Xu Xiao would typically spend most of his years camping in the harsh northern borderlands alongside ordinary soldiers, as if only by keeping a watchful eye on the barbarian hordes—whose numbers were no fewer than the Beiliang Iron Cavalry—could he find peace. After the death of the princess consort, his children gradually grew up. First, the eldest daughter, Xu Zhihu, was married off to the southlands. Then, the second daughter, Xu Weixiong, traveled thousands of miles to study at the Shangyin Academy. Four years ago, the young master set off on his travels, leaving only Huang Man’er in the palace. But now, even he was gone, leaving the residence utterly empty.
Yet these matters of kings and generals, of noble houses and high politics, were far beyond the concerns of Blind Old Xu. Over the years, whatever news he heard about the Grand Pillar of the Nation came only from tavern gossip while buying wine dregs. He listened, then let it go—what else could he do? Though he had fought under the Grand Pillar for many years, he had only glimpsed him once from afar as a young cavalryman. Back then, it was Wang Jian, the mighty vanguard known as Wang Juling, who bore the army’s banner. During the bloody battle at Yi Que, before Old Xu lost his sight, he had charged out of the city gates alongside the Grand Pillar, watching helplessly as General Wang knelt, holding up the massive gates with his own hands so the soldiers of Liaodong could escape. Back then, General Xu had not yet been enfeoffed as a prince, nor granted the title of Grand Pillar. He had merely glanced back once at the city gates.
Every soldier of Beiliang believed the Grand Pillar to be the greatest hero of their age. Among the Four Great Generals of the Spring and Autumn Era, if judged by sheer military feats, he could not compare to Ye Baikui, whom the Shangyin Academy hailed as a once-in-five-centuries prodigy. Before the Battle of Guanlan, Ye Baikui had never lost a single engagement in his life. And then there was Wang Sui, the Eastern Yue prince consort, whose campaigns were far more graceful and effortless than Xu Xiao’s—never reduced to fleeing with only a few hundred riders in a desperate retreat. Yet in the end, the only ones left standing were the Grand Marshal of the same dynasty and Xu Xiao himself. Moreover, of the nine kingdoms of the Spring and Autumn Era, six had fallen beneath the iron hooves of the Xu banner. That scholarly general, who rose to fame twenty years later, had only conquered two insignificant states—how could he ever stand shoulder-to-shoulder with the Prince of Beiliang?
Such was the might of the Grand Pillar!
Now, only halfway through the month, Blind Old Xu couldn’t bring himself to spend his meager coins on wine dregs. He could only lick his lips and sigh, trying to stave off his craving.
Old Xu, growing older by the day, often liked to sit on a wooden stump in the warm weather, reminiscing about the heroic days of his youth. He thought of the survival tricks passed down by the veterans, his first blood-soaked charge with a crossbow, the brothers-in-arms who had fallen like wheat before the scythe, the thunderous rumble of enemy cavalry, and above all—the final great battle of the Spring and Autumn Era at Xilei Wall, where the princess consort, clad in white mourning robes, had personally beaten the war drums. The thunderous rhythm had spurred the army forward—no retreat until Chu was broken! Who among them could remain unmoved?
Old Xu tilted his head, his weathered cheek pressed against the smooth wooden cane he had polished over the years. Most veterans were like this—after a lifetime wielding sabers and bows, even after leaving the army, they still felt something missing in their hands. After losing his leg, this cane had become his greatest aid.
These days, he often heard scholars muttering cynical words—how most of the old soldiers who fought under the Grand Pillar had died wretched deaths, how only Xu Xiao had risen to become a prince. If Old Xu still had his legs, he would have cursed them to their faces! What did those bookworms know? Anyone who had truly fought on the battlefield knew the meaning of “blades have no eyes.” Were the Grand Pillar’s countless scars fake? Did he carve them into his own flesh with knives, arrows, and spears? If even Xu Xiao hadn’t become the Prince of Beiliang, wouldn’t all those soldiers who fought to their last breath have died for nothing? Who would remember the six hundred armored riders of Liaodong, or the now-unrivaled three hundred thousand Beiliang Iron Cavalry?
Blind Old Xu spat and cursed, “Damn those scholars and their idle tongues! If I were younger, I’d slap the teeth right out of their mouths!”
Just then, a familiar voice came from above the old man, who now struggled to take even a few steps without panting. “Brother Xu, still holding up strong?”
Old Xu scrambled to rise. This was the same official who had once come to his home with silver and ordered his attendants to repair the thatched hut. True to his word, the hut had never leaked since, and every month, without fail, a tael of silver found its way into Old Xu’s hands. A battle-hardened veteran like him could sense that this official had once been a soldier himself—there was an aura of bloodshed about him, something no charlatan could fake. Old Xu might not have been the bravest, nor had he slaughtered countless pigs, but he had spent most of his life in the army. He knew the look of men who had killed dozens—even their eating habits were fiercer than most.
The man gently pressed Old Xu back down as he tried to rise with his cane, chuckling. “Sit, Brother Xu. Speak comfortably. No need for formalities with me.”
Old Xu didn’t insist. At his age, there was no point in acting tough like a young man. He turned his head “toward” the man and said cheerfully, “Still hanging on. I eat well, sleep well—just waiting for the month’s end to buy some wine and meat to treat myself. These days, with peace in the land and no worries about food or clothes, life’s good. That’s the honest truth. I may be blind, but I won’t lie to your face, sir. Ain’t that right?”
The visitor smiled. “Old Xu, you’re anything but blind. You see clearer than most officials and generals.”
The old man’s face flushed with embarrassment. “Sir, you flatter me too much. I’m just an old Beiliang soldier who didn’t die when he should’ve. Once heard a young lad named Xu rambling about ‘wrapping corpses in horsehide’—didn’t quite get it. But I figure, a bad life’s better than a good death. Now that I’ve lived this long, I’ve got no regrets. Only one thing nags at me—what if one day I close my eyes and don’t wake up? Dying’s no trouble, but who’ll carry my coffin? That’s what worries me. That Xu kid joked that if worse came to worst, I could count on him. But who knows when that rascal’ll show up again? Might be a whole year. Seems unlikely.”
The official’s voice remained calm. “That Xu lad promised to carry your coffin?”
Blind Old Xu’s face lit up instantly. “Aye, he did! That boy’s a good one—never misjudged a man in my life. But he’s a bit of a scoundrel, climbing walls, stealing ducks—I worry he’ll never find himself a decent wife. Just the other day, he brought me a fine jar of wine to chat. Said he was heading out again. Pity—I woke up in the night craving a drink and ended up finishing the rest. Otherwise, I’d offer you some today. Hah! Sir, forgive this old fool’s rambling.”
The man laughed. “Not at all. These days, it’s hard to find someone to talk to. Fancy a drink? I forgot to bring any, but I rarely drink outside my home these days. Suppose I’ll make an exception. If you can wait, I’ll have someone fetch us some.”
Old Xu waved his hands hastily. “No need, no need! You’ve got important matters to attend to. Shouldn’t waste your time or silver on an old man like me.”
The man simply smiled, and the two of them basked in the warm afternoon sun, its comfort surpassing even the finest silks.
Old Xu leaned on his cane, his expression distant. “My only regret is never getting close enough to see the Grand Pillar properly. A brother of mine who passed last year was luckier—at the Battle of Jingyang, when those tens of thousands of surrendered soldiers were buried, he stood just a hundred paces from the Grand Pillar. Even on his deathbed, he bragged about it, the stubborn old fool.”
The man beside him, whom Old Xu still believed to be a minor official, murmured softly, “Xu Xiao is just a hunchbacked old soldier. Nothing much to look at.”
For a moment, Blind Old Xu’s mind went blank.
A man who had survived battlefields littered with millions of bones was no fool.
In all of Beiliang, who would dare say such a thing—that Xu Xiao was merely a hunchbacked old soldier?
Who else but the Grand Pillar himself?
Old Xu’s frail body, propped up by his cane, trembled violently.
Tears streamed down the face of this old soldier who had clung to life in Beiliang. He turned, lips quivering, and choked out, “Grand Pillar?”
The man neither confirmed nor denied it. He only called out, “Brother Xu.”
Blind Old Xu seemed to lose his mind. Struggling to his feet, ignoring the Grand Pillar’s attempt to stop him, he cast aside his cane and knelt on the ground. Summoning every ounce of strength left in his body—the valor of thirty years spent battling across six kingdoms, the spirit that had sustained him through a decade of lingering survival—he suppressed the sobs of an old soldier and kowtowed.
“Xu Yongguan, lowly cavalryman of the Fish-Drum Battalion, one of the eighteen veteran companies of Jinzhou, pays respects to General Xu!”
Of the eighteen battalions of Jinzhou, not one remained today. Like the fading legend of the six hundred armored riders, the younger Beiliang cavalrymen knew them only through tales of blood and glory.
The Fish-Drum Battalion.
Renowned as the fiercest under the Xu banner.
Their final battle was at Xilei Wall, where the princess consort, clad in white as snow, beat the towering fish-dragon drums of the battalion, driving the army to victory in the decisive battle for the Liyang Dynasty. Nearly a thousand men of the Fish-Drum Battalion fought to the last, only sixteen surviving. Cavalryman Xu Yongguan lost an eye in that battle—ripping out the arrow along with it before fighting on until he collapsed among the dead.
In the hearts of these old soldiers, whether called Grand Pillar or Prince of Beiliang, he was still, above all, General Xu.
Helped back onto the wooden stump by Xu Xiao, Blind Old Xu wept freely, yet smiled. “I’ve lived enough. General Xu, this lowly soldier dares to ask—that Xu lad… could he be…?”
Xu Xiao answered softly, “My son, Xu Fengnian.”
The old soldier pressed his face against the cane—the very one the Grand Pillar had returned to him—and whispered, “I’ve lived enough. I’ve lived enough…”
The last man of the Fish-Drum Battalion, veteran Xu Yongguan, slowly closed his eyes.
General Xu, Princess, you’ve raised a fine son.
I’ll go drink with my brothers now, tell them this—the hoofbeats of the three hundred thousand Beiliang Iron Cavalry will only grow louder, more fearsome to our enemies. They will not fade. They will not weaken.
Beneath the Xu royal banner, the fish-dragon drums thunder.
Old soldier Xu Yongguan died in peace.
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