Chapter 27: Concentrating the Spirit and Cultivating Vital Energy

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The battle gradually drew to an end, but the camp remained filled with unceasing groans.

For a time, elite guards were everywhere, cutting off heads. Arguments, shoving, indignation, and angry curses could be seen and heard on every side.

Yet whenever Zhao Ji walked through the camp, the quarrels quieted considerably at his approach.

Yang Ji came bounding swiftly over the corpses, a severed head in his hand. Reaching Zhao Ji, he said, “Platoon Leader, this is the Xiongnu prince. You killed him with your spear.”

Zhao Ji had no impression of the man. In the firelight, he could not even make out the features of his face; the blood-smeared, soot-black countenance looked much like Yang Ji’s own bloodstained face.

Yang Ji’s broad grin and shining eyes were even more frightening than the head he held in both hands.

Zhao Ji merely nodded. Yang Ji immediately said, “I’ll collect the heads for you, Platoon Leader.”

“Then I’ll trouble you.”

“Yes!”

Yang Ji promptly handed the bloody head to Zhao Ji. Zhao Ji caught it instinctively, while Yang Ji called for the villagers and led them through the camp with torches, searching.

Most of the Xiongnu Zhao Ji had slain lay across the passages between the eastern and western sections of the camp. Those killed by the guards defending the camp were mostly piled along the sides of the paths.

The Xiongnu slain by Zhao Ji were also easy to distinguish.

Seeing figures moving everywhere, Zhao Ji went to the Wenxi Squad. Several wounded men from his unit lay on piles of straw, panting for breath. He casually tossed the head aside. It rolled a short distance and came to rest near Maoqiu Xing’s feet.

Maoqiu Xing jumped backward and asked, “A Ji, is this for me?”

“If you want it, take it.”

Zhao Ji turned to look at the wounded and asked, “A Xing, organize some men and carry the wounded over to Jia Liangdao.”

Maoqiu Xing picked up the head from the ground, stared seriously at Zhao Ji, and pressed him, “A Ji, I heard that was the Xiongnu prince’s head. You’re really giving it to me?”

“Take it. Now go do your work.”

“All right!”

Maoqiu Xing untied his cloak, wrapped the prince’s head in it, and fastened it to his waist before hurrying off to find men who were free.

Zhao Ji then went to Hu Ban’s quarters. The thatched roof had already burned away, leaving only a few wooden rafters still smoldering, liable to be extinguished by the wind at any moment.

There was a bed inside, along with several jars of wine bought the previous day that had not yet been opened.

Unable to find any cooled boiled water, Zhao Ji opened a jar of wine, wiped the ash from a bowl, poured in a little, and sipped it slowly.

“I thought A Ji didn’t drink,” Pei Xiu’s voice came from the doorway.

Zhao Ji turned and saw Pei Xiu holding a torch in one hand and supporting Guan Shang with the other.

Guan Shang covered the back of his neck with one hand, while clutching a severed head by its hair in the other.

Zhao Ji examined him. “A Shang?”

Guan Shang forced a smile. “Two arrows struck me. They only broke the skin and flesh.”

Zhao Ji nodded and turned to clear the dust, ash, and bits of straw from the bed. “Lie down first. I’m going to discuss treatment for the wounded with Jia Kui.”

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Pei Xiu helped Guan Shang sit down properly and said, “Assistant Commandant Hu and the county soldiers are guarding the prisoners. Wang Zhi has sent men to knock at the city gates. Even if they can’t bring back a physician, they should be able to obtain medicine once dawn arrives.”

“We can’t just wait for someone else to save us. Jia Kui is in charge of provisions; he needs to take responsibility for this.”

Zhao Ji drained half a bowl of wine and handed it to Pei Xiu. “Seventh Brother, have some as well. A Shang is wounded, so don’t let him drink.”

“Understood. Go find Jia Kui, A Ji.”

Zhao Ji nodded, rubbed the dried blood from his face, and turned to leave. As he passed, Shentu Lan unconsciously straightened her back.

Only after Zhao Ji had gone did Shentu Lan let out a long breath. She turned toward the bed. “Seventh Brother, A Ji killed at least thirty men tonight.”

“I think it was more than that.”

Although Pei Xiu had not taken part in the fighting, the extreme excitement that had sustained him faded, leaving him unusually exhausted.

After helping Guan Shang recline, Pei Xiu found a comfortable position for himself. The moment he lay down, his eyelids grew heavy, and he fell asleep.

When Zhao Ji left the camp, he saw Yang Ji arguing with several men. Going over, he found them disputing the head of a Xiongnu horseman who had died from an arrow wound.

Yang Ji pointed at the arrow that had nearly pierced the man’s throat. “This is the one Zhao, the Platoon Commander, shot! Other than him, who else could have made that shot? Your arrows struck his shoulder and side. Look—they didn’t even penetrate his leather armor!”

The moment Yang Ji saw Zhao Ji, he called out, “Platoon Leader, come and see! Was this one killed by you?”

“Platoon Leader Zhao!”

The two elite guards claiming the head lowered their heads uneasily.

Zhao Ji stepped forward and glanced down at the corpse before saying to Yang Ji, “Without the comrades on either side firing and distracting them, I could never have achieved such results. Any man who died from an arrow wound is not to be claimed by you. Divide those heads among the comrades who helped from either side.”

“Platoon Leader, how can we do that?”

“Why can’t we? I’m exhausted. Don’t trouble me over such petty matters.”

Zhao Ji reached out and plucked the vivid pheasant feather from the top of the dead man’s helmet. Finding it somewhat vulgar, he tossed it aside. “That settles it.”

Seeing that the two guards still did not move, Zhao Ji said, “Hurry and clear the battlefield. Once dawn comes, the garrison soldiers will certainly arrive. If they take the heads then, you’ll be the ones who lose out.”

“Go on, cut it off. I’m looking for the others.”

Yang Ji turned and walked away. Zhao Ji likewise turned to find Jia Kui.

At the camp of the Xiangling Squad, Jia Kui sat cross-legged beside a fire. He pinched up the black ash of a freshly burned bundle of grass and used it to treat a wounded guard.

The man’s injury was not serious; the back of his hand had merely been slashed open.

Leather cords had already been tied around his wrist and upper arm. After a county soldier washed the wound with well water, he used needle and thread to stitch it closed.

A layer of grass ash was then smeared over the surface before the wound was bandaged.

The ash caused a corrosive, burning sensation. The wounded guard bit down on a wooden splint, cold sweat covering his forehead.

Only after the wound had been wrapped did Jia Kui loosen the leather cords around the man’s arm and wrist.

When he saw Zhao Ji approaching, Jia Kui finished what he was doing and came over. “A Ji, did you ever learn how to treat knife wounds and arrow wounds at Mount Ji?”

When Zhao Ji did not answer, Jia Kui explained, “When the generals of the White Wave forces first came to the emperor’s aid, they forcibly recruited every man in the counties skilled in medicine. The guards in the counties may carry medicines, but few of them have ever treated battle wounds.”

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“I need some empty wine jars.”

Zhao Ji looked around and saw Maoqiu Xing bringing over another group of wounded men. He said, “The wounds of our injured comrades must be cleaned thoroughly. Treat the minor flesh wounds first. I’ll distill the wine, then we’ll treat the serious injuries when I return.”

He turned to leave, then stopped and added to Jia Kui, “Gather some empty wine jars, cloth, and bamboo, and send them to my unit.”

“All right.”

Jia Kui grabbed a county soldier who happened to be passing by and began giving him instructions.

Zhao Ji hurried back to the Wenxi Squad. Along the way, he felt his legs growing weak and his strength failing.

Entering the quarters diagonally opposite, he saw that Pei Xiu was already asleep. He said to Shentu Lan, “Lan, help me move the wine outside.”

After giving that instruction, he went to the roadside and addressed more than a dozen elite guards resting there. “I need a stove built. Go find stones and mix some mud.”

One of the guards said, “Platoon Leader, Marshal Wang has a kitchen and stove.”

“Then go help Lan carry the wine.”

Zhao Ji turned and saw more than a dozen men approaching with empty wine jars, bolts of silk cloth, and two bundles of bamboo. He said, “Follow me. We’re going to the kitchen.”

At the edge of the drill ground stood a kitchen reserved for the military officials’ meals. There was no large iron pot inside; it merely provided a more convenient place to boil food.

All they could do was hope the wine jars would not burst from the heat. They were quite sturdy in any case, and as long as they were not exposed to a fierce flame, they should hold.

Under Zhao Ji’s direction, two jars of wine were placed upside down over the stove. He immediately drew his dagger and bored a hole in each empty jar. Once a hole had been made, he had the guards split one end of a piece of bamboo, its joints already pierced through, at an angle. They wrapped it in a layer of coarse cloth and inserted it into the hole in the wine jar, with the slanted end facing upward.

After demonstrating the method, he had the other guards bore holes and insert the bamboo.

This local bamboo was not as thick as the varieties from the south, being scarcely thicker than a thumb.

Without proper distilling equipment, this was the best makeshift arrangement they could manage.

Soon, the two empty wine jars had been placed upside down over the stove, while the other ends of the bamboo tubes were inserted into small wine jars with holes bored into them. The small jars were partially filled with wine.

Zhao Ji then wound more than a dozen layers of coarse cloth around the bamboo tubes and had the guards pour water over them.

Afterward, he sat to one side and breathed heavily, recovering his strength.

Only then did he have time to look at his hands. Both were covered in blood. The stains had dried, and some had already flaked away.

Each palm bore a totem.

Clearing Brambles and Cutting Through Thorns, Perfected: Damage increased by 64%.

Gathering the Mind and Nourishing the Breath, Level One: Stamina recovery increased by 100%.

Watching the fire beneath the stove, he turned to one of the villagers accompanying him. “Bring me something to eat.”

Using a new skill required adopting a fixed meditative posture.

But energy could not be drawn from empty air. He had to eat.