Chapter Twenty-Seven

This so-called “King of Han” did not bring Lin Feng much joy. Although he had to join in the festivities for the sake of his subordinates, who were all jubilant, celebrating, and congratulating each other, from Lin Feng’s own perspective, this title was little more than a game prop; aside from boosting his prestige a bit, it was hard to see any other advantage. According to the current laws of the time, vast territories such as Beijing, Zhili, and Liaodong were the Commander’s private property, the army was Lin Feng’s personal force, and the millions of people within his domain were all essentially his private slaves. Whether or not he possessed the title of prince was of little consequence.

Of course, his followers like Li Guangdi and Chen Menglei did not see it that way. For people of this era, the matter of “legitimacy” was of paramount importance. And not just these Confucian scholars—almost everyone agreed, including even the likes of Ma Ying, a villainous bandit of countless crimes through the generations, even if these people had no real understanding of the distinctions between king, duke, marquis, and emperor. Naturally, the concept could not be widely disseminated now; this knowledge system had sprouted in the Zhou dynasty and evolved into a political law of succession lasting thousands of years, still a subject of major academic study in the twenty-second century. Although the Zhou rites had already seeped deeply into the bones of the Chinese people, for the common folk to truly understand it was prohibitively costly.

There was little difficulty in their conversation. Being a high-ranking Mongol noble, Pucha had studied Chinese in his youth under the supervision of his family. Though his literacy was limited, he spoke it well enough. As a seventeen- or eighteen-year-old starry-eyed admirer, after seeing Lin the Commander’s stature and appearance, he immediately began to ask the question that interested him most.

“Your Highness, how did you defeat Tu Hai back then?!”

“Oh, my dear Pu, warfare is a profound art,” Lin Feng replied, riding side by side with him. He patted Pucha’s broad shoulder with a smile, “Last time I sent you a book on military strategy—did you read it?”

“I did, I did—” Pucha nodded enthusiastically, clearly fascinated by the subject. “I have my scribe read me a section every day. By the time I came here, I’d already gotten through the ‘Empty City Ruse’!”

“Oh, very good. So, who do you think is the most formidable figure in the Three Kingdoms?”

“Of course, it’s Prime Minister Zhuge…” Pucha paused, then hurriedly added, “But Cao Cao and Zhou Yu are also very impressive!”

“Not bad, not bad. ‘Romance of the Three Kingdoms’ is China’s finest treatise on the art of war. It lays out the principles of battle quite thoroughly—you’d do well to study it closely.” Lin Feng adopted an air of inscrutable wisdom and boasted, “Actually, Tu Hai is at best a ‘Ma Chao’—courageous, yes, but when it comes to real combat, every move he makes is in my hands!”

“Oh…” Pucha stared at Lin Feng, half doubtful, half in awe.

“In truth, you don’t necessarily need to fight a war to reclaim your pastures,” Lin Feng said after Pucha had stood there in a daze for a while, smiling leisurely.

“Oh?!… Does Your Highness have another method?” Pucha eyed Lin Feng’s almost shaman-like bearing, recalling his earlier boasts about strategy, and suddenly felt a surge of confidence. “Could it be that the King of Han can make those cursed dogs cough up our Chahar grasslands willingly?!”

“There is a way, though it might not yield quick results, nor does it entirely avoid conflict,” Lin Feng replied with a smile. “If you want to regain everything, it may take a year or two.”

“What does Your Highness mean?!…”

“Heh, little Pu, I hear your tribe is down to less than forty thousand now, with no more than five thousand warriors fit for battle, yes? Even if I help you reclaim the grasslands, could you really hold them?”

Pucha’s face paled, hesitating, unable to speak.

Lin Feng clapped him heartily on the shoulder and admonished him, “You are a descendant of the Golden Family, a child of Eternal Heaven. That won’t do! When the mighty Genghis Khan was at the Kherlen River, he drank muddy water and ate sour horse milk, with only a handful of warriors at his side. Did he ever lose heart as you do?”

Pucha looked at Lin Feng with emotion, feeling a sudden warmth in his heart. He did not know why, but this seemingly young prince gave him a fatherly comfort.

“Your sister has married General Zhou, and Pei Gong is my sworn brother. So, little Pu, you may as well call yourself my brother too,” Lin Feng waved his hand grandly, full of heroic spirit. “Your business is my business. As men, we ought to be like Liu Bei, Guan Yu, and Zhang Fei—loyal to our brothers, never letting them suffer, no matter the cost!”

Tears sprang to Pucha’s eyes. Ever since Chahar’s defeat, the people of the steppe had only ever kicked him when he was down. He had suffered so much, endured so many humiliations—when had he ever heard such heartfelt words?

“…So you must listen to your elder brother—me. Here’s what I propose: right now, the most important thing isn’t to start a war with the Khorchin or the Tüsheet, but to restore the vigor of your Chahar tribe. I’ll give you twenty-five thousand people to help bring your numbers back up to sixty thousand. How do you feel about that?”

Unable to hold back any longer, Pucha leapt from his horse, pulled out the knife at his waist, and slashed it fiercely, covering his head and face with blood as he knelt and swore an oath, “By Eternal Heaven above, Pucha will never forget my brother’s kindness, not in this life nor the next!”

Lin Feng was startled and hurriedly dismounted to help him up, smiling, “No need for that—helping my little brother is only right and proper!” He took Pucha’s hand, beaming, “Once you have replenished your people, I’ll have General Zhao Guangyuan at Xuanhua lead cavalry and artillery to patrol the Chahar borders, warning those scoundrels to stay away.” At this, he suddenly hesitated, “But… my troops aren’t familiar with the steppe…”

“Don’t worry, elder brother. Pucha will lead the Chahar warriors to follow General Zhao’s orders—Chahar is our home, and no one knows the grasslands better than I!”

“Excellent,” Lin Feng replied, taking Pucha’s hand and turning to the Chahar elders behind them. “Pucha is still young, so all of you must support him. Right now the fledgling eagle has yet to grow strong wings—don’t let him go to war with the wild dogs!”

The Chahar elders hastily dismounted and bowed, “We will obey the King of Han’s command!”

Lin Feng waved his hand, “You are all too courteous!” Then he turned back to Pucha, “Little Pu, you must remember—since we’re not yet strong enough for war, we must endure for now. Besides enduring, we should trade with them: exchange salt, bricks of tea, and cloth for their warhorses; use silk, delicacies, and finery to soften their warriors. When you’re grown, the Chahar tribe is strong, and those two wild dogs are caught napping, then we’ll strike suddenly…” Lin Feng slashed his hand through the air in a chopping motion.

Pucha replied with heartfelt admiration, “Elder brother’s wisdom is higher than the mountains, deeper than the sea. The Chahar tribe will surely follow your plan!”