Chapter 63: Three Things
A forest of spears, a wall of warriors—their numbers were not overwhelming, but they projected an immovable, mountain-like shock. To their own people, they were a moving city wall capable of protecting their families; to the enemy, they were a life-taking force that could annihilate them.
The ten leaders walked side by side with Chen Jian, all of them stunned. No wonder the victory had been so easy. If their own tribes had been Chen Jian's enemy, they thought, a panicked charge would have only led to a swifter death. They hadn't witnessed the battle firsthand, but they could imagine how it had unfolded. A stag with long horns might be mighty, but it was no match for a pack of wolves.
The watching clansmen from the various tribes were also affected by the quiet, orderly formation, and their previous chaotic frolicking subsided.
"Everyone," Chen Jian began, "let us first bury our clansmen who died in battle. They were our brothers and relatives, who guarded our families, our children, and our mothers. Now they have gone to another world. Let us send them on their way."
The people followed their leaders to a plot of land outside the village. Among them were the few traitors, still unaware of their impending doom.
The bodies had already been interred next to the spot where Hua had buried her own relatives. The one who had once buried others was now buried himself. The earth covered their bodies, leaving mounds of freshly dug soil. The thirteen leaders each held a bone, chanting the names of the fallen warriors from their tribes as they covered them with more soil.
The thirty-two stone axes and spears they had used in life were planted in the ground before the graves. These weapons would not take root or rot; in the hearts of the tribe, they had already grown into an impenetrable forest, blocking all enemies.
Three bowls of cloudy wine were poured out before the tombs. The clansmen did not cry; they just watched in silence. They were accustomed to death from their struggle against nature, and this kind of death was a glory—a glory earned so that their relatives could live better lives, free from the bullying of outsiders.
It was a simple funeral, with no eulogy to call back the spirits, only a plain wooden sign. On it, a simple calendar date and the battle's results were drawn with charcoal: on the 22nd of the Fruit Month, 83 enemies were killed and 14 captured.
The raised tombs faced the black-and-white flag fluttering in the village wind. There was a moment of silence. The weapons standing like a forest were their tombstones. Two rows of wild chrysanthemums, already in bud, had been planted around the burial ground. One day, when people saw the wild chrysanthemums in full bloom, they would remember the tribesmen who fought and died for their survival.
The traitors also bowed their heads with the crowd, their hearts a swirl of emotions. Although they had remained alive these past few days, no one in the entire village would speak to them. Even the children jeered at them on sight.
Suddenly, several leaders shouted, "Arrest those who killed their kin!"
Warriors who had been forewarned had already quietly surrounded the traitors. Before the accused could even cry out, they were seized.
"Jian said he wouldn't kill us!" one screamed.
"But we did not agree," the leaders replied. They turned to the silent clansmen and shouted, "Do you think they should be killed?"
"Kill them!" thousands roared in unison. The traitors' own relatives shouted the loudest, their voices hoarse with anguish. The faces of the condemned men turned pale. After a few futile struggles, they knew it was meaningless.
A younger one broke down, crying, "I don't want to die! If I hadn't done it, I would have died too! My mother gave birth to me, and even as I killed her, she didn't blame me. She told me to live... I don't want to die..."
His plea for mercy had the opposite effect. His relatives grabbed stones from the ground and threw them at him fiercely. His forehead was cut open, but he continued to murmur that he didn't want to die.
Amid the fury of the crowd, the traitors' cries and pleas were useless. Several relatives rushed forward and brought their stone axes down on their heads, brother striking brother.
Of course, they could not be buried here. Their hands and feet were tied behind their backs with ropes, and a pit had already been prepared far from the village. They were buried facedown, their backs to the sky. The clansmen believed this posture would be eternally exhausting, and that in the next world, they would never see the sun, unlike the honored dead who rested peacefully on their sides.
Together, the thirteen chiefs announced the law they had just decided upon in the hut. Since they now shared a common ancestor, they must all abide by this rule: anyone who betrays their family and kills their own blood relatives will suffer the same fate as these men. This was not a matter for a single clan, but an agreement that all fourteen clans must obey.
A clay tablet detailing the law had already been fired and would soon be hung in the village. Everyone who passed by would see it and be reminded of the traitors' deaths—and the even more terrifying fate that followed. In the other world, they would have no ancestral protection and would forever be trapped in that contorted posture, unable to see the sky.
Some wondered, if there really was another world, how would these men face the relatives they had killed with their own hands?
Most people, however, simply took it for granted. They had never considered killing their own relatives, so they felt no fear or deep emotion. They wondered, would such a law ever be needed again?
Chen Jian was certain it would. Time could quickly erase memories, but not the images carved into clay tablets. As long as that tablet remained, this story would be passed down, told to future generations of children who had not witnessed it themselves.
He had thought some clansmen might vomit at the sight of the executions, but they were remarkably calm. In their view, these men deserved to die. Since they themselves would never betray their kin, why should they be afraid? Besides, it was just death. They had seen plenty of people eaten by tigers, bitten by snakes, or killed by poisonous fruit. They might cry for such deaths, but they had no desire to ever see these traitors again, not even in dreams. To be accustomed to death was to live a difficult life, and in such a life, there was no tolerance for those who betrayed their own.
By the time all this was done, it was noon. The people from all tribes returned to the village and, under the guidance of Chen Jian's people, sat in a large circle for a meal.
The food was simple: mutton with wheat rice, fish kebabs, and ripe, freshly picked pears. The cooking was not refined, but to these people, it was a sumptuous feast.
The leaders sat with Chen Jian, sharing the same meal, which made it easier to discuss matters.
In the center of the gathering, Chen Jian's warriors lined up. They advanced to the sound of a drum, earning bursts of applause. They charged in unison, their wicker shields held high, and smashed through a pre-built earthen wall. At this, the applause thundered, breaking through the sky.
Yuqian'er knew that her brother had ordered water to be splashed on the base of the wall long before, even hollowing it out slightly. She thought, *was all that work this afternoon just so they could knock it down?*
The visiting leaders, unaware of the trick, stared in awe at the dusty collapse. Tsking in amazement, they gained a more visceral understanding of how Chen Jian had won his battle.
After the performance, as was customary after a feast, the champions from each tribe came forward to compete in stick fighting, spear throwing, or footraces.
Amid the successive rounds of applause, Chen Jian took the opportunity to propose several ideas to the leaders.
First, all children from every tribe over the age of eight, both boys and girls, would be brought to his village to be educated. Chen Jian promised to teach them various skills and to provide for them. They could return to their own tribes at the age of fourteen.
Second, each tribe would select one out of every ten men to participate in a three-year training program. They could only return home after their term was complete. Furthermore, whenever there was an expedition, each tribe would dispatch ten men to serve as supply soldiers. They would not fight but would be responsible for transporting food and other necessities. The spoils of war would henceforth be divided into three shares: one for the warriors, one for the families of those who died in battle, and the final share to be held in common by the allied tribes to prepare for future wars.
Third, he urged them to learn how to cultivate wheat and encouraged them to move out of the mountains and settle near his village. There was still plenty of land, he explained, and living closer together would make it easier to defend against common enemies.
The leaders readily agreed to the first two proposals. Their children didn't contribute much labor but still needed to be fed, so sending them to Chen Jian's village to learn and grow was a good arrangement. The skills they would acquire would be immensely useful to their tribes when they returned. Perhaps, in the future, their lives could be as good as the lives of the people here.
The military training was also a non-issue. They had seen its results, and the spoils from the recent battle were substantial. Each tribe would receive nearly a thousand catties of wheat and beans, as well as a few sheep and horned deer. Sending only four or five men from each tribe wouldn't be too many, nor would it disrupt tribal life.
The third matter, however, was met with debate. They had not seen the results of planting wheat with their own eyes. What if it failed? Their people had to eat. Living far apart, they could rely on the various fruits and nuts from their nearby mountains to survive the winter. But if they all lived close together, they would have to travel much farther to gather enough food.
Out of trust in Chen Jian, two tribes decided to move and settle nearby to grow wheat. The remaining tribes wanted to wait until the apricots turned yellow next year to see the results of the harvest for themselves. They needed to get through this winter first. Their trust in him was strong, but it was not yet strong enough to overturn generations of experience.
Chen Jian didn't insist. Two tribes moving was a good start. The land on the south bank of the Caohe River was also very fertile and completely uncultivated. His tribe had boats, the river wasn't too wide, and for now, there was enough land for everyone.
With these three important matters settled, the remaining issues were relatively simple and met with little opposition.
First, it was agreed that each tribe's internal affairs were its own business, and no other tribe was allowed to intervene. If a conflict arose between two tribes, their leaders would meet to discuss and resolve it together.
Second, in one and a half months, the leaders would bring their men back to the village to punish those tribes who had broken their oath and failed to appear for the battle. The timing was chosen because winter wheat needed to be planted soon, and some tribes also had to gather nuts for the winter. A month and a half would give them just enough time to finish their work.
After discussing these things, the thirteen men made a joint oath, vowing never to violate their agreements. After they drank the blood wine, Yuqian'er informed each leader of the spoils their tribe would receive. The captured slaves were not included, as the other tribes had no immediate need for them.
At Chen Jian's invitation, the leaders decided to stay one more day to learn how to clear land with fire and plant wheat.
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