Who Is a Hero?

The Ying people had carried out their mission splendidly. Highly satisfied, the Yao Kingdom indeed fulfilled its promise—not only forgiving the Ying tribe's debts, but also no longer interfering with their external horse trade. Upon receiving this wonderful news, jubilation swept through the Ying tribe, and the bonfires of Chigu burned unextinguished for three days. A'xun, however, could not bring himself to celebrate. Compared to before, he found himself thinking more and more, his heart growing heavier by the day. Mengmeng, who was now his wife, noticed his brooding look. "What are you worried about?" "The price," A'xun murmured, gazing at the bonfires painting half the sky crimson. "There is a price for doing things this way. I fear Father cannot bear it, and our tribe cannot bear it either." "You're overthinking," Mengmeng said, resting the tip of her chin on his shoulder. "Are you still troubled by that mission for the Yao Kingdom? A'xun, you really are a gentle soul." A'xun smiled, gently resting his palm against her lower abdomen. "You always find a way to turn my weaknesses into virtues. Not like Father, who simply calls me soft and indecisive." "Much as I respect the Chieftain, I still say being fierce and aggressive, quick to fight and kill, doesn't make someone a true hero!" A'xun teased his wife, "Then tell me, what makes a hero?" Mengmeng thought for a long while before replying, "One who leads everyone forward and gives our clansmen good lives—that's a true hero." "Isn't Father doing that?" "I don't know." Mengmeng pouted slightly and pointed ahead. "Let's not talk about this! It's been so long since everyone was this happy. Let's go join the fun." "They don't know anything," A'xun said softly. "No one ever taught them right from wrong, good from bad. And... no one taught me either. But I can't shake the feeling that we've done something wrong." Terribly, dreadfully wrong! "At least the Chieftain was right about one thing: as long as we're strong, we can't be wrong." His wife took his hand. "Come on, don't stay cooped up inside!" A'xun's worries soon came true; the Ying people's rejoicing did not last long. The Yao Kingdom was indeed no longer restricting their horse sales, but neither was it buying horses from them anymore. Other parts of the Shanjin Plain had excellent pastures and fine steeds as well; buyers were under no obligation to purchase from the Ying people. An annual standing order of nine hundred fine horses vanished just like that. The Yao Kingdom was giving them a sharp reminder, showing the Ying people that breaking free of its wing and control was not necessarily a blessing. At first, the Chieftain paid it no mind. If the order was gone, so be it; selling to others would fetch higher prices, earning the Ying tribe even more. Yet he soon discovered there were no "others." The news of the Ying tribe brutally slaughtering the opinion leader spread across the Shanjin Plain like wildfire. The looks others gave the Ying people had once been cold or contemptuous, but now they had hardened into hatred. This was a dreadful sign. Every neighboring power understood that the Ying tribe had crossed over to the opposing side. Not a single faction was willing to do business with the Ying tribe. Whenever ordinary folk saw them, their first reaction was to spit on the ground and curse them as bad luck. Their horses could no longer be sold. Even then, the Chieftain remained unconcerned. What did it matter if their neighbors wouldn't buy? At worst, they could sell farther away. Julu Port moved massive volumes of cargo, and buyers looked for horses on a regular schedule—what was there to fear? Yet the greatest trouble struck immediately: The Ying tribe could not buy grain. Their territory was better suited for raising horses, so they had cleared only a small amount of farmland and imported most of their food. Previously, they had purchased grain from the Yao Kingdom and the Luodian Kingdom, but from that point on, neither would sell! Their excuses were uncannily aligned: a famine had struck this year, domestic grain yields had plummeted, and there was not even enough to feed their own people, let alone spare grain for the Ying tribe. The Ying people thought: Fine, if you won't sell, we'll buy from someone else. The trouble was, there was no someone else. The other surrounding factions were neither willing to buy horses from the Ying people nor sell them grain. Man is iron, food is steel; miss a meal and hunger is all you feel. Furthermore, fine horses needed grains such as beans and oats to stay strong and healthy. Thus, the Ying people had to find a way to fill the bellies of both man and beast. If they truly insisted on buying grain, certain channels did exist, but the prices were extortionate and changed by the day. As to who was pulling the strings behind the grain prices, A'xun knew full well. With food this expensive, how many days could the Ying people's money last? Before long, they would be forced to go begging the Yao Kingdom to advance them money and grain on credit. The debts they had fought so hard to shed would be saddled onto their backs all over again. Except for their reputation stinking worse than ever and being ostracized by every state, how was this any different from before? They seemed trapped once again in a vicious cycle. Without spilling a single drop of blood, the Yao Kingdom had spun them in circles and driven them right back down the old road. A'xun thought on this more and more. The words spoken before death by the opinion leader Father had slain seemed to be coming true, one by one. Killing him had brought the Ying people no better life. That afternoon, the tribe slaughtered several old horses. Alive, they consumed feed; dead, they could at least feed people. When the mournful whinnies of the dying horses carried across the camp, the women of the tribe could not hold back their tears. These horses were the apple of their eyes, but beasts could not compete with humans for food; they had no choice but to put them down. If they still could not obtain grain, more and more horses would be put to the blade. The clansmen could only fall to their knees and beg the Chieftain to find a way. True to their hopes, he swiftly produced a plan: Attack the Tong tribe. The Tong tribe were neighbors of the Ying people, living just across the river, but relations between them were bitter. Conflicts had flared incessantly for a long time, and last time they had even joined forces with other tribes to launch a sneak attack on the Ying people. In that battle, the Ying people had lost over thirty lives, and more than three hundred sheep and horses had been carried off. The scars on many braves had been left behind then. Most importantly, the Tong tribe had recently acquired a large shipment of grain. Avenging themselves while filling their bellies—almost no one in the Ying tribe objected. A'xun had no reason to oppose it either. The tribes around Chigu were always clashing; could he really stop everyone from seeking revenge? Yet deep down, he knew something was wrong. More and more wrong. No sooner said than done. That night happened to be dark and windy. Bearing their weapons, the Ying people crossed the river in silence and, under the Chieftain's lead, caught their enemies entirely off guard! In that battle, they scored a resounding victory. They had grain, they had money, and for the time being, neither man nor horse had to worry about food or drink. The hateful neighbors who had vexed them for so long would never be able to oppose them again. This was raiding a mouse's burrow in a lean year. Broaden your thinking, expand your horizon, and problems solved themselves with ease. Yet at the victory feast, amidst raging bonfires, the Chieftain raised his cup and declared a new target: "Attack Zini!" The men, flushed with drink and riding high on excitement, looked at one another in stunned silence the moment those words were spoken. The atmosphere instantly plummeted into an awkward chill. Wait, what? Zini could also be counted as a neighbor to the Ying people, facing them across Mount Jing. Though separated by only a single mountain, while the Ying territory was suited for horses, the Zini lands boasted fertile black soil ideal for farming. As a result, Zini had always been the great granary of the central-western Shanjin Plain, producing grain of prime quality and quantity that radiated outward to supply numerous surrounding regions.