HCT – Chapter 148 Heavy Cavalry Provisions

Zhu Xiang had long been contemplating how to bring this chaotic era to a swift end.

Agricultural development was urgently needed.

Productive forces determine the relations of production. At present, the level of productivity was essentially equivalent to the state of agriculture—the efficiency of food production.

As long as he could make Qin’s grain production several times higher than that of other states, Qin would stand in an almost invincible position.

But that would only increase the chances of success. It would help Qin suffer fewer setbacks in the war for unification, but it wouldn’t ensure a rapid victory.

For Qin to achieve swift victory, it needed to overwhelm its enemies militarily as well.

In terms of generals, Qin already held the top spot. So what Zhu Xiang could still work on were ideology and weaponry.

Ideology meant boosting morale. The current way to do that was through rewards. Lin Zhi’s new agricultural law gave soldiers fewer worries when they went to war. They knew that after their deaths, their elderly would be cared for, their children supported, and their wives protected from humiliation. With the military merit system already fueling Qin’s strong morale, it would now soar even higher.

As for weapons, Zhu Xiang had once wondered if he could pump in some “tech points.”

But eventually, he gave up on the idea.

Not only because the relations of production must match the level of productivity—they are interdependent.

Even in his previous life, there had been slave and feudal states like children wielding oversized hammers—where the forces of social progress were crushed by ruling elites with out-of-time weaponry. In such places, there was almost no hope for advancement.

More practically, Zhu Xiang faced a very real issue—he simply didn’t know how.

Though he was a professor of agronomy and had received a modern science education, even for an agricultural expert, cobbling together an entire industrial system from scratch was a fantasy.

Without scientific instruments, even if he remembered a few chemical equations, how could he extract the necessary materials from raw minerals?

If he really could pull that off, forget about weaponry—he would skip all concerns about production forces or relations and first “handcraft” a chemical fertilizer production line. Let the people of the nation eat their fill, then worry about the rest.

Zhu Xiang knew that in China’s darkest hours, our fighters had managed to handcraft ammunition lines in the countryside. He knew it—but he himself couldn’t do it.

He had no clue about guns, ammunition, or cannons.

He was an agricultural professor—why would he know anything about machinery, let alone military machinery?

Zhu Xiang had once wanted to give it a try. Not to force advancement, but just to create a few modern weapons for self-defense.

But very quickly, he went back to swinging his greatsword for physical training.

Please don’t make things hard for my empty, empty brain. Goodbye!

Unable to make revolutionary weaponry beyond his era, Zhu Xiang wracked his brains to figure out what kind of devastating weapon—still feasible with the current era’s technology—could be produced in this feudal age.

Currently, the mobile units in warfare are primarily chariots, but later they would evolve into cavalry-based forces.

Heavy cavalry, in particular, were essentially the “tanks” of the feudal era—unstoppable wherever they went.

One could say that a country’s ability to field heavy cavalry, and how many it could sustain, was almost a symbol of national power before the invention of firearms.

Even before the invention of modern gunpowder (i.e., yellow powder), heavy cavalry still crushed black powder weapons.

Black powder weapons were less lethal than bows and crossbows—they could hardly penetrate even light armor. Their only advantage was ease of use, which allowed the training of larger numbers of ranged troops.

Even during the Qing dynasty under Emperor Qianlong, archers skilled in mounted shooting were still far more effective than musket soldiers. This was why Qianlong looked down on foreign firearms—not because he was truly blind to their potential.

But once modern gunpowder was invented, it swept all cold weapons into the trash heap of history.

From then on, war became a contest of modern industry. Nomadic peoples without an industrial base could only turn to singing and dancing.

So now, as long as Zhu Xiang can develop heavy cavalry before modern gunpowder appears, the land army of Huaxia can remain the most powerful in the world.

Although Zhu Xiang didn’t know exactly how to make heavy cavalry, the term itself was quite self-explanatory: it meant equipping both horses and riders with heavy armor made of iron and leather. He simply shared the idea with the craftsmen, and they would experiment and figure it out themselves.

Heavy cavalry served as the “deterrent weapons” of feudal land warfare, while light cavalry were the main mobile force and the true backbone of ancient and post-ancient battlefields.

In fact, cavalry was already gradually becoming the dominant force on the battlefield.

After Zhu Xiang handed over the stirrups and horseshoes to Li Mu, Li Mu quickly built a light cavalry unit.

Because Li Mu was in the south, although stirrups could be easily copied after a glance, they hadn’t yet spread to other regions.

Such a small component hadn’t attracted much attention from other states.

Only when Li Mu led his light cavalry to win a battle so unforgettable that the entire world took notice, would they finally realize the importance of this tiny stirrup.

Now, the six states had almost forgotten that Li Mu was famous for his cavalry command skills—they all just thought of him as a naval general.

Zhu Xiang accompanied Wang Jian to select a force of 1,000 heavy cavalry.

Zichu tried on the armor, but was immediately weighed down and couldn’t even walk, drawing merciless laughter from Zhu Xiang.

Zichu snapped, “You try it! I don’t believe you can do it!”

Zhu Xiang put on the armor and actually managed to walk a few steps.

He mocked, “I swing a hoe every day—you have no idea how much stronger I am than you. You want to compare with me? Weak.”

Li Bing quickly pulled Zichu aside. “Let it go, let it go. Why argue with him? With so many people watching, how ugly would it be if the crown prince and Lord Changping started brawling?”

Zichu sneered, “Just wait until I become King of Qin—see how I deal with you then!”

Zhu Xiang cheerfully replied, “Great! I’ll be waiting for you to become King of Qin. I’d love to see how you’ll deal with me.”

Wang Jian’s mouth twitched and his temples throbbed.

Was this really something they should be saying? And in public?

If the future King of Qin and Lord Changping ever turned against each other, it might just trace back to this very moment.

Wang Jian was excited when he first heard about heavy cavalry—but he got a headache when it came time to organize them.

Not only did the armored warriors and fine steeds need to be meticulously selected, but in order for both horse and rider to have real combat ability and bear the weight of armor, regular rations were not enough.

A fine steed consumed twice as much fodder as ordinary warhorses each day and required daily massages. Armored soldiers, aside from needing significantly more food, had to eat meat—without it, they simply couldn’t fight while bearing the weight of heavy armor.

Thinking about the rations for a thousand heavy cavalry, Wang Jian felt like his hair was about to start falling out like Zhu Xiang’s.

He finally understood why Zhu Xiang said that only now could heavy cavalry exist, and why only Qin could afford to raise them.

It wasn’t just that only Qin could afford them—it was that only Qin, with Zhu Xiang present, could afford them!

Zichu also came to this realization, and the resentment he felt toward Zhu Xiang’s earlier teasing lessened a little.

He stroked the armored horse and said, “I wonder, once Qin unifies the world, how many heavy cavalry we’ll be able to raise. Ten thousand? A hundred thousand?”

Zhu Xiang replied, “We might not even be able to maintain a hundred.”

Zichu was stunned. “What?”

Zhu Xiang said, “Heavy cavalry are powerful tools for conquest. But after unification, war will no longer be necessary—at least temporarily. Rather than pillaging undeveloped lands, it’ll be far more important to govern what we’ve already gained and truly make the world Qin’s. At that point, Qin won’t have the money to support heavy cavalry.”

Zichu said, “Even so, we can’t just let them fall into disuse…” He was starting to feel heartache.

Zhu Xiang said, “Then let’s station some heavy cavalry up north and have them raid the nomads for their cattle and sheep.”

Wang Jian immediately chimed in, “Great idea! I’ll go north when the time comes!”

Who cared about enjoying luxury anymore? Leading these heavy cavalry on raids across the grasslands every day—wasn’t that even more glorious?

Zhu Xiang didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. In history, you were supposed to retire as a rich landowner—how did you now turn into someone who wants to eat sand at the borders for the rest of your life?

Maybe it was because Wang Jian wasn’t old yet.

To the warriors of the feudal age, heavy cavalry were probably what aircraft carriers, fighter jets, tanks, and missiles are to modern military enthusiasts—this was romance.

Zhu Xiang only gave a few pointers, but Wang Jian quickly grasped how heavy cavalry should be trained and used.

Zhu Xiang had thought he’d need to serve as a “drill instructor” for some time, but soon, he found he had nothing left to do.

So, leaning on a bamboo staff, wearing a straw hat and rain cloak, he trekked through the mountain towns, inspecting vital roads and river routes, visiting small towns and villages on both sides of the Yangtze River to survey the state of Ba Commandery, now under Qin’s control.

Li Bing also left aside his work in Shu Commandery and enthusiastically took measurements along the Yangtze River.

Water management was a systematic endeavor—you couldn’t just treat the symptoms. Though the water flows of Ba and Shu didn’t greatly impact each other, gazing at the natural barrier that was the Yangtze, the hydraulic engineer in Li Bing couldn’t help but be stirred.

He wondered: Could a dam be built to block the Yangtze’s flow and turn this natural barrier into a thoroughfare?

Li Bing knew it was a crazy dream—but he couldn’t stop himself from dreaming.

If such a dam could be built, the Yangtze waterway would become completely navigable, and both Ba and Shu would benefit—no longer isolated.

“Even if Ba Commandery has little farmland, couldn’t it still support a population just by controlling this waterway?” Li Bing asked Zhu Xiang.

Li Bing looked at the water; Zhu Xiang looked at the land.

Zhu Xiang fell silent for a moment, then squinted and smiled. “One day, it will.”

Li Bing asked, “Will that day really come? That would be wonderful.”

Even though he knew that turning the Yangtze from a natural barrier into a conduit was beyond human capability, since Zhu Xiang said it would happen one day—Li Bing believed him.

Standing atop a cliff, both hands gripping his bamboo staff, Li Bing looked down at the roaring water churning through the narrow gorge below.

His eyes were full of hope.

Zhu Xiang thought, I should write this down. If it could be passed down for two thousand years, perhaps once the Three Gorges Dam was finally built, a statue of Li Bing would be erected here, so he could witness the dream he once envisioned.

“Zhu Xiang, I should return to Shu Commandery,” Li Bing said.

Zhu Xiang replied, “Take care. Look after your health.”

Li Bing smiled. “I will. You too.”

Li Bing departed from Ba Commandery, returning to Shu to continue his efforts on waterworks.

After the Dujiangyan diversion dam was completed, other canals and dams still needed to be built. Li Bing wanted to turn the entire Chengdu Plain into fertile land.

Not long after Li Bing’s departure, a letter from Li Mu arrived. He scolded Zhu Xiang and Zichu, demanding they hurry over to Wu Commandery.

With Wang Jian stationed in Ba, that was enough. Zhu Xiang and Zichu should’ve gone to Wu long ago to discuss the core strategy for disrupting Chu with Li Mu and Lin Zhi.

As the crown prince of Qin, Zichu had only meant to inspect southern Qin. How had he ended up staying in Bashu and refusing to leave?

The scholars of Qianzhong, Nanjun, and Wu Commanderies were all waiting. If Zichu didn’t appear soon, real trouble could break out in southern Qin.

Even though the governors of the three southern commanderies were all secretly hoping trouble would break out—so they could round up and suppress all the hidden dissenters.

“If the Qin Crown Prince dies, it’ll be hard for Prince Zheng to inherit the throne. As the Crown Prince’s brother-in-law, Lord Changping would also be in danger,” Lord Chunshen said to the King of Chu. “And General Li Mu, who guards southern Qin, is on close personal terms with both the Crown Prince and Lord Changping—he too might be viewed with suspicion by the new king. This is our opportunity.”

The King of Chu hesitated. “But was the Crown Prince really assassinated?”

Lord Chunshen said, “He must have been. Otherwise, the King of Qin wouldn’t have deposed Prince Zixie. But how badly the Crown Prince was injured remains unclear. I request permission to go on a diplomatic mission to Wu Commandery!”