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Fei Qian stepped out of the main tent, glancing at Huang Cheng as he led the training of over five hundred soldiers in formation drills.
Yes, Huang Cheng was leading them.
Fei Qian wasn't taking charge himself.
Fei Qian understood that soldiers naturally developed a sense of awe for the one who trained them, much like in later times when a battalion or regiment commander would instinctively salute a former drill instructor…
But Fei Qian saw no need to involve himself. With countless matters demanding his attention, why waste time on drilling formations? He planned to focus on the officers, leaving the training of soldiers to Huang Cheng and others.
Ancient military training wasn't necessarily inferior to modern methods. It was just that certain techniques were known only to military experts. Modern people, even without military experience, had seen enough to sound knowledgeable when tossing out opinions.
Cao Cao had Yu Jin, Liu Bei had Chen Dao, and Sun Quan… Lü Meng, perhaps? Fei Qian wasn't entirely sure.
Due to the limitations of ancient communication technology, a general's command methods were restricted. Soldiers followed orders by watching banners and listening for gongs and drums, a skill that took considerable time to teach…
Were there soldiers who never learned?
No.
The first mistake earned ten lashes, the second twenty, the third thirty. Few made it to a fifth mistake—not because they finally learned, but because they didn't survive the punishment.
At the camp entrance stood a large drum, called the yuan gu (gate drum), its surface a dark red, almost black.
This color wasn't from any dye but from the blood of those punished, smeared onto the drum after each execution, staining it over time.
Fortunately, the soldiers brought from Luoyang were already trained and familiar with banners, requiring only reinforcement in formation drills…
But today, Fei Qian wasn't here to observe Huang Cheng's training. He was here to meet someone. Upon reaching the camp entrance, he froze.
Indeed, it was a young man from a gentry family, but he looked barely fourteen or fifteen…
Fei Qian's moment of hesitation was noticed by the youth, who immediately scowled and snapped, "Wielding weapons to defend the state, commanding five chariots to campaign against Yan—what does age have to do with it?" With that, he flicked his sleeves and turned to leave.
Well, well, a fiery temper…
Fei Qian chuckled and said loudly, "Gongshu showed courage galloping across battlefields; Lü Xiang wielded eloquence to sway councils. You've yet to speak a word or show your skill—what does age have to do with it?"
The young man paused, stood for a moment, then turned back, clasping his hands in salute. "Jia Qu, styled Liangdao, of Hedong, pays respects to Lord Fei."
Fei Qian returned the salute and invited Jia Qu to enter the camp.
To his surprise, Jia Qu refused to step inside, saying, "Lord Fei, please test me."
Alright, young man, you've got spirit. I like that.
Fei Qian glanced around, then pointed to Huang Cheng's training soldiers. "I have over five hundred soldiers. Three by three leaves a remainder of two, five by five leaves one, seven by seven leaves six. How many soldiers do I have?"
This was the famous "Han Xin's Troop Counting" problem, also known as the Ghost Valley Calculation or Wall-Passing Calculation, a classic in ancient Chinese mathematics.
Jia Qu's eyes widened. Where were the literary questions he'd expected? He thought Fei Qian, who had loudly proclaimed himself Cai Yong's disciple throughout Anyi, would pose questions on classics, history, or governance. Instead, this man, supposedly a student of the literary giant Cai Yong, had thrown him a mathematical problem…
This… this… Fei Qian, Fei Ziyuan, how could you put Cai Yong in such an awkward position with a question like this?
But having boasted earlier, and seeing that Fei Qian seemed to have come up with the question on the spot upon seeing the training formation, Jia Qu couldn't back down. Somewhat glumly, he began searching the ground…
Fei Qian found it odd. "What are you looking for instead of solving the problem?"
Jia Qu huffed softly. "I left in a hurry and didn't bring my counting rods!" Counting rods were typically kept in a box, and unless someone was constantly calculating accounts, no one carried them around.
But what to do when a calculation was needed on the spot?
As Jia Qu was doing now, he scoured the ground for long blades of grass to use as makeshift counting rods.
Fei Qian laughed heartily, pulling Jia Qu into the camp without further ado. Inside the main tent, he picked up an abacus from the desk and handed it to Jia Qu. "Counting rods are too cumbersome. This is called an abacus, invented by my teacher." He briefly demonstrated its use.
Jia Qu examined the abacus closely, cautiously moving the wooden beads, and said with wonder, "Cai Yong is truly remarkable—master of both literature and profound mathematics…"
"No, this was made by my teacher Liu Yuanzhuo, Lord Liu of Houcheng," Fei Qian corrected.
No wonder he posed a mathematical question…
Jia Qu glanced at Fei Qian, suddenly feeling the vast gap between them. He had struggled to find teachers without success, while this man was not only a disciple of Cai Yong but also of Liu Hong, a mathematical luminary of the Eastern Han. For Jia Qu, this was a significant blow…
The Jia family had been prominent in his grandfather's generation, but their fortunes declined. By his parents' time, they were barely holding on. Tragically, when Jia Qu was young, both parents succumbed to typhoid…
In Han customs, funerals were exorbitantly expensive. To arrange his parents' burial, Jia Qu had exhausted nearly all the family's liquid assets…
Despite his presentable wide robes, they were his only decent set, worn for appearances.
With no wealth, no books, and a fallen family, studying was immensely difficult. Over the years, he had relied on his parents' lingering connections, shamelessly borrowing books here and there to continue his education.
The chance to copy three books of his choice annually, and potentially receive Cai Yong's critique if he excelled, was an overwhelming temptation. Though he'd heard the Wei clan of Hedong looked down on Fei Qian, he came anyway.
His display at the camp entrance was merely to boost his own standing, but now, struck twice without a chance to shine, he felt thoroughly deflated…
Silently, Jia Qu returned the abacus to Fei Qian, bowed deeply, and said bitterly, "I was presumptuous and caused a disturbance. Please forgive me, Lord Fei." He turned to leave.
Fei Qian quickly grabbed him, saying solemnly, "Lang fought before Confucius, who did not dismiss him for youth; Qin Shi Huang sent envoys despite their age. Though I, Qian, am no great talent, I still aim to expand the Han's borders and trample the Yin Mountains! Jia Langjun, what is your ambition? To leave your name in history or to drift in the mire?"
Jia Qu's head snapped up, words catching in his throat.
Fei Qian smiled faintly. "I can appoint you as my Record Keeper for a term of three years. If I fail to secure Shang Commandery, you're free to come and go. How about it?"
Jia Qu pondered for a long moment, then stepped back half a pace, adjusted his robes, and kowtowed to Fei Qian. "Qu pays respects to Lord Fei!"
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Author's Note: Is the protagonist's progress slow?