Old Xu the Blind was a veteran from Beiliang, originally a crossbowman, who lost one eye to a stray arrow and then switched to cavalry. His military record was mediocre; in an army where merits were earned by taking enemy heads, he had little to show for his service. He left the army with no wealth to speak of, only a collection of ailments. Initially, settling in the city brought him some comfort, but he couldn’t withstand the constant demands of fellow veterans even poorer than himself. Most of them could only afford coffins through his generosity. Over time, the lonely old soldier found himself truly penniless.
Xu hailed from Jinzhou in Liaodong, orphaned at a young age. He followed Grand Marshal Xu Xiao from Jinzhou all the way to western Liaoning, then through Xionghai Pass into Central China, fighting ceaselessly during the Spring and Autumn Wars. Many soldiers who enlisted around the same time as Old Xu managed to survive long enough to attain ranks like Advisor or Sub-Captain. At the very least, most retired with the honorary title of Zhaowu Deputy Captain.
Thus it is said that while Old Xu was indeed an old soldier, he was not a fierce one. Those bold enough to risk their lives chasing after honors and promotions were usually scions of noble families. Old Xu, neither greedy for life nor brave in battle, was merely a weary old campaigner whose survival alone was considered fortunate—lucky not to have been beheaded by the watching officers.
Later, Old Xu lost sight in his remaining eye, ruined by smoke while making charcoal in the mountains, henceforth known among neighbors as “Blind Old Xu.” Misfortune struck again when, already blind, he failed to dodge the hoof of a nobleman’s horse in a bustling market and ended up crippled.
When those well-dressed youths with beautiful companions saw the old man rolling on the ground, they simply burst into laughter. Blinded by rage, Old Xu reached for a carrying pole, only to learn the culprits were sons of Zheshui Commander-in-Chief, grandsons of imperial officials like the Director of Writings and Crown Prince’s Tutor. Upon hearing this, he dropped the pole and wept like a child, crying repeatedly, “I should’ve died long ago!” The mournful cries made people’s skin crawl, driving away even those sympathetic onlookers. One spoiled noble grew annoyed at the commotion and drew his sword to strike down the helpless elder.
Though Beiliang’s customs were always rugged, even these foppish youths might barely manage the strength to untie a courtesan’s sash—but once they unsheathed blades, they cut without hesitation. This trait often startled visiting aristocrats unaccustomed to such ferocity.
Had that fatal blow landed upon Old Xu’s head just then, there would never have been a story about the Young Lord drinking green-ant wine years later.
At that moment, Xu Fengnian happened to pass by. His mount far outclassed the inferior steeds of those third-rate nobles, and his demeanor was naturally ten times more arrogant. Originally indifferent to the squabble, he was caught by Old Xu’s heart-wrenching cry: “My leg wasn’t broken by Western Chu bastards, but by my own kind! Heaven’s mother must’ve gone blind just like me!”
Xu Fengnian didn’t speak, but dispatched his savage servants to scatter the ruffians. As for how many arms or legs got broken among the pampered youths, the Young Lord cared not a whit. If they wanted justice, let them bring their entire family to the Mansion and ask Xu Xiao for compensation. Better yet, come bearing an imperial decree.
Had that blade fallen upon Old Xu that day, none of this tale would exist.
Miraculously, Old Xu survived and was taken somewhere to have his leg treated. Yet no frail bones could endure the crushing force of galloping hooves—the damage was irreversible. Just as he prepared to wait quietly for death inside a riverside shack, an official envoy arrived announcing monthly stipends of one tael of silver. After six nerve-wracking months of collecting payments, he finally dared inquire the source: An official told him it was Beiliang Army’s new policy—to treat aging soldiers kindly.
Later, he confirmed this with another half-dead comrade-in-arms: It was true, though others needed to visit the Government Office to claim their dues.
Puzzled, Old Xu wondered aloud, “Do good deeds really reap rewards? But I ain’t no saint—back in my youth, I looted and pillaged plenty alongside the Grand Marshal.”
Despite his broken limb, he walked using a homemade crutch. Officials had repaired his hut; each year before winter, a thick quilt arrived. He kept a modest vegetable garden. One tael equaled a thousand copper coins—a sufficient sum for plain tastes like his. By month’s end, he might splurge on meat and wine, living quite comfortably compared to those early desperate days.
Today, nodding off on a wooden stump outside, he heard a booming voice call out:
“Old Xu! Time for drinks! Also grabbed you a duck from the river—plump as can be!”
Perking up instantly, Old Xu recognized the loud voice—it belonged to the kid Surname: Xu, whom he’d met roughly four or five years prior. The boy had been caught peeping on a maiden bathing and chased to the riverbank, hiding briefly in Old Xu’s hut. Thus began their small bond.
Blind though he was, Old Xu knew much about the pretty girl at Lanting Wine House mentioned by the boy. While his eyes failed him, his ears served well enough—he overheard idlers gossiping how her figure had grown fuller, her face slimmer, blossoming into ever more radiant beauty. Once he bought wine lees from the tavern, catching a whiff of her fragrance—ah, so pleasant it rivaled Lanting’s signature plum wine!
The lad got thrashed defending her honor back then—not undeserved! Were Old Xu thirty years younger, it wouldn’t be the kid climbing walls—it’d be him, with Xu keeping watch.
“The pot’s right where it always is,” Old Xu called, accepting the wineskin and sniffing appreciatively. “This green ant wine may not match Lanting’s plum brew, but it sure beats fermented lees.”
The guest shoved the wrung-neck duck into Old Xu’s lap, grumbling, “You expect me to pluck feathers too? Fine, I’ll fetch water.”
With wine in hand, Old Xu became agreeable, tapping along on his crutch to begin feathering chores.
Before long, the cabin filled with aroma. Gnawing on a greasy drumstick, Old Xu asked cheerfully, “Haven’t seen you in over a year, kid. Where’ve you been? Three years vanished, then silence another full year! What line of work are you in now? Listen to Old Xu—don’t do evil. Peeking’s harmless enough; girls don’t lose flesh over it. But wielding swords and daggers—that’s asking for trouble. Forget that—I know you won’t heed advice anyway. Since you clearly came seeking something besides free drink, what tales interest you? An old geezer like me hasn’t got many stories left in him.”
Chewing duck meat, the visitor laughed, “Tell me about Liaodong. My ancestors hailed from there—you know, Jinzhou.”
Only someone idle enough could afford such leisurely strolls—none other than the Young Lord Xu Fengnian himself.
Old Xu chuckled, “Know Liaodong? Ha! I practically own the whole province. Ten governors out of ten scream poverty to the court, yet remain rich as kings. Only we landless folk suffer near rebellion.”
Frowning slightly, Xu Fengnian questioned, “But by law, every soldier receives forty mu of Cultivating the Land. Liaodong stands as our bulwark—endless plains stretching far beyond defense. Lose it, and Northern Mang storms through unchecked. Secure Liaodong, secure Central China; disturb Liaodong, sound alarms nationwide. Rebellion? Never heard of unrest there lately.”
Scoffing, Old Xu retorted, “Kid, you know nothing! Fancy words like that—clearly learned from some scholar. Let me tell ya—when I left, Liaodong had twenty-one Wei Tunbing units versus six westward. Forget Liaoxi—even Liaodong’s twenty-one garrisons produced a million dan of grain annually. How much trickled down to us common mouths? Think bigger fish—Commanders-in-Chief, Regional Governors, Assistant Commissioners, Captains. Lower still, seventh- and eighth-rank clerks routinely conscripted soldiers for private projects. Without controlling irrigation systems and seizing fertile fields, how fund bribes upward? When Grand Marshal held command, both Liaos prospered unusually. After he left—who cares if soldiers starve? Border troops mostly criminals exiled north. Who willingly chooses such hardship? Once assigned, who truly expects land and grain? Even I, born Jinzhou native, owned not an inch. Outsiders? Dream on!”
Xu Fengnian smiled faintly, “Rebellion’s unlikely. Starvation breeds revolt, but mere hardship won’t stir rebellion. So long as stomachs fill halfway, men won’t risk necks.”
Sighing deeply, Old Xu muttered, “True… None want death. But keep this up, Liaodong faces dark days ahead. Thirty years I’ve endured since leaving Jinzhou—thirty years of Patience.”
Ancient battleground though Liaodong be— Tiger’s stride, dragon’s advance., ambition lies within hearts. The realm’s fate hinges upon Two Liaos. Xu Xiao urged Guard it with all the might of the world., yet few took heed at court or country. Not ignorance of its importance—merely short-term thinking prevailed. With current stability assured, who worries about upheavals fifty or hundred years hence?
Softly, Xu Fengnian requested, “More tales of Liaodong’s lands and customs.”
Generously sharing insights like beans spilled from a bamboo tube, Old Xu exhausted himself recounting until the duck stew vanished entirely, most energy spent devouring fowl.
Finally wiping his mouth, Old Xu mused, “When Grand Marshal entered Beiliang, majestic indeed! The Lady once penned a verse?”
Smiling, Xu replied, “A thousand chariots on the Green Ox Road, children beneath banners offering mulberries.”
Leaning on his cane, Old Xu wore a dreamy expression.
Leaving the wineskin behind, Xu Fengnian slipped silently from the hut.
Standing afar, Qingniao watched her master approach slowly. Each visit to this riverside shack included her company, though she never asked why he sought conversation with a blind, aged soldier.
Seeing Qingniao’s cool countenance, Xu’s gaze softened, distant memories stirring.
Back then, amidst a thousand chariots, Old Xu stood unbroken-limbed.
A child raised mulberries to his mother’s lips.
Caught in his stare, Qingniao flushed slightly, only for Xu Fengnian to suddenly bite her cheek playfully, chuckling, “Tastes like mulberries.”
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