BEGW C57

Chapter 57

A gust carrying gravel struck the carriage wall with a bang.

Though it didn’t punch a hole through as it had in the daytime, it still woke the one sleeping soundly.

In Zefang Commandery, spring nights still sank to freezing.

Outside, the gale continued to howl. Jiang Yuxun sniffed lightly, instinctively edged toward the heat source, and brushed against it.

A faint warmth and a light trace of ambergris swept over him at once.

So warm…

Before he could relax and sink back into sleep,

The drowsiness of a moment ago vanished in an instant.

No—wait!

What was this warm object in the carriage?

Jiang Yuxun’s eyes flew open. He blinked twice, hard, to make sure he wasn’t dreaming.

It seemed… there were only himself and Ying Changchuan in the carriage?

He sat as if spellbound, not daring to move, and tried, inch by inch, to glance sidelong.

At some point in his sleep, he had come to rest on Ying Changchuan’s shoulder.

Their bodies were pressed tightly together, not a sliver of space between them.

A buzzing rose in Jiang Yuxun’s ears.

His earlobes, cool a moment before, burned suddenly hot; his cheeks flamed as well, while inside he couldn’t help screaming—

Was this something one could just rest on, casually?!

Not knowing how to face the scene before him, he decided in less than a second… to shut his eyes and keep feigning sleep!

Thump-thump-thump.

For a moment, Jiang Yuxun even wondered whether Ying Changchuan could hear his heartbeat.

Outside, the wind howled on, with no sign of stopping.

Holding his breath and willing himself still, Jiang Yuxun suddenly heard a faint, elusive chuckle at his ear…

He tensed at once.

Had Ying Changchuan noticed he was awake?

Or was it just an illusion born of nerves?

His lashes trembled lightly.

Silence returned to the carriage.

Only that faint hint of laughter seemed to slip through his ears into his heart.

It turned into a subtle itch, circling there.

Exhausted, Jiang Yuxun made his way back to the Northern Pacification Army’s camp like a sleepwalker and collapsed straight into bed.

When he woke, the gale that had howled for a day had ceased; the sky was clear and blue, and the yellow sand of yesterday seemed a dream…

He was still staring at the top of the tent when Tang Yimeng’s voice came from outside.

“Is Lord Jiang not yet awake?” Tang Yimeng hesitated, then lowered his voice to someone beside him. “Shall we unload the grain-seed first, and not disturb him for now?”

Grain-seed?

…Right, the seed brought back from Zherou hadn’t yet been unloaded!

Hearing Tang Yimeng, Jiang Yuxun finally pulled himself together and sat up: “Wait a moment, Lord Tang, I’ll be right there!”

At the first word, he realized his voice had turned extremely hoarse from last night’s shouting.

“Eh! Good—then we’ll wait outside the tent,” Tang Yimeng called back.

After the windstorm, Jiang Yuxun looked as if he’d just been dug out of the earth, covered in sand.

He vaguely remembered that after dawn, upon returning to camp, the Xuan Yin Directorate had told him he could wash the dust off in Ying Changchuan’s sector.

But last night he had been too tired to care.

The Great Zhou army’s discipline was strict; only after the hour of xu was bathing permitted.

Now it was far from xu. Seeing the grime on himself, he couldn’t help disliking what he saw.

He coughed softly, then struggled up to wash.

After about a cup of tea’s time, he had changed and stepped outside.

At once he saw that not only was Tang Yimeng as dusty as he was, but even the bruising around his eyes hadn’t faded.

Startled by his appearance, Jiang Yuxun blurted, “Lord Tang, did you have the army physician look at your eyes?”

“I did,” Tang Yimeng—half-limping—said as he walked. “It’s nothing serious; they’ll be less swollen in a couple of days.”

As he spoke, he couldn’t help sneaking a look at Jiang Yuxun.

There was something odd in his gaze; Jiang Yuxun felt prickly under it. “What is it, Lord Tang?”

“Nothing, nothing!” Tang Yimeng shook his head quickly. He meant not to say it, but after a few seconds he couldn’t hold it back: “Is Lord Jiang not going to seek out His Majesty?”

“His Majesty?” Jiang Yuxun asked, puzzled. “Does even unloading the seed require consulting His Majesty?”

“No, no, no!” Tang Yimeng smiled and scratched his head. “I must not have slept well and got muddled. What I said just now—please pretend you didn’t hear it—”

He rapped his own head with a finger: “What a memory—His Majesty went to the cavalry grounds first thing this morning; in any case, he’s not in camp.”

Jiang Yuxun hesitated, then nodded lightly: “Alright…”

Outwardly composed, inwardly he somehow felt a guilty twinge—like someone who’d been caught doing something improper.

Hoo—don’t overthink it!

He drew a deep breath and forcibly cast the tangles from his mind.

The carriages loaded with seed were stopped not far off.

Tang Yimeng still limped and was a step slower.

As they neared the carts, a spring breeze blew into their faces.

Jiang Yuxun’s long hair drifted back on the wind and brushed just past Tang Yimeng’s face.

It brought a touch of warmth—and… a faint scent of ambergris.

Tang Yimeng’s eyes flew wide.

A large portion of the Northern Pacification Army were conscripted laborers.

Before serving here, they had been ordinary commoners.

When it came to farming, each could speak at length.

By the time Jiang Yuxun arrived, several soldiers were rolling a large earthen jar over.

After saluting, some began unloading seed from the carriages while explaining to him: “Wheat seed most fears water; if the surroundings are too damp, it’s very easy for the seed to mildew in the heap. Then the wheat won’t sprout.”

They poured half a sack of wheat into the jar.

Jiang Yuxun took a handful, rubbed it lightly, and said, “These seeds seem to be from a cellar—there’s a slight dampness.”

“Zherou’s court is dry and sees little rain—it wasn’t easy for them to store seed like this,” Tang Yimeng said with a small smile. “Fortunately they didn’t value it—or we couldn’t have gotten it so easily.”

The soldiers examined the seed together with them.

After a while, one looked up at the sky and said, “The weather is fine—why not spread the seed out to dry first? When it’s thoroughly dry, we’ll load it into the jars.”

Zefang lay too close to Zherou; breeding seed here was not safe.

In the days since Jiang Yuxun and the others had left, Ying Changchuan had already surveyed several sites suitable for cavalry grounds nearby, and plans for training horsemen had taken shape.

In a while, they would head south for the capital.

Then they would carry the wheat seed to Zhaodu and, by the last window of spring ploughing, sow it.

Never having farmed, Jiang Yuxun listened and carefully committed the soldiers’ words to memory, asking about the details from time to time: “Should each jar be packed full, or should space be left?”

The soldiers garrisoning Zefang spoke with a heavy northern burr.

They had long heard the name “Lord Jiang” and regarded him as a near-divinity.

They had never expected that one day Lord Jiang would listen so intently to their words.

Dark faces flushed; one soldier, making an effort to use the official speech, said, “Wheat seed absorbs moisture easily and has poor breathability—absolutely must not be packed too tightly. Otherwise, if the heap gets damp and heats within, it’s hard for us to discover or remedy.”

Jiang Yuxun nodded quickly and recorded his words in his heart.

In recent years, the Great Zhou’s revenue had gone to military pay.

Barring accidents, this year three to four tenths of the army’s grain would be self-supplied.

Once back in Zhaodu, expansion of the granaries must begin at once.

He trusted the officials in charge would do their utmost.

But on that basis, advice should also be gathered widely from the common folk who labored daily in the fields.

It was now around the second or third hour after noon; there was still some time before sunset.

Seeing the fine sun, the soldiers began spreading the seed on the ground to dry.

“Give me a moment,” said Jiang Yuxun when he saw everyone busy. He waved to them. “I’ll go back to the tent and fetch a notebook to record what was just said.” With that, he turned toward his quarters.

“Yes, Lord Jiang—”

Sunlight pierced the felt and fell into the tent, lighting a small square of space.

Seated at the desk, Jiang Yuxun searched for his notebook.

There were so many booklets on his table that it took quite a while to go through them all.

“What’s this…” he muttered. “I remember it was right here—why can’t I find it all of a sudden?”

Unconvinced, he kept searching.

Ten-odd minutes later, faced with booklets strewn across the floor, he couldn’t help doubting himself.

“Strange.”

…Could it be he had forgotten to bring it to Zefang?

He hesitated, then pulled out a loose sheet and began taking notes.

Yesterday’s wind and sand had been too fierce; the soldiers had all rested in the tents.

With the rare clear day, their enthusiasm for drills was greater than usual.

As the wheat was spread to dry, thunderous drums rolled from the drill ground.

“Boom—”

The faint clang of metal on metal followed to the edge of the camp.

Drums of oxhide gave a deep, resonant sound.

It seemed that everyone’s heartbeat resonated with them.

As he sorted, Tang Yimeng asked, “What are they doing over there on the drill ground?”

He lifted his blackened eyes, curious, and glanced into the distance.

The drill ground and the camp lay some distance apart; but with the clear weather, the soldiers’ movements could be seen at a glance.

After the first drumroll, the soldiers finished straightening their weapons.

Then came a second.

At the beat, the already kitted soldiers rapidly adjusted their ranks, changing formation again and again on the drill ground.

In an age of cold steel, formations were of particular importance.

They were the foundation of orderly attack.

From afar, tens of thousands of soldiers moved quickly to the beat, arranging themselves into one geometric figure after another.

Their movements were uniform and in step; from a distance it was, without question, “magnificent.”

“Impeccable!” Tang Yimeng exclaimed in admiration. “Truly our Great Zhou iron-blooded host! I wonder how His Majesty gets so many men to act in unison…”

Jiang Yuxun and his party had been in Zefang for some time.

With the drums, his voice rose: “Only with clear laws and trustworthy rewards and punishments will soldiers be willing to heed their commanders.”

As he lightly sifted the wheat seed before him, he couldn’t help comparing Ying Changchuan and the Zherou king:

“Though His Majesty’s military code was severe in those early days, I believe that—compared to that Zherou king who treats diplomacy like a child’s game and resorts to low tricks to toy with envoys—soldiers are far more willing to shed blood for the Great Zhou.”

Objectively and fairly, Ying Changchuan was absolutely reliable in this regard.

Historically, the Great Zhou was badly weakened by the Yi River’s dike-breach and the chaos in Zhaodu.

Soldiers serving only two years were far inferior in personal capability to the Zherou.

That Ying Changchuan could fight a grinding war for seven years and finally defeat the unstoppable Zherou—

Was thanks to a force that was courteous in bearing yet awe-inspiring in action, and to the strict discipline behind it.

“Exactly, exactly!” Tang Yimeng nodded at once. “In wartime, a force that carries weight and cannot be withstood—that is the conduct fitting the Great Zhou’s soldiers.”

※

Though the cavalry grounds were still being built, the cavalry in the Northern Pacification Army had already begun training.

Today Jiang Yuxun and the others had no great tasks.

He could have rested… but remembering he had not yet bathed, he dismissed the thought at once.

After the seed was spread and with the sky still fair, Jiang Yuxun and Tang Yimeng meant to stroll and breathe some fresh air, but somehow they walked straight to the stables.

At the moment most of the full-grown horses were in training, and only some foals were resting in the stalls.

After watching a while, Jiang Yuxun couldn’t help remarking, “These horses really are different from Zherou stock.”

Until recently, horses had all looked the same to him; but after visiting Zherou and returning safely to the Great Zhou, he could finally tell the difference between the two countries’ horses at a glance.

“Indeed,” Tang Yimeng also glanced at the foals with him, and said as he recalled, “Zhou horses are mostly draught types used to bear loads; they are strong, but not agile enough and their speed is a bit low.”

Jiang Yuxun nodded lightly. “Zherou horses are small in build with strong limbs, comparatively more nimble.”

“By and large, yes.”

As a civil official, Tang Yimeng was not very familiar with the matter of training cavalry.

After looking at the foals, his gaze shifted elsewhere.

But Jiang Yuxun could not help thinking…

Kehan horses were also small in build with great endurance; if the strengths of these and the native Great Zhou horses could be combined to breed a new stock,

The future fighting power of the cavalry would surely rise another level.

“I wonder when the envoys sent to Kehan will be able to return to Zhaodu.” With that thought, he said it casually.

Tang Yimeng considered it and answered, “A round trip will take at minimum four to five months.”

Another added, “It’s already been about a month now; they should be back by midsummer.”

A route that would take only a day or two in modern times—

In the ancient world, one had to face hardships and spend nearly half a year…

Hearing this, Jiang Yuxun couldn’t help a brief daze.

But seeing the others look untroubled, he merely nodded along.

They were just about to leave when the soldier in charge of the horses came into the front stall with a bow and arrows.

He first rubbed the foal’s body constantly with the bow; after it grew used to the bow’s presence, he kept changing angles and plucked the bowstring.

With a hiss of air with each stroke, the young foal stamped uneasily in place.

But it did not rampage about the stall as Jiang Yuxun had imagined.

—After a period of acclimation, it had gradually accepted the existence of the bow and arrows.

At last, the hour of xu arrived!

With the day’s training over, the Great Zhou soldiers returned to camp.

After dinner, Jiang Yuxun rose at once to go bathe.

“Why is Lord Jiang eating so fast today?” a colleague still at table asked in puzzlement, seeing his hurry. “Is there something pressing to do?”

“The sand was too bad yesterday; I still have grit in my hair,” Jiang Yuxun said tactfully. “Will the gentlemen not wash off the dust?”

“Hahaha—it’s no big deal!” Before the others could answer, a chiliarch dining with them waved and laughed, “Isn’t this how it is in the army?”

Another chiliarch, equally unfastidious, said, “In summer, when it’s hot, just rinse in the river. As for the other seasons, there’s nothing to fuss about.”

“That’s right—what a waste of time otherwise.”

With that, they all laughed loudly together.

Though he had long known that conditions in ancient campaigning were harsh, hearing it firsthand still shocked him.

Jiang Yuxun: ?!

No way—so casual?

Always in the army as well—how was it that Ying Changchuan didn’t consider it a waste of time!

At that moment, the ambergris on Ying Changchuan seemed so very dear to him…

No wonder later generations suspected Ying Changchuan of being something of a neat freak.

He was a complete misfit in this army…

Though the Northern Pacification Army officers and men were a bit rough, the facilities in garrison were comprehensive.

At first, Jiang Yuxun meant to go to the public baths…

But thinking of what he had just heard, he finally went, as the Xuan Yin Directorate had suggested, resignedly to bathe in Ying Changchuan’s sector.

Perhaps sentries had been briefed beforehand.

He passed smoothly into the Son of Heaven’s section of the camp.

Unlike the bustle elsewhere, it was silent here.

The soldiers guarding outside the tent all wore dark armor and stood mute—like wraiths.

The atmosphere made Jiang Yuxun lighten his steps; his breath, too, grew taut.

On campaign, Ying Changchuan ate and lived with the soldiers.

But as the Son of Heaven, and as it was not wartime now, his arrangements for food and quarters were of course more particular.

The Northern Pacification Army camp covered a wide area; for safety, Ying Changchuan alone occupied a whole section.

Previously, Jiang Yuxun had only been to the office tent, and not elsewhere.

He drew a deep breath—

He wasn’t sneaking or stealing—what was there to be nervous about?

Ying Changchuan had gone to the cavalry grounds—likely not back until midnight.

Quick in-and-out and it would be done!

Cradling his clothes, he walked slowly in the direction indicated by the sentry at the door toward the southwest corner of the compound.

Gravel rolled lightly underfoot; he cautiously lifted the felt curtain of the tent and peeped inside.

Spring was the season when the steppe most easily caught fire.

In Zherou tents, no lamps were lit; here in the Great Zhou only a single candle was left, standing in a pan of water, to provide a little light.

Only the office tent was ablaze with light as usual.

The light in this tent was rather dim. Jiang Yuxun paused and was about to step forward—when he saw—

There seemed to be a figure standing not far away?

Startled, he unconsciously took another step in, wanting to see who it was.

Silver war-armor glinted with a piercing cold light.

The dusky lamplight fell upon the man, cleanly outlining his form.

Muscles honed by battle were smooth and strong; his shoulders and back were broad, his waist and abdomen narrow and lean…

Jiang Yuxun, flustered, tore his eyes away.

A few breaths later, beneath the candle’s glow, he suddenly caught a pair of ashen-gray eyes.

Damn!

…It was Ying Changchuan?!

The Son of Heaven’s garments were usually loose; Jiang Yuxun had never realized his build was so fine.

The lines of his arms, forged by years of sword practice, were especially clear; even hanging still at his sides, one could feel the force there, absolute and compelling.

Unofficial histories had recorded that Ying Changchuan could seize a man by the throat with one hand and take his life.

Seeing this—Jiang Yuxun suddenly felt such accounts were not the least exaggerated.

He truly could.

…This was no time for such idle thoughts!

He immediately backed away, intending to find another tent in the sector.

Hadn’t Ying Changchuan gone to the cavalry grounds?

When had he returned!

But before he could slip out, Ying Changchuan’s voice came from not far off: “Who is there?”

Jiang Yuxun: “…”

He stood honestly. “It is I, Your Majesty.”

As he spoke, he couldn’t help looking plaintively at the soldier not far away… Seriously—if the emperor was inside, why hadn’t the man stopped him at the door!

If he had been an assassin, would he have just let him wander about?

Before Jiang Yuxun could think of a way to make a quick exit,

Ying Changchuan spoke: “Enter.”

“Yes, Your Majesty…”

Great Zhou tents were rectangular, with screen walls dividing front and back.

With a glance, Jiang Yuxun could tell—this tent’s front chamber was the Son of Heaven’s cloakroom; armor and even sabers hung there. The back was for bathing.

Having just returned from the cavalry grounds, Ying Changchuan was removing armor and changing into plain clothes.

As he stepped inside, the lamplight in the tent suddenly brightened.

By reflex, Jiang Yuxun lowered his eyes and did not dare let them wander.

“Forgive me, Your Majesty—this minister did not know you were here,” he explained at once. “This minister will go and find another bath-tent.”

“No need,” Ying Changchuan said, seeming not to mind in the least. “The other tents have not yet been prepared.”

…So that was it.

The sentry at the door hadn’t misdirected him.

As they spoke, soldiers entered bearing buckets.

With a splashing sound, scalding hot water was poured into the bath-tub, and a faint warmth rose within the tent.

With perfect composure, Ying Changchuan had already changed into his usual dark garments and set the silver armor aside.

After a pause, Jiang Yuxun also recovered himself.

It was only a bare torso—such things were common to ancient and modern times.

Both men were men—what had he been nervous about…

Thinking of how, in his previous life, he had often seen dorm-mates change in their shared room, he drew a deep breath and lifted his eyes bit by bit.

Though the Northern Pacification Army had everything, frontier conditions could not compare to Zhaodu.

What passed for a “bathroom” was actually a large, communal tent filled with huge earthen vats.

Fearing running into others, Jiang Yuxun had gone late at night the few times he had bathed, and had yet to grow used to the wonder that was an “earthen vat.”

The Son of Heaven’s tent was, naturally, entirely different from the public baths.

The most obvious point—there was an actual bath-tub here, not an earthen vat.

Seeing that, he relaxed.

Ying Changchuan slowly removed his wrist-guards and set them aside.

Though he had changed, his collar was not fastened as neatly as before.

Blame the story Princess Lianyi had told.

Jiang Yuxun’s gaze fell unconsciously to his collar, and instinctively sought the scar left in those days.

But instead of some claw mark, in the next instant he saw a savage knife wound running across Ying Changchuan’s chest.

The cut was extremely regular, close to the heart’s position, seeming formed in a sudden slash-stab.

…Ying Changchuan had actually suffered so severe a wound?

Jiang Yuxun’s heart tightened for a beat.

On the battlefield, blades had no eyes—wounds were inevitable.

Perhaps because no record of it existed in the histories, until this moment Jiang Yuxun had never really associated the word “grave wound” with Ying Changchuan the man.

The candle in the tent had long gone untrimmed; the light grew dimmer and dimmer.

Before long the tub was filled; the tent grew hot, and steam began to billow.

Ying Changchuan came to stand by his side. “What is it?”

Lowering his gaze slowly, he looked at the one before him.

“This minister was looking at Your Majesty’s injuries…” Jiang Yuxun lifted his eyes to meet his and asked carefully, “When did Your Majesty come by that wound?”