Chapter 62: On the Eve of Battle (Part One)

In the transition from spring to summer this year, after years of patient preparation, the Way of Five Bushels of Rice was finally ready to launch its assault on Shanyin. By now, Zhang Chi had naturally returned to the city and was residing in Meng Feiyang’s mansion.

Meng Feiyang was a native of Jiangnan, not one of the northern gentry who had migrated south; his family's influence in Kuaiji commandery was considerable. His father had died when Meng Feiyang was still a child, and he had inherited his father’s title. Thus, ever since Zhang Chi had warned him that the Way of Five Bushels of Rice was plotting to invade Shanyin from Mount Kuaiji, Meng Feiyang had been working tirelessly to unite the great gentry clans of the city, hoping to resist the coming chaos together.

As an outsider and not a member of the gentry, Zhang Chi was naturally in no position to involve himself in these affairs—nor did he wish to. All he cared about was how to rescue the Wine Maiden when the assault came. So, for the past few days, he had been quite at leisure.

However, ever since their visit to the sacred ground of the Way of Five Bushels of Rice, Santong had been acting peculiarly. Out of shyness, he could not bring himself to confess to Zhang Chi the amorous adventure he had experienced there, yet he could not stop himself from reliving it in his mind, finding the memory endlessly delightful. Often he would fall into a reverie, oblivious to Zhang Chi or Dao Xuan’s words, and break into foolish grins for no reason.

Dao Xuan sensed something mysterious about Santong and questioned him, but Santong would not talk. Yet, even if Santong kept silent, Zhang Chi had already guessed the truth: during the rites at the sacred ground, Santong must have had a romantic encounter. Judging by his current behavior, it was surely lovesickness. Santong had never known a woman before, and now he was lost in such feelings—only natural for a young man.

Had Santong fallen for an ordinary woman, Zhang Chi would have done his utmost to bring them together. But since it had been nothing more than a fleeting escapade within the Way of Five Bushels of Rice—Santong so devoted, yet the other party likely treating it as a simple religious rite—there was little Zhang Chi could do. He had no choice but to let Santong brood as he wished.

Zhang Chi understood well enough that the trials of the heart are a journey everyone must make for themselves; outsiders can do little to help.

Among his companions was also Miss Ruoshui. Ever since their encounter at the sacred ground, Ruoshui had stayed by Zhang Chi’s side, though never formally acknowledged. Zhang Chi knew she remained with him only because of his knowledge of the so-called "Seven-Character Mantra" of Daoism, believing him to be the agent of Fate. He was content to let her follow if she wished.

It had been about a month since Zhang Chi had crossed into this world. In this short time, he had experienced more than in many years of his previous life. His recent adventures had drawn him ever deeper into the grand scheme of things, and if matters continued thus, perhaps he would truly become a legend of this era.

Yet he did not believe that all transmigrators were destined for greatness—Du Zigong was proof enough. From what Zhang Chi had learned, if Du Zigong truly was a transmigrator, he was certainly qualified: he knew the history of this era, manipulated the ancients, and made the Way of Five Bushels of Rice prosper in the southeast. He must once have been regarded as an agent of Fate as well.

But even with his knowledge, Du Zigong had met a sorry end, slain by his own disciple. Clearly, the so-called golden finger of knowing future history is not always enough. Zhang Chi, who did not even understand the history of this era, felt even less qualified to play the role of Fate’s agent.

As he contemplated this, Meng Feiyang returned to the mansion, seeking him out. “Master Zhang, come, come! Today I’ve invited all the gentry and clan leaders of Shanyin to a banquet at my house. You are a man of wide learning and keen insight; why not join us? Perhaps you’ll have some valuable ideas.”

“Meng, you’re too kind,” Zhang Chi demurred. “Since all the guests are local gentry, I, a man of humble origins, had better not intrude.”

He tried to excuse himself, but Meng Feiyang seized his sleeve and would not let go. “A hero’s worth is not measured by his origin! Your learning and courage are the envy of us all. The situation is grave; please, join me. Perhaps you will think of some clever solution.”

Hearing Meng Feiyang’s urgency, Zhang Chi realized he was troubled. “Does this mean the situation in the city is not optimistic?” he asked.

Meng Feiyang sighed and nodded. “You see clearly, Master Zhang. For days I have been lobbying the various clans, and we have mustered a fair number of troops. Yet the Wang and Xie families remain aloof. Of all the clans, the Xie family from Chen commandery commands the most soldiers, while the Wang family from Langya controls the city garrison. Both are devout followers of the Way of Five Bushels of Rice and seem unwilling to send their troops.”

“How many men, then, can we muster for the city’s defense?” Zhang Chi was surprised that the Wang and Xie families were withholding their forces.

“Barely ten thousand,” Meng Feiyang sighed. “The followers of the Way of Five Bushels of Rice have been gathering on Mount Kuaiji for some time. Their numbers must be at least several tens of thousands—possibly more than a hundred thousand.”

Zhang Chi recalled overhearing, at the sacred ground, that half the gentry clans in Shanyin were followers of the Celestial Masters, which was apparently no exaggeration. On that occasion, the two men had mentioned that the city’s garrison was only ten thousand strong—the very number Meng Feiyang had just given. Did they already know the Wang and Xie would not take part in the defense?

They had also mentioned that some clans in the city would act as inside agents. Could they have meant the Wang and Xie? If so, these two families were inviting their own doom, and Lady Wang’s efforts to preserve the Xie family’s legacy would have been in vain.

With these thoughts, Zhang Chi became even more curious to see the true attitude of the Wang and Xie families.

…

The banquet was set in the great hall of Meng Feiyang’s mansion. The hall faced south and was rectangular, with long rows of low tables on the east and west sides. All the guests sat on mats. Before long, the leading figures of the city’s prominent clans had all taken their seats.

As host, Meng Feiyang sat at the northernmost position, with Zhang Chi beside him. The guests were all representatives of the great clans, and Zhang Chi expected to know none of them. To his surprise, among them was the elegantly dressed young man he had met at the Mortal Immortal Tavern.

As the guests took their seats, Meng Feiyang introduced them one by one to Zhang Chi. He learned that the young man in fine clothes was surnamed Kong; the Kong family had resided in Shanyin since the Eastern Wu period and were an established gentry clan.

Being new to the city and knowing only Meng Feiyang, Zhang Chi did not join the conversation as the gentry discussed matters over wine; he simply drank quietly on his own.

Yet by listening to their exchanges, Zhang Chi soon discerned the factions among them. There were two main camps: those advocating resistance, led by Meng Feiyang, and those advocating compromise, mainly followers of the Celestial Masters like the Wang and Xie families.

What surprised Zhang Chi most was that the elegantly dressed Kong was a proponent of resistance.

Meng Feiyang spoke with earnest conviction: “The rice bandits have risen in open rebellion. They recently attacked Jiankang, and though they failed, now they turn their sights on Shanyin. They have gathered in Mount Kuaiji for long, and will surely come prepared. If we, the great clans of Shanyin, unite our forces, we can certainly hold the city and spare the common folk from disaster.”

Though Kong was also for resistance, he was a typical scion of privilege, lacking military understanding but full of youthful bravado. “Why all this fuss? Those rice bandits are nothing but rabble—what do they know of war? If they dare come, I’ll lead my family’s two thousand elite and wipe them out to the last man!”

Having boasted thus, Kong still felt it lacked impact, so he added, “My position is this: whoever dares violate Shanyin, no matter how far, must be punished!”

“Ha!” At this, Zhang Chi could not help but spray out the wine he had just drunk. He was reminded of the online fanatics from his own time, forever clamoring to destroy America or Japan—the tone was exactly the same.

Though Zhang Chi also favored resistance, he could not abide such blind arrogance. Before crossing over, he had despised such hotheads, and now hearing Kong’s words, he could not help but choke on his wine.

Kong, feeling his grand words had been spoiled, glared at Zhang Chi. “What’s so wrong with what I said? How dare you mock me by spraying your wine?”

Zhang Chi calmly set down his cup. “Let me tell you a story, sir, and you’ll understand why I laughed.”

Kong was curious. “Very well—what story?”

“Once there were a few hungry stray dogs who saw a hide soaking in the middle of a river. Starving, they longed to eat it, but the water was deep and wide, and no matter how they strained, they could not reach it.” Zhang Chi smiled. “So they agreed to drink the river dry, thinking then they could get the hide. But before they could reach their prize, their bellies burst from all the water.”

Kong was still pondering the point of this odd tale when Zhang Chi gave the answer. “The moral is, do not attempt what is beyond your means. You might not only fail to get the hide—you may burst your own belly in the attempt. Like trying to face the tens of thousands of the Way of Five Bushels of Rice with your two thousand men.”

Kong looked as if he had swallowed a fly, rendered speechless by his own arrogance.