Vol 1 Chapter 4 (1/2)

Han Xin IV

The sword was power, power an arm’s reach away, the power he’d once craved. But if he couldn’t get this army out of the pa.s.ses, then what use was it?

He sighed and stood, preparing to leave and walk off his low spirits.

Nearby, another man pa.s.sed out, drunk.

Someone turned towards him and yelled: “Han Xin, how about you take Li Yang’s place? He can’t get up!”

Han Xin said: “I don’t know the rules.”

“You’re joking! Who doesn’t know how to play liubo[1] in this day and age?”

Several of the others joined in: “Right! You’re so quick with the accounts normally. How could you not know how to play?”

“Hey! Don’t... don’t ruin the night for us! We nee...need another player.”

“We’re only gambling with wine, not money. We’re not breaking any rules. What are you scared of?”

Han Xin said: “I really don’t know how to play. You can find someone else.”

A few of the others came over and forcibly dragged him towards the game.

“Hey, help us out, we’re all friends here! It’s pitch dark outside--where are we supposed to find someone else? Come! You’re so smart, you’ll figure out the rules at a glance. Oh, pick one: zhis.h.i.+, qianyu, dama. We won’t make you drink for the first three rounds you lose.”

They shoved Han Xin down by the game board.

He truly didn’t know the rules, and this was a game of chance, not strategy. He kept getting low rolls, one after the other, and before long they’d forced him a couple dozen cups. The wine was cheap and viciously strong; Han Xin could feel his head beginning to spin.

Someone, already flushed red from face to neck, said: “Han... Han Xin, you don’t look... look like an idiot. So why do you pl...play like an amateur?”

Han Xin said: “I’m not playing like an amt... amateur. I just don’t... don’t like t’ play.”

Another player laughed. “Oh, stop being so defensive! An amateur is an amateur. You can’t win if you played for all your lifetime.”

Han Xin lost again; the other players held him in place while they poured two more cups down his throat, splas.h.i.+ng wine all over his neck and clothes. He sat up, wiping his chin with his sleeve. He felt even dizzier than before. “I’m n... not your match gambling atliubo, but when it comes t’ gam... gambling for all under heaven, none can match... match me.

The crowd roared with laughter.

“Gambling for all under heaven? Never... never heard of it. Who are you gambling against? King Xiang?”

Han Xin slurred: “What’s King X...Xiang worth? One game... one game, and he’ll lose his shr...s.h.i.+rt! He’ll hang... hang himself from shame.”

Again, the crowd laughed.

Someone else asked: “Wh...What about our King of Han?”

Han Xin eyed him slantwise. “I... I won’t gamble with him.”

“Why? Oh-- you know... you know you can’t win agag... against our king. You’re af... afraid!”

Han Xin said: “Who... who are you calling ‘f... afraid? No... no one can go against me, not ev... even the King of Han. I just don’t want t’ play against a sore... a sore loser. ‘Motherf.u.c.ker,’ he’ll say, ‘I... I didn’t get a good grip last time, it d... doesn’t count!’ “

The crowd laughed even louder this time. It was common knowledge that the King of Han loved gambling and hated losing, and would shamelessly make excuses for every loss.

Han Xin giggled drunkenly with them. Another player asked him something else; he answered, still giggling, although he wasn’t quite sure what he was saying anymore. His body felt lighter and lighter even as his head felt heavier and heavier, and the crowd’s laughter got louder and louder, until he finally drifted off, unconscious.

When he woke, he found himself bound in rope and slated for execution.

His crime was simple: sedition.

He had little room to defend himself and no intention of trying to figure out who tattled. All those people had heard him mock the Hegemon-King of Chu and the King of Han. He was going to conquer all under heaven, make himself supreme king. That sort of terrible boast, even voiced while drunk, deserved execution. He could acknowledge that much.

He’d thought about dying before, even if he’d never imagined he’d die like this. If he met an unnatural death, he’d thought, it would be on the battlefield, or in a treacherous court, or from an a.s.sa.s.sin’s dagger.

What sort of death was this? Kneeling on the execution platform, trussed up like a pig, all for the sake of a few drunken words. He thought it funny, but couldn’t bring himself to laugh.

Laughter couldn’t save him. The sun crawled up the sky, inch by inch. Once the hour arrived and his head hit the floor, it would be all over.

He could calmly face the barbed selfishness of the petty, calmly face humiliation at the hands of the town bully, calmly face Xiang Yu’s insults and mockery, because he knew he’d prove his worth sooner or later. But he couldn’t calmly face death, because in death there was no more room to plan for the future.

Noon came, and the executions began.

One. Two. Three. The prisoners ahead of him in line were decapitated, one by one.

He suddenly felt a wave of terror. He wasn’t afraid of death itself, but this kind of death was such a waste-- he hadn’t the chance to display an iota of his abilities. How could he die like this?

What would future generations say?

No, future generations wouldn’t say anything. He was only a minor clerk, executed for violating military discipline. No one would bother to remember his name.

Ten. Eleven. Twelve. It was almost his turn.

His heart clenched. No! No! He couldn’t die like this! He had to live! He raised his head, frantically looking around.

Someone had once told him: at the worst crisis of his life, someone would help him. Who? Who?

A distant memory flashed across his mind like lightning. Ah! That strange conversation, that cold-eyed man in black, a second meeting to occur twelve years in the future... twelve years, twelve years, had it been twelve years? Had it? Where was the black-robed man? Where? Didn’t he need him to help his employer? Ah! That deal! He was willing! He was willing! He was willing to do anything, if the black-robed man would save his life. But where was he? Where?

Someone rode by, glancing in his general direction. It wasn’t the black-robed man, but a formidable-looking general: the Marquis of Zhaoping, Xiahou Ying.

Han Xin shouted: “If the King of Han wants to rule all under heaven, why is he killing his valiant men?”

Xiahou Ying reined in his horse and approached him.

Han Xin hissed a sigh of relief. He was saved!

Xiahou Ying had brought the startling young man to his own residence out of curiosity, no more. But once he started talking with him, curiosity turned to surprise, then respect.

“How many types of spies are there?”

“Five. They are: incidental agents, inner agents, double agents, death-bound agents, and returning agents.”

“What do you mean by incidental agent?”

“Recruiting natives of an enemy state to supply us with information.”

“Inner agent?”

“Recruiting members of the enemy court to supply us with information.”

“Double agent?”

“Recruiting enemy agents for our own use.”

“Death-bound agents?”

“Agents meant to be captured by the enemy, providing misinformation at the cost of their lives.”

“Returning agents?”

“Agents meant to scout out the enemy and return alive to report.”

“How do you employ each type of spy?”

After a full night and day of discussion, Xiahou Ying rubbed his hands together enthusiastically. “I’m going straight to the king! You wait here. He’ll definitely give you a high post.” With that said, he hurried off.

The King of Han was in his palace, but he was busy.

Busy watching a c.o.c.kfight.

“Up! Up! Stupid Bronze-Comb, are you sick? Up!” the King of Han hopped and shouted.

Xiahou Ying counted as an old friend of the King of Han’s, and was therefore allowed to briefly interrupt during such busy circ.u.mstances.

The King of Han kept his eyes fixed on the c.o.c.kfight, only halfheartedly listening to Xiahou Ying’s introductions. “Give him a promotion, then. What’s his current rank?”

Xiahou Ying said: “Granary clerk.”

The King of Han said: “Make him Quartermaster, then!”

“Your Highness, Han Xin isn’t an ordinary...”

The King of Han leapt up. “Quick! Quick!” he yelled. “Peck his head! Good! Now kick! Right, be careful...”

Xiahou Ying stared at the King of Han. He prepared to say something, but, in the end, could only retreat.

When Xiahou Ying apologetically told Han Xin his new job, Han Xin only smiled.

What could he do but smile? The post of Quartermaster was a thousand bushel rank, a lofty promotion. What did he have to complain about?

Not long ago, his compatriots had looked admiringly upon his rank of granary clerk. He knew this stroke of good fortune would have them congratulating him for another year.

Thus he a.s.sumed the duties of a Quartermaster, though he greeted the work without much enthusiasm.

The one benefit to his promotion was that it allowed him access to the Chancellor’s archive collection for research. Chancellor Xiao He had swept the Qin palaces in Xianyang for doc.u.ments and resources; they now rested in a spare residence, unvisited.

Han Xin found the Archives Keeper and asked him for permission to enter.

Zhang Cang, the Archives Keeper, was a tall, ivory-skinned man with the air of a keen scholar. Han Xin had heard that he used to be an Imperial Censor for the Qin Dynasty, well-versed in law and literature. Xiao He had chosen him to manage the Chancellor’s Archives for his experience.

“We get few visitors, officer,” Zhang Cang said as he unlocked the door. “Not even Chancellor Xiao shows much interest at these anymore.”

Han Xin said: “But didn’t the Chancellor collect these himself?”

Zhang Cang said: “Yes, but what use are they now? Trapped in this...” Zhang Cang swung the door open and walked in. “...this accursed land with no escape to be found between heaven and earth. They can only go to waste.”

Han Xin followed him in. Standing in the room, looking at the countless silk doc.u.ments and bamboo scrolls stacked almost to the ceiling in each direction, an unfamiliar feeling welled up in his heart. Here rested the most valuable military and governmental resources under heaven: all the regions’ important strongholds, population, resources, fortification strength, wealth... standing here, he could almost feel the heartbeat of the once-mighty empire. And yet these priceless doc.u.ments had been carelessly piled here to gather dust.

“What are you looking for?” Zhang Cang’s question interrupted his thoughts.

“Maps,” Han Xin said.

Zhang Cang said: “Mm, maps... here. Of what location? These cover the east, these cover the southeast...”

Han Xin said: “I want maps of the southwest.”

“The southwest?” Zhang Cang turned his head. “Maps of the southwest, officer?”

“Yes,” said Han Xin.