BEGW C51

Chapter 51

Early spring in Zefang Commandery was still a bit cold, and the bronze pot set over the charcoal brazier was bubbling with steam.

Carefully cupping a teacup, Jiang Yuxun looked in puzzlement at the chiliarch seated at his right.

The Great Zhou’s military law was clear in rewards and punishments.

On one hand, Ying Changchuan treated his soldiers with exceptional generosity.

On the other, the military code of this era was notoriously severe.

As far as Jiang Yuxun knew, crimes that other dynasties might punish lightly—such as “lingering without advancing before a formidable enemy,” “falsely reporting merit,” or “delaying military operations or the allocation of supplies”—were all difficult to escape with one’s life in the Great Zhou.

Moreover, soldiers who erred were punished strictly and heavily at once.

In the History of Zhou alone, hundreds of soldiers executed by his hand were recorded.

From this angle, Ying Changchuan could hardly be called “easy to get along with,” could he!

“…We were only common soldiers back then, so it’s not as if we ‘got along’ with His Majesty. But the discipline and orders in His Majesty’s army have always been strict and clear; he is absolutely a first-rate commander.”

Everyone began speaking at once.

“Right! In marching and fighting, nothing is more terrifying than a commander playing favorites.”

“If the military code isn’t clear, one won’t even know how one died on the battlefield.”

Jiang Yuxun nodded slowly: “…I see.”

He understood what the soldiers meant: for a commander to be even-handed in rewards and punishments and rigorous in leading troops was the true way to be “easy to get along with.”

A soldier lifted the bronze pot from the brazier; the bubbling ceased, and the barracks tent suddenly grew somewhat quiet.

Just as Jiang Yuxun was about to change the subject, someone in the tent spoke up and asked, “What does Lord Jiang think?”

The voice was a little muffled, as if it had come through something.

Jiang Yuxun did not think too much of it. He smiled and said directly:

“I was a bit afraid of him at first. Later I found His Majesty looks very proper on the surface, but now and then is a bit childish and often startles people half to death out of nowhere. But over time one gets used to it… Over these few months, my nerve has grown much stronger than before; now no matter what happens I won’t be afraid.”

Jiang Yuxun vented quite smoothly.

As soon as the words fell, he noticed that those around him were looking at him with puzzled and alarmed expressions, not daring to move a muscle.

Wait…

Had his words just now been a bit over the line?

Only then did Jiang Yuxun realize that, unlike the soldiers who had regarded Ying Changchuan as a commander, he had, unthinkingly, forgotten Ying Changchuan’s identity as “emperor,” and his words had been rather lacking in respect.

The barracks tent fell utterly silent.

Jiang Yuxun tightened his grip on the teacup.

The thin porcelain wall pressed into the blister on his palm like a knife.

“Tss…”

The clear pain in his hand finally made him realize a stark problem—why had he subconsciously said everything out loud?

That ominous sense of disaster was damnably familiar.

Jiang Yuxun’s heart gave a heavy thump.

He set down the teacup and, as if in slow motion, lifted his head bit by bit and looked toward the outside of the tent.

Members of the Xuan Yin Directorate, clad in brocade, stood at the edge of the barracks tent, lifting the heavy felt flap.

A familiar figure in dark robes had appeared outside at some point, looking at him with a half-smile.

He wore dark short battle robes and a light silver cuirass.

Though it had only been a little over ten days since they had last met, the figure before him suddenly felt a bit unfamiliar…

Jiang Yuxun blinked hard… Was he hallucinating?

The east wind blew into the tent, making the brazier’s coals flare and dim.

A buzzing sounded in Jiang Yuxun’s ears.

Before he could react, the others in the tent had already risen, kneeling on one knee and saying, “We subjects pay respects to Your Majesty!”

Jiang Yuxun: ???

Damn—it really was Ying Changchuan.

Wasn’t he in Zhaodu? How had he appeared in Zefang, a thousand li away?

Never before had Jiang Yuxun doubted life as he did in that instant.

He scrambled up and was about to bow, but before he could speak, Ying Changchuan had already stepped into the tent and said softly, “Dispense with ceremony.”

At the sound of that familiar voice, Jiang Yuxun finally confirmed… No wonder he had laid out his heart.

That line just now had indeed been his!

“Yes, Your Majesty!”

Footsteps sounded in the tent; before Jiang Yuxun could recover, everyone else had already withdrawn.

Seeing that he still had his head lowered, Ying Changchuan asked in puzzlement, “Wasn’t my beloved minister no longer afraid of me?”

Perhaps because Jiang Yuxun, guilty at heart, was bowing his head just then, he suddenly felt Ying Changchuan taller than usual.

Jiang Yuxun couldn’t help biting his lip: “This minister is only a bit guilty.”

“Why is my beloved minister guilty?”

“This minister spoke impiously of Your Majesty behind Your Majesty’s back and was discovered.”

“Such a coincidence?”

Jiang Yuxun, by reflex, meant to nod, but before he could move, his mouth betrayed his brain and said, “It wasn’t exactly a coincidence. This minister has not spoken little of Your Majesty behind Your Majesty’s back of late; only this once did Your Majesty catch me.”

Damn…

Jiang Yuxun squeezed his eyes shut, unable to face it.

The overland route to Zefang was rough and jarring, and all the way, Jiang Yuxun could only sit in the carriage and chat with the other envoys.

They had talked not a little about Ying Changchuan…

When he finished, he could not help stealing a cautious glance up at Ying Changchuan.

The firelight reflected in the ashen-gray eyes, adding a trace of warmth.

Ying Changchuan was not angry; on the contrary, with great interest he asked, “Why bring me up behind my back?”

Why?

Having never thought carefully about this question, Jiang Yuxun blurted out, “These past few months, this minister has been almost inseparable from Your Majesty. To suddenly not see Your Majesty’s face—one really doesn’t get used to it.”

When he said it, he froze.

So that was what he thought…

Ying Changchuan was the person most familiar to Jiang Yuxun since his transmigration.

Without realizing it, he had developed the habit of speaking whatever was on his mind and… occasionally dying of embarrassment on the spot.

The tent suddenly grew extremely quiet.

Feeling a bit ill at ease, Jiang Yuxun tightened his palm: “Tss…”

Only when he pressed his blister too hard did he come back to himself.

Ying Changchuan lowered his gaze to his palm, then looked away and said, “Go to the army physician and have it treated.”

“Yes!” Jiang Yuxun nodded quickly and strode out of the tent.

Only when the cold wind outside scraped his face did he draw a deep breath and come back to himself.

Jiang Yuxun couldn’t help cooling his cheeks with the back of his hand.

“—Hoo.”

Strange—what was he nervous about?

Zefang was too close to Zherou, so Ying Changchuan’s journey this time was exceedingly low-key.

He had brought only a few hundred personal guards and had not disturbed anyone on the way.

To keep things quiet, after a simple rest, Ying Changchuan’s party went directly to the Northern Pacification Army’s main camp garrisoned in Zefang.

The inspection of the settled fields was about to end; in a few days Jiang Yuxun and the others would head to Zherou.

Thus, with no urgent business, they accompanied the emperor to the camp.

In the afternoon a gale swept through the camp.

Like knives, it stabbed at one’s skin.

Unlike those chiliarchs from before.

The younger soldiers in the Northern Pacification Army’s camp had not seen Ying Changchuan.

They simply took the Son of Heaven in silver armor for some general from Zhaodu, so while there was curiosity on the drill ground, order remained as before.

On the wasteland used for drills the ground was covered in coarse gravel; when the spring wind blew, yellow sand filled the sky.

“This way, Lord Jiang—” The accompanying soldier led him along while introducing things, “These soldiers gathered in twos and threes are training in ‘jiaodi.’”

“Jiaodi” was not much different from modern wrestling, merely less for show and more about practical, bone-crunching lethality.wikipedia+2

Jiang Yuxun had seen murals depicting jiaodi, but had not yet watched a bout in person.

“Wait a moment—let’s take a look before moving on.” Bringing up the rear of the crowd, he coughed lightly as he narrowed his eyes to look ahead.

“Yes, my lord.”

Two soldiers in soft armor were locked together, grappling in the sand.

Under the dark uniforms, strong arms were tightly entwined; they gritted their teeth, eyes bloodshot and fixed forward, always waiting for the opponent to tire or expose an opening.

Seeing the two fight to the decisive moment, Jiang Yuxun could not help stopping to watch closely.

As they strained, the soldiers’ faces grew redder.

After a dozen seconds, one of them finally let out a roar, and lashed a kick at his opponent’s knee.

“Ah—”

Another wave of yellow sand billowed skyward, and one of the men, unable to withstand the attack, crashed heavily to the ground.

From the sound alone one knew he had fallen extremely hard.

But the man on the ground immediately spat out the taste of iron in his mouth, wiped the blood from his face, and stood up again: “Continue!”

As soon as the words fell he grappled with his opponent once more.

His cheeks were flushed and his eyes glinted with killing intent. He had not been affected in the least by the setback just now.

Seeing this, even Jiang Yuxun, who had been watching from the side, could not help calling out loudly, “Well done!”

Noting his interest in these day-to-day drills, the accompanying soldier conscientiously explained: “Besides running exercises, the most common forms of physical training in Great Zhou camps are ‘jiaodi,’ ‘stone-throwing,’ and ‘distance-leaping.’”

“Stone-throwing” was similar to shot put, mainly training upper-body strength for sword-swinging and archery, while “distance-leaping” was standing long jump and high jump.

These were the most common forms of training in the army.

The drill ground was full of yellow sand, and Jiang Yuxun gradually could no longer see the scene before him.

After watching one bout of jiaodi, he continued forward with the soldier.

Without realizing it, Ying Changchuan’s figure loomed near at hand.

At that moment, the Northern Pacification General had just finished reporting the camp’s total numbers of men and horses to Ying Changchuan.

When he saw Jiang Yuxun approach, Ying Changchuan dismissed the general and turned back with a smile to ask, “Does my beloved minister know the characteristics of Zherou’s army?”

Characteristics…

Picked to answer, Jiang Yuxun narrowed his eyes, thinking back as he said, “Unlike our Great Zhou, the Zherou people are in battle for plunder. So most of the time they seize spoils and leave, unwilling to risk their lives in a hard fight against us. Not until the invention of the stirrup did Zherou conceive, in earnest, of southward expansion on a grand scale to occupy this land outright.”

As the son of the Grand General of Pacifying the South, it was not surprising that he knew this.

“Mm.” Ying Changchuan nodded slowly.

Through the sand, the Son of Heaven’s eyes were also narrowed slightly; then he stepped forward.

Jiang Yuxun followed with him.

The sand blocked the view around them, and at this moment there was only the loud wind in his ears, and in his eyes only Ying Changchuan’s indistinct figure.

Only when they neared the war chariot did the wind and sand ease a little.

No sooner had Jiang Yuxun taken his place than a piercing swish sounded by his ear.

—Under the chariot, a man in left-lapped clothing with hair unbound drew a bow and shot forward.

The weather today would have been called a “sandstorm” in modern times; strictly speaking, it was not fit for archery.

Yet not only did the man loose his arrow, the shaft struck square in the vivid red bull’s-eye.

Such archery was too close to preternatural!

Jiang Yuxun’s eyes widened.

“The archer is a prisoner from Zherou; Zherou soldiers are almost all masters of such archery,” said Ying Changchuan.

Jiang Yuxun bit his lip reflexively: “The Zherou practice riding and shooting from childhood; in this alone, our Great Zhou soldiers are indeed not their match.”

The Son of Heaven smiled, turned, and peered through the swirling sand in the direction of Zherou: “One cannot use one’s own shortcoming to strike the enemy’s strong point.”

After the prisoner’s display, several unbelieving Great Zhou soldiers also strung their bows in the sandstorm and fired.

But without exception their arrows were blown off course, either missing the target or falling short halfway.

The men’s faces changed at once, and, still unconvinced, they drew and shot again.

As a professional in the cultural heritage field, Jiang Yuxun knew all about artifacts and implements.

But when it came to the domain of war, he actually became “cautious in speech and action.”

Hearing Ying Changchuan’s words, he instinctively asked, “Then what should we do?”

Beneath the yellow sand, he unconsciously raised his voice.

“Although the Zherou have stirrups, their mentality, fostered by years of raiding, has not changed.”

At that, Jiang Yuxun nodded lightly.

Ying Changchuan continued, “Zherou soldiers do not wish to die in war. They neither dare to engage our Great Zhou warriors in close combat nor are they good at it.”

Another gust came through. Just as Jiang Yuxun was about to shut his eyes, Ying Changchuan slowly shifted to shield him from the sand.

Instinctively, he cast the man beside him a grateful look and murmured, “The Zherou embed soldiery in herding. They do not drill troops as the Great Zhou does, but transfer experience straight from riding and shooting on the pastures to the battlefield.”

They dared to draw the bow on a wolf, but would not wrestle a wolf hand-to-hand.

But close-quarters infantry combat was precisely the Great Zhou soldiers’ strongest mode of attack.

“In the past, cavalry largely handled raids and encirclement, or pursuit and annihilation of a routed enemy,” Ying Changchuan said as he recalled and summarized past experience, “But in the years ahead, the Great Zhou’s cavalry must shift from auxiliary response to the main force directly crashing the enemy lines.”

This was one of the purposes for which Ying Changchuan had personally come to the north.

He was not only the Son of Heaven, but the Great Zhou’s highest military commander.

Such a massive and thorough military reform had to be carried out by Ying Changchuan himself.

His tone remained as calm as ever, but in his ashen-gray eyes, there flared, just then, a killing intent Jiang Yuxun had never seen.

The composure of the man before him, and the yellow sand all around, constantly reminded Jiang Yuxun—Ying Changchuan’s world had been carved out with blade upon blade.

When he finished, the Son of Heaven suddenly lowered his gaze and glanced at Jiang Yuxun.

Yellow sand billowed behind him; in his ears there was the rushing wind and the pounding clash of arms.

Jiang Yuxun’s heart thudded twice, heavily, in that moment.

The sand blew through; he could not help looking away and coughing again: “Cough, cough, cough… The northern lands may not be as bitterly cold as Your Majesty said, but the soldiers garrisoned here do not have it easy. When the war is over, we must plant more trees here.”

At that, Ying Changchuan’s lips lifted slightly: “Come—we’ll go back to camp.”

“Yes, Your Majesty.” Jiang Yuxun finally let out a breath.

The drill ground was vast and boundless—the perfect place for wind to churn up sand.

No sooner had they taken a few steps than Jiang Yuxun’s throat grew itchy.

After a couple of coughs, he couldn’t help asking the man beside him, “Your Majesty isn’t bothered by this sand?”

They were both human—his own cough was already this bad, and yet Ying Changchuan remained collected and composed.

This man’s constitution was too monstrous…

Casually, Ying Changchuan said, “When garrisoning Zefang under the former dynasty, I had already adapted to the climate here.”

A few years earlier, he had just taken Shuolin and been sent by the former emperor to guard Zefang, which bordered Zherou.

The former regime’s military system was a shambles. The soldiers stationed in Zefang could not eat their fill or dress warmly; every day they merely counted on their fingers the days until their term of service ended so they could go home.

Not long after Ying Changchuan arrived there, Zherou raised an army and came south.

By rights, that battle should have been a certain defeat.

Yet not only had he not retreated, he had led such a group on a night raid to strike back—and wiped out one of Zherou’s tribes in one fell swoop.

“I see…”

Jiang Yuxun nodded as he walked, but could not help wondering—how had Ying Changchuan dared it at the time?

“What is it?” Seeing his puzzlement, Ying Changchuan halted.

Many later historians had tried to guess Ying Changchuan’s thoughts then.

Some said he was a fearless youth, others that he merely meant to perish together with Zherou.

Jiang Yuxun had been curious about this question for a long time as well.

Now the man himself stood before him—how could he not ask?

He stopped: “What was Your Majesty thinking back then?”

Just then they were passing beneath a great battering ram for besieging cities.

The ram’s bulk blocked the sand; with no yellow haze occluding his sight, Jiang Yuxun’s eyes grew bright in an instant.

Seeing what he was thinking, Ying Changchuan smiled lightly and arched a brow: “Zherou men and our Great Zhou soldiers are alike—made of flesh and blood, not sinew of bronze or iron. If they dare to raid, why should we not dare to strike back?”

The wild dancing of the yellow sand reflected in Ying Changchuan’s eyes.

It was as if, through those eyes, Jiang Yuxun could see the reckless pride of his youth.

“So that’s it…”

Jiang Yuxun understood.

All those later guesses were wrong. Ying Changchuan had not been ignorant of danger, nor had he meant to die together with the enemy.

He was unlike any other commander of this age.

—Ying Changchuan had never feared the Zherou.

Zherou’s undefeated record might have been a shadow over the former dynasty, but it was never one for Ying Changchuan.

All at once, the sand died down.

The scene on the distant drill ground, and the shouts, suddenly became clear.

Ying Changchuan started forward again.

With the neighing of warhorses as accompaniment, he said, almost offhand, “Mere retreat cannot end war and bring peace. Ending chaos by war and ending killing by killing is the only feasible path in a troubled age.”

Jiang Yuxun tightened his palm unconsciously.

He paused for a moment, then finally nodded heavily.

…Campaigning, perhaps, was not a choice, but the only test paper history had handed this era.

The previous topic had been a bit heavy.

After leaving the drill ground, Jiang Yuxun struck up chatter with the emperor about planting trees.

“Though the northern lands have vast reaches of gobi that cannot be put under the plow, they cannot be left unattended either. If the sandstorms are too great, the crops won’t grow well.”

“In the future, we must plant grass and trees here in great numbers… Cough, cough…”

Though the sand had scattered, as he spoke Jiang Yuxun could not help coughing again.

Ying Changchuan suddenly halted: “Is my beloved minister unwell?”

“Mm?” Jiang Yuxun shook his head by reflex: “In answer to Your Majesty, this minister just accidentally inhaled some sand. When treating the blister on this minister’s hand today, the army physician happened to take a pulse, and said this minister’s body is very healthy.”

Since his transmigration, Jiang Yuxun’s body had been fairly good.

But after learning about the original host’s situation, and being not at all ready to “receive the lunchbox” for now, he had been especially attentive to his health.

“Good.” Ying Changchuan nodded lightly.

…

The Northern Pacification Army’s camp was pitched on a gobi plain.

Footfalls there made a soft rustling underfoot.

With the sand no longer in the way, Ying Changchuan’s figure and voice were both especially clear.

After a few words of small talk, a strange feeling rose suddenly in Jiang Yuxun’s heart.

No—there had been something odd about that conversation just now.

The principle that “there are distinctions between ruler and minister” could not be clearer.

How would an emperor like Ying Changchuan chat idly with a minister?

Though his secretary he might be, he knew not a whit about military affairs.

Why had Ying Changchuan just now not gone to speak to the Northern Pacification General about training the troops, but said so much to him instead?

Ying Changchuan did not seem to be an emperor who followed a “down-to-earth” route…

As the Northern Pacification Army’s main camp drew nearer, the puzzlement in Jiang Yuxun’s eyes only grew thicker.

Lost in thought, he accidentally kicked a piece of rubble.

“Tss…” He stumbled and then steadied himself.

The noise was quite large on his side, and Ying Changchuan finally turned and asked, puzzled, “What’s the matter with my beloved minister?”

Standing straight with a bit of embarrassment, Jiang Yuxun finally said with perfect candor, “This minister was thinking… what was Your Majesty’s purpose in saying so much to this minister today?”

A trace of a smile surfaced in the ashen-gray eyes.

Ying Changchuan did not answer directly, but lowered his voice slightly and asked in return, “What does my beloved minister think was the reason I said so much?”

Jiang Yuxun could not help pondering carefully.

His mind turned quickly, and the first option he eliminated was that Ying Changchuan simply wanted to chat with him.

Please—he was the emperor.

Pressing his chin with a hand, Jiang Yuxun lifted his eyes to test a question: “…For Your Majesty to come to this minister at this time—could there be some secret mission?”

A secret mission?

Ying Changchuan’s brows drew together faintly: “What mission?”

Rack his brains as he might, Jiang Yuxun eked out, “For example, to steal intelligence or secrets from Zherou… Otherwise, why would Your Majesty discuss Zherou with this minister?”

Even as he said it, he felt it a little absurd.

The more he spoke, the less confidence he had, and his voice gradually grew faint.

Sure enough, Ying Changchuan lifted a brow and asked him, “Can my beloved minister steal secrets from Zherou?”

“In answer to Your Majesty, this minister cannot.”

Jiang Yuxun couldn’t help biting his teeth together.

Even if he didn’t have the ability, there was no need to say it so directly…

Seeing that Ying Changchuan still would not say his purpose outright, Jiang Yuxun finally gave up: “Forgive this minister’s dullness—this minister truly cannot think of it.”

Never had he so hated himself for having a blockhead’s brain.

If the politically savvy Zhuang Yue were here, he would surely parse the imperial will most clearly.

How would he dither about guessing like this?

Unable to make sense of Ying Changchuan’s true intentions, he muttered under his breath by instinct, “Surely Your Majesty hasn’t really come looking just to chat with this minister.”

Ying Changchuan: “…”

When the Son of Heaven did not refute him, Jiang Yuxun’s eyes widened.

No way…

Had Ying Changchuan really come to chat with him?

As befit a Son of Heaven, Ying Changchuan was righteous in all things: “Why not.”

“It’s not that it’s impossible,” without time to think, Jiang Yuxun answered reflexively, “it’s just that this is the first time anyone has chatted idly and yet chatted national affairs.”

If Ying Changchuan had just said something without substance, he wouldn’t have mistaken it for an order to make him into a spy!

…Could it be that he was teasing him again?

The Son of Heaven did not take offense; on the contrary, he asked Jiang Yuxun’s advice: “Then how should one chat?”

Chatting idly—what could be simpler?

The scene in the barracks tent just now, and the gossip from everyone’s mouths, arose again in Jiang Yuxun’s mind.

Unconsciously, he answered, “For example, how did Your Majesty eat and live back then in Zefang, whether there were sandstorms or dangers, or whether there were wolves?”

When he finished, even Jiang Yuxun felt those words didn’t sound like the Son of Heaven’s style.

Yet to his surprise, in the next moment Ying Changchuan lowered his eyes, and as they walked, said slowly, “Back then I lived alone in a single tent, and ate daily with the soldiers. As for sandstorms… they were always as fierce as today.”

His pace of speech was a touch slow, as if he were carefully recalling these trifles.

No way?

Jiang Yuxun looked at Ying Changchuan in disbelief.

He really wasn’t teasing him…

Where were the boundaries between ruler and minister!

Footnotes:

1. Jiaodi: An ancient Chinese wrestling practice, often glossed as “horn-butting” contests; later associated with grappling traditions and proto–shuai jiao in military training.