At the time of the End of Heat, the summer’s scorching air ceases here, and the autumn chill begins to sharpen. Eagles, sensing this change, swoop down to hunt flocks of birds.
Each year during this season, the border forces of Northern Liang uphold a long-standing tradition—the Eagle Sacrifice. Hawks and falcons, meticulously trained by the Fushui Division to assist the border scouts, are released beyond the Liangzhou Pass. A hundred riders charge forth, and the skies fill with soaring eagles—a sight of breathtaking grandeur.
Since the White Horse Scouts of Liangzhou had already been deployed to the Liuzhou battlefield, the Left Cavalry Army of He Zhonghu’s division was entrusted with this duty by the Beishou City estate. There were two reasons: first, the old marshal was gravely ill, holding only the nominal title of Left Cavalry commander, and this Eagle Sacrifice marked his final farewell to the battlefield. Second, a newly appointed deputy commander of the Left Cavalry, Lu Dayuan, who had been away from the border forces for over a decade, happened to lead the hundred riders north of Beishou City, raising his arms to release the eagles.
On the day of the Eagle Sacrifice, as the sun dipped below the horizon, the ramparts of Beishou City teemed with onlookers. The Right Cavalry commander, Jin Zhegu Zhou Kang, ascended the city walls with Li Yanchao at his side, his expression stern. Only upon seeing the retired Marshal He Zhonghu, now wrapped in thick furs to ward off the cold, did his face soften slightly.
Li Yanchao, the fierce border general who had “defected” from the Left to the Right Cavalry, remained outwardly indifferent, though a flicker of guilt lurked in the depths of his shadowed gaze—yet it was guilt without regret.
The young Prince of Liang, his waist adorned with the signature Liang blade, stood at the center of the ramparts, gazing afar as the eagles soared, his heart swelling with pride.
Spotting Lu Dayuan leading the hundred riders back to Beishou City in the distance, Xu Fengnian turned to He Zhonghu beside him. The aged marshal’s body could no longer endure the rigors of horseback, nor could he bear the weight of armor and blade. After today’s ceremony, he would retire from the battlefield for good. Yet the old marshal had no children, nor a home within the pass. Xu Fengnian had assumed the veteran would choose to remain in Beishou City, where the familiar thunder of hooves would still reach his ears. He had even prepared a quiet residence near the estate for him. But in the end, the old man declared he would travel to Lingzhou while he still had strength, before illness confined him to a sickbed.
*”Lingzhou is our Jiangnan beyond the frontier,”* he had said. *”I’ve long heard of its prosperity. After twenty years in the wilds, knee-deep in horse dung, it’s time I enjoyed some comfort and good meals.”*
Xu Fengnian knew the truth—the old man’s talk of comfort was a pretense. He simply didn’t want his presence to loom over the new Left Cavalry commander, even if the successor wouldn’t feel constrained. Despite efforts by Chen Yunhui, Lin Doufang, and other senior Xu family retainers to dissuade him, He Zhonghu, who had spent his entire life on the battlefield, remained resolute.
Sensing the young prince’s gaze, He Zhonghu chuckled. *”Your Highness, spare me the pleas. I’ve always known my talent for command was mediocre. Any victories I won were thanks to the Xu family’s veterans and the Northern Liang border forces—and my willingness to heed advice. It’s almost shameful—nearly fifty years of campaigning, and though I never shied from the frontlines in the Spring and Autumn Wars, I somehow ended up with the fewest scars. Even the Great General had more. Remember when he first brought us to Northern Liang? For all our camaraderie, we fought tooth and nail for the best commands. Do you know what Wei Tieshan once said to him about me?”*
Xu Fengnian shook his head with a smile.
The old man laughed heartily. *”Liu Yuanji and Wei Tieshan—those two old tortoises—had their eyes on my position. Liu, with his smattering of education, was too cunning to dirty his hands, so he goaded the blunt Wei Tieshan into telling the Great General that I rarely got wounded in battle, but that those who never fell ill were the ones who’d drop dead at the first sickness. So, he argued, I shouldn’t lead cavalry charges against the Northern Barbarians—lest I die and disgrace the border forces. Could I tolerate that? Of course not! In a rage, I stormed to the Great General, drew my third-generation Xu blade, and swore: ‘Either make me deputy cavalry commander, or I’ll chop Wei Tieshan into mincemeat!’ Left with no choice, he agreed.”*
Xu Fengnian couldn’t help but chuckle.
The terminally ill old marshal fell silent, gazing northward beside the prince, not yet thirty.
Years ago, the Zhao Gou spies had amassed a trove of intelligence on the Northwestern border forces. The Liyang Ministry of War concluded that the Northern Liang cavalry was riven by factionalism—tensions between cavalry and infantry, between the forces beyond Liangzhou Pass and those within, between frontier generals and interior officers. The only reason the so-called 300,000-strong Northern Liang Iron Cavalry held together was the unyielding presence of the Butcher Xu Xiao and the towering prestige of Chen Zhubao behind him. Yet during the transition of power, upheaval seemed inevitable. The infantry faction, led by Yan Wenluan, would staunchly support Chen Zhubao’s ascension as Protector of the North, while key cavalry commanders like Zhong Hongwu and He Zhonghu might resist. Liu Jinu of Tiger Head City would loyally follow the Butcher’s dying wish, and unruly young generals like Li Yanchao, Li Mofan, and Cao Xiaojiao would play both sides.
Among these factions, He Zhonghu stood apart. Though once a key figure in Zhao Changling’s faction alongside Yan Wenluan and a staunch supporter of Chen Zhubao, he was also renowned for his unwavering loyalty to the old Prince of Liang, Xu Xiao, with the least personal ambition.
Even the distant Tai’an City Ministry of War had discerned this landscape, let alone the Listening Tide Pavilion. Thus, Yan Wenluan’s two deputy commanders, Wei Tieshan and Liu Yuanji, had left the infantry, while veterans like Zhong Hongwu and He Zhonghu retained their cavalry commands. Then came Chen Zhubao’s defection to Shu, Zhong Hongwu’s disgrace, and the transfer of cavalry authority to Yuan Zuozong and Jin Zhegu Zhou Kang. Meanwhile, outsider Gu Dazu was embedded into the infantry as deputy commander, and under the young prince’s direction, the lowborn scholar Chen Xiliang rose to power, pushing through reforms despite fierce resistance.
The Liyang court, bereft of its chief minister Zhang Julu, could only watch helplessly as Northern Liang’s military reshuffled seamlessly.
At the heart of these changes lay Li Yishan’s dying words: *”Our Xu family’s 300,000 troops can hold against the Southern Court of Northern Mang, but against the full might of the grassland horde, we will fall short. Thus, our border forces need fresh blood and new vigor.”*
If Xu Fengnian privately favored Xu Beizhi over Chen Xiliang, Li Yishan had held higher hopes for the latter. Today, Chen Xiliang’s prestige among the border forces, especially the refugee recruits and Liuzhou cavalry, rivaled that of Governor Yang Guangdou and General Kou Jianghuai, while Xu Beizhi, as Transport Commissioner and Deputy Military Governor, dominated the interior bureaucracy.
When Lu Dayuan, the veteran Xu retainer now wielding considerable authority, returned with his hundred riders, the old marshal turned from the icy battlements and clasped Xu Fengnian’s hand. *”You’ve endured much,”* he murmured.
Xu Fengnian gripped back. *”Some hardship, but no bitterness.”*
The old man smiled warmly. *”Then I can rest easy?”*
Xu Fengnian nodded. *”Marshal, you may indeed.”*
※※※
He Zhonghu declined an escort, departing in a simple carriage with only four or five loyal veterans who had followed him out of the Left Cavalry. Beyond the city gates, a lone rider awaited. The aged driver, disliking the man, would have ridden on, but He Zhonghu, as if expecting this, lifted the curtain and bade him wait.
Right Cavalry deputy commander Li Yanchao dismounted, watching as the old man descended with difficulty but offering no assistance.
He Zhonghu approached, patting the horse’s flank. *”A fine Northern Liang steed from the Qianli Pastures—not quite the match of Tianjing’s finest, but perfect for breaking enemy lines.”*
Li Yanchao, conflicted, said nothing.
The Qianli and Tianjing pastures, located east and west of the Long Mountains, had long favored the Right and Left Cavalry, respectively, their elder managers hailing from those very forces. While standard mounts were allocated by the capital, the rarest steeds were reserved for their respective armies—a practice the Xu rulers had never interfered with. Upon Li Yanchao’s transfer to the Right Cavalry, Zhou Kang had gifted him this very horse before even handing over the command seal.
The stooped old marshal walked slowly beside the towering Li Yanchao. *”Commander Zhou rules with an iron fist, and your brothers are a fiery lot. In the Right Cavalry, curb your pride. Don’t give others petty reasons to fault you—it’s not worth it.”*
Li Yanchao nodded. *”I’ve already warned them.”*
His transfer had triggered a reshuffle in Liangzhou’s cavalry, with over a dozen of his trusted officers following him—though only he was promoted, the others demoted or laterally moved to avoid unrest in the already-stable Right Cavalry. That his men accepted this spoke volumes of Li Yanchao’s leadership.
He Zhonghu smiled faintly. *”You wonder why I pushed you out, why I’d rather hand the Left Cavalry to an outsider like Yu Luandao than you, don’t you?”*
Li Yanchao nodded.
It was like disinheriting a capable eldest son—anyone would resent it.
The old man chuckled. *”Young men might not care, but old fools like me, Wei Tieshan, and Liu Yuanji do: the forces we command aren’t ours. They belong to the Xu family—to two generations of Princes of Liang.”*
He raised a hand to silence Li Yanchao’s protest. *”The Great General earned your loyalty, as he did all of Liyang and Northern Mang’s. The young prince commands respect, but not the same awe. Yet that’s no excuse to cling to power. If he were a tyrant like Liyang’s emperors, I’d understand your defiance. But…”*
He stamped the rain-softened road. *”But Northern Liang—from its princes to its veterans, from Liu Jinu and Wang Lingbao to you, to the rawest recruits—has no need for tyrants. Our Iron Cavalry are heroes, one and all!”*
Clapping Li Yanchao’s broad shoulder, he grinned. *”If every one of our 300,000 is a hero, does it matter whether you fight in the Left or Right Cavalry? I say no.”*
Turning to his carriage, he raised a hand in farewell.
Li Yanchao straightened, saluting his back. *”Marshal, don’t die yet! Watch me shatter the Northern Mang cavalry!”*
The old man didn’t pause or reply, only clasped his hands high above his head.
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