The State of Chu and the State of Yue met on the battlefield in 402 BC, but it wouldn’t be until much later, in 334 BC, that the state was defeated by Chu outright.
Wu was a very common name. Besides Wu Qi and Wu Wei there is also the Wu River and cities named Wu. In fact, the State of Yue’s capital was called Wu.
The Jiang River was the early name given to the Yangtze River. It was used by pre-imperial people and it wasn’t until the 13th century that it got its current name. Poet Wen Tianxiang named it in his poem Yangzi Jian for the first time.
Dagger-axes were a very common weapon during the Warring States period. Infantry used the 9 to 18 foot weapon to kill, maim, and even unseat drivers from their chariots. It was really nothing more than a thrusting-type spear with a large blade attached to the top, a blade that was designed for beheading. Soldiers would thrust out their spear at the onrushing enemy and then, when the soldiers had jumped out of the way, they’d jerk the weapon backwards, pulling them in with the scythe-like blade.
There are no doubt a lot more fascinating things about the period, but many are lost to us. After all, the events in this book took place in the late 5th century BC, or nearly 2,500 years ago. It’s much easer to recreate through a novel than it is to record through history.
I hope you’ve enjoyed Book 2 of the Warring States Series. Book 3, The State of Qin is available!
The State of Qin: The Warring States Book 3
ONE
Wei Yang slowly worked the rag over the bristles of his brush, his eyes scanning up from time to time to the fat merchant standing on the other side of the table. He found one of the last remaining clean spots on the dirty rag and began working it in between the bristles, gently coaxing the ink off for another few moments. He then held it up before his face. His jaw worked from side to side as he studied the implement that had done so much for him over the years. Satisfied that it was as clean as it was like to be just now, he put it back into its spot among his other brushes and ink in the small black writing case at his side.
“I think you’ll find that everything is in order,” Wei said as he pushed the chair back and stood up from the table.
The merchant grunted, not taking his eyes from the thin parchment, eyes that were screwed up tightly and peering down at the paper as if there was some hidden meaning there. For the man most likely there was, Wei knew, for although he had assured Wei that he could read, writing being his problem, Wei had doubted how well he could read. Looking at the man now Wei wondered if he could at all.
“Ahem.”
Wei’s cough seemed to get the man’s attention, for he took his eyes off the paper and looked up.
“Yes, I think this’ll do just fine,” the merchant said, his eyes on the paper once more. “You did include the bit about the amount owed if delivery isn’t made on time?”
“It’s right there at the top, under the amount owed,” Wei replied coolly. He had already adjusted the document once based upon the merchants demands, and was then forced to start over completely when he’d had to adjust them yet again. A job that should’ve taken no more than an hour had taken three, and it was now well past dark. All Wei wanted was to collect his pay and find the nearest inn.
The man finally put the paper down on the table, folded his hands in front of him, and then looked up at Wei.
“Well, it was five bu that we agreed upon, wasn’t it?” The man began fumbling about in a deep pocket of his robes.
“Five bu for a single document,” Wei said quickly as the man still searched, “You required three.”
“Now, wait a minute,” the merchant bellowed, his search for the coins suddenly halted, “it was one document that I asked for, and one that you gave me.”
“You have three documents, as you can plainly see,” Wei said, motioning toward the two discarded papers lying on the far side of the desk. “One was nearly complete when you requested changes, changes that couldn’t be made any other way than by starting over completely. Paper and ink aren’t cheap, you know, and I can’t simply dismiss their waste. One document you requested, but it was three you required.”
The merchant pulled his hand from his pocket and reached for the other two documents, bringing them up close to his face.
“The one is nearly complete, and I’m sure that you can find a use for it, perhaps even having it recopied at a much cheaper price than what I charge,” Wei said to placate the man.
The merchant put the two documents down on the table and looked up again at Wei. “I will pay you for two of the documents, then, ten bu. The other, as you yourself admit, is of no use to me.”
“Three documents, fifteen bu,” Wei said.
The merchant rose from the table, his massive bulk nearly blocking out the light of the few candles burning behind him, and reached into his pocket once again. This time he seemed to remember where his coins lay, for his hand was out again in seconds and flipping toward the table. Several spade-shaped coins fell and clattered along the tabletop, the shiny bronze glinting in the candlelight.
“You’ll have ten,” the merchant said gruffly, “and be thankful for that much. You may have been recommended as the best, but five bu for one paper is robbery.”
Wei said nothing as he bent over the table and gathered together the ten coins, quickly putting them into a deep pocket of his robes. He’d heard the same from many merchants before and wasn’t surprised to hear it again now. Most refused to pay anything over the initial five bu cost, even if numerous papers and pots of ink were required to meet their demands; Wei was slightly surprised this man had agreed to give him the extra amount.
“If you’re ever in need of another document…”
“I won’t be,” the merchant cut-in quickly, his arm raised to show Wei toward the door.
Wei gave a slight smile, put his writing case under his arm, nodded, and made his way to the door. A servant was waiting in the long hallway and showed Wei to the front of the large residence that the merchant called home. The man opened and held the door for Wei, and all at once Wei was back out on the street, free once again to do what he liked, exactly as he had been for the past five years.
What he wanted to do at the moment was get a good meal and a warm bed. It was much colder now than when Wei had gone into the merchant’s house several hours before. He pulled his robes tight and began walking toward the business district of the city, hoping that the long walk from the large residential area would at least warm him in the chill night.
After several minutes the large tree-lined streets, nearly empty of people this late in the evening, began to give way to the narrower and more-crowded sections of the city. The area made up of first floor shops and second-story homes for the vast majority of common citizens who called Yong home. It bustled with activity during the day, but at this time of night it was dead.
Wei glanced around at the small shops selling food, clothing, and other goods, and the myriad trade shops nestled in amongst them. They were small, family affairs mainly, and small in comparison to what he would find in the other states’ capitals. But then Yong wasn’t a typical capital; it was in the State of Qin. By far the weakest of the Seven States, Qin didn’t even deserve to be considered as one of the Seven if you listened to most anyone who didn’t call it home, and even a few who did.
But Qin was also a lot more than just the weakest. In the time that Wei had spent there during his years of traveling he’d come to recognize the state as being the poorest, the dirtiest, the smelliest, the most dangerous, and, even though it was not the most northern of the Seven, the coldest.
That cold was seeping into Wei despite the brisk pace he’d set for himself, and he pulled his robes even tighter. Despite not having spent much time in the city he knew the streets well enough, and a few more twists and turns down the larger avenue brought him to a small street and the destination he had been seeking, a small wooden sign swaying lightly in the chill breeze, a mug of ale and a brush etched into it.
T
he Tankard and Quill it was called, and attracted a more educated sort of clientele, certainly quieter than what would be found just a few streets over near the gates, and it was the only place that Wei stayed in when he was in the capital. He pulled the heavy wooden door open and was happy to feel the inside’s warmth rush out at him. He stepped in and quickly pulled the door shut behind him, not wanting anymore of the cherished heat to escape. He made a brief scan of the room and selected an empty table against the wall and near the fire, and no sooner than he’d sat down than a serving woman was by his side.
“Tea, as hot as you can make it, and whatever it is you’re serving for dinner tonight,” Wei said to her as he settled his writing case on the table.
“Rice and vegetables is all we’ve got this late,” the woman said as she set a cup and teapot down on the table. “Pork all ran out an hour ago.”
“That’ll be fine,” Wei said as he looked up at her. “I hope the rooms haven’t run out as well.”
“No, we’ve plenty of those still. Will you be needing one?”
“I will,” Wei replied with a smile.
The woman nodded, her face looking as if it hadn’t changed expression in years, and walked back toward the kitchen.
Wei put his hands around the tea and grasped the cup tightly, happy for the warmth that it imparted to his cold hands. He blew onto it, the steam moving momentarily, and took a soothing sip. One thing that could be said for Qin at least, they still knew how to make a good cup of tea.
Keeping the cup nestled in his hands, Wei took a better look around the room. There were a few tables with only a single occupant like himself, each of the men busy writing. One table held three men in light-brown peasant robes, each eating their dinners of rice and vegetables, and perhaps even a sliver or two of pork. But it was the last two tables, four men seated at each, which quickly drew Wei’s attention. Confucians, Wei could tell right off, and it wasn’t so much because of their grey robes that so marked the adherents to that school of thought. Their loud and boisterous conversation was peppered with words that only a Confucian would throw about so often and with such force.
Honesty, loyalty, humanity, righteousness, integrity, and filial piety; Wei heard them all coming from the two tables, and in span of only a few minutes. Obviously the men were feeling good, the wine they were throwing back by the flagon no doubt helping; it certainly was putting them into the mood to pontificate. What might have begun as a discourse amongst themselves was now more of an impromptu and drunken speech directed at the entire establishment, even those that were trying to get some rest in the rooms above.
“A ruler must show humanity to his people, for it is the only way that the people will love him,” one man said between sips of wine.
“But it is not solely the duty of the people to love him first,” one of his companions quickly added, standing from the table. “Loyalty must first go to one’s family, and then to one’s spouse. Only then can it be directed toward one’s ruler, and finally toward one’s friends.”
“And if the ruler does not show humanity then it is the duty of the people to withhold their loyalty,” the first man declared proudly, throwing back the last of his wine to make his point.
“And for Shangdi to withhold the Mandate of Heaven,” another man added.
“So true, so true,” the first man said as he filled his cup once again. “And that is exactly what Su Xiong should realize. By instituting the Legalist reforms of the outcast general Wu Qi, Duke Dao brought down Shangdi’s disfavor upon him and the State of Chu.”
Wei couldn’t take it anymore. “Could it not be argued that General Wu’s reforms in fact lifted up the vast majority of the peasants and gave them a better life, one they never could have had if those reforms were not made?”
The man that was speaking halted his cup midway to his mouth and stared out into the room.
“Who said that?” he said, his eyes blearily scanning into the pall of smoke from the fire and kitchens.
“That one over there against the wall by himself,” a man seated next to the drunken orator said, pointing toward Wei.
Why did I say that? Wei thought to himself as the man shambled out from the table and started toward him. Why did I have to argue with a Confucian? It never amounts to anything but dry throats and headaches.
“You there,” the man said, who Wei was beginning to think of as the Orator. His wine was sloshing from his cup as he made his way toward Wei’s table, staining the grey fringes of his robes. “What was that you said?”
“I said that perhaps the reforms in Chu did more for the people than you realize,” Wei said, his eyes locked on his cup of tea.
“The reforms did…”
The Orator trailed off as a large smile came to his face and he turned around to face his companions.
“A Legalist, boys!” he shouted. “We’ve got a Legalist here among us tonight.”
The man turned back to face Wei, a large smile on his face, and Wei turned his head up to face him, his face stony and cold.
“I came looking for a hot meal and a warm bed, not a discussion on principles, and certainly not an argument over whose school is right,” Wei said firmly.
“Oh, did you hear that, boys?” the Orator shouted back over his shoulder. “He doesn’t want a discussion, only a warm bed.”
“Then why did he speak up?” another man said as he and a few others rose from the table and headed toward their companion and Wei.
Wei groaned inwardly, realizing that it was now going to be a long night. Confucians and Legalists had never gotten along, mainly because the two schools of thought were so diametrically opposed to one another. While Confucians prattled on and on about virtue and humanity and what the world should be like, Legalists actually turned words into actions, making changes that had real effects, effects which often angered Confucians, either because those plans often went against their own ideals or, most suspected, because they actually worked.
“I’ll tell you why he spoke up,” the Orator said, “because he’s right and we’re wrong.” The man stared down at Wei with a mocking grin that turned Wei’s stomach.
Unlike most Confucians, many of whom Wei had run into during his travels and talked at length with quite civilly, this man was bent on argument. Just the sight of him made Wei cringe, not from any fear, but from sheer revulsion. The man was nearly as large as the merchant that Wei had just finished working for, although the Orator’s appearance wasn’t anywhere near as lavish. His grey robes were stained up and down with wine, many of the stains looking to have been from previous nights in similar inns and taverns. His beard and mustache were thick and bushy and hairs sprouted every which way, while Wei could tell that his hair, even tied back in a long queue, was greasy and most likely hadn’t had a proper washing in weeks. The man was in sore need of new clothes, a trim, and a bath, and his companions weren’t much different.
“We simply view the world in different ways is all,” Wei said loud enough for everyone in the common room to hear. “If you would like to discuss the finer points of our schools I would be more than happy to do so in the morning over a hot cup of tea and a bit of food.”
“I’d much rather have that discussion now,” the Orator shot back to hoots and cat-calls from his companions. “I’ve always found wine to aid in discussion much more than tea.”
“Well that is one point that we differ on then, for I find that it only leads to arguments and sore heads come morning.”
The man’s smile slid from his face and he frowned down at Wei. “He’s afraid, boys, that’s what he is.”
Wei shook his head. “No, but I am tired and hungry and would like nothing more to have a quick dinner and retire to my bed.”
It was obvious that the Orator wasn’t going to let that happen, however, for he moved even closer to Wei, blocking any escape from the table, and bent down, his sour breath caused by more than just wine.
“You’ll not be running away so quickly, legalis
t,” he said, his companions crowding in behind him, their presence and shouts urging the large man on.
Wei wasn’t simply going to be walking away from the table tonight. He craned his head up so that he could see around the large man. The whole of the common room was watching and waiting for whatever would happen, and judging from the expressions on most of their faces they didn’t think the outcome would be good. The serving woman was standing near the bar, a plate of vegetables and rice steaming next to her. She didn’t seem in any rush to deliver the meal that Wei knew was his. He couldn’t blame her; bringing food into this escalating situation would most likely only mean more cleanup work for her later.
From out of the kitchens came a small, wiry man who spoke a few words to the serving woman. She turned her head to speak with him and nodded toward Wei. The man nodded, slipped out from behind the bar, and headed toward the front door.
“I said you’ll not be running away,” the Orator said again loudly, drawing Wei’s eyes back to him.
“No, it appears not,” Wei replied.
The man smiled and turned his head back to his companions.
“It seems we’re already starting to put some sense into him boys, in another few–”
Whatever that ‘few’ might have been neither Wei nor the man’s companions were to find out. When the Orator had turned his head back to his friends Wei had grasped onto his writing case with both hands. As the man started to turn his head back, Wei jumped up from his seat, swung the case with all of his might at the man’s face, and connected right with his mouth, the impact breaking open the case to send brushes and inkpots flying every which way.
There was a loud crunch, so bad that even the Orator’s companions groaned and winced at the sound, before the man fell backward into the men behind him. His companions they might have been, but Wei knew then that none were his friends. They simply let his body fall back toward them, not a one making a move stop his fall. The Orator landed with a thud onto the hard wooden floor. His hands grasped at his mouth in pain, and blood welled-up through his fingers.
The Warring States, Books 1-3 Page 41
