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Ch84 - Play
“Every time I come to your estate, I lay my eyes upon a new vista. Truly, I marvel at how versed you are in the art of governance, Marquess Liang!” Guo Jiao smiled obsequiously.
As it was only the seventh day of the year, Liang Feng was rather surprised to see Guo Jiao at his doorstep. After all, even in this era, New Year’s was a holiday celebrated within one’s social circles; bureaucrats usually spent the first two weeks visiting each other. A low-ranking official like Guo Jiao was expected to haul ass over to the commandery city to pay respects to his superior official. Just traveling there and back would take days. The fact that he’d managed to come to the Liang Estate so soon showed how highly he thought of him.
Friendship was a two-way street; naturally, Liang Feng had to return the compliment. He said cordially, “Why, it’s only because I can count on you, Dongye, to manage Gaodu. If it were anyone else, I’m afraid it’d be impossible for my estate to enjoy such prosperity.”
Nowadays, Liang Feng addressed him not as “your honor,” but by his courtesy name, to closen their relationship. A hint of self-satisfaction crept onto Guo Jiao’s face at his praise, “Oh, you exaggerate. If it weren’t for your advice, Marquess Liang, Gaodu wouldn’t have gained all these hundreds of people. Who could’ve thought that there’d be so many refugees fleeing Luoyang? Haha, it seems we’ll have the chance to cultivate a few more acres of wild land for the spring planting season.”
Guo Jiao had gotten a sweet taste of the advantages of work-relief. In the span of just one winter, Gaodu’s walls had risen three meters, and all its damaged sections were now better than new. If any marauding armies came by again, they could defend the city for months, so long as their rations lasted. It was an honest-to-god lifesaver, and they’d only spent half of what they had in previous years, and he hadn’t had to rack his brains levying corvĂ©e, dealing with public discontent.
The refugees had even built their own shelters. With the promise of farmland hanging in front of them, how could they not scramble to make their own living arrangements? And so, the disaster-relief funds had accomplished several purposes at once. He’d gotten both tangible benefits and public approval, without even spending very much out of the county’s coffers. With Wu Ling’s military provisions filling in the gaps, he’d practically gotten it all for free!
And if it weren’t for this person’s ingenious solutions, he’d never have been able to attain such political achievements.
For that alone, Guo Jiao had to visit him early to pay his New Year’s respects.
“The new farmlands must be carefully tended to. As luck would have it, last year’s snowstorms may be a sign of a bumper year,” Liang Feng smilingly said.
“But of course!” Guo Jiao said eagerly, “It was the matter of “flogging spring” that brought me here. If you have the time, Marquess Liang, perhaps you could come to the county town and attend the Lichun exorcism ceremony?”
“Flogging spring” was an important ritual performed on the day of Lichun. Nothing was more significant than agriculture to an agrarian society; thus, pertinent rituals had existed early as the Zhou Dynasty. It was written in the “Classic of Rites” that one must “make an ox of earth to deliver the cold.” On Lichun, the capital officials would wear black robes; the local and petty officials would don black headdresses, raise black flags, and order craftsmen to build an earthen ox outside the city gates. The officials would then personally flog the earthen ox with colored flails, to remind the peasants to begin planting for spring and to drive away ghosts and demons and the lingering winter frost.
This was an extremely common “farming encouragement” ceremony. But because of the drought and refugee crises in Bing Province, it’d been quite a while since the last time the local government held such a ceremony. And besides, what hoity-toity noble would be willing to stand around whipping dirt cows in the fields for an audience of dirty peasants? Only officials who came from destitute families, like Guo Jiao, would be willing to hold such rituals and be so presumptuous as to invite a through and through blue blood like Liang Feng to show up.
But Liang Feng merely smiled, “Since you’re personally ‘encouraging agriculture,’ Dongye, of course I will be present.”
Guo Jiao hadn’t thought he’d agree so simply. He said joyously, “With you there, Marquess Liang, the spring planting season will surely be smooth sailing!”
Having a “bodhisattva” join in the exorcism would pacify the common people and put the refugees at ease, so they could begin seeding and tilling the fields without worry. Perhaps they could even grow an extra crop of spring wheat.
Just imagining his full-to-bursting treasury and granaries made Guo Jiao’s mood soar. He sighed comfortably, “It’s too bad that Colonel Wu’s gone to Jinyang. If he were here, he could come to the exorcism ceremony as well.”
Colonel Wu had headed to Jinyang immediately after celebrating Zhengdan. Most likely taking the chance to inquire about his promotion while the Duke of Dongying was in Bing Province.
Liang Feng chuckled, “By the time he returns, we’ll be calling him General Wu. We’ll have to hold a congratulatory banquet for him then.”
“Hahaha, but of course,” Guo Jiao laughed as well.
We’re sorry for MTLers or people who like using reading mode, but our translations keep getting stolen by aggregators so we’re going to bring back the copy protection. If you need to MTL please retype the gibberish parts.
Guo Jiao hurriedly left after having lunch, perhaps to plan for the “Flogging Spring Ceremony.” Liang Feng, on the other hand, went to the inner courtyard to play with Liang Rong.
It was the spring festival now. For children, it was supposed to be winter break, but Liang Rong was very self-disciplined. Even over the last few days, he’d kept going to the study to practice calligraphy and memorize books. Liang Feng could hardly bear to watch, so he’d dragged him out to play some games. Video games didn’t exist yet in this era, and chess-like games like backgammon and Liubo were just too boring, so Liang Feng had ordered his craftsmen to make a simplified “Stratego” set. He’d designated the pieces as field marshal, general, colonel, lieutenant, garrison commander, platoon leader, corporal, team leader, and scout; changed army flags to marshal’s flags, bombs to ballistas, mines to traps; and played with the game’s original rules.
It was excitingly novel to Liang Rong, who loved it to bits and pestered Liang Feng to play a couple rounds every day. Who hadn’t been obsessed with a game when they were little? Stratego was much easier than Go. When Liang Rong lost, he wouldn’t cry or fuss, he’d silently contemplate the board; the look of consternation on his little face was unbelievably adorable. Liang Feng was naturally happy to spend time with him.
“Ah!” Liang Rong couldn’t help but gasp as LĂŒzhu took away his colonel, “Dad, how can you put your general there?!”
“Why can’t I? The advances of light cavalry are most unpredictable of all,” Liang Feng said, as he advanced another piece. LĂŒzhu rapidly looked back and forth between their pieces, smiled, and removed one of Liang Rong’s.
His trap dismantled by the other’s scout and his team leader annihilated by the other’s ballista, Liang Rong nervously clenched his fist. But despite pulling out all the tricks up his sleeve, he wasn’t able to turn the tides. Shortly, the marshal’s flag sitting in his base was taken off the board. Liang Rong couldn’t for the life of him figure out how his father had guessed which of his two bases the flag was at.
“Dad, let’s play again!” Liang Rong begged piteously.
“Only three rounds a day, Rong-er, or have you forgotten our agreement?” Liang Feng raised a brow.
Board games and the like were actually quite addictive. Liang Feng was intentionally testing Liang Rong’s self-control. Sure enough, Liang Rong’s little face fell, though he said obediently, “I haven’t forgotten.”
“Sitting down too long is bad for the body. Let’s play pitch-pot,” Liang Feng smilingly patted the child’s head.
Liang Rong instantly perked up again, went over to the corner, came back with long arrow shafts, and started chucking them at the double-eared bronze pot from five feet away.
Pitch-pot was a most fashionable pastime among the aristocracy, a derivative of the rite of archery. It was disgraceful, in ancient times, if a grown man didn’t know how to shoot. Thus, when the host invited his guests to participate in the rite of archery, one could not refuse. If there really was anyone who didn’t know archery, then they would toss the arrow into a vessel instead. Later on, the rite of archery transformed into pitch-pot; the arrowhead was removed, and players merely hurled the arrow shaft into a pot.
Before the Eastern Han Dynasty, it was a form of etiquette. Afterward, it became entertainment for the upper classes. The literati of the Wei Jin era found many ways to tack frills onto it; they’d recite poetry as they played and judge one’s arrow-throwing posture and technique. It was pretty much like latter-day golf, a pretentious recreational activity that required some skill.
Liang Feng’s own strength was rather feeble, and Liang Rong was both small and fragile, so pitch-pot was a form of exercise for the two of them. It was useful, at least, so there was no harm in practicing.
When Yiyan came in, he saw the father and son taking turns tossing arrows. Liang Feng’s wide sleeves drifted airily; he was elegant of stature. Liang Rong’s arms and legs were short; he was childishly cute. But what they had in common was that they had atrocious aim.
Noticing Yiyan’s arrival, Liang Feng smiled, “Yiyan, you’ve come at just the right time. Care to give us a few pointers?”
This game wasn’t quite like darts. The arrow shafts were too long, and they were made of bamboo. Using too much force would make the arrows bounce right off the rim of the pot. With how unsteady Liang Feng’s hands were, he was lucky to make one shot out of ten, so he really could do with some instruction.
Yiyan glanced at the game pieces scattered on the table, then wordlessly went to Liang Feng’s side, took his arrow shaft, and tossed it. Somehow, the arrow plopped right into the pot, spun a time or two along the rim, and didn’t pop right back out.
“Can you make the bamboo shaft bounce back out, catch it, and throw it back in?” Liang Feng asked with interest. Catching the shaft after it bounced back and tossing it again was a more advanced pitch-pot technique known as “Xiao.” A skilled player could do it a hundred times in a row.
Yiyan hefted the shaft and tossed it once more. The pot rang as the arrow hit the bottom and rebounded, landing in his hand. On and on, the arrow flew back and forth like a shuttle on a loom; it was all enough to make one’s eyes spin.
“Excellent!” Liang Feng cheered beside himself. Even Liang Rong looked on in wide-eyed envy.
Yiyan caught the arrow again, but this time, instead of tossing it, he demonstrated a gesture with his left hand, “When you throw the arrow, my lord, use your arm and not your wrist, keep the front of the arrow lowered, and it will enter the pot.”
So, dart-throwing technique wasn’t suitable after all. Liang Feng took the arrow shaft, thought back to Yiyan’s motion, and tried again. This time, he did much better. The arrow shaft struck the rim, spun half a circle, and settled in the pot.
“Seems like it works!” Liang Feng happily patted Liang Rong’s head, “Do you want to learn too, Rong-er?”
Liang Rong eyed the tall Jie man, then eyed the pot, and asked, “If you can shoot arrows accurately, does that mean you can throw arrows accurately too?”
“Of course,” Liang Feng answered.
“I want to learn archery first!” Liang Rong he tugged on Liang Feng’s sleeve.
“Then you’ll need a teacher. Yiyan here is an expert marksman, his archery is second to none,” Liang Feng mirthfully pointed to the person beside him.
Liang Rong hesitated for a while before finally asking Yiyan, “When did you start learning archery?”
Yiyan frowned at the little creature hanging off of his lord’s sleeve, “When I was ten.”
“Then if I start learning now, can I surpass you?” Liang Rong asked.
“No,” Yiyan replied crisply.
Liang Rong choked and said accusingly, “Dad, I don’t want to learn from him!”
“Hahaha!” Liang Feng laughed heartily, “As you practice, so does he. No matter how much effort you spend, he’ll still have ten years of experience on you. You can start learning with a training bow later.”
Distracted somewhat from his anger, Liang Rong nodded glumly. Seeing as it was getting late, Liang Feng had a maid take the child away to wash up and rest. He returned to his desk and said, “I’ve promised Magistrate Guo that I’ll take part in the exorcism ceremony in Gaodu. I want you to bring a few men and accompany me there.”
Yiyan nodded, dithered for a moment, then pointed at the board game splayed out on the table, “Why did you never teach me this, my lord?”
Liang Feng incredulously raised his brow, “You want to play Stratego?”
“Yes!” Yiyan instantly took a seat at the side of the table.
Stratego was a strategy game, so one would think that it’d be fine for Yiyan to learn, but Liang Feng didn’t immediately agree. He chuckled and said, “This is merely a game. It’s fine for Rong-er to play, but you?”
Was he comparing him to a child? Yiyan didn’t back down at all, he said, “I want to play!”
This was a new chess his lord had invented, of course he couldn’t miss out! And besides, this was clearly a war game, so shouldn’t he teach him?
Liang Feng smiled wryly at Yiyan’s stubbornness, “Then today, we’ll play this instead of Go.”
At Yiyan’s nod, Liang Feng flipped the pieces over and began explaining the rules. Stratego was easy to begin with, and it was all military terminology, so it didn’t take Yiyan long to understand.
“Alright, set up your pieces then,” Liang Feng said as he randomly picked up a black piece.
As this was a partial-information game, they needed a referee, so LĂŒzhu sat by the side between them. Yiyan quickly set up his side of the board, not even sparing her a glance, and made the opening move. But the moment they clashed on the battlefield, Yiyan started losing. Every time LĂŒzhu checked their pieces, she took away his. It was even more frustrating than Go.
Although, Yiyan kept his composure with aplomb, taking only a moment to guess the layout of Liang Feng’s troops and launch a counterattack. As the game went on, the pieces on the board became fewer and fewer until, amidst fierce battle, Liang Feng suddenly advanced a piece into the enemy base and said, “Your flag is mine.”
“How did you guess that that was the marshal’s flag, my lord?” Yiyan frowned unconsciously.
“Your defenses in this area are so dense that it was rather obvious.”  Liang Feng knocked down the center piece, revealing that it was indeed a red marshal’s flag. “When you array your forces, you do so strategically and creatively. Since Stratego is a battlefield simulation, the art of war is encompassed within.”
Yiyan looked thoughtful, “Let’s play again!”
Liang Feng grinned, teasing, “Which is more fun, Stratego or Go?”
“Each has its own strengths!” Yiyan said sincerely, not taking the bait.
That was what Liang Feng liked most about him. A general could charge at the forefront, making risky maneuvers, but a marshal couldn’t afford to be hasty and rash. Only by judging the hour and occasion, planning before acting, could one achieve victory from a thousand miles away.
“Let’s have another round then,” Liang Feng gathered his pieces and began setting up, his expression far more serious this time.
Seeing him stow his playful smile away, Yiyan’s heart trembled as if it’d been tickled by a feather. His lord treated him differently to the young master, after all! That bit of indescribable vexation from earlier was thrown right out the window. Yiyan collected his pieces as well, and started diligently arranging them.