Guo Zixin I

Zhaoyan, Xiao Empire

the Farmer and the General

Guo Zixin washed his hands in the basin inside his tent. The still water stung in the cold late winter air. Zixin splashed his clean-shaven face and wiped it dry with a clean cloth. Shuffling footsteps approached the doorway to his tent, and Zixin heard the voices of his guards. The General turned to see an unknown soldier dressed in simple iron plate and muddied brown pants enter through the tent flaps.

Conscript.

"General Zuo Shui requests your presence," the soldier bowed his head slightly, "He calls for your counsel in his tent."

Nice of him to let me know ahead of time.

"Thank you, soldier," Zixin said, "Please let General Zuo know I'll be there shortly."

The conscript nodded and began to turn.

"What's your name?" Zixin asked.

"Chen," the man answers quietly.

"I wish you well in the battles to come, warrior," Zixin reached into his chest and pulled out a coin, "If you ever need anything, you know where to find me."

Zixin tossed the coin to the conscript. The man snatched it out of the air, bowed, and hurried out of the tent. The opening in the tent flapped in the wind even after he left.

I'd like to have him on my side if that's General Zuo's man. It will take more than a coin, though.

Zixin tied his long black hair into a knot and walked to the cot for his cape. He swung the light green velvet of the Guo family over his shoulders and attached it around the neck with a gold clip fashioned in the shape of a scorpion. Zixin strapped his sword and sheath around his waist. Some Daming soldiers preferred the bow, the spear, or the halberd, but the two-edged sword had always come easily to Zixin. He drew the steel from its sheath and moved it gently through the air; the blade danced eagerly for him.

I won't use you today, not unless I get my way.

General Guo Zixin sheathed the blade and exited the tent into the crisp, calm air. Outside, groups of conscripts talked, laughed, and shouted while waiting in line for food outside the makeshift kitchens. Men led horses to and from the stables for feeding and grooming. Light winds blew the open flaps tents, and black smoke drifted over the camp from cookfires and campfires. Late winter rain saturated the soil beneath Zixin's feet; it wasn't wet mud but soft. The rich soil gave way like a firm dough when you stepped into it. The ground was why his cousin Guo Xue sent him here after all; to take this arable land before Ganyang had a chance to stage a counter-offensive.

Controlling the food supply over spring and summer will decide this war. As usual, it pains me to admit that cousin is correct: millet, wheat, and barley will be more important than steel this year.

Zixin walked across the makeshift central square that separated the two generals' tents; his faced west, and General Zuo's faced east. His guards, also armored in clean steel and green capes, followed. Their steel clinked as they passed the small groups of mingling soldiers. Puffs of smoke from the hemp pipes filled the empty voids between warm bodies huddled in the cold. Many soldiers raised their heads and smiled or nodded as he crossed the square; some stood to face their general as befitting his rank. Most of the men were conscripts, new to war, Zixin knew. Some of the faces were old and gnarled, while others looked as if they had lived no more than sixteen years. He smiled at the men as he passed by.

I'll be their friend and leave the discipline to General Zuo; he seems to have a taste for it.

General Zuo Shui's guards parted as Zixin entered the tent alone, leaving his men behind. Unlike Zixin, Zuo's tent was lavish, as befit the rank of general. Burning incense filled Zixin's nostrils, creating a haze over the thick wooden table where General Zuo Shui sat. Xian Mu, the lead commander of their five conscript regiments, sat to Shui's right. Lang Hui, the platoon chief of the two hundred Guo shock troops traveling under their command, sat on General Zuo's left. Lang Hui casually pulled on a pipe filled with hemp and let the smoke spill out into the air in front of his face. A jug of barley wine sat in the middle of the wooden table, and Zixin could already smell it on them as he approached.

Xian Mu and Lang Hui stood before Zixin waved them down.

"Sit, sit."

General Zuo's portly frame, covered in red velvet, leaned back in his chair. His scraggly black beard hid much of his prominent chin and jowls. General Zuo Shui's bloodshot baggy eyes watched Zixin skeptically from his side of the table. He sipped his glass of wine and winced as the stiff drink went down his throat.

"General Zuo, thank you for telling me we were meeting."

"General Guo Zixin, we are honored to have you join us."

Zixin smiled, "Don't let me interrupt; pick up where you left off."

Xian Mu, a balding hard man of middle age, looked to General Zuo for guidance on whether or not to speak.

"We were debating our next move," Lang Hui said, languidly reaching his long arm for his wine.

The tall, lean platoon chief wore ordinary steel, but Zixin knew an expert in the arts sat underneath the armor. Hui brushed aside his long black beard, accented with streaks of gray, as he took a sip.

He'd sooner wear simple robes for greater mobility.

Zixin had seen Hui shed his steel in some of the minor skirmishes they met along the way. He moved more like a dancer than a warrior; most men he cut down never even saw him coming.

"Our next move with the town?" Zixin asked.

Hui nodded.

"They're still holding out?"

"A shame," General Zhuo confirmed.

"I see," Zixin said.

"The closer we get to Gangyang, the more loyal the farmers become," Hui noted, "Finally, here, at last, they posture to fight."

Xian Mu sat silently. General Zuo poured himself another small glass and offered one to Zixin; he shook his head no.

"We offered them fair terms," General Zuo said, wincing again as more wine went down, "The same tax rate as they pay Ganyang and ten percent of their men to join our conscripts."

"Same tax rate for now," Zixin added.

"Of course," General Zuo smiled.

"They know we'll come back for more," Zixin said.

"So will Ganyang," Xian Mu spoke for the first time, "It makes no difference."

"Not to them," Hui said, drawing from his pipe again and nodding in the direction of the farm below the ridge, "To them, we're invaders, rebels."

"Platoon chief Land," Zixin said, "We come as liberators; we come to break the yoke of the Xiao Empire."

Hui smiled as he casually let the smoke exit his lungs and fill the air.

"Does something amuse you about our campaign?" General Zuo asked.

Lang Hui said nothing.

General Zuo Shui continued, his face red from the wine, "As I said, we offered fair terms. They refused. It is time to punish them. I'm weary of the road. I should like to return to Shaozou with our campaign finished ahead of schedule."

"Agreed," Zixin added, "We're close to realizing the campaign's ambitions."

"Generals," Xian Mu said, "It would be my honor to take the town. My regiments will overwhelm them with numbers. Once we breach the defenses, we'll root out the troublemakers until they've accepted your generous offer."

"We'll lose many men, and more importantly, so will they," Zixin added, "Remember, commander, we need them to continue farming after we've taken the town."

"You don't have faith in me, general?"

Zixin smiled at Xian Mu softly, "I do, commander. But taking a town is difficult, even with a numerical advantage. Do you see their defenses? The barricades? They're dug in. A battle won't be a walkover like the others."

"We will make short work of the barricades, general. I'm sure of it."

"You'll get them down. But once you do, how many will you need to kill? Too many; we need their able-bodied."

"They should pay for their disobedience," commander Xian continued.

"I remind you, commander, they don't believe they owe us any obedience."

General Zuo nodded toward Lang Hui, "Platoon chief Lang had another idea."

Zixin turned towards Lang Hui. The platoon chief leaned back in his chair and drew deeply from his pipe.

"Yes, I do," he said in a low cracking register, "We'll go in at night under cover of darkness, small teams from my platoon. We'll kill discreetly and randomly; while they sleep. The moon wanes small, and there isn't much light. Families will wake to find their men dead. It won't take a few nights of terror before they fold."

"Cowardly," Xian Mu shook his head," Cowardly."

Lang Hui watched Xian Mu like a hawk but said nothing.

"But effective," added Zixin, "Only, again, I remind you, we need them to continue farming for us after we take the town. The new Empire needs food. Each man we kill is a man who can't plow the earth, plant seed, or harvest. And what of their morale? What will they think of our regime if we begin with terror?"

General Zuo scoffed.

"Does something amuse you now, general?" Zixin asked.

"They will have no choice," General Zuo replied, "Their only option is to farm. That is what they are: fathers lead, mothers nurture, chickens lay eggs, and farmers farm until they lie in the ground. That is the order of things."

"All men have choices."

The men sat quietly for some time. Xian Mu sat stiffly while Lang Hui continued to lounge. General Zuo poured more wine and sipped from his cup. The noise from the camp outside carried into the quiet tent.

"And you, General Guo, what do you think?" Zuo Shui asked, sipping from his cup again.

"I think," Zixin paused, "I don't know. I want to speak with them."

"With whom?" Lang Hui asked, seemingly interested in the conversation for the first time.

"The men that lead their resistance."

"And how do you plan to do that," General Zuo asked.

"I suppose I'll ride out to them."

"Impossible," General Zuo replied, "We can't risk you."

Or, you can't risk losing face, sitting in your tent like a coward.

"Can't we? If one of us is safe, we can continue the campaign. If they kill me, you'll crush them, General Zuo. We can risk losing me; what we can't risk is losing both of us. I'll have to insist you stay behind, General Zuo."

There you are; you're welcome.

General Zuo sat back and sighed, "It will pain me not to ride out with you, General Guo, but your logic is sound. If one of us stays behind, the campaign will come to fruition."

"Agreed," Xian Mu added, a little too eagerly for Zixin's liking.

You'd like me to go, wouldn't you? General Zuo's man, as always.

"It's settled then. General Guo will ride out to meet with their leadership," General Zuo proclaimed, standing up from his creaking chair. Xian Mu quickly stood to meet him while Zixin and Lang Hui casually rose.

Guo Zixin's black stallion was waiting for him at the edge of the encampment. He mounted the horse and looked over his shoulder to his guards. Zixin blew into his hands and rubbed them together quickly. He pulled his cape tight around his neck.

"Wait for me here."

Zixin's guards nodded, and he dug his heels into his stallion, sending it cantering down the slope towards to down. In the distance, torches lit the barricaded entrances. The late afternoon light faded quickly as the sun set behind heavy cloud cover. The horses' hooves depressed the soft earth as they rode. The beast blew air out of its nostrils occasionally. Zixin pulled the stallion to a halt when he reached the flat farmland below the ridge and looked back up the slope. Smoke from camp's fires rose from all over the bank. Groups of conscripts began to form on the edge of the hill, with some men carrying torches or pieces of the burning wood from the fire. Far on the right side of the ridge, where it was the steepest, Lang Hui sat armored and ready atop his stallion. Zixin knew a hundred mounted shock troops stood prepared at his rear. General Zuo was nowhere in sight.

Zixin turned back and followed one of the many foot trails through the waist-high wheat fields. He kept his eyes on the central barricade as he rode. As Zixin drew closer, more and more faces appeared in front and on top of the barricade. The wall was a clumsy sight made of wooden furniture, ox carts, wagons, and other debris pulled from the town. Zixin drew his stallion to a halt around fifty meters from the central barricade. He looked back to the ridge again; makeshift torches lit the land like fireflies against a dark sky. Conscripts continued to gather in large numbers silently.

An audience: always how I perform my best.

Zixin returned to face the barricade and tossed his sword to the ground. He put his arms in the air, signaling he was no threat.

"Who leads there," Zixin called.

There was no answer. Zixin watched the men shift uneasily around and behind the barricade.

"I come to talk terms," Zixin called again.

A few of the men on the far side of the barricade came together, and then one ran off down the street toward the town center. Guo Zixin took that as a good sign. He looked back over his shoulder at the ridge behind. His audience swelled even further as more and more lights appeared. The wind whipped his cape, and his stallion neighed and reared.

If they want a show, let's give them one.

Zixin patted the horse on the neck and stroked it until it calmed.

It was only a short moment before a man emerged from behind the barricade and began to walk down the footrail to meet Zixin. Zixin watched as he approached; the man was stout and robust, perhaps thirty or forty years old. He wore simple wool under a simple leather breastplate and carried a halberd. The farmer's face was tan and weathered, with a short black beard. Dirt and charcoal sullied his hands and arms up to his elbows. His eyes were dark, and he watched Zixin with intensity.

Zixin dismounted and stood in front of his horse, his weapons still lying useless on the ground.

"Do you know who I am?"

The farmer grunted and shook his head.

"Pity. I am one of the generals for Emperor Guo's campaign to take the arable farmland in his name."

The farmer smiled.

"Is something funny?"

He shook his head without saying a word. The farmer's cold eyes watched Zixin.

"We mean to make our line at the end of the great valley. You're the last town in our way. Every town to the north of you agreed to our terms. You are very alone."

The stout farmer spit and shifted his weight onto his halberd, "Fools."

"How so?"

"Everyone knows your Emperor knows nothing but taking other men's coin. He dries up the countryside to the north and riverlands to the east like a drought. He'll dry us up in the center, too. If we agree to your terms today, you'll be back next season with new ones."

Not that stupid, then.

"That's your emperor you speak ill of."

"Not yet. Not until you take our town."

"I'm offering you a chance to surrender without any blood spilled. Like all of your brothers did to the north."

"And if I say no."

"Then we will take you by force; you know that much. Many will die."

"And you'll be one of them."

"Perhaps, perhaps not."

The men were silent for a moment.

"We reject your terms," the man said, spitting again, "We will hold our land or die trying."

Guo Zixin surveyed the barricade over the farmer's shoulder.

"What if we can settle this on the field and avoid bloodshed? Our best man against yours. If yours wins, we move on to the valley. You keep your farms and your allegiance to Ganyang. You have my word our forward lines will not interfere with you."

"And if you win?"

"You remove the barricade, continue your work, and send your taxes to Shouzou instead of Ganyang. A second force will come from the north on their way to the front and take the conscripts you will owe."

"What if we win, and you decide to take the town anyways?"

"Then, at least you will have killed a Guo."

The farmer was silent, but his eyes widened ever so slightly.

There's the bait, but will you take it?

"You're a Guo?

"Yes."

"Related to –"

"Yes, he is my dear cousin."

The man looked over his shoulder to his men on the barricade and then back to Zixin.

"Hmm."

"Tempting, isn't it, to put me in the ground. Do you think you could?"

"I know I could."

"Well then, we must have a deal."

The farmer grunted and turned back towards the barricade without saying anything further. Zixin stood in front of his horse alone. He looked back up the torchlit ridge.

The audience is still there; the show must go on.

Zixin watched the man reach the barricade. Men slowly poured out of the makeshift structure, clumsily crawling down the front. Some men squeezed through the middle or sides. Before long, there were close to two dozen men of varying sizes surrounding the stout farmer. They seemed to be conversing, but Zixin couldn't determine what was said. Each farmer wore simple brown, cream, or white wools, stained with charcoal, mud, or both. Most had facial hair. There were rusty swords, crooked spears, and even another halberd. A few carried hunting bows strung across their backs.

All these men, little boys, are playing at war. They should be tending to their fields.

Watching the men, Zixin realized Lang Hui and Xian Mu's plans would work. The resistance, while spirited, would be futile.

Still, better to win this now and leave a town full of able-bodied men. Well, one less able-bodied man, I supposed.

The men turned and began to amble towards Zixin. The stout farmer led them at the front; his hand gripped tight around the halberd. Zixin glanced at his weapons lying uselessly on the ground next to him. He turned to look towards the ridge. Lang Hui's shock troops were now in view in a wedge formation around their platoon chief; their helmets were on, and spears in hand.

Ready to charge when this group kills me, eh?

The wind whistled as it blew past Zixin and the wheat fields moved back and forth like a restless cove. Torches began to emerge now from inside the town. Windows illuminated what was once dark.

My queue.

Zixin stepped over to his sword, picked it up, and sheathed it.

"So you accept my terms?" Zixin asked the farmer.

"Don't get too confident, General," he said. "I may not have formal military training, but I've been practicing the martial arts for years. You may have the fancy sword and armor, but I know how to fight dirty."

Zixin couldn't help but smirk at the farmer's words. He had faced many skilled opponents in his career, but he wasn't about to underestimate this man.

"I'll keep that in mind," he said.

The two men faced each other, each sizing up their opponent. The farmer stood with his halberd at the ready, his feet planted firmly on the ground. Zixin unsheathed his sword, the steel glinting in the torchlight. The other men formed a circle around them, their weapons ready. The only sound was the rustling of the wheat fields in the wind. The townspeople from behind the barricade and the soldiers on the ridge watched quietly.

Zixin could feel the tension in the air; he felt his body pulsing. Some men feared these moments, where it could all end. For Zixin, these were the only moments where men lived.

Zixin and the farmer stood still, facing each other. Zixin knew the man was waiting for him to make the first move. The men watching stood still, and the torches on the ridge didn't move. The farmer's eyes narrowed, his grip on the halberd tightening. Zixin could see the determination in his gaze, but he also saw the fear. The farmer was no fool; he knew he was outnumbered and outmatched. But he was also a man with something to prove, not just to Zixin but to his people. He would fight with everything he had, even if it meant his demise.

Zixin respected that. He had been in similar situations before, fighting for a cause. He knew the weight of that burden and the toll it took on a man.

But he also knew that sacrifices sometimes had to be made in war. He had a duty to his Emperor and his men. He couldn't let sentimentality cloud his judgment.

The men on the ridge deserve a show. It's been a while on the road.

He took a deep breath and prepared to make the first move.

The farmer saw Zixin's shift in posture and knew he had no choice but to act. He released a fierce cry and charged at Zixin, brandishing the halberd. Zixin waited until the last second before dodging to the side, narrowly avoiding the sharp blade. He countered with a swift strike of his sword, but the farmer quickly blocked the halberd's shaft.

Zixin heard the crowd roar on the ridge above while the townsfolk watching stayed silent. He felt the soft earth under his feet.

"And so it begins," he called out, throwing his hands to the side.

The farmer grunted and charged again.

Zixin parried the farmer's attack and countered with a series of quick strikes, testing the man's defenses. The farmer was skilled, but Zixin could tell that he was tiring. The long days of resistance had taken their toll on him.

Zixin pressed his advantage, raining down blow after blow on the farmer, forcing him to retreat. The man was sweating now, his breath coming in short gasps. Zixin could see the desperation in his eyes.

Time for him to make a mistake.

"Is this the best you have?" Zixin called to the men watching nearby.

He stepped forward, calling out to the town now.

"Is he the best you have?"

The farmer stared at Zixin, breathing heavily.

He gathered his strength and charged at Zixin again, swinging the halberd with all his might. Zixin dodged to the side and countered with a powerful strike of his sword, aiming for the farmer's chest. The man barely managed to block the attack with his halberd, but the force of the blow sent him stumbling backward.

He fell to his knees, panting and sweating. Zixin stood over him, his sword at the ready.

"Yield," Zixin commanded.

The field fell silent. The wind tugged at the stalks of wheat. The soldiers on the ridge watched quietly.

The farmer spat.

"Yield," Zixin commanded again.

"I died fighting for my home and my people. What will you be fighting for when you die?"

Zixin paused for a moment, looking the man in the eyes. They were dark, cold, and tired. The farmer's face was weathered and worn, deep lines etched into his tanned skin. His nose was crooked, and his square jaw was not yet in a resigned expression. There was still fire in his eyes, Zixin realized. He wasn't crushed yet.

"What's your name?" Zixin asked.

The farmer looked up at Zixin, his eyes narrowed. "Why should I tell you my name? So you can gloat about your victory?"

"No," Zixin replied. "I want to know who I am fighting. A man's name is his legacy. It's something that lives on long after he is gone. It's the least I can do to honor you, even in defeat."

The farmer hesitated for a moment, then nodded. "My name is Wei," he said. "Wei Chen."

Zixin nodded.

"Wei Chen, you fought bravely. Your name will be remembered in the annals of our Empire's history as a man who stood up for what he believed in," Zixin readied his sword, "Bow your head, Wei Chen."

The fire in the farmer's eyes faded. He bowed his head.

Zixin's stroke was clean and quick. The man was gone before he felt any pain, Zixin hoped.

The crowd of onlookers from the town was silent. In the distance, he heard a woman sobbing behind the barricade. Zixin turned to the ridge, sheathing his sword and throwing his hands out to the side. The roar of the crowd filled the winter air.

"Guo! Guo! Guo! Guo!" the soldiers chanted.

Zixin turned to the onlookers.

"I believe the town is ours."

A sad-looking elderly farmer turned and signaled to the barricade. Slowly, it began to disassemble.

Zixin looked back at the ridge, and a stream of torches slowly started moving toward the town. He mounted his horse and rode towards the bank.

"Guo! Guo! Guo! Guo!" the soldiers continued to call, the roar deafening.

General Shui, Lang Hui, and Xian Mu were there to meet him.

"A great victory for your campaign, General Shui," Zixin called.

"And for your legacy," Shui returned.

Zixin watches the horde of soldiers marching past.

"Make sure there's no bloodshed," he ordered Lang Hui, "I made a deal."

Hui nodded and rode off to the front of the column.

"Guo! Guo! Guo!" soldiers continued to chant, marching past.

Zixin smiled, knowing that while he shared a name with the Emperor, the soldiers were chanting for him tonight.