The Yoke of Han

The words of Zhang Xiu, Colonel Protector of the Xiongnu, were a threat. There was no other way to hear them.

"Colonel Zhang!"

The roar finally tore itself from a man standing at the old Chanyu's left. Zhang Xiu knew exactly who had shouted. A sneer touched his mouth as he turned.

"Left Wise King."

Among the Xiongnu, the left outranked the right. Of the two kings who stood immediately beneath the Chanyu — the Left Wise King and the Right Wise King — it was the Left Wise King who held the place of a crown prince. The old Chanyu's eldest son, Left Wise King Luanti Hozheng, bared his teeth and fixed Zhang Xiu with a glare.

"Observe the minimum of courtesy. Even we Xiongnu, whom you so contemptuously call Hu, do not abandon our manners to that degree."

"This is a matter that precedes courtesy, Left Wise King. The respect owed a Chanyu is not more urgent than the defense of His Majesty's Great Wall and frontiers."

The old Chanyu might have swallowed even this insult. Hozheng, younger and far less patient, would not. His hand rose to the hilt of his sword — and the hands of the guards who had entered with Zhang Xiu moved to theirs in the same breath.

Zhang Xiu regarded the Left Wise King with a look of lazy contempt.

"If you've gone so far as to rest your hand on the hilt, I'd be grateful if you'd draw."

"You—!"

This was what it meant to be fractured and weak. Armed Han men could storm into the Chanyu's own yurt, conduct themselves with whatever insolence they pleased, and not a tongue among the Xiongnu could be cut out in answer. Hozheng felt that truth in his bones. In Zhang Xiu's eyes, as the man goaded him to draw, he read a still more arrogant certainty: You won't. You can't.

In the distant past, they said, the Chanyu of the north and the Emperor of the south had divided the world between them, fighting as equals or binding themselves as brothers — and the Xiongnu had been the elder brother. Now a mere colonel, a servant of the Emperor, could tramp into the Chanyu's yurt with mud on his boots, offering neither notice nor courtesy, and no one could stop him. Even if blades were drawn here and now, there was no promise the Xiongnu would win.

The Han were better armed. There had been a time when that was not so — when the Xiongnu ruled the Western Regions, traded with merchants who came from still farther away, and kept Han craftsmen among them, whether kidnapped or come over as refugees, and their equipment had been excellent. But the Han emperor had not simply endured the humiliation of addressing the Chanyu as "younger brother." The Han had grown strong, and the balance had shifted.

Having healed the wounds of the Warring States and the war with Xiang Yu, the Han had become rich and powerful on a scale the Xiongnu had never encountered. With an army in which even the common foot soldier was thoroughly equipped, they had seized the Western Regions and cut the trade roads that ran toward the Xiongnu, shattering the economic foundation on which the Xiongnu might have improved their soldiers' gear.

People spoke often of the terror of Xiongnu horse-archers, and it was true that their speed, their feigned retreats, and their bowmanship were effective. But those strengths had also been born of necessity — of an environment that left them no other choice. What happened when well-armed Han infantry met Xiongnu cavalry head-on, and the horsemen's arrows ran out? What happened when Han foot soldiers drove the riders back to ground where the horses could no longer maneuver? Even at the ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠height of their power the Xiongnu had failed to overcome the gap in wealth and armament, and had fallen to the Han. Now, reduced to the station of vassals, there was nothing more to say.

And this yurt, the Chanyu's own court, was a place where the Xiongnu had already dismounted. To call him Chanyu was a courtesy of language. He stood below the Emperor and above a feudal prince — and yet the arms of the Chanyu and his inner circle were no better than those of a somewhat prosperous herdsman.

Zhang Xiu's confidence was the confidence of a man who believed he could butcher the lot of them if he chose. No — if it came to that, the Xiongnu outside would never let these Han leave alive. The worst case was something else. Hozheng feared that Zhang Xiu would take his father, the Chanyu, as a hostage. Their situation was already a humiliating bow before the Han. It would only get worse.

"Hozheng!"

The old Chanyu's voice cut the yurt in two.

"Take your hand off that hilt!"

He had risen from his seat to deliver the rebuke. It was only the third year since the old man had ascended as Chanyu, but the authority he poured into that roar was enough to freeze every warrior in the tent. He had served as Left Wise King under his own father for twenty-five years. Of all the fighters gathered here, none could claim a richer store of experience.

"You as well, Colonel Zhang!"

At the second blast Zhang Xiu jerked his chin at his men, and they took their hands from their hilts.

"There is no further need to circle around what you came to say. Speak it plainly. What is it you want, Colonel?"

The Southern Xiongnu were nothing more than a poor herding people of the Hetao Plateau. They had no surplus from which to increase their tribute. At best they would hand over their horses, their sheep, their cattle, and collapse. Had that been the demand, they would have had to swallow the humiliation, bow to Colonel Protector Zhang Xiu and to the Inspector of Bingzhou, and beg that the tribute be lessened.

What came from Zhang Xiu's mouth was not a demand for more tribute.

"We already guard the Han's northern frontier! What further troops do you think you need?"

Hozheng raised his voice again. Zhang Xiu did not so much as glance at him. He simply went on.

"If we wait until a Xianbei raid is already underway to gather Xiongnu soldiers scattered across the provinces, it will be far too late."

The Han had used the troops of the Southern Xiongnu Chanyu — a ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠Chanyu who had come over as a refugee — in the war against the Northern Xiongnu, and all the while they had steadily worked to split his power. The result was that every local magnate among the Southern Xiongnu offered the Chanyu a formal obedience while keeping a force of his own. That was why a general muster always came too slowly. There was another reason besides.

"The Han frontier is long. No one knows where the Xianbei will strike next. We cannot keep the army gathered in a single place at all times."

This time the Xianbei had aimed at ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠Xihe Commandery. Next time it might be Shuofang Commandery. Or they might strike, without warning, some distant county in the east of Youzhou, well outside the Xiongnu army's jurisdiction.

"Yes. I know. Which is why I propose we simplify the chain of command. By the time a man like myself — a Colonel Protector of the Xiongnu — or some other general finishes coordinating schedules between the inspectors of the various provinces and the Chanyu, the Xianbei have already plundered their fill and ridden away."

"So you want to command the Xiongnu army yourself, without my leave or the Inspector's."

"I'm grateful you've put your finger on the heart of it."

A faint smile touched Zhang Xiu's mouth. The old Chanyu's face had gone hard as stone. The problem with Zhang Xiu's proposal was not merely that the Chanyu's authority would shrink still further.

The Xiongnu would rebel.

The Xiongnu army was levied by a chain of orders: the Emperor commanded the Colonel Protector, and the Colonel Protector passed the command to the Chanyu. Inside that cumbersome procedure, the Chanyu had always struggled, somehow, to keep the harm to his own people as small as he could. Even so, the levies were brutal. The Xiongnu were dragged not only into the defense of the north, but into the suppression of peasant uprisings born of the Han's own chaotic politics.

Plunder required that the enemy have something worth taking. A defensive war against the Xianbei yielded little in the way of spoils, and a peasant rebel army that had risen out of poverty had no property to seize. A hundred years of being marched into wars that were not their own, wars in which they only died or came home maimed and gained nothing — and in the end, the Xiongnu had risen.

"You would have me become another Chanyu Qute Ruo, is that it?"

When the Xiongnu rebelled, the Han had heaped the entire blame upon the Chanyu of that time, Qute Ruo. Pressed by the Emperor and by the Colonel Protector, that Chanyu had taken his own life, and his younger brother the Left Wise King had died with him. Twice afterward, a collateral branch of the Luanti clan — a branch more palatable to the Emperor — had been lifted onto the Chanyu's seat. A son of a collateral line of a collateral line: that son was the old man who sat here now, Chanyu Toutuoruo.

It was an affair the Han found awkward to name in a Chanyu's presence, and an affair for which a Chanyu might reasonably carry a grudge against the Han. The old man had invoked it. Zhang Xiu only smiled, easy and unhurried.

"Hardly. The Xiongnu army will be under my command. If any restless movement starts, I'll cut it off with my own hand. I won't trouble the Chanyu."

"Yabu! Yabu—!"

"What has gotten into this child…"

I clung to Lü Bu's sleeve and to his cushion with everything I had. Mother looked at Lü Bu's face in helpless embarrassment.

"Forgive him, General. I cannot think what has come over him…"

Lü Bu was only a cavalryman, and the title made him squirm.

"Ah — no, Your Highness. And this humble man is no general, only a rider. If you would simply call me Lü…"

"My son Bao is still a baby, and yet he already loves to ride, just as his father does. Which is why I hoped — might Lord Lü look after Bao as far as my husband's grandfather's yurt?"

"I— I will, of course."

Han and Xiongnu were different peoples, but the woman before him was of a royal house, and Lü Bu was a common soldier. He looked down at me with a mixture of awe and sheer disbelief, then dropped his voice so the others would not hear.

"Prince of the Right Guli King. Have you taken a liking to me?"

Of course I have! I wanted to shout it that instant. Instead I put all my strength into a gurgling laugh and let that serve as my answer.

This was Lü Bu. Not anyone else — Lü Bu. In raw martial power and in the craft of commanding cavalry, he was as close as the world came to the strongest man in the Three Kingdoms. Cao Cao had killed him in the end, but that was not because Lü Bu was lacking. It was because Cao Cao, as a field commander, was a monster. Which meant that if I stayed close to Lü Bu, I could make use of him at least until the day I had to face Cao Cao.

The monkey devil had set me an impossible task. By any means necessary, I had to seize this bond with Lü Bu and never let it go.

Lü Bu let out a long breath.

"Can't be helped. As your mother asked, I'll escort you as far as the Chanyu's court in Lishi County."

What I wanted, this instant, was to make Lü Bu something like my martial master and chain him to Yufuluo's yurt for good. But for now it would be enough if word got around that the Right Guli King's son was remarkably fond of Lü Bu. Better still if Yufuluo, claiming a debt for the lives Lü Bu had saved — mine and my mother's ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠— chose to keep the connection alive.

Under the escort of Lü Bu and the rest of the Bing Province cavalry, we crossed the Yellow River and entered Lishi County. On one side stood the walls of Lishi, where Han people came and went, and the Han farmsteads clustered around them. On the other…

Wagons had been drawn into a ring like a palisade. Horses grazed beyond them. Inside, the tents grew larger the deeper one went, swelling into a great circular encampment. That was the camp of the Xiongnu Chanyu. My great-grandfather's camp.

The thought had barely formed when a flash of light drowned my sight, and a vision took its place.

The Chanyu drank half the poison.

The Left Wise King drank the rest.

The vision ended there.

So this was another of the gifts the monkey devil had given me. I blinked the message out of my mind. Another one rose to take its place.

I see.

It was feeding me motive from the slow-rising grief of the Xiongnu, and handing me a modest mid-term goal besides. I would have to become Chanyu myself, and rule this place, before it would raise my stats.

And a bonus of this kind would not be waiting in this one county alone. Every place tied to the Xiongnu — I would have to go there, every one I could reach.

And if I could conquer them, I would.