Volume One: At the Foot of Mount Zhongnan Chapter 28: The Weapon of the Tall, Rich, and Handsome—The Cavalry Lance

Li Mingyu was unaware that his seemingly ordinary theories, well-known to everyone in later generations, had so startled his master, Li Xuanba, that the latter began to suspect his disciple was a prodigy bordering on the supernatural. His insights, transcending a millennium, allowed him to stand upon the shoulders of giants; the impact on Li Xuanba, a man of antiquity, was nothing short of overwhelming. Meanwhile, Li Mingyu felt secretly pleased to have finally found a fitting explanation that could justify his past actions. He promptly asked, “Master, am I still forbidden to share this body-tempering method publicly? Why is that?”

Li Xuanba, reminded by his disciple, finally returned to his senses and replied with grave seriousness, “This body-tempering method is a secret never passed down by the great military families. The Tiger-Wolf Guards of Qin Shi Huang, who unified the six kingdoms; the Feathered Forest Orphans of Emperor Wu of Han, who drove the Xiongnu from the north; the Northern Prefecture Army of the Xie family in Eastern Jin; the Hundred Elite Sogdian Cavalry of Northern Qi—these were the invincible forces of their eras. Why were these soldiers able to defeat hundreds, unstoppable wherever they went? All relied on unique methods of training and body-tempering. Sadly, most of these secrets have been lost to time. Do you know why I forbid you from spreading it? The world is chaotic now. If word gets out, and the rebel kings acquire it, every army will produce elite soldiers. Endless warfare would plunge the realm into decades or centuries of turmoil.”

Li Mingyu listened to his master’s solemn explanation but remained unconcerned. “This is only a basic method. I have even better ideas. When the time comes, I’ll present them to Second Uncle and help him train a battle-hardened force to unify the empire!”

In his heart, he mused over the legendary ancient armies his master had listed. Qin Shi Huang’s guards, who swept the world and unified the six kingdoms, were certainly formidable—not to mention the terracotta warriors unearthed a millennium later, their imposing presence and fierce aura hinting at their past glory. Emperor Wu’s Feathered Forest Orphans, who followed Wei Qing and Huo Qubing deep into the deserts and grasslands, drove the Xiongnu to lament, “Losing Qilian mountain, our livestock no longer flourish; losing Yanzhi mountain, our brides lose their beauty.” Naturally, they were elite. But what of the other two forces? He’d never even heard of them—could they rival the “Black Armored Cavalry” that his Second Brother, Li Shimin, would soon establish?

Li Shimin’s Black Armored Iron Cavalry was already a crack force. With his training methods added, wouldn’t they be invincible?

Li Xuanba listened and asked curiously, “Oh? You intend to present it to your Second Uncle? You certainly have faith in him. Although Father now holds Shanxi and will soon seize Chang’an, if you compare our power to that of Li Mi at Wagang, Dou Jiande in Shandong, Du Fuwei in Huainan, Xiao Chong in Baling, and the Sui Emperor Yang Guang in Jiangdu, the Li family is hardly unmatched. Besides, it’s Father who will unify the realm, and your eldest brother still stands above us. How could it possibly be your Second Uncle’s turn?”

In his heart, Mingyu thought, “If I have no faith in the Heavenly Khan Li Shimin, who else could I believe in? Under Li Shimin’s radiance, those clowns won’t last long.” Yang Guang still alive? He fled from Luoyang to Jiangdu, but soon enough, Yuwen Huaji would strangle him, wouldn’t he? Though Li Mingyu knew the tide of history, he couldn’t explain it to his master. Was he to tell him that the Li family would surely unify the realm, and that his Second Brother would eventually dispatch both his elder brother and younger brothers, forcing their father to abdicate and finally becoming emperor himself? If he said such things, his master would probably strangle him on the spot.

Li Mingyu pondered a moment, then, feeling helpless, feigned innocence, “Because Second Uncle is your own brother, Master. We’re on the same side, aren’t we? If I don’t help him, who else would I help? As for your eldest brother, he bullied you, and even harmed the wife I’ve never met and the unborn little junior brother. Hmph! When I grow up, let’s join forces and thrash him together—all the way!”

Li Xuanba could not help but smile at his childish words, and the earlier suspicions of Mingyu’s unnatural talent faded. No matter how extraordinary his disciple was, he had watched him grow up with his own eyes—ultimately, he was both son and disciple, his own legacy.

Yet his words touched Li Xuanba’s heart. Thinking of his beloved and their unborn child, Li Xuanba’s mood grew somber. He gently stroked Mingyu’s head, sighed, and murmured, “Good child…” Then, shaking his head, he left Mingyu and the other children to their practice and walked away in lonely silence.

For several days, Li Xuanba remained silent, rarely speaking even when questioned. He sat alone, causing Mingyu much worry; Mingyu and Xiaohei spoke and moved with caution, fearful of incurring their master’s displeasure.

Fortunately, as time passed, Li Xuanba emerged from his sorrow.

One day, Li Xuanba called Mingyu over. “Before I left, I promised to teach you to wield a lance. Now that your fundamentals are solid, it’s about time.”

He led Mingyu into the courtyard, opened a large vat, and took out bamboo strips soaked in tung oil.

The bamboo strips had been steeped in tung oil for nearly a year, fully saturated and shining golden yellow. Li Xuanba laid them out to dry in the shade and explained, “To master the horse lance, you must first understand its structure. You’re still young, so my own lance isn’t suitable for you. I planned to craft a lance tailored to your height for early practice.”

Only then did Mingyu realize the purpose behind his master soaking bamboo strips. He asked curiously, “It needs to soak so long? Wouldn’t making a lance take years?”

Li Xuanba replied, “A battle-worthy horse lance takes three years to craft.”

Mingyu, disheartened, said, “So I’ll have to wait two more years before having a lance that fits me?”

Xuanba shook his head. “That’s for a battlefield weapon. For practice, the process can be simplified. The main purpose is for you to understand its structure and learn how to use it so you can wield it as easily as your own arm.”

He gestured to the bamboo strips. “A horse lance has two key parts: the head and the shaft. The shaft must be light, resilient, and sturdy. Soaking bamboo in tung oil for nearly a year prevents warping and cracking, making it flexible. Ideally, the shaft is made from catalpa wood, but bamboo suffices if no suitable timber is found. Normally, after soaking, bamboo needs to dry for several months, but for your practice lance, ten days or so will suffice.”

Mingyu nodded. “After drying, can I just bind the bamboo strips together to form the shaft?”

“Not nearly enough. A proper lance shaft requires the dried strips to be glued together into a thick rod, one and a half times the user’s height. The outer layer is tightly wound with hemp rope, then coated with raw lacquer, then wrapped with ramie cloth, then lacquered again—layer after layer, drying and wrapping, until a blade strike produces a metallic ring, yet the shaft neither cracks nor breaks. When you thrust, the shaft absorbs force, bending like a bow and springing back, blending strength and flexibility. Only then is it qualified. Out of ten shafts, only four are usable; the material consumed equals ten strong bows!” Li Xuanba explained.

“So complicated?” Mingyu recalled a movie he’d seen in his previous life about European knights—their lances were also formidable weapons for mounted charges, three meters long and excellent for piercing armor. Yet European lances were made of brittle hardwood, intended to absorb impact, cheap enough to be disposable: used once, then discarded in favor of other weapons. In comparison, the Chinese horse lance and the European lance were neither better nor worse—just different in development. One was low-cost and expendable, the other meticulously crafted and expensive, able to be passed down for generations.

Mingyu stuck out his tongue and sighed, “With such complexity and cost, it’s no wonder only the sons of generals can afford them.”

Li Xuanba smiled. “You think that’s all? Far from it. Once the shaft is done, you must mount the lance head and butt, constantly adjusting the weight. The standard is to hang the lance from a hemp cord two feet from the tail: the whole lance should balance in midair, neither tipping nor falling. Only then, on horseback, can you keep the point forward effortlessly.”

He paused and continued, “If it were only this, the cost wouldn’t be so high. The real effort lies in the lance head. The head is over two feet long, suited for both thrusting and slashing. Since the horse lance is meant to pierce armor, it must be forged from refined steel, guaranteeing durability and resistance to breakage. Like my treasured blade, refined steel is more precious than gold, and only the most skilled blacksmiths can forge it. A top-tier horse lance is worth hundreds of strings of coins, rarer than a fine sword.”

After his master’s explanation, Mingyu finally understood: the real cost of the horse lance lay in the head—a blade over two feet long, forged from refined steel. It was like affixing a treasured sword to the already intricate shaft, so the price was naturally high.

Still, Mingyu could not help but anticipate the “low-end” lance he’d soon have—after ten days or so, he could begin learning to use the king among cavalry weapons of the age of cold steel.

Half a month later, Li Xuanba, following a simplified process, crafted a “low-end” horse lance for Mingyu, about six and a half feet long, exactly one and a half times his height. Lacking a suitable lance head, he used the small knife gifted by Changsun Wuji, which Mingyu had outgrown as he’d grown taller. Now it found new purpose as the lance head, with a chunk of iron tied at the tail for balance.

Though it looked crude, it served its purpose. After all, Mingyu was still growing—his height would shoot up in a few months. It would hardly do to spend time and effort crafting a lance only for him to soon outgrow it, leaving it perpetually unsuitable.