Chapter 52: Murder and Burial
Of course, the man with the broken foot could not be saved. He would surely die. His blood stained the grass, leaving a trail that eventually came to an end.
Warfare in this era was cruel and largely disorganized. Battles were not fought in orderly formations like in later ages, and blood feuds were difficult to resolve.
Chen Jian went to inspect the dead man. Perhaps because he had hunted so many wild animals, he felt little emotion.
"Let's burn the body."
Fearing the spread of disease, the tribesmen piled up firewood and built a pyre. Soon, the sickening smell of burning flesh filled the air.
The captive watched the distant fire, muttering something under his breath. Though tied up, he struggled fiercely until a few punches finally subdued him.
All eyes were on Chen Jian. This time, none of his clansmen had been injured, and they had captured two of the strange beasts.
This was the first battle he had led since becoming the tribe's war leader. A fight of thirty against four was hardly something to boast about.
But Song had witnessed the terrifying power of fighting in formation. For the others, the joy of victory dispelled their last lingering doubts, and that alone was cause for celebration.
The clansmen howled at the sky like wolves. They bound the two horned deer with rattan vines; it took a dozen men to pull each one as they waited for the others to arrive.
Someone was sent to the top of the mountain to inform the clansmen who were still hiding in fear. They came down one after another. Yu Qian'er wanted to speak with her brother, but her attention was immediately captured by the two horned deer. She walked over to the creatures and stared; she had never seen such large deer before.
The two deer were a little panicked, but they didn't resist fiercely. It seemed they had been domesticated for a long time, not recently captured from the wild.
There is a huge difference between a tamed animal and a domesticated one. A tamed creature might revert to its wild nature at any time, but a truly domesticated one is no longer afraid of humans. Even with a new owner, it would be nervous at most.
Several women approached and stroked the horned deer. The animal twitched its ears timidly and pawed the ground lightly, but it did not shy away.
"What is this?"
Chen Jian tilted his head, studying the animal. Its antlers were tall and forked. It seemed to be a type of red deer, not a great-horned deer, whose antlers were broad and flat.
Since horses did not exist in this era, he had no intention of calling a deer a horse. If they ever encountered actual horses, he would need a different word for them. So, he decided to call this creature a "horned deer."
The women were quite taken with the tall animals. They gathered some grass and seeds, held them out in their hands, and tried to feed them. The two horned deer sniffed the offerings and hesitated, but ultimately refused to eat.
The women looked disappointed. Chen Jian smiled and said, "Let them go hungry for a couple of days. They'll eat then."
Yu Qian'er pouted. "You said the same thing when you tried to feed the wolf cubs, but one of them still starved to death."
"These are different," Chen Jian replied.
He felt it would be too difficult to explain the difference between taming and domestication right now, so he didn't elaborate.
After a short wait, Lang Pi and the others hurried over from downstream, shouting from a distance. He was overjoyed at the sight of the two live horned deer, recalling how he had seen the enemy servants riding them. Of the enemy's three deer, two had been killed, and the third had an arrow in its leg; the tribesmen who had stayed behind were now tending to it.
Chen Jian glanced at the sky. "It's still early. We need to bring the beehives back. Someone should go tell the people at home that everything is fine."
"Someone has already gone to tell them."
"Good. Then we'll wait here for a bit. A few of you, go butcher the two dead deer and carry the meat back first. Song, do you remember how I taught you to treat wounds?"
"I remember. I've already gathered a lot of that medicinal grass."
"Go and try to treat the injured deer, then."
Song nodded and headed downstream with a few men. The rest of the tribe gathered around the two captured deer. Some wanted to try riding them but were hesitant, looking involuntarily toward Chen Jian.
Chen Jian studied the deer's smooth back, knowing he couldn't ride it steadily bareback. After a moment's thought, he fashioned two loops in a rope. He approached the horned deer slowly, stroking its fur gently until the animal relaxed. Then, he quietly draped the rope over its back and secured it underneath. Placing one foot into a loop, he swung himself onto the horned deer's back.
The tribesmen watched Chen Jian with concern. The horned deer, feeling an unfamiliar rider on its back, was reluctant at first. It stamped its hooves a few times but then fell still.
The crowd erupted into cheers. Sitting high on the deer's back, taller than anyone standing, Chen Jian cut an imposing figure. But the clansmen felt no sense of hierarchy; they cheered because their own people could now ride the horned deer.
Chen Jian gripped the deer's neck with both hands and slipped his feet out of the rope loops. If the animal bolted, he would simply fall off. But if his feet were caught in the loops, he could be dragged to his death.
Yu Qian'er looked up at him and shouted, "Brother, I want to ride too!"
"We do too!" the other clansmen echoed.
Chen Jian jumped down and helped Yu Qian'er onto the deer, letting her sit sideways. Filled with joy, she gently patted the horned deer's back.
One by one, the tribespeople took their turns, their fun only ending when the horned deer finally grew impatient.
"Can we ride it on the way back?"
"No. No one is allowed to ride these animals until they are properly trained." Fearing for their safety, Chen Jian was firm. The tribe had no choice but to agree. Fresh off their victory, his words carried more weight than ever before.
In the eyes of the clansmen, it was a great victory. Not a single one of them was injured, while four of the enemy were dead. They had also captured two live horned deer and an injured one, and the two dead deer would provide meat for days.
The village would surely be lively tonight; the clansmen were already looking forward to the celebratory bonfire. As evening approached, several people tied ropes around the beehives and began carrying them back toward the village in shifts.
From a distance, they could see smoke rising from the village. A crowd was gathered by the river, waiting for their return, and began shouting excitedly as the party came into view.
Hua's head still throbbed, but he stood at the village entrance, his gaze fixed on the clan's burial ground in the distance. His heart was filled with hope. He believed that one day, Chen Jian would help him kill all his enemies.
His impulsive rage upon seeing his sister killed had earned him a blow from a club, but he felt no resentment. Instead, he looked at Chen Jian with a measure of gratitude. Without that blow to stop him, he would have been killed, and he would never have lived to see the day his enemies were brought to justice.
His eyes were locked on the bound prisoner. His fists were clenched so tightly his nails dug into his palms, and his body trembled with hatred and excitement.
Seeing Hua from a distance, Chen Jian sighed inwardly. He knew the prisoner was a dead man. His own plan was to attack that tribe in the autumn, so keeping this man alive served little purpose. Forcing him to work would be a net loss; someone would always have to watch him to prevent him from lashing out, and the language barrier made communication impossible.
Sure enough, as soon as the group entered the village, Hua and the other three survivors from his tribe rushed toward the captive, shouting and cursing to vent their hatred.
A flicker of panic appeared in the prisoner's eyes, but he held his head high and remained silent.
Hua wept, chanting the names of his dead relatives over and over until his voice grew hoarse. He then begged Chen Jian to give him the captive, wanting to use the man's blood to appease the spirits of his people.
Chen Jian sent the children away. The old grandmother and Shi Tou had a few adults take them aside and keep them from watching. The rest of the tribe followed Hua to the burial grounds.
The prisoner seemed to sense what was coming. He twisted and struggled against his bonds, but it was useless.
At the burial site, Hua and the three other survivors from his tribe spoke amongst themselves. Chen Jian watched the doomed captive, his mind racing. Finally, Hua approached and asked Chen Jian and his tribe to help dig a pit to bury the prisoner alive. He declared that one day, after defeating the enemy tribe, he would bury all of them in that same pit.
It was clearly an act of pure vengeance, and the clansmen did not object; they saw it as a natural consequence of a blood feud. However, killing an enemy was one thing, but a ritual burial was another. Chen Jian worried that this event would introduce the custom of human sacrifice to his people.
They would not always have so many prisoners of war. Once this precedent was set, and once a class system inevitably developed, the day would come when the victims would be the less fortunate members of their own tribe.
Every tradition starts for a reason, and in theory, there was nothing wrong with sacrificing only enemies. But there is no limit to the depravity of a ruling class; eventually, it would turn on its own people. It was better to nip this in the bud.
He suddenly thought of a poem from his own time: *This time I go to the underworld to rally my old troops, with a hundred thousand banners we shall slay King Yama.* If the tribesmen could understand its meaning—that the dead could rise up and fight back—they would likely never consider live burials again. But of course, they couldn't possibly comprehend such a poem.
The emperors of later dynasties must have relished the thought of being served after death, but did none of them ever consider what they would do if their buried attendants rebelled in the afterlife?
After a moment of thought, he asked, "Hua, do you intend to kill everyone in that tribe?"
"Yes."
"And if you kill them, do you think they will hate you?"
"Of course they will hate us, just as I hate them."
"Then... in the other world... do you think your dead clansmen can defeat them?"
Hua shook his head. The answer was obvious; if his tribe had been stronger, they wouldn't have been wiped out. For the past few nights, he had dreamt of his dead relatives. He believed they had gone to another world—how else could they visit him in his dreams? He wanted to kill this enemy and send him there, to let his departed family know that their foe was dead.
But Chen Jian's question made Hua break out in a cold sweat. If people really did go to another world after death, then these enemies he killed would go there too, burning with hatred for him and his family. What would happen then?
Chen Jian's own tribesmen were pondering the same question. At first, the vengeance burial had seemed natural, but Chen Jian's words made sense. Unsure what to do, they all looked to him for guidance.
"You said they don't have birch-bark boats, right? So they can't cross the river to get here?"
Hua shook his head.
"Then this man is yours. This is your blood feud. He killed your family, and his fate is in your hands. Kill him... but then take his body to the other side of the river and burn it. That way, his spirit can't cross back over to disturb your relatives in their new life."
He patted Hua on the shoulder and left with his thoughtful tribesmen.
This nascent concept of the soul was full of contradictions and had not yet solidified, but if the idea of an afterlife rebellion was passed down, it might serve as a check on future rulers. It would be ridiculous to preach atheism in this era; he had to adapt. Since the tribe already saw dreams as proof of an afterlife, he could use their own beliefs to shape their customs.
The fear that a sacrificed person could rebel in the afterlife was a far more powerful deterrent than any sermon on kindness. Relying on the conscience of rulers was, and always would be, a ridiculous fantasy.
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