Chapter 8: The Tyrant’s Clause

Chen Mu sat quietly in his tent, waiting for the chief, eyes closed in meditation, making no effort to speak first.

When the barbarian chief entered, he seemed awkward and uncertain, hesitating for a moment before finally offering a respectful salute.

“I greet Your Highness, Crown Prince of the Great Xia.”

His demeanor was exceedingly humble, and the salute he gave was the one commoners of his tribe used for their leader.

Chen Mu remained silent for quite some time, and only when the chief grew increasingly uneasy did he finally speak in a slow, unhurried manner.

“I hear you invaded our borders this time because my sister ate a hawk?” Chen Mu’s tone was languid, never once meeting the chief’s eyes. “And you threatened to ride your horses into the capital and annihilate the royal family?”

The chief was stunned, sweat breaking out across his brow.

“We… It was foolishness on our part, disturbing the peace of your great nation. It was truly rude, truly rude!”

“Overestimating yourself!” Chen Mu snorted coldly.

But, to his surprise, the barbarian chief, upon hearing these words, dropped to his knees without hesitation.

“Your Highness, please, have mercy! Our little country was simply jealous of the vast wealth of your great nation and let greed cloud our judgment!” The chief even managed to squeeze out a few tears, his gaze utterly sincere. “But your nation’s divine weapons are far beyond our ability to resist. I beg you, have mercy; I swear we will never approach your borders again!”

“This time, it was our ignorance that offended your great nation. Please, quell your anger.”

Watching this giant of a man—nearly two meters tall—kneeling before him, weeping, Chen Mu could only feel speechless.

He had planned to frighten the chief further, but now it seemed entirely unnecessary.

The Xia cavalry had already terrified these barbarians out of their wits over the past few days.

“If you want me to show mercy, it’s not difficult.” Chen Mu picked up a stack of bamboo slips from the table and signaled a soldier to hand them to the chief. “Look at this.”

This was Chen Mu’s true purpose for “negotiating peace.”

Written on the slips were supposed peace terms, but in truth, they were unilateral and domineering demands from Chen Mu.

First, the barbarians would be required to open border trade with Xia, but forbidden from taxing Xia’s merchants, and obliged to provide food and lodging for them.

Second, they must tribute at least two thousand high-quality cattle and sheep, and one thousand fine warhorses to Xia annually, along with a certain amount of money—entirely without compensation. If unable to pay in cash, they could substitute with more cattle, sheep, or horses.

Finally, Chen Mu demanded that the barbarians station their troops at least five hundred li from the border.

He even required them to send a hundred people each year to labor on the Xia border, serving at least a year before returning home.

Of course, there were many other requirements, all equally audacious and unreasonable; Chen Mu listed them all.

In comparison, Xia’s obligations were mostly empty promises—aside from not launching attacks on the barbarians for ten years, the rest were mere bait, nothing more.

As for any other benefits the barbarians might receive, perhaps some Central Plains merchants would bring them unfamiliar goods, but the price would be exorbitant.

Did Chen Xingtian not claim the treasury was empty? Did he not lament the costliness of this war? No problem!

With a few bamboo slips, Chen Mu could recoup all that money, and the profits would continue for decades.

Yet, Chen Mu did not expect the barbarian chief to agree to everything on the spot.

He had studied history in his previous life and knew how outrageous these demands were; apart from the most fundamental clauses, the rest could be negotiated.

But, as the saying goes, ask for the sky and settle on the ground—only by demanding the highest price at first could he secure the greatest benefit.

Unexpectedly, the chief, after reading the agreement, agreed without hesitation.

“As long as you withdraw your troops, we will agree to anything.” The chief seemed completely unconcerned about the long-term effects on his own country, focused solely on getting Chen Mu to withdraw.

Determined not to become a conquered slave, the chief was desperate.

How could Chen Mu let such a golden opportunity slip by?

“If the chief has no objections, then sign here.” Chen Mu wasted no more words, signaling the soldier to hand the chief a brush.

“Once you sign, I’ll withdraw my troops, and from now on, our two nations will abide by this accord.”

Watching the chief painstakingly inscribe his name onto the bamboo slips, Chen Mu found himself nostalgic for the feeling of writing on white paper with a gel pen.

He’d have to hurry and produce paper upon returning; life was far too inconvenient without it.

Once the agreement was signed, Chen Mu kept a copy for himself and gave one to the chief.

“All right, you may rise now. No need to kneel any longer.” Chen Mu said, glancing at the chief who still knelt.

“I’ll say this up front—if you ever break the agreement, my nation will not be so easily placated next time.”

The chief hurriedly saluted again, repeatedly agreeing.

“Your Highness, I have one more request.”

“Speak.”

“In our recent battle with your cavalry, we noticed two peculiar objects on their horses. Could you tell me what they are?”

Chen Mu didn’t hesitate, nodding.

He knew the chief referred to the saddle and stirrups.

The barbarians were a nomadic people, living with horses daily—even without him, they would invent such things in a few years. He might as well grant this favor.

It was a small token of gratitude for the decades of free labor the barbarians would provide Xia.

“These are called saddles and stirrups,” Chen Mu explained simply. “The saddle sits on the horse’s back, the stirrups hang on either side, making it easier for the rider to mount and dismount, and allowing them to exert more force.”

The chief listened as if hearing a legend, eyes wide with amazement, nodding vigorously, seemingly oblivious to the losses he’d just suffered.

This campaign had earned Chen Mu a fortune.

When he returned to the capital with the agreement, Chen Xingtian was utterly astonished by his son.

What was happening?

Why had his son, ever since that fall, seemed to become an entirely different person?

First, he invented the saddle, stirrups, and repeating crossbow, leading Xia to victory; now, he devised such a thorough and effective way to restrain the barbarians.

Among the surrounding tribes, the barbarians were the strongest.

Now, their formidable force had been crushed by Xia’s army, and their chief had submitted to Xia.

Who else would dare make a reckless move?