Chapter Twenty-Nine: The Longbow

Yang Dingrui had come specifically to inspect the weapons.

He had never trained in martial arts or with spears and staffs, but he possessed a strong physique and was highly skilled in archery—changes brought about by his scholarly pursuits. His good health was a result of his nearsightedness from reading; people generally regarded poor eyesight as an illness and assumed Yang Dingrui was frail and sickly, prompting them to have him practice Baduanjin, climb mountains, and hunt. Baduanjin was not a martial arts technique but rather an ancient form of calisthenics, akin to modern broadcast gymnastics—essentially a set of movements designed to ensure every part of the body was exercised. Moving, after all, was better than not moving at all.

Later, after passing the imperial exams, Yang Dingrui’s improved circumstances granted him both wealth and leisure, turning these activities into hobbies. He developed a passion for reading, seeking out ancient manuals on archery, military treatises, agricultural texts—anything at all. Ultimately, it was economic security that enabled these pursuits. Once he became a government-sponsored scholar, he found ways to access even more books, sometimes spending two or three months traveling in search of a single volume. With his scholarly status, he could roam freely without even needing a travel permit—life was untroubled.

“The most suitable weapon here is the longbow,” he enthused. “The Great Tang recruited infantry who used longbows, as did the Song’s rural militias. A fifty-pound composite bow equals a seventy-pound longbow; a seventy-pound longbow matches a hundred-pound bamboo bow.”

Yang Dingrui spoke animatedly. As a former jinshi and recently resigned prefectural official, he carried the authority of a superior. The carpenter, Liu Xiangliang, accustomed to following orders and not even knowing who Yang Dingrui was, dutifully set out pencils, ink lines, and other tools at his side.

Yang Dingrui held a wooden plank for tools and searched the ground, eventually finding a six-foot piece of timber and began sketching on his own.

The longbow he spoke of was familiar to Liu Chengzong, though he had never seen one. It was a single-piece wooden bow popular during the Tang and Song dynasties. By the Ming, it was rare among the people, as the imperial army favored the more efficient composite bows.

Weapon choice depended both on available technology and the nature of their enemies. The composite bow was superior. According to Yang Dingrui, Liu Chengzong’s seventy-pound bow was as effective as a hundred-pound longbow, while a bamboo bow could reach the power of a hundred and thirty pounds.

A hundred and thirty pounds—already above the upper strength limit.

Back in the Yongle era at the start of Ming, the court classified battle bows into four grades, ranging from forty to seventy pounds, with seventy being the upper limit. By the time of Wanli and Tianqi, with frequent wars and the rise of armored cavalry under Altan Khan and Nurhaci’s heavy cavalry and infantry from Jianzhou, bow strength requirements increased. Now, frontier troops used bows of up to a hundred and twenty pounds, with the lower end still at seventy. Liu Chengzong was currently using a seventy-pound bow.

He once could shoot four successive arrows from a hundred-pound war bow, but now he sometimes encountered mishaps even trying that with seventy pounds.

Suitability lay in striking a balance among lethality, accuracy, and rapid firing.

Any lighter bows would have to be sought from the garrison.

The longbow’s advantages were ease of manufacture, single material, reduced labor, and resistance to dampness. The last trait was irrelevant in the bone-dry northern Shaanxi, but the simplicity and lower labor suited Xingpingli perfectly—especially in a time of economic collapse, when materials were no longer as easily obtained as before.

Watching Yang Dingrui sketching and drawing, Liu Chengzong, standing to the side, nodded slowly. With no means to produce enough composite bows, the longbow was a clear and viable alternative—one that fit perfectly with Liu Chengzong’s plans.

“Follow this design,” Yang Dingrui said. “I’ll stay here for a few days. If the elder has any questions about making the bow, he can ask me.”

Soon, Yang Dingrui finished his design, even sketching a training bow rack beside it. Noticing Liu Chengzong lost in thought, he finally asked, “What’s on your mind?”

“Hm?” Liu Chengzong snapped back to himself, smiling awkwardly before answering, “Xingpingli needs a hundred and fifty bamboo bows, forty repeating crossbows, thirty longbows… Ah, we’ll make as many as we can.”

He turned to look at Yang Dingrui. Truthfully, he wanted to ask why, after resigning from office, Yang Dingrui would venture into their remote, mountainous region and even stay with his family for several days. It wasn’t that he wasn’t welcome—it was just curious.

In times of disaster, even idleness bred unease, making this hardly the season for sightseeing or visiting relatives. Besides, his family hadn’t had contact with Yang Dingrui for many years.

But asking directly would be too abrupt, even rude. So instead he inquired, “Sir, as a former official, you must know much. I’ve heard Wang Zuogua has taken Yaozhou—how much longer do you think my family has?”

Yang Dingrui showed no surprise. He pondered a moment, then stepped out into the yard, turning back with a squint and a look of puzzlement. “How much longer? Why do you ask that?”

Liu Chengzong followed him out of the carpenter’s yard, replying, “Yaozhou is the richest place west of the river, with kilns and mines aplenty. When the bandits rise, the authorities are bound to intervene; when the troops arrive, the bandits will scatter. Time is running short.”

He spread his hands before him, the meaning clear.

When the bandits scattered, the entire northern Shaanxi mountains would know no peace. Even if these small bands never found Heilong Mountain in Panlongchuan, the fragile economies of the surrounding villages would only suffer more, and the situation would worsen.

“Government troops arrive and the bandits scatter? Little Lion, I fear you overestimate the authorities.”

Yang Dingrui let out a cold laugh and shook his head. “I traveled from the prefectural city to Ansai, then from Ansai to here. Of all the places I passed, only Heilong Mountain retains any semblance of order.”

“The authorities have searched every household, but no one knows whether it was Wang Zuogua or Wang Jiayin who attacked Yaozhou, nor how many border troops from Guyuan are involved.”

“Everywhere is hungry and poor, people are panicking. In as little as one or two months, at most two or three, I doubt it will be the authorities who defeat the bandits at Yaozhou. More likely, refugees from Qingjian and Ansai will rise as bandits themselves and begin looting. Over there, the King of Chaos holds sway. You must prepare early if you intend to defend your home.”

Though Yang Dingrui spoke, his tone betrayed uncertainty about the situation—no one could predict such things.

A massive invasion by the bandits seemed unlikely; at most, they might pass through. But as for small incursions, no one could say for sure.

As they spoke, Yang Dingrui suddenly turned abruptly, as if making a decision, and said gravely, “Lion, escort me to Ansai.”

Ansai County—Yang Dingrui’s hometown.

Ansai was also the hometown of Gao Yingxiang.

Before Liu Chengzong could ask, Yang Dingrui paused a moment, then continued, “I killed a man in Ansai. I fled in haste, leaving my family behind. I’d like to ask you to help me return and bring out my wife and children to settle elsewhere.”

Liu Chengzong turned and saw deep wariness in Yang Dingrui’s eyes.

As if—this was a matter of immense gravity to Yang Dingrui.

Perhaps, for a scholar-official, it truly was a great matter.

But for a frontier soldier, killing and being killed was just the way of the world.

So he didn’t press further. He thought a moment and said, “The sooner you fetch your family, the better. I’ll borrow a few horses and find a friend. We can set out in an hour.”