Section 120: The Mysterious Copper Coin

Li Dong reached into his robes and carefully counted out twenty copper coins. The obverse side of the coins bore the inscription "Daye Tongbao," while the reverse featured elegant and auspicious patterns.

Li Dong held two coins, aligning them so the patterns were hidden inside and the inscriptions faced outward, and showed them to Qin Qiong.

"Brother Shubao," he asked, "with your skills, could you cast these into a single piece?"

Qin Qiong took the coins from Li Dong, examined them closely, and nodded to indicate it was possible. However, he quickly dismissed the idea. "Privately minting currency is a capital offense," he said. "It is better not to take such risks."

Li Dong had anticipated this response. Qin Qiong was a man of strict adherence to rules; within those bounds, he would gladly risk his life for a friend, but to step beyond that line was a source of great distress for him.

The Daye Code stipulated that anyone caught privately minting copper coins would be executed, and the punishment would extend to their entire family. Although the Qin family was not a great clan, but rather a modest household sustained by a workshop, Qin Qiong was a man of profound filial piety. He would never permit himself to bring disaster upon his parents.

Li Dong suddenly stood up in the tent, pointed toward the sky, and spoke in a tone bordering on an oath: "We have knelt and struck our heads to the ground; we are blood-sworn brothers. Your father is my father, and your mother is my mother. I, Li Dong, would never bring any harm upon them. Please, believe me in this."

Qin Qiong trusted him implicitly. How could a man without great love in his heart face an army of one hundred thousand under Zhi Shilang with only three thousand soldiers, saving the people of Zhangqiu from catastrophe? That was a gamble of his own life and future. Moreover, Li Dong had personally treated his mother’s long-standing illness.

Thinking of this, Qin Qiong nodded in agreement, though he still did not understand the purpose of such strange coins. He asked, "Why would you risk the wrath of the world and stake your life to forge these twenty coins? What is your hidden intent? Please, speak plainly."

There was no one else in the tent, but Li Dong remained cautious. He stepped outside to look around; the area for dozens of yards was empty, and the distant garrison soldiers were all intently watching the martial arts tournament.

Li Dong returned to the tent, leaned in close to Qin Qiong’s ear, and whispered his plan with great care.

"Oh?" Qin Qiong’s eyes widened, a flash of surprise crossing his face. "How did you come up with this? That is a viciously clever ploy!"

As Qin Qiong showered him with praise, Li Dong felt a bit bashful. "This is not about me," he said modestly, "it is about the hearts of the people! But if I only had a topographical map of Liaodong Commandery, it would be even more perfect."

"A topographical map?" Qin Qiong looked bewildered. "What is that?"

Li Dong realized he had let slip a term from his own time. "Oh, nothing—a map of enemy positions, the layout of their formations!"

"Ah, naturally," Qin Qiong seemed to understand. "Know your enemy and know yourself, and you will never be defeated!"

Li Dong let out a long breath, thinking he had managed to bluff his way through.

A brilliant commander and exceptional strategist must first be a geographer, intimately familiar with the terrain. Li Dong, accustomed to using maps for troop deployment and reconnaissance in his previous life, now found that even paper was a rare sight. Although Cai Lun had invented papermaking during the Eastern Han Dynasty, the early techniques were crude, resulting in uneven, fibrous paper that shed when touched. The Jin Dynasty had improved the craft using straw, bamboo, hemp, and rags, but the cost remained prohibitively high. Even in the Sui Dynasty, paper was a luxury reserved for the imperial court or major military dispatches. Less critical official documents were recorded on bamboo slips, while moderately important ones were written on cloth or silk, which were cheaper than paper.

As a mere masquerading soldier, how could Li Dong hope to access a high-cost paper map?

Still, there were ways to manage, though they required effort. Once the army reached Qi Commandery, he could find local woodcutters, hunters, herbalists, and elders—those familiar with the land—and pay them for information. He might even discover hidden, narrow paths unknown even to the Goguryeo people, allowing them to march through and launch an unexpected, devastating assault on the enemy.

While the tournament continued in the camp, the commanders promoted the victors, and the army prepared to break camp. Before setting out, Lai Hu’er strictly forbade any soldier from returning home, fearing it would disrupt morale. He ordered that the army must not harm a hair on the heads of the common people, and anyone who harassed the populace would be executed without mercy.

The army departed from Qi Commandery and, after half a month, reached Laikou. There, many craftsmen were building warships. They spent their days soaked in water, suffering terribly as maggots infested their lower bodies, yet their work was vital for the Emperor’s campaign against Liaodong.

The infantry boarded the ships at the coast. Hundreds of warships lined up, sails raised to catch the wind. It was a grand and stirring sight. These warships stood several yards high, divided into three levels. Soldiers with bows and arrows manned the upper decks, while those on the middle and lower levels were responsible for deploying gangplanks to board enemy vessels for hand-to-hand combat. Other ships, not designed for battle, served purely for transport.

Victory in naval warfare meant the infantry could land, charge, and conquer, with the final objective being the capture of the enemy’s cities. Some soldiers had never been to sea; the relentless rolling of the waves made them violently ill. They vomited until they were dry-heaving bile, their pained cries echoing eerily across the water.

Li Dong, along with Qin Qiong and several blacksmiths, was stationed on a supply ship. It carried equipment, warhorses, and other provisions. Few came to inspect them, and since he was not prone to seasickness, he spent his time quite leisurely. Every day, he stood on the deck, watching the sea, observing the birds, and occasionally catching fish to roast.

Nearly a month later, Qin Qiong finally finished crafting the coins and handed them to Li Dong. Li Dong inspected them; the two coins had been fused into one, with no discernable difference in thickness. From the surface, there were no flaws. Both sides bore the "Daye Tongbao" inscription, and through special treatment, the seam where they had been joined was invisible.

Qin Qiong’s craftsmanship was truly extraordinary.

Li Dong laughed heartily and praised him. "If you ever run short of money, you could use this skill and never have to worry about food or drink for the rest of your life!"

Qin Qiong pointed at him with a rueful smile. "You! You have too many devious ideas! There are countless skilled craftsmen in this world; if they all thought like you, wouldn't the world fall into chaos?"

Li Dong made a face, and the two shared another laugh.

From the end of the tournament until they boarded the ships, Dou Jiande, Zhang Jincheng, and Liu Heita had not been seen. Li Dong knew they were still angry with him. But soon, after another month’s journey to Qi Commandery, they would understand the depth of his intentions. Unlike his honest friendship with Qin Qiong, Li Dong’s approach to these three famous historical figures was a mix of suppression and cultivation, utility and caution. He intended to let them—and even General Lai—endure a few hardships in the upcoming Liaodong campaign.