🌳 Chapter 30: Iron Roots and Stone Teeth
🌍 March 25th, 98 BCE — Early Spring 🌱
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Spring came in on tired winds and thawed fields. The ground, soggy and cold, had just begun to wake up when the planting season hit like a sprint. Every hand not tied to guard duty or the smelter was out in the dirt, turning last year's ash and compost into this year's hope. Potatoes, barley, millet, beans—nothing fancy, just reliable stuff. Junjie made sure the field rotation was balanced so they didn't burn out the soil. Even peasants now had yield projections.
Chengde leaned on his hoe and wiped mud from his palms. "Never thought I'd see rows laid out like a bookkeeper's ledger," he muttered.
"If it grows food, does it matter what it looks like?" Junjie asked, brushing sweat from his brow.
Lianhua, crouched in the furrows, patted the soil over a line of beans. "Just don't forget, Junjie—these aren't numbers. They're mouths. Remember that when you plan your next scheme."
By the time the last seeds were in, the villagers didn't even stop to celebrate. They just wiped the mud off their hands and went straight back to stone and steel.
Finishing the Beast
The wall stood proud, but it still had its mouth open—literally. The main gate was unfinished, the river gap was still a vulnerability, and the towers were glorified perches with no armor on top.
Now that the frost was gone and the sun stuck around long enough to warm the rock, it was time to finish what they'd started.
Week 1–2 (Late March): Portcullis Engineering
Junjie had spent the winter secretly working on the main gate's crown jewel: a true iron portcullis—four hundred kilos of reinforced latticework, sharpened at the base, counterweighted with chain loops, and guided by deep-cut grooves in the gatehouse walls. It wasn't medieval junk either. He'd devised a lifting mechanism with a spring-dampened lock system. Pull a lever, and the whole thing could drop in seconds—fast enough to stop a charging wagon dead. Literally.
The crew hoisted it into place using a reinforced tripod crane and a series of geared winches. Took nearly two days and a near-disaster when one support cracked mid-lift, but it worked. That final clang when it slid into its groove was enough to make everyone cheer.
Chengde let out a low whistle. "That's no farmer's gate. That's a warlord's teeth."
"Better ours than theirs," Junjie said, rubbing his sore hands.
Wei'er, standing back with the women who had hauled stone chips, tilted her head. "Just make sure you don't start smiling every time you hear it slam shut. That sound could go to your head."
Week 3–4: River Gap Drawbridge
The river gap—about twenty meters wide and deceptively deep—had been a pain since day one. In winter, it froze over and made crossing easy. But come spring? Fast water, sharp rocks, and no easy crossing point unless you hiked upstream to a ford.
So they went old-school. Big cedar logs across stone piers, iron chain support, heavy drawbridge that could be cranked up from either side with a two-person crew. It wasn't pretty, but it was strong. Junjie sealed the logs with a homemade resin blend—waterproof and flame-resistant. He told the crews it was just pitch and oil. They set up pulley lifts on both banks and made sure the chains were hidden behind wall panels.
Nobody else needed to know that bridge could be lifted in under twenty seconds.
Borg tested one of the levers with a skeptical tug. "Looks heavy."
"That's the point," Junjie replied.
"Heavier than the trust we're putting on it?" Chengde asked dryly.
"It'll hold," Junjie said firmly, though his knuckles were raw from the work.
Week 5–6: Watchtower Caps and Signals
The four watchtowers finally got their caps—sloped slate roofs with iron ridges, built to shed rain and deflect arrows. Below those roofs, Junjie installed fireboxes and mirror signals. A little trick he'd picked up from stories of desert traders his parents once knew. One blink from the south tower and you could relay a message across the entire valley in under a minute.
He also marked out line-of-sight signal points through the valley. Trees were blazed, mirrors mounted, oil lanterns cached in stone cubbies. If things went sideways, the village could act like a nervous system—every nerve firing, every part ready.
Fenma shaded her eyes and watched the light bounce between two distant mirrors. "It's like the valley's winking at itself," she said.
Chengde grunted. "Long as it doesn't start winking at strangers."
Defense Drills, Round Two
While the build teams hammered away at stone and metal, the militia kept training. This time with scenario drills.
What if a merchant wandered in by accident? What if bandits snuck over the ridge? What if someone found the goat path?
They ran drills like war games. Simulated alarms. Civilian lockdown procedures. Cache and grab supply runs. Medical station rotations. They even gave the kids coded runner messages in case couriers were needed.
Watching the children sprint across the courtyard, Chengde frowned. "We used to send kids out for firewood, not battle drills."
Dalan slipped her arm through his. "Better a game now than a grave later."
The village didn't just look like a fortress now. It acted like one.
The Cost of Security
The villagers grumbled a little. More rules. More training. More hours. Rent due every moon, taxes scraped off trade, food rationing during peak construction weeks. Not everyone liked it.
But no one challenged it.
Because deep down, everyone remembered what it was like before. Before the wall. Before the militia. Before the fire and chains and ash. And they knew what they were building wasn't just defense.
It was freedom.
That night, back at the compound, Lianhua set a bowl of stew in front of Junjie. "You've built walls outside," she said, "but don't build one in here." She tapped his chest.
He managed a tired smile. "I'll try."
Chengde, standing by the doorway, folded his arms. "Try harder. A fortress is no good if the man running it forgets he's human."
A future where they wouldn't have to run again.