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After the arrow tests, Fei Qian had a clear picture of the real-world effectiveness of Han Dynasty weaponry.
He turned to Huang Zhong. "Hansheng, how far can the average military archer shoot accurately?"
Ordinary archers couldn't match Huang Zhong's skill, but in large numbers, they'd still be a headache.
Huang Zhong replied, "Military archers must hit ten out of ten shots at 50 "bu" (~75m), nine out of ten at 100 "bu" (~150m). Those who can shoot beyond 100 "bu" are considered exceptional."
Fei Qian then asked, "If I were to take up archery, could I reach that level?" He wanted to gauge how difficult it was for an average person to become a competent archer—a crucial part of any army.
He also wondered if he had any aptitude for archery himself. Learning a trick or two from Huang Zhong wouldn't hurt.
Of course, anyone could pick up a bow and shoot, but achieving Huang Zhong's precision? That required serious training and technique.
Huang Zhong studied Fei Qian. "For ceremonial archery ("shelǐ"), it wouldn't be hard. But for military purposes... forgive my bluntness, you'd likely fall short."
In the Han Dynasty, scholars learned archery as part of the "Six Arts of the Gentleman", particularly for rituals like "shelǐ"—a formal event emphasizing virtue, discipline, and harmony, where participants shot at stationary targets. Huang Zhong implied Fei Qian could handle such ceremonies, but military archery involved moving targets, a different challenge altogether.
No wonder the Cai family's offer to train a hundred archers for him had impressed Huang Chengyan. 'Turning raw recruits into competent archers took months of grueling practice.' Worse, improper technique could easily injure wrists and fingers.
Though Fei Qian recognized Huang Zhong as a legendary figure, they'd just met. Pushing for deeper mentorship would be presumptuous. Instead, he said to Huang Chengyan, "Father-in-law, since Hansheng helped with the tests, let me cover the cost of these arrows."
Huang Chengyan chuckled. "A fair arrangement!"
Huang Zhong protested, insisting on paying himself, but Fei Qian countered, "When my hundred archers arrive, perhaps you could spare time to instruct them? Consider the arrow fees a humble tutor's payment."
Only then did Huang Zhong accept. After collecting his arrows, he bid farewell.
Watching him leave, Fei Qian sighed inwardly.
Turning to Huang Chengyan, he thanked him for facilitating the exchange—without the Huang family head's endorsement, Huang Zhong might not have obliged.
Huang Chengyan waved it off. "No need for formalities between family. Did you notice anything from the tests?"
Reviewing Huang Chengyan's "Three Scrolls of Arms, Armor, and Machinery" earlier, Fei Qian had sensed an imbalance. Now, seeing Huang Zhong's archery in action, it was clear: Han Dynasty defenses lagged far behind offensive capabilities.
Normally, advancements in weaponry spur corresponding armor improvements. Yet even discounting Huang Zhong's skill, standard military archers could wreak havoc on unarmored or lightly armored troops within 100 "bu".
Fei Qian examined the scale armor strapped to the tree. Unlike lamellar armor, its material and construction differed significantly. A grim realization dawned on him.
Were human lives so expendable in the Central Plains?
Or did those in power simply view common soldiers as disposable?
Scale armor, with its superior protection, was reserved for officers. Grunts like Zhang Zhao—who'd escorted Fei Qian to Xiangyang—made do with basic lamellar vests. Some lacked even leather armor.
When Fei Qian voiced his suspicions, hoping for contradiction, Huang Chengyan fell silent before nodding grimly.
Who outfits cannon fodder with top-tier gear?
Their sole purpose was to absorb enemy attacks. Standard troops ranked only slightly above cannon fodder—leather or lamellar armor was already a luxury.
Lamellar armor had another "advantage": ease of recycling. Individual metal plates could be stripped from corpses post-battle, reforged, and reissued to the next wave of expendables. Simple. Efficient.
Moreover, the elite preferred diverting all available iron toward spearheads and blades. Why "waste" it on armor?
This, Fei Qian realized, was the root cause of stagnant armor development well into the late Han period.
But he knew this mindset was flawed. Poorly protected armies suffered catastrophic attrition rates, leaving few veterans. And without veterans, units lacked resilience.
A veteran formation could endure 30-50% casualties without breaking. In contrast, even a 10% loss could rout green troops.
Veterans also fought smarter. One could often overpower two or three recruits. Scale that up, and 10,000 veterans might crush 50,000-100,000 novices.
When frontline troops faltered, panic spread. Once morale collapsed, the entire army could disintegrate.
For self-preservation, armor upgrades were non-negotiable. Even adding a faceguard to helmets ("dōumóu") would reduce risks like Xiahou Dun's infamous eye injury.
With war brewing everywhere—skirmishes daily, major battles weekly—who knew when a stray arrow might come flying?