and autumn, Meng Di, having just acquired Meng City, could claim special circumstances.

In Lu, rites were of utmost importance. Sacrifice was the greatest affair of state: “Sacrifice is the grand festival of a country; festivals are the culmination of governance, so one must carefully establish sacrifices as the nation’s standard.”

By now, the sacrificial system was highly refined. It was not merely communication between man and the divine, but also a symbol of status. The Zhou rituals prescribed with great rigor what sort of person could perform which sacrifice.

For example, sacrificing to Heaven was the exclusive privilege of the Son of Heaven, who also offered sacrifices to the mountains and rivers of the realm; lords could only sacrifice to the famous mountains and rivers within their own territory; ministers and high officials were limited to the Five Rites—gates, doors, wells, hearths, and so on; commoners could only worship their own ancestors.

To overstep was a transgression of rank.

Knowing that Meng Di came from a remote land and was likely unversed in ritual propriety, Duke Ji Song of Lu sent Liuxia Ji and a group of ritual officers to assist.

Naturally, Liuxia Ji had another, secret identity: he was Ji Song’s confidential envoy.

Since acquiring two cities, Meng Di had contented himself with managing his fief and never meddled in court affairs. This reassured both Yang Hu and the Three Huan, and even Ji Song considered him a potential ally, contemplating how to win him over.

“State affairs revolve around sacrifices and war. Lord Meng, you must not take them lightly.” Liuxia Ji was meticulous, counseling earnestly even in private.

Meng Di smiled and replied, “You are absolutely right, Lord Liuxia. I am grateful for your instruction.” Indeed, without these ritual officials, the sacrifice would have been a hodgepodge; though Jiran was learned in many fields, ritual was not his expertise, nor did he care for it.

Yet sacrifices were crucial for consolidating local support and establishing his reputation among the people of Lu—matters that neither force nor cunning could substitute.

Given the gravity of the occasion, only Meng Di, Jiran, and Liuxia Ji were present in the chamber. After formalities, they got down to business.

“So, the Duke of Lu has no power to protect himself?” Only after Liuxia Ji’s explanation did Meng Di truly grasp the situation at the Lu court.

Liuxia Ji nodded awkwardly. Ji Song had risen to power solely through the support of Ji Pingzi, the head of the Ji clan, but he held not a single soldier. Once Yang Hu gained influence, he filled the palace with his men, leaving Ji Song under constant surveillance. Trustworthy confidants were few—Liuxia Ji among them.

The only consolation was that the Three Huan, having been weakened, now treated the duke with more courtesy.

“His Grace hopes that Lord Meng will support the royal house and drive out Yang Hu.”

“You overestimate me. How can a mere lord of two small fiefs oppose Yang Hu?” Meng Di hastily declined—what a joke, being asked to take the lead without any benefit.

Liuxia Ji could not hide his disappointment, but eloquence was never his strength; he faltered, unsure how to persuade him.

In the end, Meng Di could only promise, somewhat perfunctorily, that if the situation changed in the future, he would try to help. Thus, the matter was set aside.

After the sacrifices were complete, Liuxia Ji left, dispirited. Meng Di ordered his territory sealed off and ceased to concern himself with Lu’s affairs—for now, strengthening his own position was best.

Meng City lay backed by the vast Meng Mountains, sparsely populated and well suited for smelting. Meng Di resolved to turn the area into an ironworking base.

Fei City, which had prospered under Gongsun Buyou’s management, could be supplied with iron agricultural tools, greatly increasing grain production.

Han territory served as his rear base and was developing steadily. The three realms could each develop their strengths and exchange what they lacked.

But Meng Di’s greatest constraint was still talent. Not being adept at administration, he entrusted everything to Jiran.

His true skill was in military affairs. Without a strong army, everything was empty talk. Now, at last, he could pursue a long-held dream: to establish his own cavalry force.

The thought of cavalry made Meng Di’s blood surge with excitement. In Han, there had not been enough horses, and the lands of Wu and Yue were full of rivers and lakes; people used boats as carriages, oars as steeds—cavalry had been but a fantasy.

Lu, however, was in the central plains, with access to northern horses. This was what Meng Di valued most. So when Jiran suggested traveling north, he agreed without hesitation.

Exchanging grain and bronze for horses was the best way he could think of. Although Jiran could not understand his passion for cavalry, Meng Di was the lord here, and his will was final.