Vol 1 Chapter 5 (1/2)

Han Xin V

Xiao He sized up Han Xin suspiciously. Slowly, he said: ‘I heard from Xiahou Ying that you know every tome on military strategy forwards and back, is that correct?”

Han Xin smiled at that. That day, Xiahou Ying had used every military book he owned to test him: Six Secret Teachings, The Sima’s Methods, The Art of War, Wuzi, even the obscure and tangential Guiguzi. None of them had posed any challenge, and Xiahou Ying, overjoyed, had hurried to the palace to recommend him. Of course, that sort of test was laughable, and Han Xin had never regarded his knowledge as any true qualification for command. “To a general, the important thing isn’t memorizing books of military strategy,” he said, “but flexibly employing the principles behind the strategy in battle to attain victory.”

Xiao He took notice. “Please go into more detail,” he said, more respectfully.

Han Xin said: “Of the would-be generals of today, plenty can recite The Art of War by memory, but how many have achieved Sun Zi’s success in battle? In the end, their devotion to strategy ends at their tongue. They still rely on brute force on the battlefield instead of tactics and planning.

Xiao He nodded. “Yes, I’ve noticed it too. But why? If strategy is so effective, then why don’t people use it?”

Han Xin said: “There are two situations. The first occurs when the reader utterly fails to understand what he’s read. Some memorize The Art of War only to show off, when, in reality, they don’t understand a single sentence of it. In that case, how can they hope to apply it to the real world? The second occurs when the reader only partially understands what he’s read. All the very best strategies are widely used, and things widely used are often the most simple. Some take that at surface value and believe these strategies to be worthless prattle. They content themselves with a shallow a.s.sumption and never bother to look beyond. Isn’t Xiang Yu this way?”

Xiao He frowned. “I agree with your other points, but I can’t agree with your a.s.sessment of Xiang Yu. From the beginning, he’s never lost a battle or retreated in a campaign. This is common knowledge. Not to mention Julu, where he shocked everyone with his victory against a much more powerful enemy. He led the other lords to destroy the mighty Qin Empire in only two years! How can you dismiss his understanding of military strategy?”

Han Xin could only smile. So many people held that misconception about Xiang Yu; ever since he deserted the Chu army and came to Han, King Xiang’s many admirers had constantly approached him, wis.h.i.+ng to hear more about their legendary hero. He sighed and explained patiently: “Xiang Yu didn’t destroy the Qin; its own rulers did. The First Emperor was cruel and brutal; the Second Emperor was incompetent, his laws harsh and his taxes heavy. Discontent had built up amongst the people like dry tinder-- one spark could set the land ablaze. Then Chen Sheng rose in rebellion, and most of the east followed him. He may have failed to take Xianyang, but he’d pushed Qin to the brink of toppling. To finish the job in these conditions wouldn’t take much skill. That’s why even someone as shortsighted as Xiang Yu could succeed. What’s so impressive about his victories? If he slew a giant, it was a giant already diseased to its marrow.”

As he spoke, a thought came to Han Xin.

Why had the once-mighty Qin Dynasty decayed so quickly from the inside? This wasn’t normal. What dynasty before it had gone from rise to fall in so short a time? Did that mysterious Gentleman of the East Sea-- whom he’d known as the Guest of Canghai-- truly engineer it? If so, what for? How would a land in chaos benefit him? And what was that deal from twelve years ago for? Was there some connection between it all...

Xiao He didn’t notice Han Xin’s inner speculation, too caught up in his words. He’d never heard an a.n.a.lysis of the situation anything like it. Fascinated and impressed, he urged Han Xin to continue.

Afterwards, they discussed army management. Afterwards, they discussed governance...

When their discussion at last concluded, long after the sun had set, Xiao He couldn’t contain his delight. “With a talent like you under our kingdom’s employ, what do we have to fear? I’m going to the palace to see His Highness!”

Xiao He enthusiastically hurried off. Han Xin watched his silhouette, shaking his head. He sighed. It won’t be of any use.

Xiao He had reacted the same way Xiahou Ying did after their conversation, and he knew it would accomplish equally little.

The King of Han had despaired of returning east. He’d long since dropped any pretense of being a virtuous ruler in search of talents to promote. He wouldn’t show a bit of interest if Han Xin were Guan or Yue reborn.[1]

“Old Xiao, can’t you shut it already?” The King of Han stood with one foot on the table, throwing down his dice without bothering to lift his head. “I don’t want to promote him! Isn’t the rank of Quartermaster after three months enough? I’m stuck in this s.h.i.+thole and no one’s there to promote me... ai, whose turn is it? Keep playing!”

Xiao He said: “Your Highness, he has ten times my ability. Having him count bushels and write ledgers is a waste of his talents--”

“What talents? Haven’t you heard the story of how he crawled under someone’s crotch while he was in Huaiyin? And you’re asking me to promote him? I’ll be shamed by extension!” The King of Han grabbed the dice and threw them again. “Bah! Just your talk of him has ruined my luck! Can’t you leave me alone?”

“Your Highness, I’ve seen him,” Xiao He said. “His ideas are original and deep. If he endured humiliation, it was because he saw the greater picture and didn’t consider it worth his while to defend his honor from a small-town lout. Besides--”

“Are you still not done yet?” The King of Han slammed down his bet and straightened. “I’m warning you: from now on, don’t talk to me about that brat!” he snarled. “If you bother me again, I’ll have you locked into the animal pens, where you can promote him to the pigs!” Threat given, he dove headlong back into the throng of fellow gamblers. “What are you looking at? Keep playing!”

Xiao He could only stare at his king, stunned.

In frustration, even saints tear off their masks without hesitation and reveal their hidden inner natures.

Perhaps the loyal, good-natured Xiao He didn’t realize this, but Han Xin knew it well.

For that reason, he didn’t plan to wait any longer.

He was still young, and needed to escape this mountain-bound little kingdom while he still had the energy for such a long, harsh journey.

He straightened out his affairs, left a letter of farewell next to Dust-cross, and rode away on the horse he came here on.

But where should he go next? He considered this as he rode.

With his sharp eyes, he’d seen early on that the current most powerful force under heaven was the Hegemon-King of Chu, Xiang Yu; while the force with the greatest potential for growth was the King of Han, Liu Bang. The rest couldn’t compare. Now, he’d deserted Xiang Yu and fled Liu Bang. The land was vast, but where could he seek refuge?

He didn’t know, truly didn’t know.

Leave! Leave first and plan the rest later.

On horseback, he crossed the rough mountainside forests. The sky was dark, and from every direction came strange bird-cries and the howl of wolves. Wind moaned through the steep-sided valleys, at times high, at times low, at times a roar, at times a thin whisper, as if it were the chill voice of ghosts wandering in the wilderness.

None of it could stop him. He urged his horse forward.

Until a river cut across his path.

The river wasn’t wide, but its waters surged with abnormal speed. He saw that it extended to either side of him, like a vast python, with no end in sight upstream or downstream. It tossed and roared, as if to flaunt its impa.s.sibility.

He could only stare.

When he’d come here, this had been a gentle, shallow stream. Cold Creek, the locals called it. The water had indeed held a hint of chill, pleasant for drinking. But how had it turned so treacherous and terrible? He only now remembered-- there had been a storm two days ago!

For all his calculation and planning, he’d failed to antic.i.p.ate that this mountain stream would flood. Now what? He couldn’t advance and couldn’t retreat.

His horse, receiving no orders from its master, idly pawed at the ground.

The river tumbled endlessly on under the hazy moonlight. Distractedly, he thought of the first days of the rebellion, the rise of all the heroes of the land to arms.

He’d been so confident then! His vow to his master had run its course, he’d thought, and the time had arrived for him to employ his talents.

Ah, he’d truly been too idealistic.

Time pa.s.sed, day flowing into day, and his initial hot-blooded joy slowly cooled. His enthusiasm faded, but the petty drudgery of his existence remained constant. And his pain only sharpened with the old empire’s fall. Before then, he’d had nothing to compare himself with, no way of knowing his own worth. But now, he could see only too clearly that no one in this era was his match. All those opportunistic new lords and kings relied on nothing but brute force, knew nothing of finesse or strategy. Their battle plans were crude, laughable child’s play to him. He could destroy them in one blow. With an army of modest size and tolerable training, he could sweep the land clean. The problem was, where could he get even a second- or third-rate army?

If he were a princeling from one of the six fallen states, he could use the prestige his name to recruit local loyalists. If he belonged to one of the great clans, he could draw upon its influence to gather warriors. If he held a government position, he could raise an army under its name.

But he had none of that. He had nothing. He was a common-born, penniless peasant with no background. His pride had even kept him from currying favor with the local gangs. He was completely alone in this world, and because of it, completely cut off from any chance at authority.

Oh, talent? What was talent worth? If he were willing to flatter and ingratiate, he could get his hands on a few sc.r.a.ps of power regardless of talent. If he were unwilling, no amount of talent could save him.

He was like a peerless swordsman watching talentless show-offs earn the adulations of the crowd with a few clumsy tricks, unable to join in himself and show them what swordmans.h.i.+p was really like because he had no sword.

Did he truly have no sword?

No, not truly. He’d had one, and its name was Dust-cross. That had been a good sword. It was power, power second only to one and above ten thousand. It had been handed to him, but he didn’t want it.

No, he’d wanted it, but knew it was useless even if he had it.

What could he have done with the power?

Fix the plankways and use them to invade the Three Qins?

As if! Such a vast and slow undertaking would give Zhang Han and the rest more than enough time to catch on and fortify their end of the valley, then wait for him to throw himself into their trap.

And yet, it was the only way. He’d thought about it before; if it truly came to that, he would strain himself to the limits of his abilities to minimize casualties: sowing dissent amongst the enemy, false surrenders, bribes, alliances... every tactic he knew. But there was a limit to what any human could do. No amount of ability could change the ruthless facts of geography.

Battles, in the end, came to physical clashes. He couldn’t use intelligence alone to allow a toddler to knock down a warrior.

Maybe he could still make it to Guanzhong at the cost of horrific casualties, but he was unwilling to resort to that. His master had taught him that war was an art, and winning without fighting was the greatest triumph one could achieve. A victory won with a mountain of corpses was any true general’s shame. Using such methods to conquer the land left foundations that doomed the whole edifice to fall sooner or later.

Even if he were willing, the King of Han lacked the patience. To the fifty-odd year old King of Han, the necessary preparations before such an advance would take too long. He would rather stay in his little kingdom and pa.s.s the remainder of his life in peace.

He felt as if some great, invisible hand were pressing him down, blocking every opening that fate gave him, trying to smother the ambition in his heart.

All his effort had come to naught. Every road he’d seized led to failure, and he couldn’t blame anyone for it.

Could he blame Xiang Yu for rejecting his suggestions? Xiang Yu had already done things his own way, and was vindicated by his successes. Why should Xiang Yu have listened to him?

Could he blame Liu Bang for lacking sufficient ambition? Who was willing to spend his entire life fighting for some nebulous goal he might not even live to see?

Could he blame Zhang Liang for advising that the plankway be burned? That had been the only option; doing anything else could very likely have doomed the King of Han to utter destruction.

Ah, no one could be held responsible for his failures. Maybe the only one at fault was he himself. Maybe he’d been delusional from the start, maybe he simply didn’t deserve it all, maybe he’d never been anything like the person he imagined himself to be... ah! No! No! He couldn’t think like this. The only thing that had sustained him all these years, kept him living on in this pleasureless existence, was that iron belief in the core of his heart. Belief in his abilities, belief that his abilities would one day bring him triumph. If he dismissed that belief as illusion, what did he have left to live for? What had he endured everything for?

Ah! Face reality already! he told himself. Look at all the chances that heaven had granted him: he’d bemoaned that his abilities would find no use in a time of peace, and then the empire fell into chaos; he’d held Xiang Yu in contempt for his shortsightedness, and then he found Liu Bang; he’d thought it impossible to advance in the ranks, and Zhang Liang had given him Dust-cross... yet, despite it all, he’d accomplished nothing.

It was he, in the end, who was useless! He’d wasted one opportunity after the other, and still sighed of an era not meant for him. Such a pathetic excuse! Who didn’t struggle in this era of chaos? Why did so many others succeed while he, alone, failed?

Give up, give up, stop scrabbling for excuses to live, stop drowning in your fantasies of greatness, reality mocks your airy dreams! Bury your broken delusions beside your worthless life in this desolate wilderness, in the endless waves.

He smiled a little, wretchedly, and urged his horse forward. But the horse stopped after a few steps, refusing to move.

He dismounted, stroking his horse’s thin, bony back.

Did this weathered old horse still crave life?

Of course. Even ants craved life, never mind horses, a hundred times more intelligent than ants. Never mind men, a hundred times more intelligent than horses.

From the moment he came to this world, he had never experienced a single day of true happiness. Why should he end his pathetic life yet?

He did have talent! His master’s wariness proved it, Fan Zeng’s desire to kill him proved it, Zhang Liang’s trust proved it, Xiahou Ying and Xiao He’s wholehearted recommendations proved it... how could he ignore them all?

But he had too few things to live for! In this unsympathetic world, he’d never felt any joy at living. All he’d endured were unspeakable humiliations. His extraordinary intelligence brought him nothing but sharper awareness of his pain. Ai, to hold jewels in an era of chaos that couldn’t appreciate it-- was it all that could be expected, or his misfortune?

“Have you despaired?” The voice came from behind him. Han Xin turned.

It was the thin, cold-eyed man in black: on the banks of Huaiyin’s creek, he’d called himself the Guest of Canghai; in the palace of the First Emperor, he’d called himself the Gentleman of the East Sea; when Han Xin had needed him, he failed to come; now that Han Xin didn’t need him, he was here. Han Xin sighed. “Does it matter?”

The Guest of Canghai said: “Do you now believe my words from before?”

Han Xin said: “What words?”

The Guest of Canghai said patiently: “Twelve years later, you will meet with a difficulty that no mortal power can overcome, a crisis that will drive you to despair and doom your quest.”

Han Xin startled. From the start, he’d never taken this occultist seriously. But with that reminder, all his buried memories rushed to the surface of the mind. Suddenly, he found that all the things he’d mocked as impossible in the beginning had become reality--“Young man, don’t vow such things so quickly. Who you are in the present isn’t necessarily who you’ll be in the future; what you decide in the present, too, is not necessarily what you’ll decide in the future.”

“What do you mean by that? The present me? The future me? Do you think you understand me better than I understand myself?”

“In the present, you believe that you hold your fate in your own hands. In the future, you will know what they mean by ‘the will of heaven is difficult to disobey...’“

“The will of heaven, the will of heaven,” Han Xin said, his voice tinged with melancholy. “If the will of heaven is so difficult to disobey, then what’s the point of bringing it up now?”

The Guest of Canghai said: “Twelve years ago, I told you: the will of G.o.ds can alter the will of heaven!”

Han Xin said: “No one can help me with this. It’s not something within the power of men--”

The Guest of Canghai said: “Not within the power of men, perhaps, but within the power of a G.o.d.”

Han Xin smiled uninterestedly.

The Guest of Canghai said: “You still don’t believe my master truly holds the power of a G.o.d?”

Han Xin turned, gazing towards the rus.h.i.+ng waters of Cold Creek. He sighed quietly and said nothing.

The Guest of Canghai said: “You only need a pa.s.sage, nothing more!”

Han Xin s.h.i.+vered and slowly turned his head. “What... what did you say?”

The Guest of Canghai said with calculated slowness: “With the plankways burned, the King of Han has no way to return east, and no use for your military abilities. This is why you have despaired, no? But in reality, the Baoxie plankway isn’t the only path between between Bashu and Qin!”

Han Xin could feel his heart speeding. “There’s more than one pa.s.sage, true, but only the Baoxie plankway is suited for transporting an army. Tangluo Pa.s.sage is a tangled mess, and Ziwu Pa.s.sage is long and treacherous. Neither of them--”

The Guest of Canghai said: “No, there’s one more path.”

Han Xin stared blankly. “Another? No, there aren’t-- Ah! You mean Chencang Pa.s.sage? That road has been abandoned for centuries. How can it still be useable? I don’t even know where it is.”

A cryptic smile flashed across the Guest of Canghai’s emotionless face. “What if my master can restore it?”

“You say... your master could... could...”

The Guest of Canghai said: “Yes, my master can restore Chencang Pa.s.sage for you!”

No! Impossible! Don’t believe him! Han Xin told himself. He was only an occultist-- good for tricks and illusions, but hardly reliable for great matters of state!

The Guest of Canghai said: “So? Are you inclined to make this deal now?”

No! He couldn’t allow himself to be fooled!

But this was his only hope. Maybe his master truly could...

No! Absolutely not. He couldn’t do something so absurd, become a laughingstock for future generations...

In his heart, logic struggled against powerful temptation.

He faced the torrent of Cold Creek, slowly forcing down his surge of emotions. “Sorry, but I’m not interested.”

The Guest of Canghai seemed stunned. “What?”

Han Xin said: “I don’t believe any of what you’ve said! Not a word!”

The Guest of Canghai looked at him as if he were some bizarre and incongruous object. It took a long while before he spoke: “No wonder my master said you were different from everyone else! Any other person in your desperate position would have accepted even the most blatant scam, made themselves believe in it. But you insist on making yourself disbelieve an honest deal.”

Han Xin said: “You can say that, but I still don’t believe any of it.”

The Guest of Canghai said: “What proof do you require?”

Han Xin looked at Cold Creek, tumbling endlessly onwards through the night. He smiled and said: “Stop the flow of Cold Creek.”

The Guest of Canghai said: “Such a simple task?”

A thread of light, like a meteor, streaked across the sky above Cold Creek. Han Xin felt his field of vision violently lurch, and the constant background din of roaring water ceased as if cut with a knife. When he refocused his eyes, he saw that the raging torrents of just a moment ago had disappeared. All that was left were the rounded pebbles of the river bed, gleaming a little in the moonlight. He could still see a few slow rivulets of water in the crevices.

Han Xin couldn’t breathe.

He abruptly turned his head. The Guest of Canghai said coolly: “See? This is the power of G.o.ds!”

Han Xin said: “No... impossible...”

“Nothing is impossible.” The Guest of Canghai’s voice remained as chilly as before. “Unreasonable events can happen at any moment. Don’t ever delude yourself into thinking you already know everything!”

A cold wind blew through the mountains, chilling him to the heart. The temperature seemed to have suddenly fallen.

Somewhere in the distance, wild pheasants cried: Luo! Luo! Luo! In the heavy darkness, the sounds became ineffably sinister.

Could this all be just illusion?

No, it was real. Immortality, that mysterious heart-searching mirror, the sudden destruction of an empire-- it was all real.

The proof had long been there, but he’d stubbornly refused to accept it! The masterful First Emperor, his brilliant teacher Wei Liao, the great scholar Zhong Xiu-- which of them was not a strong, willful hero among men? Which of them could be easily deceived? Which of them would have changed the course of their lives so without incontrovertible proof? Han Xin said, shaken: “How... how did you do it?”

The Guest of Canghai said: “Mere mortals cannot conjecture as to the workings of the divine. I only ask you this: Will you agree to the deal now?”

Han Xin said: “But your master... what does he want me to do in return?”

The Guest of Canghai paused to enunciate his next words as clearly as possible: “Move mountains. Fill in the sea.”

“What?” Han Xin said.

The Guest of Canghai said: “Yes, move mountains to fill in the sea.”

Han Xin said: “Why? Why do I need to fill in the sea?”