Retrieving the Arrow
Shang sat, too exhausted to sleep, on the hill overlooking the camp's aborted climbing pole, its arrow still stuck there accusingly. He hadn't realized how lonely the life of a commanding officer had to be. Imprisoned behind a mask of ruthless discipline, he couldn't make friends with the men - he had to remain a threatening presence should order break down again. Laughing, joking, even eating together seemed out of the question. Chi-Fu, his only potential equal, was still sulking about Shang's early promotion, and constantly muttering dark threats of avenging himself with his final report. He would compose aloud in his tent, its stiff cloth walls ringing with phrases about the worthless new recruits and the many, many failures in their training… absolute disgrace … inevitable dishonour…boys led by an incompetent child…
At this point in the long miserable day, Shang could bear the burden no longer. Slinging his cloak over his basic uniform he marched off to find somewhere… anywhere… to get out of range of such a detailed list of his own errors.
It wasn't his fault. He had given them every lesson from his own training, all of his energy, his complete attention. He had never questioned the power of discipline, governed by the supreme power of martial law, to transform any scowling boy into an elite soldier. He knew no recruit mastered everything at once. As common labourers drafted from the provinces, their skills in the martial arts would necessarily be reduced. He had expected it. What had shocked him was the possibility that some men would actually never be ready.
And that his troops had an unfortunately high number of these kinds of men.
And, with a heavy heart, he had to admit that the worst of all was Fa Ping, his soon-to-be brother-in-law. He had genuinely tried with Ping, if only for his future family's sake. He had wanted to be an older brother to the lad, to encourage him to make a career in the army as his father Fa Zhou had done, to find some constructive outlet for whatever it was that made Ping want to 'punch someone'. He had tried to explain to him that one may be a powerful man without constant blustering … Tranquil as a forest, but on fire within... or that to succeed in military exercises he had to channel all of his strength properly, to become a coursing river of a man, literally unstoppable. Instead, Ping gave up at the slightest opportunity, teased the men mercilessly, and insisted on cheating the moment his back was turned.
From his spot on the hill, he could see Chi-Fu storming out of his tent, trying to find him to make yet another complaint. He chuckled, and then sighed. Young Ping wasn't the only one who wanted to punch someone.
In reality, he guessed that much of Ping's troubles stemmed from his extreme youth – his voice had barely broken, he was still to finish growing even. It was unrealistic to expect him to complete rigorous military training. To keep a man at his post when he was unfit or incapable was a false kindness, a cruel gentleness. It would inevitably lead to disaster. He had seen it happen once before, when a young son of a commander, obviously not suited to the martial arts, had been scythed in two during a basic sword drill. Shang still shivered at the memory. No, it would be a great dishonour to send Ping home so early, but an even greater one to have a similar death on his conscience. He had been right to order the boy home. He had had to remain impassively stern throughout; he was afraid that Ping would plead with him. He sighed. If men such as Ping had discovered their weaknesses during training, so had he. He hadn't realized how much of his power came from raw nervous energy, or that he would feel so deeply his failings as an instructor.
He would instruct his father, in his next dispatches, to increase the bride price for the Fa daughter, perhaps even hinting that he had been impressed by Ping's progress in passing. General Li need never know of his being sent home, at least until much later. Strictly speaking, he knew this was not how it was done – a dishonoured family ought not to expect to profit from matrimony, or to be able to conceal their dishonour. He yet again wondered how the great and Honourable Fa Zhou had neglected his son so badly. Nevertheless, Shang felt responsible for the oncoming grief to his parents-in-law. He ought to have noted the boy's age from the beginning, demanded a replacement sooner. He had simply been too overwhelmed with his new responsibilities. But, he thought ruefully, he ought not to have been. The law is always the law. He would not ask his father to withdraw his claim to Fa Mulan. It would be weak, cowardly, to withdraw from the dishonoured when he felt his own guilt.
And, to be truthful, he was beginning to understand the need for a wife on a military campaign. Not, of course, to live within camp. An army camp was no place for a woman one held in any esteem. But he understood the hunger to have something, one thing, which bore no relationship to war, to the incessant discipline of the military and the petty squabbles of encampment. If he were married, he realised, he would be writing to his wife on this hill. He had scorned the men who had spent their spare moments writing poems about violets and lilies to women they had barely lived with. Now, he felt he grasped the impulse. If there was war, there must also be peace.
He saw a frustrated Chi-Fu eventually retire to bed. He stole back to his tent to wait until dawn, when the awkward business of discharging Ping would begin in earnest. He did not relish Chi-Fu's triumph when he had to admit his failure.
He started to his feet suddenly. He must have fallen asleep … but that was definitely the sound of an arrow. He opened the doors of his tent, blinking into the rising sun… it couldn't be… it was…
Ping was gazing at him from the top of the flag-pole, a grin creasing his face from ear to ear. A faint hope began to dawn in Shang's breast… and a faint feeling of pride.