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The heavy rain had poured all day, finally stopping in the morning.
Fei Qian sat with his wide sleeves fluttering on a small hill about ten li from Pingyang. Before him was a mat and a low table, upon which some wine and cups were placed.
One drawback of the Han era was that after heavy rain, everything turned to mud—official roads included.
The official roads, at least paved with some gravel, were slightly better than elsewhere.
The clay of the Loess Plateau was extremely sticky; one step down, and pulling the foot out took considerable effort. This eased Fei Qian's anxious heart somewhat. Unless Pingyang had fallen before the rain, the Baibo Army wouldn't be able to mount much of an offensive until the ground dried.
Attacking in such conditions—deep steps, shallow steps, barely able to walk—would be pure suicide.
Though this distance was somewhat risky for Fei Qian, with the overall disadvantage, could he really ask Yu Fuluo to meet in Yong'an?
Even if Fei Qian were willing, Yu Fuluo certainly wouldn't be.
This was a distance that showed Fei Qian's sincerity.
Politics was like this: mutual probing, mutual compromise. When interests clashed to the point of irreconcilability, when talks could go no further—war erupted.
War was merely the continuation of politics, not its entirety.
Fei Qian and Yu Fuluo's interests were not irreconcilably opposed. From previous signs, otherwise Yu Fuluo wouldn't have so easily let Ma Yue escape back to Yong'an…
Black dots appeared in the distance. Soon, Fei Qian saw Yu Fuluo approaching with about five hundred riders, until their faces became clear.
Yu Fuluo slowed his horse, looked up at Fei Qian on the hilltop. Seeing only a dozen or so men besides Fei Qian, he turned and gave orders. Leaving the main force at the foot of the hill, he rode up with just over ten riders.
Fei Qian secretly exhaled. With Yu Fuluo showing such a gesture, he had at least eighty to ninety percent confidence.
"Lord Fei of Shangjun, how have you been?" Yu Fuluo chuckled.
"Not very well before, but now that the Chanyu is here, naturally things are better." Fei Qian was direct, no hiding it, and gestured for Yu Fuluo to sit.
Yu Fuluo paused briefly, then laughed heartily and sat. He truly hadn't expected Fei Qian to be so straightforward; he thought Fei Qian would cling to face like other Han he'd met.
"Lord Fei, this time your shell is about to be cracked…"
Fei Qian smiled, took two cups, placed them side by side, and poured wine into both, gesturing for Yu Fuluo to choose.
Yu Fuluo watched Fei Qian's actions with growing interest.
The gesture showed equality between them, assured the wine was safe, and implied Fei Qian wasn't overly concerned about Pingyang…
But a Han who could convey so much with a simple action—Yu Fuluo had never met one in all these years.
Like the knife Fei Qian had sent earlier.
Seemingly simple, yet layered with meaning.
Yu Fuluo made no choice, instead tilting his head to the sky. "The rain has stopped, the sky cleared—and by the looks of it, no rain for days! Lord Fei…"
The greatest taboo in negotiation is following the other's rhythm. Fei Qian gripped the wine jug tightly. If Yu Fuluo were in the later world, he might rival any professional negotiator.
"When I was in Luoyang, I reviewed your Xiongnu historical records, looking back three or four hundred years…" Fei Qian said calmly. "Would the Chanyu care to hear my view of that Xiongnu history?"
Yu Fuluo lowered his head, eyes locked on Fei Qian—deep, profound. After a long, long silence, he gritted his teeth and forced out two words: "Please speak."
"The Xiongnu rose with Yiqu Chanyu, peaked under Maodun Chanyu, and reached zenith under Junchen Chanyu—with millions of bowmen, territory spanning north and south of the great desert. The entire north, even farther to the extreme north, was Xiongnu land…"
Fei Qian dipped his finger in wine and drew on the table.
Yu Fuluo's gaze followed Fei Qian's finger, flickering with an indefinable light…
"…But Junchen Chanyu was too arrogant, believing none stronger than he. He deliberately extorted the Han Emperor for a marriage alliance, then humiliated and tormented the young princess sent. In the end, we Han could endure no more…"
Fei Qian swept his hand across, erasing the vast Xiongnu territory he had drawn. "…And then, it was like this…"
Yu Fuluo tilted his head slightly away. Though expressionless, the muscles in his cheek twitched. "I know all this. What does recounting ancient history have to do with the current situation? Can it lift the siege of Pingyang?"
Fei Qian ignored Yu Fuluo's words entirely, not responding to the veiled counterattack or sarcasm. Only by holding the initiative could one lead the other into the ditch…
Fei Qian redrew the rough outline of the northern deserts on the table. "In the northeast, formerly your subordinate tribe the Wuhuan now occupy most of the northeastern pastures; then the Xianbei, once huddled in the mountains, have gradually migrated north of the great desert—to where your former northern royal court stood; in the northwest, your old defeated foes the Wusun and Dayuezhi have regained dominance, while an obscure tribe called the Dingling has migrated here from the east…"
Fei Qian divided the map into fragments, then tapped the south. "…But Chanyu Yu Fuluo, have you noticed—after all these years, why has Xiongnu territory splintered, while the Han remain here? Four hundred years ago, this was called Great Han; now, it is still called Great Han?"
"The Xiongnu and Han are the two kings of this land. But when a Xiongnu Chanyu falls, scavengers swarm his corpse so quickly; yet when a Han Emperor falls, four hundred years later it remains Great Han… I was puzzled once, but then I found an interesting difference…"
Here Fei Qian stopped, as if his throat were dry. He lifted a cup and sipped slowly...