Time flew by, and the Pan Garden was now covered in a blanket of white frost, the cold biting at every corner.
The winter wheat had long been sown, and even the green sprouts had begun to emerge.
The livestock were prepared for the winter, with hay piled high like mountains.
A merchant caravan had come and gone after staying for two days, and everything seemed normal.
Shao Xun's days were monotonous.
Work, train soldiers, and—
"From the vastness of heaven and earth to the chaos of the universe. I've taught you for so long, and you still can't remember? Go and take your punishment," Shao Xun said sternly, glancing at the characters a young boy had written on the ground.
The boy, squatting on the ground, stood up sheepishly and walked to the door.
Outside, Squad Leader Huang Biao sneered as the boy dutifully took off his pants—full-length trousers, tight at the legs, with the crotch sewn together.
These trousers had been introduced by the nomadic tribes from the grasslands.
Before this, the Han people wore trousers with separate legs, no crotch or waistband, mainly for leg warmth.
But the nomads needed to ride horses, and without full-length trousers, it was uncomfortable.
"Whack!" The whip came down hard, leaving a clear red mark on the boy's skin.
After the punishment, the boy adjusted his clothes and returned, asking his peers how to write the characters correctly.
Shao Xun continued checking the other boys' work.
If it wasn't up to standard, there was no discussion—just the whip.
Though the boys were young and somewhat naive, they weren't stupid.
They all knew how valuable it was to be literate and the price they had to pay for it.
Many were willing to pay that price but had no way to learn.
The fact that their squad leader was willing to teach them, and with such dedication, was a stroke of incredible luck.
Even though learning was difficult, none of them complained.
Even those who didn't want to learn, seeing how eagerly their peers studied, began to feel guilty and forced themselves to keep up.
It took Shao Xun a long time to review all the students' "homework."
After summarizing, he praised a few, criticized a few, and doled out rewards and punishments—mostly in the form of food.
Once that was done, he continued the lesson: "To console the people and punish the wicked, as King Wu of Zhou did to the Shang."
He wrote these characters on a whiteboard with charcoal and had the students carefully study them, then recite them together.
"To console the people and punish the wicked, as King Wu of Zhou did to the Shang…"
At first, the voices were uneven, but after several repetitions, they gradually became synchronized.
Shao Xun patiently led them through the recitation, his heart calm and steady.
He didn't know how long this peaceful life would last, but as long as he was here, he would take responsibility for these children.
Besides, he had his own little ambitions.
Being a squad leader was temporary, but being a teacher was for life.
During the Three Kingdoms period, when soldiers died without heirs, Cao Cao ordered that children from their relatives be adopted, given land, oxen, and teachers to educate them.
From then on, the title of "teacher" became increasingly popular, standing alongside titles like "master," "mentor," and "instructor."
The Jin Dynasty, having come to power through less-than-honorable means, couldn't emphasize loyalty and righteousness, so they focused heavily on filial piety and respect for teachers.
Decades of promotion had made this aspect of their culture quite prominent—though it felt a bit odd.
A teacher carried far more weight than a squad leader or even a battalion commander, that much was certain.
Shao Xun had once pondered why, after the Western Jin Dynasty's southern migration, the nomadic tribes were able to establish regimes in the north.
He thought of many reasons, but the most important one was that the nomads had their own people to rely on.
Establishing a regime required a large number of local officials.
The nomadic chieftains had their tribes as a foundation, and as their population grew, they inevitably produced some capable individuals who could help manage local affairs—catching thieves, collecting taxes, conscripting soldiers, and so on.
Admittedly, those from the tribes might not be the most skilled, but with the tribes as a base, the chieftains could negotiate with the Han aristocratic families, gaining leverage and eventually sharing some benefits to secure their cooperation.
Thus, a somewhat unstable state could be established.
But what if a tribe didn't have a solid foundation or if its overall cultural level was too low to produce enough capable individuals? That would be a problem.
They might have to cede all local governance to the aristocratic families and local strongmen.
Of course, such tribes usually couldn't establish a regime in the first place.
Not every tribe could survive long in the chaotic north.
The threshold was real.
Otherwise, peasant uprisings could just as easily establish a state.
Shao Xun knew that the conditions for surviving in the north went far beyond this, but it never hurt to cultivate more of his own people.
He had time, energy, and passion, so he might as well do more.
Even if his unit disbanded in the future and he was transferred elsewhere, he would still have some connections.
At the very least, these boys would have a skill to rely on.
Wasn't that a good thing?
After all, someone had to farm the land...
Yes, some things just had to be done.
What he was doing was far better than the aristocrats indulging in their alchemical elixirs.
On this point, he felt a strong sense of moral superiority.
The first heavy snow fell, and the capital was on edge.
Some people, disheartened or fearful, quietly left Luoyang, the city of turmoil.
But most officials and nobles stayed, as the situation hadn't yet deteriorated to the point of no return.
The simplest sign was that the emperor still held some authority.
The grain transport system was intact, local officials were still being appointed and dismissed, and the military could still be mobilized.
In Pan Garden, everything continued as usual, as if no ripples had been stirred.
On the training ground, the sound of drums and shouts filled the air.
"When the drum beats, advance. When the gong sounds, halt. Don't you understand?" Shao Xun wielded his whip, striking any boy who failed to follow orders.
The boys' faces flushed with shame.
Some of their peers smirked, but Shao Xun whipped them too, and they quickly fell in line.
From above, the fifty boys were divided into three groups.
Thirty stood in the center, holding spears, motionless.
Ten were positioned at the upper right corner, and ten at the lower left.
This formation had suddenly appeared in Shao Xun's mind, and it felt familiar, as if he had used it countless times in a past life.
He inexplicably knew that the Crescent Moon Formation was both offensive and defensive.
Its essence lay in using the thick central force to withstand the enemy's assault, while the rotating "crescent" (the upper right group) flanked the enemy.
It was a classic military formation.
He didn't know when the Crescent Moon Formation had first appeared in history, but it was very popular during the Tang Dynasty, especially in the late Tang and Five Dynasties periods.
It was favored by military commanders and appeared in many important battles.
So, he chose this formation to train his soldiers, and he took it very seriously.
A group of fifty might not need such a complex formation, but he was training these boys to be future officers, so his standards were higher.
On the training ground, two other groups were also practicing.
Their training was simpler: just formations.
At the time, the Jin army favored the "Eight Formations."
The so-called Eight Formations were variations of square formations, with each formation positioned in the eight cardinal directions, "scattered as eight, united as one."
The center was slightly empty, reserved for the commander.
Here, the most elite troops were usually stationed, called the "reserve force," essentially a backup unit to plug gaps or decisively strike when the enemy showed weakness.
Compared to the Eight Formations, the Crescent Moon Formation was more complex and demanding.
But Shao Xun didn't mind.
He remembered something from his past life.
A dance teacher had once led a group of children in a complex performance, with many dancers and musicians.
The coordination required was high, and the performance was intricate.
When the adults saw the children's performance, they were stunned.
The complexity was such that even adults would need a long time to achieve that level.
The teacher had simply said, "Never tell the children how hard this is."
Yes, don't tell them how hard it is! If you can't do it well, it's your own fault.
You're just not trying hard enough.
Keep practicing.
Right now, it was just fifty people.
In the future, if there were five hundred or five thousand, the difficulty would increase exponentially.
Then, you'd have to keep finding your own problems and keep practicing.
Of course, saying it was easy, but doing it was hard.
To achieve the goal, it required a lot of tedious, meticulous work and unwavering determination.
Most importantly, you needed someone influential to recognize your efforts, someone to support you and give you a stable environment to grow.
"Form up, let's do it again," Shao Xun ordered after making his rounds.
"Boom, boom, boom…" The war drums sounded once more.
"Kill!" The fifty boys shouted in unison with their youthful voices, striking the ground with their spears as the formation began to move.
Shao Xun watched the advancing formation intently.
He knew all too well that in this era, peace was the exception, and war was the norm.
Any period of peace was precious and had to be seized tightly.
Especially when someone was providing food, shelter, training grounds, equipment, and supplies—it would be a waste not to make the most of it.
His ambitions weren't limited to these fifty boys.
In fact, he wanted much more.
A journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step.
He would take it one step at a time.
(End of Chapter)