021. We Who Serve

Clang! Clang!

Outside the military camp in the eastern suburbs of Xuchang, at the entrance of a blacksmith’s shop, Cao Xin came to inspect the progress on the forging of new armor.

For a warrior, possessing armor was a matter of life and death—like a swordsman with or without shoes. Those with armor were called elite soldiers; those without, cannon fodder. The higher the grade of armor, the higher the status and the more valuable the life. Good armor could protect soldiers efficiently, drastically reducing casualties in war, but armor was more precious than life itself. Acquiring a fine suit of armor was no easy task; even in wealthy households, armor and helmets were counted only in pairs.

In Cao’s army, ordinary soldiers wore cloth, leather, or rattan armor. Only officers at the rank of squad leader (commanding a hundred men) and above were issued a simple set of iron armor—special units excepted.

But in General Cao’s Langya Army, anyone selected for the force had the chance to don their specially crafted iron armor.

The Langya Army’s armor, known as willow leaf black armor, was made from rhino hide and iron plates shaped like leaves. Thousands of interlocking iron pieces, densely arranged, protected vital areas such as the chest and back. The leaf-shaped plates were black, hence the name. Each suit weighed over forty pounds.

Armor for Langya Army officers was a superior scale armor, made of more than two thousand polished metal scales. Its protection could be increased by adding more scales. Each set weighed over sixty pounds, gleamed silver, and included front and back plates, pauldrons, gorget, vambraces, and gauntlets—offering full-body protection. The shoulders bore beast-head motifs, and the craftsmanship was intricate and formidable, with even stricter protection.

As fine as it was, current smelting and manufacturing skills were limited. Producing armor was difficult: a ten-man workshop could at best craft two suits per month. Under Cao Xin’s command, there were twenty workshops, and after more than half a year, they had produced fewer than four hundred suits.

Additionally, there were sets of barding for the Langya cavalry, made from interwoven iron plates and leather straps, layered both horizontally and vertically to form tightly joined horse armor. This barding could ward off blades and arrows, reducing horse casualties. The production process was somewhat simpler; over two hundred sets were stacked in the Langya Army’s warehouses—enough for now.

After inspecting the armor workshops, Cao Xin and his men collected five hundred sets of armor and one hundred sets of barding and headed for the military camp outside the city.

“Old Yu, how are the new recruits coming along?” Cao Xin asked as he entered the training ground, looking towards Yu Du, who was drilling the troops.

Yu Du was one of the commanders of the Langya Infantry, holding the rank of Sima, in charge of five hundred men. Having recently been promoted to General Wei-Lu and Prefect of Nanyang, he planned to expand both the infantry and the cavalry: the infantry camp would grow from five hundred to a thousand, and the Langya Cavalry to two hundred, forming an elite force under his command.

“General, we’ve finished selecting them. One hundred and twenty-two are from the farmstead guard units. They’ve served at least a year and participated in more than three bandit-suppression campaigns, performing excellently.

“The remaining three hundred-plus were picked from other infantry camps. When the others heard that the Langya Army was recruiting, offering one string of cash a month, paid in full, they rushed to sign up. We selected a little over three hundred promising new soldiers—about one in twenty,” Yu Du replied.

Cao Xin nodded and sat on the sidelines to watch the training.

The recruits on the field trained fervently. Five hundred robust young men, wielding regulation red-tasseled spears, followed Drillmaster Bai Feng, shouting “Kill! Kill! Kill!” as they repeatedly practiced thrusting techniques. The spearwork was simple and effective, mainly designed to counter enemy cavalry.

Besides this, the Langya infantry also practiced sword and shield techniques—more advanced military martial arts taught after soldiers had served six months.

On the grounds, Cao Xin also spotted the new recruit Yang Aruo, clad in the standard red uniform. Aside from two conspicuous scars on his face, he looked much like the others.

“Old Yu, besides strengthening their bodies, you must also shape their minds. They must know who feeds them, who they fight for, and why. They must follow our rules,” Cao Xin instructed.

“Understood, General. I train them just as you said,” Yu Du replied with a laugh, then climbed the high platform and bellowed, “Recruits, form up!”

The recruits swiftly grabbed their spears, ten to a squad, converging into a neat formation in less than thirty seconds.

“Attention!” Yu Du roared.

The recruits immediately stood straight, their two-meter-three spears upright, forming a forest of weapons.

“Tell me, who feeds you and ensures you have meat every day?” Yu Du shouted.

“General Cao Xin!” the soldiers shouted in unison.

“Who gives you iron armor to shield you from blades and arrows?”

“General Cao Xin!”

“Who pays your wages in full so you can support your families?”

“General Cao Xin!”

“General Cao gives us meat, gives us armor, gives us money to support our families. How should we repay him?”

“Willing to die for General Cao! Willing to die for General Cao! Willing to die for General Cao!” the recruits roared, raising their spears.

In the ranks, Yang Aruo shouted as loudly as the others, though his face looked a bit awkward as he glanced at General Cao on the platform.

Once they had entered the recruit camp, the instructors began instilling this sense of loyalty and gratitude. At first, everyone resisted, reluctant to open their mouths. But the instructors tempted them with roast chicken, pork knuckles, strong wine, and first access to armor: whichever squad (of fifty) shouted the loudest and clearest would eat first, drink first, and wear armor first.

After that, there was no more resistance. For ordinary soldiers, the lure of roast meat, strong spirits, and imposing iron armor was irresistible. In an age of widespread hunger and want, no one could refuse.

Neither could Yang Aruo—he loved to drink. Fiery spirits were his favorite. Earlier that year, after brawling in Chang’an, a friend bought him a bowl of strong liquor. His first taste made him cry—it was fiery hot, but so delicious, far better than rice wine or any palace brew. To him, this was the real drink, the lifeblood of a wandering swordsman.

He once dreamed of heading out to fight, a wine gourd at his waist, filled with fiery spirits: kill a man, take a drink—what a beautiful life. But a single jar cost ten strings of cash—the price of 600 jin of rice. Who could afford that?

Now, in the army, the best-performing squad could drink a bowl of strong liquor every day. For that, he’d shout himself hoarse, as did the others, practicing their voices daily, roaring at the mountains to be the loudest when the instructors called.

“Very good! Last question—why are we soldiers? Why do we go to war?” Yu Du shouted, clenching his fist.

“To end chaos and bring peace to the realm! To end chaos and bring peace to the realm!” Five hundred warriors bellowed, their voices thunderous.

Cao Xin nodded in satisfaction. Yu Du and Bai Feng had trained the recruits well: they knew whom they served, for whom they fought, and had a goal and faith in their hearts.

As for the methods, he cared little for the rules. The Langya Army was his private force; all their food, clothing, and arms came from his own earnings. He had the right to command their loyalty.

Clap! Clap! Clap!

Cao Xin stepped forward, applauding. “Brothers, do you know who I am?”

“Greetings, General Cao!” the soldiers shouted, bowing together, their movements and voices perfectly synchronized.

“Brothers, rise!” Cao Xin lifted his hand and walked forward. “You’ve done well—I like to hear that. But I want more than words; I want you to remember it in your hearts. Remember why you are soldiers, why you fight: for eight words—to end chaos and bring peace to the world!”

He paused, then continued, “But why must we end chaos and bring peace? Why? Who can tell me?”

“General, the world is in chaos—we can’t get enough to eat!” a soldier called out, raising his hand.

“Haha, well said! What’s your name?” Cao Xin smiled.

“General, I’m Niu Jin, from Ye County in Nanyang,” the soldier replied, excited.

“Niu Jin—a fine name. I’ll remember you. Who else knows?”

“General, I’m Wang Shuang, from Luoyang. My parents were killed in the wars. If not for the chaos, they’d still be alive,” another dark-faced soldier shouted.

“Wang Shuang, you speak well. Since the Yellow Turban Rebellion, the realm has been in turmoil. The people suffer. Many of our families died in the chaos.

“Twenty years ago, there were forty-eight million people in the land. After years of war, only fifteen million remain. Where are the other thirty-three million?

“They’re dead. All dead—starved, diseased, murdered. White bones lie exposed in the fields; for a thousand miles, no rooster crows. Of every hundred, only one survives. That, brothers, is what chaos means!

“We are the lucky ones—survivors of the wars. If chaos continues, it will be us next: our wives, our parents, our children. Brothers, do you want your loved ones to be killed? Tell me!”

“No!” “No!” “No!” Five hundred men roared in unison, their voices shaking the heavens. Many remembered homes destroyed and loved ones lost in war, and could not hold back tears.

“I don’t want that either. Like you, my family died in the wars—I’m the only one left. I hate chaos, I long for peace. But what I hate or want does not come or go because I wish it. We must take up weapons, fight, seize, and struggle for it!” Cao Xin shouted, waving his fist.

Everyone on the training ground stared at him, faces flushed, eyes brimming with tears.

“That’s why we go to war, why we must end chaos, why we must bring peace. Brothers, remember your words and strive for them. I believe, not long from now, we will all see it—the nine provinces united, the world at peace.”

“Willing to die for General Cao!” Five hundred voices thundered as one.

“Very good! All of you, continue training!” Cao Xin ordered, stepping down from the platform.

The recruits gradually rose, gazing after his tall figure like a monument. Some looked on with fervor, some blushed, some wept. Yang Aruo gritted his teeth, gripping his spear tightly.

“Tsk, they say Cao Ziyu is an arrogant, dissolute, lecherous wastrel—who would have thought he had such insight?” At the edge of the field, a middle-aged scholar stroked his beard in surprise.

This was Zhong Yao, who had come from Chang’an with the emperor last year, now serving as Palace Attendant and Deputy Director of the Secretariat, a close friend of Xun You and others.

Beside him, Xun You, courtesy name Yuanda, shook his head slightly. He and Zhong Yao, courtesy name Yuanchang, were inspecting the camp and had been drawn over by the roaring from the training ground—now witnessing another side of Cao Ziyu.

“Cao Ziyu is an extraordinary man. Though once a mountain bandit, his insight is remarkable. Such maxims as ‘He who wins the people wins the world,’ ‘When the people prosper, they suffer; when they perish, they suffer still,’ and ‘The people can bear up a boat or overturn it’ all come from him. He can’t be judged by ordinary standards.”

“Indeed extraordinary. Why not invite him to our literary society? Perhaps we might hear more such words of gold and stone,” Zhong Yao said, stroking his beard.

“I’ve asked. Cao Ziyu said, ‘Empty talk ruins the country; practical work makes it strong.’ He has no interest in idle debates,” Xun You replied with a smile.

“Empty talk ruins the country; practical work makes it strong—ha! Truly a remarkable man!” Zhong Yao exclaimed, clapping his hands in admiration.