Chapter Nine: Reconnaissance

Royal Palace of Chu.

The young King Zhao of Chu, Xiong Zhen, sat high upon his throne while Zi Xi gave his report below the hall.

Zi Xi was Xiong Zhen’s elder half-brother, a man renowned for his generous and righteous nature. After King Ping of Chu, Xiong Qiji, died, the Prime Minister Nang Wa had attempted to depose the then not-yet-ten-year-old Xiong Zhen in order to install Zi Xi as king. Only Zi Xi’s furious rebuke put an end to the scheme.

Because of this, Xiong Zhen had always feared Nang Wa, yet placed absolute trust in Zi Xi.

“Your Majesty, there are rumors among the merchants that Wu’s army has been spotted on the north bank of the Han River.”

“Elder brother, there’s no need to worry. This must be a rumor spread by Wu’s spies.” Having survived to nearly eighteen and matured since his confused days upon ascending the throne, Xiong Zhen was beginning to truly embody the role of King of Chu.

“The Han River is but a few dozen miles from the palace—we must be cautious.”

“The Prime Minister recently sent word that he has surrounded the capital of Cai. He claims that within days, Cai will fall. The Wu army cannot possibly bypass the Prime Minister’s heavy forces and descend from the sky, can they?”

“Why not? You must remember, Wu has more than one path to reach us besides passing through Cai.”

“You mean…” Xiong Zhen began to laugh. In recent years, as Nang Wa’s deference toward him had grown, his former fear had shifted into blind trust. “The Prime Minister once told me Wu’s only strength lies in its navy, which relies on rivers to contend with Chu. If the Wu army were to invade, they could only come along the Huai River.”

Yet, out of respect for Zi Xi, Xiong Zhen still ordered the guard Zhong Jian to take a dozen war chariots to investigate the Han River.

Jinan and Maicheng stood tall, forming a strategic triangle with Ying, the capital. Zi Xi stood alone atop a high platform, watching as the chariots vanished in a cloud of dust, silent and pensive.

In recent years, many high officials in Chu had been executed along with their families, casting fear throughout the court. Wu Chen, Wu Zixu, and Bo Pi had fled to Wu, where they were put to great use and now longed to return for revenge. Jin and Wu ceaselessly provoked conflict at the borders.

Nang Wa was ambitious but lacking in talent, greedy for wealth, and had willfully driven vassal states like Tang and Cai into rebellion, causing Chu to lose its northern shield.

The king, misled by Nang Wa, believed he could conquer Tang and Cai to expand Chu’s territory, unaware that Jin and Wu watched like hungry wolves.

The winter sunlight was gentle and warm, yet Zi Xi’s heart felt frozen. He could only hope his fears were unfounded.

…

The leader of the scouts was named Li Yan, a talkative man who held Mong Di in the highest esteem. Despite being much older, he affectionately referred to Mong Di as “Brother Mong.”

Li Yan had originally lived in Longxi, a place where Hu and Han peoples mingled and survival was hard. Later, his family drifted south and settled in Chu. Skilled at riding, he rose through the ranks to become chief scout.

From Li Yan, Mong Di learned that Li’s family name had originally been Li, but his ancestors changed it during a famine when they survived by eating the fruit of a plum tree. Out of gratitude, they adopted the character for “plum” as their surname.

“Brother Mong, you may not believe it, but my ancestors were not without distinction—have you heard of Gao Yao? The sage of ancient times!”

Seeing Mong Di’s blank look, Li Yan deflated a little. Truth be told, he wasn’t entirely sure himself; it was simply what his parents had always claimed.

As they talked, the group traveled for the better part of a day, finally reaching a hilltop. Looking down, they saw Wu’s military camp stretched along the great river, sails crowding the water’s surface.

“This is as far as we can go,” Li Yan said, coming forward. “Beyond here is the range of Wu’s scouts.”

The cavalry clustered around, pointing and discussing the camp below.

Li Yan called the scouts up and identified the banners flying above the camp—those of King Helu of Wu, and the generals Sun Wu and Wu Zixu. For a scout, recognizing enemy standards was essential.

Mong Di gazed intently for a while, then said, “This is an empty camp.”

“An empty camp?” The men were astonished. Below, the banners fluttered and dust billowed within the camp, as though thousands of soldiers were drilling.

“Yes. Look at the camp’s arrangement—orderly yet relaxed, the stockades perfectly neat. This shows the commander is well versed in the art of war.”

“I’ve heard that Wu has a General named Sun Wu, who excels at training troops and leading them into battle,” Li Yan added; as chief scout, he was well informed.

“Such a skilled commander would know that placing a camp by the river’s edge is a grave mistake. Moreover, from this vantage point, the camp is exposed and vulnerable to both reconnaissance and attack. Yet, there are no guards posted here. That is the first point.”

The others listened, some understanding, some not. Li Yan, hardened by years of war, hesitated and asked, “Could it be left open on purpose, to let us scout?”

“Precisely. Now, it’s dusk, but the camp’s cooking smoke is sparse. Judging by the size, there should be tens of thousands of men. Yet not only is the smoke scant, it appears at intervals—clearly a ruse. That is the second point.”

“Though there’s dust within the camp, it always rises and settles in the same place, never dispersing. If I’m not mistaken, it’s likely cavalrymen dragging branches behind their horses. That’s the third point.”

The group was left speechless—such a gulf in skill between men! The scouts who’d previously reconnoitered the camp blushed furiously.

There was one thing Mong Di did not say: “I saw with my own eyes more than thirty thousand Wu soldiers marching south. According to Dou Xin, the total Wu force is just over thirty thousand. Why leave such a large camp behind unless as a deliberate feint?”

Although Mong Di was certain, it was still conjecture. They couldn’t simply return and report just that.

Xiao Wu and Xiao Liu suggested, “If it’s an empty camp, why not just charge right in?”

The others looked at the two as if they were fools. Even if the camp was empty, did they expect eighty cavalrymen to sweep through unopposed? It was ignorance born of fearlessness.

Realizing they’d spoken out of turn, the two flushed with embarrassment.

“Indeed, we’ll go straight in, but there’s no need to enter the camp itself,” Mong Di said with a slight smile. “Everyone, wrap your cloth strips, smear them with oil, and tie them to your arrows. We’ll act after dark.”

Cloth strips could be torn from their own garments. They had no oil, but the scouts carried plenty of pine torches, which, when smeared onto the cloth, worked just as well.

Night fell swiftly, plunging the camp into darkness. The cavalry crept to within bowshot of the camp’s edge and found almost no guard.

Mong Di divided the scouts and cavalry into pairs—one to hold a torch, one to shoot an arrow. All they needed to do was hit the tents.

As the torches flared, alarm bells rang out within Wu’s camp. Some soldiers poked their heads out, only to be shot down by Mong Di, hidden in the dark.

Arrows bound with cloth flew into the tents, and roaring flames sprang up.

In the firelight, shadows of Wu soldiers flickered, but their numbers were too few, and they had nothing to fight the blaze. All they could do was shout and run helplessly.

The cavalry took turns setting fires. It was early winter, and the west wind fanned the flames until the blaze swept through the entire camp.

Unable to extinguish the fire or gauge the enemy’s strength outside, Wu’s soldiers abandoned their camp and fled for the river, where their navy slowly came to ferry them away.

The fire burned half the night before it finally died down.

By then, the cavalry had already withdrawn to the hilltop, watching in exhilaration at the rare spectacle, the fire’s glow painting the countryside red for miles around.