Chapter 76 Heaven and Earth are Furnaces and Man is Copper
After seven months of painstaking labor, Chen Jian and his clansmen had forged all manner of tools and gathered enough food. They were finally ready to build their first copper furnace.
Heaven and earth are the furnace, creation is the smith, yin and yang are the charcoal, and all things are the copper.
A furnace of clay could transform ore into copper, and the great furnace of heaven and earth was likewise transforming the clansmen. With their own hands, they were changing their lives and reforging themselves. Unknowingly, they had become completely different from who they were before.
They lived in houses, planted wheat and beans, dug city walls and ditches, and poled boats in orderly fashion. Some had even begun to form attachments, fantasizing about spending every night with a partner of their choosing, sleeping only with each other.
The flames of this furnace not only burned in the settlement but also spread with the footsteps of the thirteen travelers, reaching into the mountains and forests to the east.
Song was unaware of the new things his tribe had created in his absence. When he had left, the trench hadn't even been dug. Standing in the cold wind, he imagined the changes in the village, and the thought seemed to warm his body against the chill.
The women, wrapped in thick furs, sat on the grass sledge and gazed at the autumn-yellowed mountains in the distance, asking how much farther it was to the next tribe. They weren't seeking warmth from another tribe's fire; they were eager to arrive so others could marvel at their clothes and admire their beauty.
The sky and the wild grass had no eyes to appreciate them.
Over the past ten days, they had traveled with Song through six tribes.
Seeing the local women wrapped in rough animal skins, their chests bare and their faces darkened by the elements, was like looking at their former selves before they joined the Xinghuang tribe.
So they cherished the clothes on their bodies even more and traced the calluses left by the twine on their fingertips, which no longer seemed to hurt at all.
Song and a few men walked at the front. Spotting a wisp of smoke rising in the distance, he turned and said, "Everyone off. Let's tidy our clothes and hair before we walk over."
The women jumped down, took out their white rabbit-fur shoes, and carefully put them on, tying the three-colored ropes. They inserted the malachite-encrusted dangling hairpins into their hair. Finding a creek, they washed their cheeks with soap, reluctant to leave their reflections in the water.
At Song's urging, they carefully picked their way through the autumnal mud. From a distance, they saw a few men carrying two rabbits.
Those men's hair was matted and unkempt. They carried no bows and arrows, only stone spears, and wore a single piece of animal skin around their waists.
Upon seeing Song and his party, these men were so startled they immediately hid behind a tree, staring in horror at the strange people and the tall animal with them.
"Are those people?"
"I think so. See? They're standing, and they're holding things."
"But why aren't they wearing animal skins? And what are those crooked, moon-shaped sticks on their backs for?"
The men hid behind the tree, observing the newcomers, until Song made a primitive gesture of peace and called out a few times. Only then did the men step out from behind the tree, clutching the rabbits tightly in their hands, afraid the strangers would snatch them away.
The strange men in their eyes wore garments not made of animal skin, but the women wore clothes completely different from their own sisters'. Their hair was smooth and tied back, and the green stones in it shone in the sun, drawing the eye to their gentle swaying.
They grew more convinced that these were not humans. People shouldn't look like this. Perhaps they had fallen from the sky, like the meteor that had once fallen.
The thought of meteors made them panic, and they dared not move forward.
Then, a man with sharp eyes recognized Song, who was walking at the front. His tribe's matriarch had once treated Song's toothache, an event he remembered clearly. But… hadn't Song's tribe been wiped out by the Meteor tribe?
"Is it a soul? Like in a dream?"
The more the man thought about it, the more he felt that only a soul could be dressed this way. And Song's face was paler than before. He had once seen a clansman who had drowned, and his skin had also been white, not dark.
He felt a sudden chill, unsure if it was from the autumn wind or from fear.
He swallowed hard and called out from a distance, "You… you're Song, aren't you? Are you still alive?"
"I'm alive. You're Catfish, right? Is the matriarch well?"
Hearing Song say his name and seeing him leave footprints in the mud, Catfish was finally relieved.
Walking over to him, he couldn't help but reach out and touch the horned deer. The animal kicked its hooves in annoyance, making Catfish quickly withdraw his hand.
"Song, wasn't your tribe driven away by the Meteor tribe?"
"Yes, but now I've returned. It's cold; try this to warm up."
Song held out his hand, and the woman beside him passed him a gourd stoppered with a piece of willow wood. Catfish took a curious sip, and a ball of fire seemed to burn from his throat down to his stomach. He excitedly called over his companions, letting them also taste the fire that burned in the belly.
"What is this?"
"Jian calls this wine."
"Jian?"
"He's my new clansman. My… my brother."
"Does everyone in his tribe wear such strange things?"
"No," Song said with a proud, unhesitating smile. "This is our tribe."
"Come, come to our cave and warm yourself. There isn't enough wine, though."
Now certain that Song was alive, Catfish was no longer afraid and warmly invited the strange party.
With a shout, Song's clansmen led the horned deer and followed Catfish.
When they reached the cave, Song and his people were immediately surrounded. The women of the cave asked about their clothes and shoes, while the men asked how they hunted.
Song did his best to describe their current life from the perspective he had gained over the past three months, avoiding words these people wouldn't understand. He told them of seeds that could be harvested without traveling far, prey that could be killed from a distance, and fish so plentiful they were tired of eating them.
When the people asked how all this had come about, all thirteen visitors gave the same answer: "It is the protection and guidance of the ancestors."
Song knew he didn't need to say more. The tribe they had visited two days prior had spontaneously started combing their hair and drawing the black-and-white bear emblem with charcoal as they left, longing for the same kind of life—a life they couldn't even imagine in their dreams.
Though Song's words were vague, and the people only vaguely understood, they sensed that this wonderful life was connected to their hairstyle and their banner.
Everyone sat around the fire in the cave, listening to Song's stories of his tribe and the women's tales of their new lives. No one asked too many questions, for fear of interrupting the wondrous accounts.
After a long time, a little girl asked, "Song, does your tribe also eat acorns?"
"We do. But because of the ancestors' protection and guidance, the acorns we eat are neither bitter nor astringent, and they don't make our stomachs bloat."
"Really? Why don't the ancestors guide us?"
The people imagined acorns that were neither bitter nor astringent, and their faces showed a hint of disappointment. They had already accepted the stories of the ancestors; they believed they were descendants of the same ancestors as these visitors. Otherwise, why did they all look so similar? Why could they understand each other's speech?
Song looked at the expectant faces and said with a smile, "The ancestors will protect you too, but our tribe was guided first."
Following the method Chen Jian had taught him, he took out some lime. Unfortunately, they didn't have a large pottery pot, so he had to use the one he carried to scoop water and pour it into a stone pit in the cave.
"Soak them like this for a few days, and they will no longer be bitter or astringent, and they won't cause bloating."
The people stared at his clay pot. Song smiled, handed it to their leader, and said, "It's yours."
The leader stretched out his hands, receiving it as carefully as if he were holding his firstborn child. He put the clay pot away safely and asked gratefully, "If you give it to us, what will you use?"
"We have as many of these as there are stones in a cave."
"Is this also the guidance of the ancestors?"
"Yes. The ancestor told my brother, and he told us."
"The brother named Jian?"
"Yes."
The leader shook his head in amazement, filled with a longing for his own people to be guided by the ancestors. He didn't ask for as many clay pots as there were stones in a cave—just a few would be enough.
Seeing them begin to discuss whether they should comb their hair and draw a black-and-white bear, Song asked, "By the way, are the people of the Meteor tribe still the same?"
"Yes. Every few days we have to send them prey, acorns, wild fruit, and many other things. When they hunt nearby, they come to our tribe and eat our food."
"Why do you give it to them? It's your food. With so many tribes, can't you fight them together?"
The leader shook his head. "Some time ago, tribes from far away came to discuss that very thing. But another tribe informed on them. The Meteor tribe killed many people from the tribe that made the suggestion, and the rest were taken away to chop wood. When the fruit ran out, they were all killed."
"What about the tribe that informed on them?"
"They don't have to give the Meteor tribe as much prey. Besides, we can't beat them. Their ancestors came from the sky, and they have weapons given by the sky. Maybe… maybe even your current tribe couldn't beat them."
Song laughed loudly, and the women beside him giggled. In their view, they were the ones protected by ancestors; the Meteor tribe had only stones that fell from the sky.
The leader sighed. "Song, I heard what happened to your former tribe. You've seen the weapons those people carry."
Song smiled and said, "Yes, but that was because we didn't have the protection and guidance of our ancestors then. What are some stones that fell from the sky? Our tribe can now reshape the world around us."
Seeing the shocked expressions on their faces, Song was about to say more when several men rushed in from outside, shouting, "Run! The people from the Meteor tribe are here!"
The cave erupted in panic. The leader hurriedly stood up and said, "Song, you must go, quickly! They'll kill you and take all your things."
The women were a little frightened and huddled behind the men, but the men themselves, having been through real battles, were not overly concerned. They all looked to Song for orders. Chen Jian had drilled into them that on this journey, Song's commands were absolute, just like in a war. Anyone who disobeyed would be caned or even exiled.
Song forced himself to remain calm and asked, "How many?"
The panicked man held up five fingers. "This many! They just crossed the river, I saw them."
The women's anxiety immediately subsided. Five people? They had seven men. There was nothing to be afraid of.
Seeing Song's expression, the leader frantically pulled at him. "Song, run! Don't fight them. If the Meteor tribe finds out, they'll kill us too!"
Song subconsciously touched the pendant on his chest, where his mother's bones rested against his beating heart. Recalling the tragedy from months ago, the blood that had been simmering with forbearance suddenly boiled over.
He had not forgotten Chen Jian's command: do not provoke the Meteor tribe. Survive.
But with only five of them, he thought, survival was certain.
Looking at the anxious leader, Song let go of the pendant and said firmly, "You don't have to be afraid. None of them will return alive. The Meteor tribe will think they were eaten by wild beasts."
Then he pulled free from the leader's grasp and shouted, "Let them see how we fight! Let them see the mighty power of our ancestors' protection! Kill them all!"
"Roar!"
The seven men roared in unison. They rushed outside, took their bows, arrows, and stone axes from the grass sledge, and fell into a practiced line, waiting for Song to command them.
After months of being forged in this new life, these young men who once knew only how to charge blindly were no longer what they had been.
Heaven and earth are furnaces, and man is copper.
Yet within the same furnace, some materials remain as stubborn and unchanged as they were at the dawn of time, while others have already shed their primitive shells.
The leader ran out of the cave. Staring at the black-and-white flag fluttering in the wind, he felt a deep unease.
"The protection of the ancestors… can it truly bring victory? Seven of them against five from the Meteor tribe… how can they possibly win?"
Chapter 77: Lies
Under normal circumstances, seven men stood no chance against five armed with meteorite weapons.
He knew the meteorite weapons in their hands were far sharper than his stone axe.
His clansmen's wicker shields could block thrown stones, but they offered no defense against the stabbing blades of the meteorite weapons. A stone axe killed by crushing a skull, but the enemy's weapons could pierce a body directly. Their method was undoubtedly faster.
If they formed a defensive line, the five men couldn't hurt them, but they couldn't kill the enemy either.
The enemy was still on the other side of the willow trees lining the riverbank. He pointed to several large trees not far away. "Take your bows and arrows, climb those trees, and hide. Shoot when I give the signal."
The large trees stood more than twenty paces away. His tribesmen scrambled up them and concealed themselves among the leaves, wondering if the enemy would be foolish enough to run right under their ambush.
Standing under one of the trees with his stone axe in hand, Song recalled what Chen Jian had taught him.
Warfare was like hunting: either you scatter the herd to pick off the weakest, or you bait a trap, like luring fish into a wicker basket.
He would now be the bait, and his clansmen hiding in the trees were the basket.
Gripping his stone axe tightly, he walked resolutely toward the river. As he neared the bank, he saw the men from the Meteorite tribe.
The five men were talking and laughing, completely relaxed. They spotted Song but didn't recognize him as a member of the tribe they had slaughtered.
But Song recognized them. He clearly remembered his brothers and sisters being killed by their hands.
The victor often forgets whom he has killed; the vanquished always remembers who killed his loved ones.
He picked up a stone, hurled it at the five men, and shouted, "I'm not dead yet!"
The stone missed. They cursed loudly, and it seemed one of them finally recognized Song. Immediately, they fell into a familiar hunting formation: two charged straight at him while the other three fanned out to the sides, preparing to encircle him.
Song waited for all five to cross the river, then turned and ran before the three flankers had time to get around him.
The five men had never encountered a battle fought with such tactics, so the thought of a trap never crossed their minds. After shouting a few curses, comparing him to a fleeing rabbit, they gave chase.
Thanks to three months of training, running with a stone on his back, Song easily sprinted toward the large trees. He even had the energy to glance back at his pursuers.
As he neared the designated trees, he slowed his pace. When the five men were just ten paces behind, he suddenly scrambled up a trunk, perched on a branch above them, and shouted down.
He knew the men he brought were skilled archers, unlike the warriors of the Wolfskin tribe.
The five men gathered under the tree, and one of them started to climb. Song swung his stone axe down and struck the man's hand. The man screamed, let go, and dropped to the ground. He then bent over, picked up a stone, and hurled it upward.
Seeing all five men gathered beneath him, Song shouted, "Shoot!"
His tribesmen, already poised, fired down from the branches. Even if their aim wasn't as true as the Wolfskin tribe's, at a distance of only twenty paces, it was more than enough.
Feathered arrows rained down. At such a short distance, against an almost defenseless enemy, four of the men were struck in an instant.
The fifth man reacted with incredible speed and bolted. The clansmen fired another volley, but they missed.
"Finish these four!" Song yelled, before leaping down from the tree, stone axe in hand, to pursue the one who had escaped.
He knew that if this man escaped, the Meteorite tribe would soon learn about the bow and arrow. The weapon was easy to replicate, and its knowledge in their hands would mean heavy casualties for his own tribe in future conflicts.
Song was not the fastest runner in his tribe; Civet Cat, for instance, could easily outpace him. But after three months of training with a stone on his back, he was able to stay right on the heels of the man in front of him.
After several hundred paces, the man in front suddenly stopped. Seeing that Song was alone, he clenched the meteorite weapon in his hand and stared at him intently.
He held a dagger made from meteorite, its length, including the wooden handle, about half an arm's span.
Its point was sharp and its edges honed. The man began to circle, constantly moving toward Song's left side. He knew that with Song holding the stone axe in his right hand, an attack from the left would make it difficult for him to counter.
Song gripped his stone axe, not daring to act rashly. He mirrored the man's movements, neither advancing nor retreating, maintaining a safe distance and preventing his opponent from circling to his left.
The enemy was a skilled fighter. Song could tell that these men, like his own people now, had enough time away from hunting to practice combat. In fact, they were even more proficient at this kind of close-quarters fighting.
The man knew that time was not on his side. He finally broke the standoff, lunging forward to stab at Song's chest.
A stab required only a short, straight thrust, while the stone axe needed to swing in an arc.
Song took half a step back, remembering Chen Jian's instructions: when facing a dagger, don't aim for the head. Step back and strike at the wrist or arm.
As he stepped back, he swung his right hand, aiming the axe at his opponent's arm. The man partially withdrew the dagger, then shot out his left hand, catching the wooden handle of the axe just as its swing lost its force. With his other hand, he thrust the dagger toward Song's neck.
Song neither retreated nor pulled his hand back. On pure instinct, he raised his left arm to block his neck, took half a step forward, and released his grip on the stone axe. With his freed right hand, he grabbed a fistful of the man's long hair, raised his knee, and slammed it into his opponent's crotch.
Both men screamed almost simultaneously. A long gash had been cut into Song's left arm, the flesh gaping and blood gushing out. The other man clamped his legs together in agony.
But in the throes of a life-or-death struggle, the enemy knew this was no time to collapse and scream. Enduring the searing pain in his groin, he stabbed the dagger toward Song's abdomen.
At such close quarters, there was only one option: go all in. Song grabbed the dagger's blade with his blood-soaked left hand, leaned in, and dropped his shoulder, slamming the man to the ground. At the same time, his right hand clamped down on his opponent's throat.
The man twisted in panic, bucking his hips to throw Song off. The feeling of suffocation made him subconsciously drop the dagger. He grabbed Song's wrist, pulling it upward, while clamping his legs around Song's body and twisting violently, trying to roll him off.
Song's left hand was already mangled, but enduring the agony, he drove his fingers into the man's eyes. He hooked them under the brow bone and gouged with all his might.
With an astonishing burst of pre-mortem strength, the man howled like a dying beast and threw Song off. Two bloody trails streamed from his eyes as he rolled on the ground, screaming and crawling blindly.
Song gasped for breath, then used his last ounce of strength to pick up the dagger and stab the man in the lower back.
He looked at the wound on his left arm. There was a long gash, already growing numb from the pain, with a small flap of skin hanging loose. The palm of his hand was sliced open.
"This is bad," he muttered. "The tribe will be reclaiming land soon."
His left hand trembled involuntarily. He looked from it to the meteorite dagger on the ground, and an inexplicable feeling washed over him.
A few months ago, armed with the same stone axe, he would have been no match for this man. Now, he had killed an enemy wielding a meteorite weapon. The change came from one thing: having enough food to eat, which gave him time every day to practice how to fight and kill.
He thought about Jian. Chen Jian wasn't much of a fighter, nor was he particularly strong; even a few months ago, Song could have bested him easily. But the techniques he taught the tribe—how to use a stone axe or a short stick against a dagger—were incredibly effective. If you aimed for the head, you would surely be stabbed first. This knowledge must have been guided by the ancestors in a dream, right?
After resting for a moment, he got to his feet, his body dizzy from blood loss. The women back with the others would have thistle and other herbs; he wouldn't die from this.
He picked up the dagger with his right hand and tucked it into his clothes. He had to take it back to show Chen Jian, to let the whole tribe see just how sharp these weapons that fell from the sky truly were.
He gathered some leaves to cover the man's body. After a moment of thought, he decided to tell a lie for the first time in his life.
Even with these men dead, the Meteorite tribe would eventually come looking for them. The people from the local tribe who witnessed the ambush might tell them how the fight happened, and the secret of the bow and arrow would spread.
So far, other tribes had seen them carrying bows and arrows but didn't understand their purpose, assuming they were some kind of charm or amulet.
However, his mother had taught him since childhood never to lie. The weight of that teaching felt especially heavy with her bones hanging around his neck.
But for the sake of his people, he would tell this lie.
He took off his mother's bone necklace and held it in his bloody hands. Kneeling, he muttered an explanation, begging for her forgiveness. By the time he stood up, his clansmen had caught up to him.
Back at the cave entrance, the people of the local tribe were stunned. Four corpses lay before them. In their experience, a single warrior from the Meteorite tribe could defeat three of their own, yet here four lay dead!
They couldn't see any large wounds on the bodies. Could that moon-shaped wooden stick really possess such power?
The leader's gaze fell upon Song's group, and he grew even more shocked. But after the shock came a flicker of hope. Perhaps if his own tribe also put their faith in the ancestors, they too could learn to use the curved moon weapon and defeat the Meteorite tribe.
Enduring the pain in his arm, Song walked up to the stunned and fearful leader. "One of them got away," he said, beginning his lie. "He was badly wounded. I don't know if he'll make it back."
The leader and his tribesmen panicked. "Then what do we do? The Meteorite tribe will come and kill us all! Song, please, give us that curved moon weapon!"
Song shook his head. He knew they wouldn't be able to win even with bows and arrows, and if they failed, the Meteorite tribe would simply take the weapons and learn their secrets.
"Your best option is to move with us," Song offered. "The Meteorite tribe won't be able to find you, and they can't defeat our tribe. If they come looking, we will help you kill them."
"Move away? But where would we live?"
"There are many caves there. Other tribes who joined us now live in houses, so you can live in the caves they left empty."
He didn't dare make such a decision on his own authority; his main goal was simply to prevent the secret of the bow and arrow from spreading.
He knew that joining his tribe was not a simple matter; there were many conditions involved.
For instance: would they live inside the main settlement or outside? Would they have a voice in tribal discussions? Would they be required to perform corvée labor? Could they become warriors? Would the tax on their harvest be one part in ten, or one in fifteen?
These were not matters for him to decide, so he couldn't make any promises. The Hua tribe and others had already moved, leaving their caves empty and the surrounding forests deserted. The only thing he could promise was that there was a place for them to live.
The specific arrangements were a serious matter to be discussed with the entire tribe after he returned.
As the leader turned back to discuss the offer with his people, Song quietly asked his own men, "Where are the weapons from the four we killed?"
"We have them all secured. We'll show them to Jian when we get back."
Chapter 78: Iron
After some discussion, the tribe finally chose to follow Song. They feared retaliation from the Meteorite tribe, as Song had lied and told them one of the Meteorite warriors had escaped to report back.
The loss of a single man did not overshadow their victory. On the contrary, the tribe was now more convinced than ever of their ancestors' protection. Otherwise, how could they have killed four of the seven attackers without suffering a single death?
They felt that with the protection of Song's tribe, they would at least be free from paying tribute to the Meteorite tribe. The only thing they didn't understand was why anyone would choose to live in a "house" instead of a good cave. What in the world was a house, anyway?
Song offered no lengthy explanations. After bandaging his wound, he headed back first with a few men, while the rest stayed behind to lead the new group, guiding them slowly toward the village.
He needed to return and discuss the matter with Chen Jian and the entire clan. A sliver of doubt crept in—he worried if he had made the right decision.
A few days later, Song and his men finally returned to the village. Though surprised to see the trench already taking shape, they wasted no time in finding Chen Jian, who was busy building the second kiln, and told him everything they had seen and heard.
"Jian, did I do the right thing?"
"You did. If the Meteorite tribe learns about our bows and arrows, many of our people will die."
"How should we arrange for this new tribe?"
"That's a discussion we need to have with the other tribes. It's not urgent. How is your wound?"
"It's alright. It should be healed in a few days. By the way, I brought back the Meteorite tribe's weapons."
At this, the few men building the kiln hurried over. They had all heard that the Meteorite tribe possessed weapons from the sky, but none had ever seen them.
Song carefully laid the dark weapons on the ground. He picked up a small wooden stick and, taking one of the daggers, brought it down hard, slicing the stick cleanly in two. The onlookers gasped in shock.
It's so much sharper than stone tools! No wonder they're so powerful! To maintain his pretense, Chen Jian feigned a startled jump. He thought to himself that in his past life, he could have bought a piece of bow leaf spring steel from a scrapyard for ten yuan that would be far superior to this.
He never expected that the first metal weapon he would see in this life would be a nickel-iron alloy. His copper furnace wasn't even fully dry yet, and bronze had yet to make an appearance.
The meteorite weapons were crude, perhaps not even comparable to a kitchen knife from his previous life. But in this era, they were practically indestructible. They could pierce one of their tribe's wicker shields with a single strike.
The five weapons consisted of two crooked daggers, a third dagger, a knife over a foot long, and a small iron spearhead.
He was very curious about how the Meteorite tribe worked with meteorite iron. The weapons appeared to be forged. Could it be that their tribe had bellows and knew how to make charcoal? Without them, the temperature wouldn't be high enough to heat the metal until it was red-hot and soft. Surely the meteorites didn't just fall from the sky in these shapes, right?
Besides, ordinary meteorites often have internal gaps containing sulfur and other substances, which could cause them to explode when directly calcined. How had that tribe solved this problem?
According to Song, the meteorite had fallen when he was a child, a full 20 years ago. Perhaps the Meteorite tribe had indeed developed some new technology in that time.
However, he wasn't overly concerned. In post-Stone Age warfare, one or two superior weapons couldn't determine the outcome. His own tribe practiced agriculture; they could afford to lose a battle and recover. The Meteorite tribe, on the other hand, would likely collapse after a single major defeat.
The tribespeople, however, took the matter very seriously. They coveted such weapons. Chen Jian didn't hand them over, planning instead to reforge them. After all, these were the tribe's first metal weapons; they needed to be made more impressive. They should have legendary names that would be passed down to later generations.
Famous blades passed down through the ages aren't always the sharpest, but they are always the ones with the best stories.
He had faith in himself and his clansmen to create some earth-shattering stories for these weapons—stories that might still be told by future generations.
"Put these away for now. Don't touch them. Tomorrow, we won't work on the kiln. We'll forge these weapons first."
"What kind of stone is this?"
The clansmen were very curious. Chen Jian looked toward the sky and said, "Since it fell from the sky, let's call it tiě. It sounds like tiān, the word for sky."
He made up the excuse on the spot, slightly altering the pronunciation. The new word for this metal, tiě, shared the same initial consonant as tiān. He hoped it was a clue that later generations could use to trace the word's origin.
"Tiě?"
The clansmen repeated the word a few times and decided they liked the name. It sounded like tiān, but wasn't exactly tiān. It captured just a part of the sound, which fit the poetic idea of something falling from the sky.
And so the dark weapons were named: the Iron Spear and the Iron Knife. The pronunciation was still unfamiliar, and Chen Jian had to remind himself not to get it wrong.
After settling the matter of the name, Chen Jian called all the corporal leaders of his tribe together to debrief them on the recent battle.
Song recounted the battle with considerable pride, earning a wave of admiration from the others. It was, indeed, an excellent result.
In truth, the battle sounded a bit like child's play to Chen Jian. The warfare of this era was probably no match for the village brawls of later generations; it was more on the level of a street fight.
War is an art that constantly evolves. People who have never witnessed an ambush or a trap would never think to use one. With more fighting comes experience paid for in blood, and from that, concepts like scouts, formations, and discipline naturally emerge.
Judging from Song's description, his tribe's level of warfare wasn't bad, likely the result of long-term conflict.
Five men who knew how to execute a flanking maneuver were far more advanced than tribes who only knew how to charge head-on.
Several corporal leaders suggested they could fight this way in the future: hide in advance and use a few people as bait to lure the enemy in.
Chen Jian smiled. "In the past, when we went out, I always sent men on horned deer to ride hundreds of paces ahead. Why do you think I did that? This is what you must remember: in all future battles, you must send out scouts to check the situation ahead."
"But that's us," one leader argued. "Other tribes don't know how to send scouts."
"Not necessarily," Chen Jian countered. "If someone discovers our ambush, they'll charge and scatter us, and the plan will fail. We should try to avoid such risky battles. A slow, steady advance is safer."
The leaders argued for a while. Some thought the ambush tactic was excellent, while others believed it couldn't be easily replicated. Each held firm to their own opinion.
Chen Jian knew he wasn't a military genius. If he tried to replicate famous ambushes, like the one where "Pang Juan died under this tree," his attempt would likely be a clumsy imitation—like trying to draw a tiger and ending up with a dog.
If he had to choose, he would always opt for a slow, steady advance. He just hoped that with more battles, a few true tactical geniuses might emerge from within the tribe.
In the end, the only consensus they reached was this: in future wars, scouts must always be sent out first.
As they were arguing, the large drum of the village council began to beat. Chen Jian looked outside. People from the various tribes were gathering in a disorganized crowd by the river—the spot designated as the future sacrificial grounds. It seemed the new tribe had arrived.
"Let's go," Chen Jian said. "We need to discuss what to do with this tribe."
The current village operated under two authorities: the military chief and the tribal assembly. The assembly was responsible for discussing major issues and resolving inter-tribal disputes. Nominally, the military chief's absolute power was reserved for wartime. To prevent chaos, the leaders representing each tribe in the assembly derived their opinions from their people's support; they did not have the right to make unilateral decisions on important matters.
This structure wasn't something Chen Jian had deliberately designed; it was a product of their current conditions. The era when a minority could rule over a majority was still a distant future. The custom of the common people participating in politics (a tradition from early Chinese history) would likely continue for a long time.
The matter to be discussed today was extremely important, requiring the participation of all adults who held the right to do so.
How should they settle this new tribe? And how would they integrate other tribes in the future? The answers would determine the village's future power struggles and political balance.
Once the Meteorite tribe was defeated, more than a dozen other tribes would need to be dealt with. Should they be taken as slaves? Or should they be treated like the seven traitorous tribes—as "savages" with no political rights, required to pay taxes and perform labor?
Many people, finding the labor of digging the trench exhausting, wanted to take the tribes as slaves. Others argued that since they shared common ancestors, enslaving them would be wrong. What if the ancestors grew angry and withdrew their protection?
Chen Jian had no intention of treating them as slaves. His goal was to assimilate them into the general populace. These people and I share the same ancestors, he thought. This is far from a race war. At most, it's the difference between the Zhao, Qian, Sun, and Li families—a difference of surnames, not of race.
Furthermore, in purely practical terms, treating the other tribes as slaves would cause their entire civilization to collapse in less than a decade. Once the ratio of slaves to masters grew too high, the masters would simply be sending themselves to the guillotine.
Relying on only fourteen tribes and a few hundred able-bodied men, they couldn't possibly hope to thrive, unless their people could undergo mitosis or reproduce like cockroaches.
With Chen Jian pushing his view against the opposition, backed by the four allied tribes and some individuals looking to curry favor, the power of numbers made itself felt. The final decision fell completely in line with his plan.
The new tribes would not be allowed to live inside the village walls, nor would they have the right to participate in discussions. They would be told to establish their own settlement on the far bank of the river. Following the precedent set with the seven tribes, they would pay tribute in food and provide corvée labor. Only after proving their loyalty could they move inside the walls.
Most people's thinking was led by their self-interest. Since they couldn't have slaves, they at least wanted more people available for corvée labor. They certainly didn't want other tribes having a say in discussions or a share of the spoils.
A shared ancestry wasn't enough to make these people set aside their own interests and selflessly help another tribe.
The tribal assembly had reached a decision, and everyone was bound to abide by it. Chen Jian and the leaders of the fourteen tribes went out to meet the newcomers.
After the conditions were stated, the new tribe's leader refused. "You demand tribute from our harvest. How is that different from the Meteorite tribe? Besides, who knows if the land will produce enough food to eat? Haven't you also suffered from poor harvests?"
Chen Jian nodded. "Then you have another choice. You can go to the mountains upstream. There are caves there and no other tribes nearby. You can live there and come to our village when you need to trade, as long as you honor our shared ancestors."
The leader looked at the massive, half-dug trench. "Can we live here without paying tribute? We think it would be good to live inside."
"Of course not."
"Then we choose the mountains. When you go to fight the Meteorite tribe, we will come and help."
"Very well," Chen Jian replied. "But by the time you decide to move back, there may be no good land left."
"We won't be moving back. A cave is a fine home. We have no desire to hand over what is ours to any other tribe."
"I hope so."
Chen Jian waved his hand, motioning for a clansman to lead them to an empty cave. Wanting rights without obligations, he thought. There's no such thing in this world.
This tribe had only heard about life in Song's village, and their contact had been too brief to form a real impression. Coupled with their lingering fear of the Meteorite tribe, they chose to leave.
Chen Jian, however, was certain they would move out of the mountains before long.
They wouldn't appreciate an open invitation to a better life and integration into his tribe. Only after experiencing more hardship and seeing the contrast with life in the village firsthand would they understand the mistake they were making today.
Paying a tenth of their harvest and providing corvée labor was far better than scrounging for acorns in the forest. It was a pity the wheat wasn't yet ripe; a single glance at a golden field would have been enough to shatter their resolve.
Chapter 79: Five Blades
A heavy snow always falls before the winter wheat turns yellow. Twenty days after the allied tribes departed, the first snow of winter finally arrived.
This was the first snowfall Chen Jian had witnessed since coming to this world. The north wind howled, whipping the two rattan ropes in front of his house until they made a whining sound.
On the fresh snow, all kinds of animals had painted pictures with their tracks: the plum blossoms of wolves, the maple leaves of geese, the hearts of sheep... only the prints of bamboo leaves and crescent moons were missing.
There were no human footprints outside the village. The people of the ten allied tribes had returned to the mountains as soon as the weather had turned cloudy. Besides, their pregnant mothers and sisters were in the mountains and needed care.
The trench had been dug on schedule before the snow fell, with the excavated soil piled on the inner side. Building the village wall was still a distant goal, something that would have to wait until the snow melted.
Near the moat by the Cao River, two red-brick buildings had risen from the ground, standing taller than any other house.
One was a school, the other a sacrificial hall.
These were the only two masonry buildings in the entire village, distinct in both their height and materials. The tribe's few masons did not yet have the skill to build brick domes, so the roofs were still constructed from traditional mortise-and-tenon wooden frames covered with thatch and bark.
The sacrificial hall was empty save for a single banner, not yet properly arranged.
But from the school, the voices of children could already be heard. The older children of the fourteen tribes gathered there, and through the thatch-woven doors and windows, one could hear their ragged chanting: "One, two, three, four."
Yu Qian'er and her kinsfolk served as the children's teachers. The daily lessons were simple, focused only on teaching the children how to count. After the wheat ripened, they would need to go to the fields to learn how to harvest; when the weather was warmer, they would need to learn how to knead pottery. They even needed to learn how to manage slaves—how to make them work more without resisting.
These were subjects that young teachers like Yu Qian'er were not equipped to teach.
She had grown a little impatient after a few days. Chen Jian hadn't been playing with them lately. Instead, he and a few others had found a piece of quartz stone the size of a horned deer outside the village and built a small forge nearby. Charcoal had been brought there, along with five pieces of crude iron. Every day, the clanging of stone hammers striking metal could be heard.
If you got close, you could also hear a constant wheezing sound, and it was hard to tell if it came from the bellows or the person pumping them.
The iron itself was unchanged, but nearly twenty days of hammering had transformed its shape.
Chen Jian couldn't tell if it was pig iron, wrought iron, or steel, and he never expected these objects to be incredibly sharp. He simply hoped they would evolve alongside his tribe and its civilization, that countless people would one day work together to forge a future—a legend worthy of being told over wine.
To have a story is enough. Why the need for sharpness?
One day after the snow, the clansmen gathered near the school where the ground had been cleared. The clanging of hammers from outside the village had stopped the day before. Everyone knew that the men had forged five weapons and were eager to see them.
The women sat in groups around the fire, chatting as they wound twine. The men mended their fishing nets with ceramic shuttles, occasionally looking up at Chen Jian, who stood before them, wondering what he had created.
Chen Jian took out the first iron implement. It was somewhat dark, slender, and only slightly longer than the palm of a hand. It had no pattern on it and looked much like a wooden hairpin a woman might wear.
"This blade is named Chaizan. It is a gift for my sisters."
"This is a hairpin. It can be adorned with emerald stones, making it very attractive to a lover. But it can also pierce an enemy's throat!"
"If one day, our men are all dead and can no longer protect you, I hope that you, my sisters, will pull the hairpins from your coiled hair. Use them to stab the throats of the enemies who slaughtered your brothers and lovers."
The women froze for a moment, unnaturally touching their hair. They looked at the brothers sitting beside them, and only then did they seem to relax.
Chen Jian took out a second iron implement.
It was only the size of a palm, small and shaped like a willow leaf. It was very thin, and its sharp edge, honed with sand and stone, gleamed with a dazzling, cold light.
"This blade is called Thrush. A gift for my brothers."
"I hope our sisters will never have to use their hairpins, because we will protect them."
"I hope that every time you go to war, you can all come back alive. Return to hold the women who share your beds, to sit on the village wall and watch the sunset or sing songs. Perhaps a woman will rest her head on your lap while basking in the sun, and you will use this blade to trim her eyebrows or comb her tangled hair."
"I hope my brothers can touch a woman's hairpin and tell her it is only a hairpin, that it will never be stained with blood, because her man is still here."
The third blade was slightly longer. It was more than three fingers wide and sharpened on only one side.
"This one is called Fish Intestines."
"It is not a sword, but a knife. It can cut meat, fillet fish, and slice fruit, but it can also kill. I hope everyone will one day eat fish sliced thin and meat carved as delicately as a cicada's wings. I hope that in the future, everyone will have a knife like this, as proof that we eat meat and fish every day and no longer need to survive on acorns."
"But if one day we become slaves, our captors may confiscate our weapons, not even a meat knife."
"I hope that, should that day come, our descendants will be able to hide this blade in the belly of a fish, hidden from enemy eyes. They can wait for the enemy to fall asleep, then pull out the Fish Intestines and plunge it into his heart."
He set down the Fish Intestines and took out the fourth weapon.
This one was not a sword or even a knife, but a crescent-shaped piece of iron with a foot-long wooden handle. The clansmen recognized it; it was similar to a stone sickle.
"This one is called Ji Lian."
"It is the sickle for harvesting wheat. Our hands can hold a sword and spear, and they can also grip the wooden handle of a sickle."
"The sword and spear protect our millet from being eaten by wild beasts and looted by enemies."
"The Ji Lian protects our Ji Mai from being drenched by heavy rain and blown away by the cold wind."
"I hope that one day, our descendants will spread our wheat and beans to every land where they can be grown. Wielding this sickle, they will bring the harvest back to the granaries before the heavy rains fall."
"I hope that everyone who grows our crops will wear their hair in the same style as us, speak the same words as us, and wield the same shape of sickle."
Chen Jian paused, then drew the final sword from its sheath. Forged from the crooked knife, it was two fingers wide and two feet long. The entire blade was black and had no sharpened edge. The hilt was unadorned with antlers, pig tusks, or emerald stones—only a simple wooden handle.
"This sword is called Wufeng."
"This will be the sword of command for every military leader of our tribe. For as long as our bloodline endures, this sword will belong to the leader who guides us to victory."
"As you can see, this sword has no edge. It seems it cannot kill. But each of you, everyone who can hold an axe and spear, you are the edge of this sword."
"I hope that when this sword is raised, even if you face tigers as high as mountains and venomous snakes as long as rivers, you will rush forward and become its sharp edge, cutting them in two."
"Without you, this sword is nothing. Without you, it has no edge. But with you, the edge of this sword can be ten steps long, a hundred steps, even a thousand."
"I hope every military leader will remember that his kinsmen are the sharp edge of his sword."
"For now, this sword is unknown to all but us. But to the east, in the direction of the rising sun, lies the Meteorite Tribe. To the north, in the direction of the deepest snows, is the Scalping Tribe. These two tribes will be the first to taste this blade's steel. They may try to scalp us or force us to give them food. We will refuse, and so we must defeat them."
"I hope that one day, this sword will have its own story. I hope every enemy who sees it raised will throw down their weapons and flee in terror, because they will know that the edge of this sword cuts through anything—even while the blade is still sheathed."
He looked at all his clansmen and asked in a loud voice, "For women's hairpins that will never see blood, for men who can use their Thrush blades with laughter, for the day the Fish Intestines will never be hidden in a fish's belly, and for the sickles that will harvest wheat and beans from every plantable land—are you willing to become the edge of this bladeless sword?"
Holding up the dark, edgeless sword and pointing it at the winter sun, the men shouted in unison. Their voices merged, as if they had condensed into an indestructible blade, so sharp it could split the cold wind itself.
Before them were five weapons with no stories, but they believed that one day, they would become five weapons of legend, to be handed down to future generations, just like the tales of their ancestors.
Chapter 80: Snow
The five new weapons were not all sent to the sacrificial hall; instead, they were handed over to the old matriarch for safekeeping.
They would be brought out when needed for sacrifices, but for now, the fish-intestine sword had become the clan's primary kitchen knife. Chen Jian had fulfilled his promise, and the clansmen could now enjoy fish fillets as thin as cicada wings, no longer having to settle for the thick chunks of meat hacked apart by stone knives.
The thrush blade was used for shaving or for neatly trimming unruly hair. The women also learned to trim their eyebrows and remove facial hair by making slipknots with twine.
The remaining three weapons were temporarily placed in the sacrificial hall and would not be used for the time being.
It was snowing, which brought many activities to a halt.
Although the Caohe River was not completely frozen, patches of ice made it impossible for boats to sail. The copper mine was too far away to be supplied by land, as the clan's few pack animals could not transport enough provisions. Water transport was the only viable option, but it was difficult to peel birch bark in winter, so they couldn't prepare enough new boats.
For the moment, the Meteor Tribe to the east was not a major threat. Winter was ill-suited for warfare; an injury could easily lead to death from exposure. It was unwise to fight unless the only alternative was starvation.
There were also many matters to attend to within the tribe. The pregnant women needed to be cared for. The ewes and horned deer were also pregnant; due to good feeding and abundant food, they had entered estrus earlier than usual and might give birth before winter's end. This required constant vigilance, as newborn lambs, covered in amniotic fluid, could freeze to death before their mothers had a chance to lick them clean.
In addition, there was the management of the wheat fields after the snow melted and the production of charcoal in preparation for copper smelting. All these tasks required time and manpower.
The tribe could not yet afford to support full-time soldiers. Everything had to be based on reality, and reality was often restrictive. Even wars could not be fought whenever one wished.
Of course, there was still plenty to do during the snowfall.
A few days after the snow began, Chen Jian led his tribesmen to fell a tree and build several one-person sledges, which they hitched to the horned deer.
He wanted to take advantage of the heavy snow to scout the north. Whether the northern tribe had mastered the wheel or still relied on horses, such weather was not suitable for large-scale movement. The clan's sledges and horned deer were the ideal means of transportation in these conditions.
*Know yourself and know your enemy, and you will emerge victorious from a hundred battles.*
He needed to determine the strength of the northern tribe. Was it a primitive nomadic settlement? Or had it already formed a small *xingbang* (city-state)? Were they of the yellow race, or some other people? How far were they from his own tribe? Were they nomads following water and pastures, having arrived here by chance? Or had they settled here permanently?
The best archers from the four tribes were selected for the expedition. Chen Jian did not bring Wufeng, carrying only a bow, arrows, and a stone axe. He wanted to see the tribe with his own eyes. Personal observation could reveal many things, whereas relying on others' reports might mean missing crucial details. The tribe's scouts were not yet fully trained, and this operation would also be an opportunity to teach them how to use their eyes.
The thirty chosen men prepared a large supply of charcoal and food, dressed in thick animal skins, and set out without flying any banners. The charcoal was especially important, as it burned without producing thick smoke, which would prevent them from being detected by the enemy. A column of thick smoke could be seen clearly from more than ten miles away.
Footprints left in the snow were the best clues. Even if the scalping tribe had learned to set ambushes, the snow would reveal their tracks. Searching aimlessly in such vast terrain would surely yield nothing.
A few days later, the thirty men finally reached the vicinity of the cave where the scalp had been found. There were no fresh traces of people, and several wild beasts, which previously would not have dared to approach, had occupied the cave.
After driving the beasts away, they ignored the smell, lit a charcoal fire inside, and grilled some food.
"From here on, we could encounter that tribe at any time. We must be careful."
"But our sledges will leave tracks," Langpi said, rubbing his hands together. He stood at the cave entrance, looking at the long trails in the snow outside and shaking his head.
"That will depend on you. Brother, bring a few men with me."
Chen Jian left the cave and went to the spot where the horseshoe prints had been discovered. It was a meadow, with a dense forest not far away.
Horsemen would certainly not travel through the forest. The primeval jungles of this era were littered with fallen trees that never fully rotted, instead forming mounds of earth as tall as a person. It was difficult for horses to pass through, so they would have to proceed along the meadow valley.
"A few of you, climb into the trees and move along the branches, sticking to the edge of the meadow."
The pine forest was very dense, with branches growing close together. The agile tribesmen could move through them without ever touching the ground, leaving no footprints behind.
"Take eight men, in teams of two. Travel for half a day, then leave one person behind to report back. The rest of us will follow. If you find footprints or large hoof prints, return immediately."
Traveling through the branches day after day wasn't fast, but by descending periodically, they could completely conceal their trail. In his past life, bandits in the north had used this same method. The most skilled tree-climbers could cover dozens of miles in a day, leaving no trace of their mountain hideouts. Without tracks, a distance of fifty or sixty miles was enough to ensure that the other tribe would find no clues; they might even think soldiers had descended from the heavens.
Langpi understood. He was the first to scale a pine tree. In a truly primeval forest, the branches were very close together. To be safe, he also carried a coil of hemp rope. If he encountered a gap too wide to jump, he could use the rope to swing across.
Eight of the best tree-climbers, carrying food and charcoal, set off quietly through the treetops.
Four days later, Chen Jian and the remaining men had traveled nearly 120 miles. They left a few people behind to guard the horned deer, and the rest followed him up into the trees.
Langpi had sent back a message: he had spotted smoke ahead.
Two days after that, the group of more than twenty men traveled through the canopy to the location where Langpi had seen the smoke.
Standing atop a very tall pine tree, they peered into the distance. A river snaked through the landscape, and on either side of it lay a treeless, snow-covered expanse. It was likely a grassland or a wetland unsuitable for tree growth.
From this distance, they could only see the smoke, not the people who made it.
"Stay in the trees. We'll circle around in the direction of the rising sun and approach from there."
He led the men on a long, circuitous route through the trees. They eventually descended by a river, deliberately leaving footprints that seemed to appear suddenly out of the water.
It was the fifteenth day of the clan calendar, and the night was moonless. Looking at the flickering fires in the distance, it seemed there were quite a few people.
The twenty-plus men were again divided, with a small group scouting ahead. They advanced slowly through the snow, keeping to the mountain ridges on either side of the valley, preferring to take the long way around rather than walking through the open flats.
By the time they finally neared the settlement, it was the morning of the next day. They were now on a hill overlooking the encampment, only a few thousand paces away.
When they saw the settlement with their own eyes, everyone was stunned.
Not far below the hill were dozens of large and small dwellings. They were built low to the ground, somewhat resembling the semi-subterranean structures of the villages in the lower Caohe River basin. But what was truly strange was that, in addition to these houses, there were also tents made of leather or bark scattered about. They were too far away to see clearly, but it was certain that the tents and houses did not belong to the same style of civilization.
"Why don't they all live in the houses?" someone whispered.
"Could it be that another tribe used to live here in the houses, and these people killed them all?"
Chen Jian considered the possibility. The distribution of the houses suggested that the original inhabitants were at least a semi-settled tribe, as their homes were somewhat dispersed. Unfortunately, they seemed to have possessed no sense of impending danger. Or perhaps they were exterminated before they had time to dig trenches or build wooden fences.
In this cruel era, anything was possible. The destruction of a nascent civilization could take a single day, while it took that same civilization decades to emerge from the mountains.
Hearing Chen Jian's guess, the men felt a chill run down their spines. There were so many houses—enough for a large tribe of at least three or four hundred people. And they were just… gone?
"Someone's coming!" Lishou nervously pointed into the distance, a bit flustered. Though he couldn't see clearly, he could make out a large group of people walking toward their position.
"Will they find us?"
"No. If they spotted us, they would be riding those animals to chase us down."
Chen Jian listened carefully for any sounds from below and, confirming there were no wolves or dogs, felt a sense of relief. As long as there were no watchdogs, they were relatively safe on the mountain for now.
As the group drew closer, Chen Jian saw that there were quite a lot of them. Judging by their height, there were men, women, and children among them, but their faces were still indistinct.
Not far from the foot of the mountain stood several huge stones adorned with numerous furs and animal tails. The entire surface of the stones was dyed a dark red, either with blood or ocher. They were clearly man-made, not natural formations. A slab of feldspar had been placed horizontally across two large upright stones, and the remnants of plant ash were scattered nearby.
Several people in the approaching group were carrying a body. It seemed someone from the tribe had died.
---
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