The First Territory (2)

Huhanye the Great Chanyu.

He had been one of nine Chanyus at the time of the Xiongnu's first great schism.

The nine had never all existed at once. Broadly speaking, the nation had already split into an Eastern Xiongnu and a Western Xiongnu, and the civil war had taken the shape of the western title changing hands again and again.

Huhanye the Great Chanyu was the Chanyu of the Eastern Xiongnu.

In that age of catastrophe, when Chanyus were raised up and cast down nine times over, Huhanye made a decision no Chanyu before him had ever dared, if he meant to survive at all.

Surrender to the Emperor of Han.

He would cross the Great Wall, ride to Chang'an — the capital of that age — and become a subject of the emperor.

The shock ran through the Eastern Xiongnu who followed him. It ran through the Han as well.

The Han emperor of the day, Emperor Xuan — Liu Xun — made an uproar of his own, insisting he would greet the Chanyu in person. To reach for an analogy that would have made sense in the world I lived in before I woke inside Liu Bao of the Xiongnu, it was Wang Geon riding out to receive the surrender of Gyeon Hwon.

Emperor Xuan's great-grandfather, Emperor Wu, had thrown the whole strength of the empire into war against the Xiongnu. And now a Xiongnu Chanyu was coming to surrender of his own accord.

Emperor Xuan himself had been hounded by that same war from the hour of his accession. The Chanyu's surrender was astonishing news, and joyful news.

That ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠Huhanye was Chanyu of ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠only the Eastern Xiongnu, a fraction of the whole, did not matter. The instant the surrender was accepted, Liu Xun meant to recognize him as the sole Chanyu of all the Xiongnu.

He would not sit in Chang'an and wait in arrogant state. He would leave the capital and receive his guest at Ganquan Palace, a detached residence far to the north — the courtesy a host owes a visitor.

Once Emperor Xuan had seen Huhanye with his own eyes, the extraordinary honors only continued.

The rank a Xiongnu Chanyu would hold inside the Han Empire, down even to the age I came from, was decided in that hour.

Of course Emperor Xuan had not lavished such treatment on mere vanity, for the pleasure of saying he had taken a Xiongnu Chanyu's surrender. The Chanyu swore to become a fence along the Han frontier, and the cost of defending the empire's northern border fell to one-fifth of what it had been.

By Huhanye's measure, the supplies were enough to crush every other pretender to the title and return to Mobei. By the Han's measure, eight-tenths of the expense had been saved.

Huhanye then garrisoned the Guanglu Frontier Wall, declaring that he would hold Shouxiangcheng. When the chance came at last he struck north, broke the rival Chanyus, and went home to Mobei.

The hidden option floating before my eyes now — Legacy of Huhanye — was bound up with that history.

So I am meant to become what Huhanye became — the Chanyu who went home to Mobei on the strength of an emperor's goodwill.

But that five percent siege-assault bonus is hard to throw away.

"Can't I put the choice on hold?"

The instant I muttered it, a reply unfurled.

If I can defer, you could have said so from the start.

...It didn't tell me because I didn't ask?

Maybe I was supposed to infer it from the earlier message — You are not currently in occupation, and therefore cannot receive the stat correction granted by this privilege.

I closed my eyes, let the irritation drain off, and spoke.

"I'll defer."

The wagon of Tanshihuai, fleeing into Mobei with the remnants of the Xianbei host, halted on the banks of the Yuwo River.

Cross that river and one of the old Chanyu courts the Xiongnu had planted in Mobei still waited. Beyond it rose the sacred Xiongnu mountains of Langjuxu and Guyan, and beyond even those lay the Han Sea.

They had been driven into a northern corner so remote there was nowhere left to run — and no pursuit that would ever come. It made no difference. Tanshihuai was drawing his last breaths. They could not have moved if they had wanted to.

Into Tanshihuai's ger gathered the Han advisors, the surviving Da-ren, and the Khagan's kinsmen, Helian among them.

Tanshihuai lifted his eyes with what strength remained and looked over those seated around him. He had been broken in the end, but a hero who had unified the Xianbei was still a hero. Of the western Da-ren, he saw that only Yilü Chuyan sat among them.

He beckoned his son Helian close. He did not ask what had become of Chijian Luoluo or Yan Luyu.

"Do not leave the remnants of the western army for Yilü Chuyan to swallow alone."

He pushed Helian back as if to dismiss him, and this time called his eldest grandson, Kuitou.

"When I die, they will hunt our clan as if we were game. The only path by which our bloodline survives is for you to serve your uncle as you would a father. Remember this."

When Kuitou too had been sent back, Tanshihuai gathered the last splinters of his life and burned them as a final flare of clarity. He turned his eyes upon the Han advisors.

The words spent, Tanshihuai's head slumped forward.

And so died the man who had once been the greatest threat to both the Han and the Southern Xiongnu.

I widened my territory — my pastureland, more precisely — with Duman City and Shouxiangcheng as its twin hearts.

I did not raise walls or watchtowers the way a farming nation like the Han would have done. I piled the stone cairns of those who served Tengri, and let the heaps themselves say it: from here, this is Xiongnu land.

A year turned. It was 182 by the Western count — the fifth year of Guanghe, by the Han calendar — and I was ten years old.

"Still not far enough west or north to touch Fanfuren City or Fuju Court."

I would need to push as far as those two places, and to Junji Mountain, Zhiyan Mountain, and Zhuoye Mountain besides, before I held a corridor into Mobei. It galled me, but this was the limit of what my strength could take.

"Still, Tanshihuai is dead and all of Mobei has fallen into chaos. Isn't that exactly what the Xiongnu Khagan wanted?"

Liu Bei only smiled at what I had accomplished. I found it much harder to smile.

He did not know that the Yellow Turban Rebellion was only two years away. I had already offered Zhang Jue my cooperation, which meant I had two years to grow strong enough to meet that storm.

Whether I would truly aid Zhang Jue. Or whether I would stand with the Han, put down his rising — and wring support from the dynasty in return.

When that hour came, I would have to spend the choice I had deferred, the Legacy of Huhanye, across a table from Emperor Ling.

"Who would have thought Mobei held so many tribes we never even knew were there. It's as wide as the Central Plains, and every bit as savage as the Warring States!"

Liu Bei was not wrong. The west of Mobei had torn itself completely free of Xianbei power. To the north the Dingling had risen, to the northwest the Gekun, and south of them the Wujie — every one of them in revolt.

Even if Tanshihuai had simply died in his bed, the nature of a nomad empire would have invited rebellion against a new heir. Dying in defeat had only made the rising larger.

Ah. And south of the Wujie, the remnants of ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠the Northern Xiongnu seemed to have risen as well.

Whether to throw myself into that savage scramble for Mobei and seize the hegemony now. Or to gather strength first, and put the northern expedition off until after the Yellow Turbans.

I was leaning against the north wall of Duman City, turning that hesitation over and over, when Liu Bei dropped his announcement without warning.

"I'm going back to Youzhou."

"What...?"

"I came to take the measure of the Xiongnu Khagan. I didn't come to become the Xiongnu Khagan's man."

...He was right. I had no authority to order Liu Bei to become my blade and hurl himself into this northern age of chaos.

What snagged in my mind was the inevitability of the techniques spreading.

I had shown him the stirrups, the improved saddles, the power of barding and the Madao. If Liu Bei took those things up, grew stronger still, and ended as my enemy—

No. That is not worth fearing quite so much.

Even if he had grasped their worth, he would never solve the problem of cost in raising cataphracts. And cost alone was not enough. Without the right country beneath them, heavy cavalry could not be bred at all.

The raising of cataphracts demanded an environment that could bear them. I had the nomad's country, and iron, and timber, and the craftsmen to work them — and I had still only managed to field four riders.

Could Liu Bei do what I had done?

I don't know.

For now... I had a farewell to offer a friend who had given me a great deal.

I started to make him a proper courtesy, then caught sight of the people standing behind him and huffed a laugh. It was not only Guan Yu and Zhang Fei, Jian Yong, Du Ying and the Du clan.

"Xuande. You didn't make a losing bargain."

More Xianbei were following him out than the Wuhuan he had handed over to me. In the time he had spent between Duman City and Shouxiangcheng, Liu Bei had folded the captured Xianbei soldiers into his own retainers.

I had watched, wondering if one day a Xianbei blade in revolt would send his head flying. It never happened.

That, I supposed, was Liu Bei's unknowable gift.

He grinned back at me.

"I couldn't just hand over the Wuhuan prisoners and leave empty-handed. I've got to come away with something too."

I nodded. Honestly, we might meet as enemies someday — but I also wanted to see how far Liu Bei would climb, once he had those Xianbei at his back in Youzhou.

"Well then. That's it."

He turned away. I watched his back recede...

No.

He came back.

"Xuande?"

"There was something I had to say before I left."

He bent toward me and dropped his voice.

"That Dong Zhuo — he was Grand Administrator of Hedong, wasn't he."

"He was."

"...You know where Yunchang ran from."

Ah.

Dong Zhuo, Grand Administrator of Hedong. Guan Yu, born in Haixian of Hedong Commandery.

"You don't mean...?"

"The man Yunchang killed may have had nothing to do with Dong Zhuo. But it was never a comfortable place for him to stand."

The three who had looked so ill at ease at that banquet — Ding Yuan, Guan Yu, Liu Bei. Ding Yuan and Guan Yu had been uneasy because of Dong Zhuo, and Liu Bei, watching Guan Yu, had felt that unease as his own.

"If what Yunchang did in Hedong ever comes to light, well. It'll get messy."

"So that's why Youzhou...?"

"That's part of it. But I saw something else in that hall."

What was he driving at?

"Does the Xiongnu Khagan remember the man sitting behind Dong Zhuo?"

"I do. He had remarkably sharp eyes."

"The way that man looked at the Xiongnu Khagan wasn't ordinary either."

...At me?

"Be careful. Trying to pull Lü Fengxian in — and trying to send the Xiongnu Khagan to Luoyang as a hostage — both of those may have come out of that man's head."

Liu Bei worked his mouth a moment, then added the rest.

"I mean he planted the seed of that thought in your Chanyu's mind. The words have been spoken now. You'd better be ready for the day the Chanyu remembers them."

I nodded. Liu Bei was Liu Bei. His eye was as keen as ever.

"For now, don't cross him if you can help it. And getting close to ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠him... be careful about that too."

After Liu Bei had taken his people and gone, I set about putting in order the empty place left by Du Ying — who had departed as Guan Yu's wife.

That was how I found the bundle of wooden slips, stacked with such care. I opened them.

Her hand.

I smiled at the warmth of it.

Further on, she had written out what she had learned living among the Wuhuan refugees — how she had taken the Xiongnu tongue she herself had acquired and taught it back to them. It was a kind of Xiongnu primer.