Chapter 6 – The Merchant

The fence went up faster than I’d projected.

Hao had his six volunteers by midmorning the day after our conversation, which was two days ahead of my most optimistic estimate. Zhao Ping’s son Zhao Jun turned out to be better with an axe than I’d assumed — the man could drop a pine in four strokes and strip the branches in the time it took me to mark the next tree. By the end of the first rotation, the crew had fallen into a rhythm I hadn’t needed to design.

Jun felled and stripped.

The Wei brothers hauled.

Hao dug post holes with a speed that bordered on unnatural, driving the iron-tipped digging bar into packed earth like a hot knife through butter.

I measured the spacing, checked the alignment, and directed where each post went based on the sightlines I’d mapped from the hillside.

Nobody questioned the layout. I’d been worried about that. The fence line didn’t follow the most direct path between the outer houses, it curved slightly inward at the center, creating a narrower gap at the road that would force anyone entering to pass through single file.

A straight line would’ve been faster to build but I’d pitched the curve as following the natural contour of the terrain for drainage, and since nobody else had surveyed the ground, nobody argued.

*Twelve days. Forty-six posts. One gate frame that Hao insisted on building himself because he wanted it solid enough to hold against a charging ox.*

I didn’t tell him a charging ox wasn’t what I was designing against.

On the thirteenth morning, I stood at the north road and looked at the finished line. It looked like a livestock fence built by farmers with more determination than carpentry skill. Completely unremarkable to anyone who didn’t study the geometry.

I’d tested it the latch and was relieved that it held firm.

*First defensive line, complete. It won’t stop a determined force. It will slow them down by ninety seconds and funnel them into a space where our men could hold a chokepoint.*

“Looks good.” Hao came up beside me, wiping sweat from his neck.

“Looks like a fence,” I said.

“Best fence in the prefecture.” He slapped a post. It didn’t move. “The Liu family’s already asking if we can extend it around their chicken run.”

“We can link it to the main line on the east side, which closes the gap between the Liu house and the Wei compound.”

Hao gave me a look. “You already planned that.”

“It seemed logical.”

“You had the post count ready before I finished the sentence, Liang.”

“I’m good with numbers.”

He shook his head and walked off to help Jun sharpen the axes.

The drying rack took four days. I built most of it myself, which was a first since every other project had run through Hao and the volunteer crews. But the hillside platform was small enough for one person and I wanted control over the details. Cedar posts instead of pine, because cedar lasted longer in weather. A platform wide enough for two men to stand on, elevated two meters off the slope on cross-braced legs. Angled slats on top that were spaced for drying grain and also, incidentally, for seeing through without being seen from below.

I spread millet across the slats on the first dry morning and stood underneath, looking north.

The road was visible for almost two li. I could see the bridge crossing, the tree line, and the point where the road curved east toward Meishan. On a clear day, anyone approaching the village would be visible from this platform before they reached the fence line.

In a world where battles were decided by surprise and superior numbers, ten minutes was the difference between caught sleeping and standing ready.

I climbed down and went to check the irrigation.

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The merchant came unexpectedly.

I spotted him from the drying rack as it was now a force of habit, I’d started checking the northern road from the platform every morning under the pretense of turning the millet.

A single figure with a handcart, that moved at an unhurried pace. I honestly was just relieved that it wasn’t a refugee.

By the time he reached the gate, Hao was already there. Of course he was. My brother had an instinct for arrivals the way some people had an instinct for weather.

I came down the hill at a walk and reached them as Hao was helping the man position his cart in the shade. The merchant was older, fifty or so, a lean about him. His cart was modest made of bolts of rough cloth, some iron tools, and a few ceramic jars sealed with wax.

“Pei Hao,” my brother introduced himself and extended his hand. “Welcome to Hekou.”

“Wang Su.” The merchant clasped Hao’s hand and looked around the village with appraising eyes.

His gaze lingered on the fence. “New construction?”

“Foxes,” I said from behind Hao.

Wang Su looked at me. His gaze was sharper than his road-worn appearance suggested. “Thorough response to foxes.”

“We’re thorough people.” I stepped forward. “Pei Liang, his brother. Can we offer you water?”

Hao shot me a glance that said *I was handling this*, and I returned one that said *keep handling it, I just want to listen*.