In the Southern Court, there was a grand hall of its own, though the ranks of officials were half a grade lower than those of the Northern Court. When the elder generation of exiles first entered the Northern Wei territory, some of the aristocratic families from the Central Plains, whose status and experience were sufficient to command respect, had witnessed the chaotic scenes inside the imperial tent where disagreements often escalated into brawls. They were deeply shocked, unable to imagine how such a crude and savage regime could dare to challenge the unified Liyang Dynasty of the Spring and Autumn era.
Later, when the Empress showed mercy, the Southern Court was established. This new court was clearly more refined and cultured. Disputes were common in the grand hall, and tempers often flared, but over the past decade, nothing had ever escalated to the level of today’s shouting match—on the verge of turning into a fistfight. The reason lay in the new outbreak of war on the southern border. The ten thousand Dragon and Elephant cavalry had first slaughtered the heavily fortified border town of Wazhu. If they had stopped after their initial victory, all might have been well. But then, under the command of the second son of the Prince of Beiliang, they bypassed the defenses and launched a surprise attack on the next strategic stronghold, Junziguang. There, six thousand Dragon and Elephant troops annihilated eight thousand imperial soldiers. These two defeats in the Southern Court were now undeniable facts. The danger was not only imminent but had already reached the point of bone-deep agony. Except for Zhong Shentong, who could not return, the other high-ranking generals all kept silent, exchanging only occasional glances and shaking their heads in quiet resignation. In contrast, the civil officials from the prestigious families of the Southern Court were in uproar, none more so than a fat, purple-robed nobleman who ranted furiously. He cursed the ancestors of Hong G’An, a general who had died in defense of the nation, dragging his name through eighteen generations of forebears. He didn’t just berate the meddling bureaucrats who had given reckless military advice; he also subtly included several of the old generals in his tirade.
Spittle flying, the fat man bellowed, “That bastard Hong, always chasing after reputation—he’s a fraud! If he were still alive, I’d stab him with my own sword! Wazhu was a high ground with the advantage of cavalry charges, yet you underestimated the Dragon and Elephant Army and actually dared to lead your troops out of the city to fight? Worse still, you sent a complete fool to lead the charge down the slope! What, did you want to fight the Beiliang cavalry on equal terms? Didn’t Hong G’An claim to have read a thousand volumes of military treatises? Did he read them all and then just shit them out? Now, who was it that trained Hong G’An? I can’t quite remember. Would someone care to remind me?”
All eyes in the hall turned quietly to an old general who appeared to be meditating. The general, with white hair and a youthful face, was a master of composure, his expression as still as a pond untouched by wind. He showed no intention of quarreling with the fat man known as Dong.
Dong’s jowls quivered again as he pointed at a senior official in charge of the Southern Court’s Ministry of Revenue, a third-grade official. “It took two entire armies to defeat half the Dragon and Elephant cavalry, and you still have the gall to suggest sending the border troops of Li Gu and Mao Long to pursue the enemy? What, are those fourteen thousand soldiers not human? Are they your family’s servants, to be killed or given away at your whim? Old man, you may be rich enough to squander at will, but you’re playing fast and loose with the Emperor’s grace!”
The elderly official was livid, his voice trembling with indignation as he retorted, “The dignity of our Northern Wei cannot be insulted! The honor of our Southern Court’s soldiers must not be trampled!”
Dong’s words were cutting, his eyes wide with fury. “Old fool, you’d better stick to your own Ministry of Revenue and stop meddling in military affairs. If you dare to speak of war again, I’ll knock you into your grave with a club! Don’t think I won’t touch you just because your pockmarked granddaughter sends me flirtatious glances!”
The old man was so humiliated that he fainted on the spot and had to be carried out.
A young official, who had risen through the ranks via the imperial examination, could no longer bear it. He spoke softly, “That second son of the Prince of Beiliang is a madman. He slaughtered nine thousand men and still wasn’t satisfied. Afterward, he went on to massacre the entire city. He’s clearly a lunatic. If the Beiliang cavalry ignore Li Gu and Mao Long and march straight north, they’ll soon be at our doorstep. Are we to have the generals abandon their defensive positions and rush here? If this is a feint, and a small force is tying up too many of our troops while Xu Xiao leads his elite forces northeast, combined with Gu Jiantang’s advance from the east, how can we respond? We must not let Beiliang drag us around by the nose. I’ve heard that General Dong is always indifferent to small gains and losses on the battlefield. But today, he seems different.”
This young official, once a second-place graduate in the imperial exams and favored by the Empress, was handsome and articulate. His voice wasn’t loud, but in the silence that followed the old minister’s collapse, his words carried great weight.
Dong sneered, “You’re just a bookish fool, spouting theory. Come talk to me when you’ve actually killed someone and seen blood.”
The young man merely smiled coldly, choosing not to argue further with this fat man who had risen to power through sheer luck. He had made his point. If his prediction came true and the Empress sought answers later, he would be seen as having stood against Dong, gaining significant prestige in the process.
But before that day came, an elder general’s words left him speechless. It was Huang Songpu, the first of the Spring and Autumn exiles to seize military power. Though the Southern Court had seen newer generals rise—Liu Gui, praised by the Empress as half the equal of Xu Xiao, and Yang Yuanzan, a former commoner who had risen through the ranks—Huang still commanded the greatest respect. Yang had once been Huang’s subordinate, and only Huang had the authority to rein in Dong Zhuo, the chaotic general. Thus, Huang Songpu’s words carried the most weight in the Southern Court. And it was Huang’s former protégé, Hong G’An, whose failure had caused this disaster, that Dong had been indirectly attacking.
Unexpectedly, this time Huang stood with Dong. “Military treatises are lifeless. The men who lead armies are alive. On the battlefield, you must first consider your opponent’s temperament. First, this time the Dragon and Elephant cavalry have struck first, taking no prisoners and even resorting to massacre. The strategy of leniency is a joke to both Liang and Wei. Second, as Dong Zhuo said, the Dragon and Elephant Army’s original plan was to bypass and destroy all four towns: Wazhu, Junziguang, Li Gu, and Mao Long. As for how many survive, I doubt Xu Xiao cares. That terrifying young general cares even less. Their goal is not just to destroy half our forces, but to shatter the morale and confidence the Southern Court has built up over the past decade. Once that happens, when the next war begins, the entire Beiliang army will march forth. With the memory of past defeats, who would dare resist? Third, after the Dragon and Elephant Army’s advance, there will likely be reinforcements—perhaps around fifty thousand troops. Whether to engage them is uncertain. If the Dragon and Elephant Army captures Li Gu and Mao Long, then a full-scale war is inevitable. If not, we may have a brief respite. As for what Minister Liu fears—that the Beiliang army wants to draw our forces westward, creating a gap for a northeast advance—it’s possible, but not certain. However, Minister Liu may not know that to prevent the Beiliang army from linking with Gu Jiantang’s eastern forces, the central front has been prepared like a great sack. Even if the Beiliang army advances eight hundred miles and pours in 160,000 troops, the sack may not be filled. When that happens, it won’t be up to us or even Xu Xiao and Gu Jiantang to decide. It will be the Empress and the Zhao Emperor who make the final call. I cannot say more about the central front, but I hope Minister Liu will understand.”
The young official, humbled yet secretly proud to have been personally addressed by the Southern Court’s Supreme Commander, bowed deeply and said, “Indeed, my understanding was shallow.”
Huang Songpu, as the Southern Court’s Supreme Commander, nominally commanded 400,000 troops, though the Empress had always allowed the Northern Wei generals and regional commanders to govern independently, balancing each other. Over the years, Huang had gradually withdrawn from the front lines, and the title of Supreme Commander was likely to pass to another. Only the urgency of this war had brought him back into the spotlight. Huang had long been at odds with Liu Gui and Yang Yuanzan, and had little affection for Dong Zhuo either. Yet in this chaos, with his only capable protégé dead in battle, Huang felt deeply disheartened.
A clan leader from one of the great Southern families frowned and asked, “If that lone force is determined to attack Li Gu and Mao Long, are we to let those remaining four thousand Dragon and Elephant cavalry roam freely in our territory?”
Liu Gui was known to have a good relationship with Dong Zhuo, but seeing the fat man’s eyes darting about, the tall, imposing general could no longer contain his anger. He approached Dong and gave him a hard kick. “You greedy, self-serving rogue! You’ve already spat out pounds of saliva—aren’t you just trying to get out of this mess? Even the Supreme Commander is speaking for you, so why aren’t you seizing the chance to climb aboard?”
Dong looked troubled. “Dealing with four thousand Dragon and Elephant cavalry isn’t too bad, but that second son of the Butcher is a real problem. If we face him in battle and he charges through my ranks and cuts off my head, my two beautiful wives will become widows. Do you want them to cry themselves to death?”
Liu Gui lifted his leg to kick again, but Dong quickly dodged. The old general laughed and cursed, “Your wife is the daughter of the Mountain Lord of Tianshan, and you don’t have any strong men around you? If you’re too scared to go, go to Tianshan and bring help—better yet, bring the Mountain Lord himself to Mao Long. I’ll allow you to take eight thousand men to Mao Long, no more. If the Empress questions me later, I’ll take responsibility! If you dare to bring even one extra soldier, pretend I never said a word.”
Dong looked doubtful. “Really? Don’t you dare go back on your word. Everyone here heard it!”
Then he muttered under his breath, “Damn it, no one will stand up for me when the time comes.”
The Southern Court’s officials exchanged knowing smiles.
This Dong Zhuo was cunning, but he never lacked self-awareness.
Liu Gui growled, “My fart is more reliable than your oath!”
Dong rubbed his hands and grinned. “Well then, I’ll go to Mao Long and take on that thankless, dangerous mission. I’ll go, I’ll go!”
With that, Dong Zhuo slipped away in a hurry.
Liu Gui and his close friend Yang Yuanzan left soon after. Huang Songpu remained in the hall.
Outside, Liu Gui waited for Yang Yuanzan to descend the stone steps. Yang, known for his brevity, asked quietly, “Dong Zhuo is going to Mao Long instead of Li Gu?”
Liu smiled. “Of course. He’s betting the Dragon and Elephant Army will destroy Li Gu. That lazy brat wouldn’t stand when he can sit, wouldn’t sit when he can lie down.”
Yang gave a rare, stiff smile.
Liu suddenly asked, “What do you think of that Butcher’s second son?”
Yang replied calmly, “On the battlefield, no one who stands out survives long.”
As Dong Zhuo hurried away, he turned back for one last look at the hall, dug his finger in his ear, and sighed, “Damn, it’s so noisy in there! When will this place ever have only my voice?”
※※※
The Daoist Sect of Virtue was built at the origin of the Yellow River. Legends spoke of a floating mountain behind the Heavenly Gate, where the immortal Grand Master cultivated eternal life, untouched by worldly affairs for half a century.
The Grand Master had six disciples. Two remained at the Heavenly Gate and its base, while the others were scattered across Northern Wei. Yet when an old monk sat outside the Heavenly Gate of the Daoist Sect, preaching to the world, all four of the wandering immortals—except the one stationed at the Royal Court—returned to the Sect.
The old monk, with a kind face and gentle eyes, sat silently outside the Heavenly Gate.
The Heavenly Gate was formed by two towering peaks embracing a natural archway. Inside, mist and clouds swirled endlessly. Outside, nine hundred and ninety-nine jade steps led upward, yet even those who climbed to the top could not see the secrets within.
Outside the gate stood eighteen Daoist temples, nine on each side. Pilgrims came in endless streams, their incense smoke blending with the mist, making the Daoist Sect seem like a paradise on earth.
A main path led to the Heavenly Gate.
The old monk sat calmly on the first step.
First came a purple-robed Daoist with a sword, flying down from the Heavenly Gate.
The sword’s whirlwind roared for three days and nights.
Yet it could not approach the monk’s three-meter radius.
Then came another Daoist with a jade scepter, flying from the foot of the floating mountain to the Heavenly Gate.
The purple-robed Daoist rode his sword, descending one step at a time.
He had walked for three days and nights and had reached the three-hundredth step.
Three more Daoists of ethereal grace arrived.
Two of them stood or meditated atop the temples at the foot of the mountain.
The last, the Grand Master’s final disciple, walked slowly toward the old monk, each step slow but causing the earth to tremble.
Half a month passed, and the old monk began to recite the sutras.
Word by word, he chanted the Diamond Sutra.
After finishing it once, the old monk, who had learned few words and little doctrine, began to preach.
More and more people gathered at the foot of the mountain, thousands upon thousands.
It had been nearly a month since the old monk sat down.
The flying sword had slashed the old monk’s tattered robe thousands of times.
The Daoist who took one step, one thunderclap, had reached just a few feet behind the old monk.
The old monk’s body was golden, soaked in blood.
He folded his hands in prayer, having spoken all the Buddhist teachings he knew, and whispered, “Amitabha.”
Many pilgrims guessed what would happen next and turned away, unable to bear watching.
A white rainbow cut across the sky, soaring higher than the Heavenly Gate.
Behind it was a yellow waterfall!
“I do not enter the Heavenly Gate, yet I rise higher than heaven.”
The white rainbow paused, revealing a white-robed monk who called out, “I return your courtesy!”
To not respond would be impolite.
The sky hung the Yellow River.
This white-robed monk had pulled the entire Yellow River with him.
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