Chapter One: Survive

Billowing clouds of dust swept across the land as countless war chariots thundered forward.
“Run!” someone shouted nearby, casting aside his spear and turning to flee in panic.
“What is this?” Meng Di squinted, struggling to adjust to the dazzling midday sunlight. “A battlefield?”
Before he could make sense of it, the tide of people swept him backward.
The four-horse chariots closed in swiftly, armored stallions crashing into the crowd like giant beasts. Screams and cries filled the air.
The warriors atop the chariots gazed down coldly, showing no intention of striking. In moments, they pierced through the masses, leaving chaos in their wake.
The scene was unbearable; fewer than two out of every ten remained standing, with many writhing and moaning on the ground. Meng Di was struck by a tremendous force and hurled aside, barely managing to roll away and avoid being trampled.
As he caught his breath, someone shouted, “Behind us! They’re coming again!”
Looking back, he saw infantry advancing with long halberds.
The flight resumed, and this time Meng Di carried someone on his back. Earlier, while dodging the horses, he’d noticed a man nearby, trembling and vacant-eyed, lying motionless. Meng Di had pulled him along without thinking. Despite the extra weight, his pace was unaffected.
They ran until dusk. A wide river barred their path, and exhaustion overcame them all; people collapsed in droves. Only a handful—barely a few dozen—reached the riverbank; the rest had been overtaken or scattered.
Meng Di stood by the river, silently watching the water glimmer in the sunset. The man he’d carried had long since been set down and now limped over, his face wreathed in smiles of relief, thanking Meng Di repeatedly for saving his life.
He introduced himself as Peng Ji, a native of Yingdu, and asked Meng Di’s name.
“My name? Who am I?” Meng Di had pondered this all along. In his mind, one image replayed: a snowy night, flaming torches illuminating a mountain valley, a towering general pointing his sword forward and roaring, “Those who threaten the great Han, no matter how far, shall be punished!” He charged into a storm of arrows on horseback.
Behind him, soldiers shouted in unison, “No matter how far, they shall be punished!” and followed him into the fray. The vision blurred, torches merging into golden waves like the shimmering river before him.
He vaguely heard, “Meng Di! Live! Live!”
“Meng Di? Is that my name?”
“Meng Di? Not many bear that surname—where are you from?” Peng Ji, oblivious to Meng Di’s deep reflection, pressed on.
“Where am I from? The Han?”
“The Han? Never heard of it,” Peng Ji replied, unconcerned. The state of Chu was vast; there were countless unknown places.
Someone lit a campfire, and Peng Ji pulled Meng Di over, speaking in a conspiratorial whisper, “Do you know? The army that attacked us is from Wu.”
“Wu?” The others gathered round.
Someone protested, “Wu is far away—how could their army be here?”
“That’s right,” another agreed. “I heard from the squad leader that the north is Cai, and the army is probably from Cai.”
“You country folk know nothing,” Peng Ji scoffed.
A small, monkey-like fellow squeezed in, shouting, “Peng Ji is a noble from Yingdu—he’s definitely right. Tell us, Peng Ji, what’s going on?”
“A noble’s just another foot soldier like us,” someone muttered.

Peng Ji ignored the comment and continued with dignity, “You all know my cousin is a halberd bearer. He told me recently: Lord Ling Yin is attacking Cai, and Wu’s army crossed the Huai River to aid Cai—they might attack us.”
“Really? Then it is Wu’s army!” The group erupted with chatter.
“What country are we from?”
Silence fell. Peng Ji stared at Meng Di, pressing his hand to his forehead and moaning, “Heavens, how remote is this Han place? Are you some wild man from the mountains? Of course we’re from Chu!”
Everyone laughed kindly, pleased to find someone more provincial than themselves, and Peng Ji took on a teacherly air.
“Meng Di, do you know what a halberd bearer is?”
“No.”
Peng Ji smirked, as if expecting this, and explained, “It’s the chariot’s right-hand man. Each chariot has a driver, an archer, and a halberd bearer—only nobles can serve.”
He added, “My father was a halberd bearer. If he hadn’t died young and lost his rank, I wouldn’t be a foot soldier.”
“What’s a foot soldier?”
“We are!” The group laughed again.
Peng Ji explained further: foot soldiers accompany the chariots; each chariot is followed by a hundred, mostly farmers, though some, like Peng Ji, are fallen noble sons.
Chariots dominate the battlefield; foot soldiers protect the flanks. If the chariots are defeated, foot soldiers scatter.
“My cousin says Wu’s foot soldiers are formidable, supposedly able to stand against chariots.” Peng Ji’s words startled them.
No one believed it. They were all foot soldiers—how formidable could they be? Peng Ji insisted only country folk hadn’t seen the world, and his cousin must be right.
Night deepened. After an afternoon of running, exhaustion overcame them. The arguments faded as they leaned on each other and drifted into sleep, snores rising and falling.
Meng Di sat before the fire, gazing at his spear. It was more stick than weapon now, its point long lost, leaving only a bare tip.
Chu, Wu, Cai—these names stirred faint memories. But where was the Han?
The dry branches crackled, sparks occasionally flying. It felt as though he’d returned to that torch-lit valley.
Dawn broke, the fire had died, and the wind scattered black and white ash. The early winter morning was cold; the sleeping foot soldiers curled up, clutching their thin hemp garments.
Peng Ji woke shivering, rubbing his sleepy eyes. Seeing Meng Di still sitting like a statue, he tiptoed over.
“Missing home?”
Without waiting for an answer, he continued, “Don’t worry, come spring you can return home as usual, in time for the farm work.”
Meng Di ignored him, suddenly dropping to the ground and pressing his ear to the earth. Peng Ji stared, wondering if this was some rural ritual.
“Quick, enemy approaching!” Meng Di leapt up and shouted, but the foot soldiers slept on, unmoved.
Peng Ji grabbed Meng Di, “It’s over—he’s lost his mind. What now?”
Meng Di shook him off and went to kick the foot soldiers awake. They glared at him, some angrily grabbing spears as if ready to fight.

Those with sharp hearing now sensed faint hoofbeats and wheels. All eyes turned as, in the next moment, a chariot burst from the woods, followed by others.
“Enemy!” The group jolted and rushed toward the grove.
Archers on the chariots drew their bows, shooting several foot soldiers, who fell. The rest scrambled, rolling and crawling into the trees.
Laughter echoed from the chariots, but they did not stop or change course, simply driving on.
After some time, the group cautiously emerged from the woods. The unlucky wounded lay groaning on the ground.
They checked—none were fatally hurt, but everyone’s spirits sank. The Wu army was heading in the direction of home; with mountains and forests, only one road remained, now blocked. To proceed meant death.
All eyes turned to Meng Di. He’d carried someone effortlessly yesterday, and today he’d sensed the enemy early—he seemed capable.
Meng Di thought for a moment, took a branch, and asked Peng Ji to draw a map. Peng Ji grimaced, admitting he only knew where Yingdu was.
Luckily, the monkey-like fellow volunteered. His name was Li, and he’d traveled widely as a merchant’s son.
Li sketched on the ground, and with everyone’s help, they pieced together a rough map.
With Li’s explanations and everyone’s contributions, Meng Di finally understood the situation.
Their group had fifty chariots, recruited thousands of foot soldiers and servants from Ying’s surroundings, led by a general named Wu Hei, marching north to aid the Chu army attacking Cai. They’d hurried through three dangerous passes: Zhiyuan, Ming’e, and Dasui, covering hundreds of miles.
Beyond the passes lay open plains, close to Cai. General Wu was about to accelerate, when an army suddenly appeared, crushing the fifty chariots and pursuing them relentlessly.
Meng Di pondered. If Li’s map was accurate, something was amiss.
Chu’s main force was attacking Cai; according to Peng Ji’s cousin, Wu also sent troops to aid Cai, so the battle should be at Cai.
Yet the Wu army had suddenly appeared in Chu, marching south. From yesterday and today, the Wu troops seemed indifferent to them, moving in a rush. If they passed the three gates ahead, they would enter Chu’s heartland. Was aiding Cai a ruse?
After a long silence, Meng Di slammed his fist to the ground. “Head north!”
“Madness!”
“Go north to die?”
The group shouted, disappointed; Meng Di’s mysterious air had led them to expect a solution, but he seemed insane.
Even Peng Ji sighed—he’d known Meng Di was from some unknown backwater and clueless, yet had hoped for guidance.
Only Li seemed thoughtful.
Meng Di’s mind flashed with visions of armies charging through a hail of arrows, comrades falling but none retreating.
He stood abruptly. “South means certain death! North, there’s a chance to live!”