In the main general’s tent beyond the Youlu Pass, the atmosphere was heavy and strange. A courier from the Lu clan arrived with an urgent military report. Lu Shengxiang, the vice minister of the Ministry of War, sat behind his desk, expressionless, his fingers gently stroking a military token. The officers and commanders inside the tent were divided between cavalry and infantry. Most of these military men were Lu’s trusted subordinates, originally from the Guangling Circuit, brought to the capital. Their loyalty and capability were unquestionable. Among them were seasoned veterans tempered by the wars of the Spring and Autumn period, as well as ambitious, talented officers in their prime, and even a few young commanders who had been promoted beyond standard ranks. The age distribution was perfectly balanced.
A beloved aide of Lu, who had recently been demoted to stable duty, rushed into the tent in a fluster, his face burning with urgency. The guards did not attempt to stop him. Lu did not even lift his eyes, continuing to study an old map he had barely managed to obtain from the Ministry of Revenue. It was almost laughable—despite the Gu Lu School maintaining control of the Ministry of War for years, there was not a single map of the southern capital region that satisfied Lu’s standards. Yet, hundreds of maps of the borderlines of the Two Liao regions were easily accessible.
Guo Dongfeng, still reeking of horses, glared at his smirking peers and brazenly demanded, “General, has Yang Shenxing lost his mind? Why did he take the initiative to advance southward so hastily? Does he really believe he can storm through Yufang Pass, cross the Qingshui Ferry, and seize Kuixiao, the most formidable stronghold in northern Guangling? With such a reckless charge, where does that leave our two armies? General, tell me—should we just watch as he leads a bunch of spoiled brats to their deaths, or should we join him in playing with fire? Damn it, four hundred thousand troops! That’s the last of the Jinan army’s strength! Once they cross the Qingshui Ferry, before reaching Kuixiao, the Qingyang Basin has always been a battleground. Right now, we know absolutely nothing about the enemy’s troop movements in Guangling. Where does this old man get the confidence to advance so recklessly? Even if the Western Chu is in decline, they can still muster eight or nine thousand cavalry! What if Kuixiao’s commander is pretending to defect? If the great General An’guo falls to such a clumsy ploy, who do you think will end up taking the blame?!”
Lu Shengxiang did not look up, speaking calmly, “First, we can confirm that Han Penglai, the commander of Kuixiao, is not feigning surrender. Second, the four hundred thousand elite veterans of Jinan are well-supplied, and General Yang is skilled in cautious, steady advances. Even if they face eight or nine thousand cavalry, as long as there’s no heavy cavalry charge, they may not necessarily lose. Lastly, whether the Western Chu remnants can deploy nearly ten thousand cavalry along the Qingyang line is uncertain. Geographical constraints have always limited the Western Chu to infantry battles in the west and cavalry in the east. Of course, if we run into a madman, then all bets are off.”
Guo Dongfeng stubbornly argued, “But the Ministry of War’s established strategy was for Prince Huainan, Zhao Ying, stationed at Huatai, and Prince Jing’an, Zhao Xun, stationed at Gao’ao Lake, to launch simultaneous offensives. Regardless of their success or failure, the next move should have been Prince Guangling Zhao Yi’s turn. Where did Yang get the authority to act first?!”
Lu Shengxiang angrily rebuked, “Do you dare speak the names of the feudal lords so casually? Go back and feed your horses!”
Guo Dongfeng shrank his neck and obediently left the tent but soon peeked back in through the flap, curiously asking, “General, may I ask where the supreme commander Cao Changqing and the elders like Zhou Song and Pei Hongzhi are currently stationed?”
Lu Shengxiang continued studying the map, while a middle-aged general from the Guangling Chunsxuelou softly chuckled, “Cao Changqing is personally monitoring the Guangling army. Zhou Song and Pei Hongzhi are not near the northern front—each is guarding the Huai River and the Yangtze River, respectively.”
Guo Dongfeng muttered an “Oh,” then turned and left, muttering to himself, “Looks like the Western Chu is no longer the Great Chu. They’ve lost the courage to fight beyond their borders.”
After Guo Dongfeng left, Lu Shengxiang looked up at an elderly scholar in formal attire, who stood out among the soldiers, and asked, “Have Zhao Gou’s agents detected any signs of horse movements along the northern Guangling front?”
The old man sighed helplessly, “It’s difficult. Before the war even began, over forty of our spies have already died, and more than twenty have defected. General, this is not a good omen.”
Lu Shengxiang simply grunted, waved his hand for everyone to leave, and glanced at the military report. It outlined the reasons for the southern campaign in elegant, sophisticated language—clearly not the work of a rough soldier like Yang Shenxing. Lu could easily guess it was written by some well-read nobleman’s son, quoting, “Though the southern capital is the ‘Central Plain of the World,’ the ‘Cornerstone of Hegemony,’ it cannot be held—it must be defended beyond the borders. We must not ignore the reasons for the fall of the Southern Tang.”
Lu Shengxiang muttered, “Armchair general. F***ing nonsense.”
※※※
Autumn of the Xiangfu Year One. The end of summer heat. The sweltering days were gone, and the weather turned cool.
The air finally carried the crispness of early autumn, bringing relief to nearly a thousand new recruits who had hastily enlisted during the summer. Their listless expressions vanished, and they became lively and spirited. Especially when the army crossed the Qingshui Ferry southward, these young men, many mounted on tall steeds, could hardly contain their excitement. Ignoring the river-crossing formation, they donned their gleaming armor and raced along the northern bank, showing off their horsemanship. In truth, not long after enlistment, many of them had considered deserting back to the capital to enjoy comfort, for the camp was unbearably foul—worse than a pigsty. Bathing was difficult, and during the height of summer, these pampered youths had suffered the torment of lice and fleas. This harsh reality was far removed from their romanticized dreams of battlefield glory. If not for their elders’ persuasion and the steady stream of contraband goods sent through connections, these noble-born recruits would have long abandoned the army. These thousand or so “connected” recruits each brought personal attendants, swelling General Yang Shenxing’s forces with an additional three thousand “elite cavalry.” When the army marched south, the sons of influential families petitioned Yang to be granted the vanguard position. The old general laughed off their requests, promising that these three thousand cavalry were his secret weapon, to be used only at the decisive moment.
Yang Shenxing, tall and vigorous despite his age, stood on the southern bank with one hand on his sword. His eldest son, Yang Huchen, who had followed him in battle for over twenty years, stood beside him with a bitter expression. Watching the young riders galloping about, he murmured, “Father, I don’t know which young fool suggested it, but they insisted on scouting ahead during the river crossing to prevent ambushes. These kids don’t even understand the basics of reconnaissance! All they’re doing is disrupting the formation and slowing the crossing. Worse still, the second son of the Marquis of Guan asked me if he could challenge the enemy commander to single combat during the battle. What nonsense! Probably got the idea from some ridiculous historical novel. Then there’s the eldest son of the Viscount of Zhenting, who criticized our pace of fifty miles per day as too slow, comparing us to turtles crawling. He even cited historical records of light cavalry covering three hundred miles in a day and night during the Spring and Autumn wars. Sigh, there’s no reasoning with them. Father, these three thousand cavalry may look impressive, but they’re more trouble than they’re worth.”
Yang Shenxing, his hair white but his presence commanding, snapped, “I know what I’m doing! Huchen, you must never show the slightest dissatisfaction.”
Yang Huchen remained silent, forcing a bitter smile.
Yang Shenxing softened his tone, “The eastern front is under Gu Jiantang’s command, and the western front is held by that young Xu fellow from Beiliang. Both are formidable men. In times of peace, true military glory is hard to come by. The rebellion by the Western Chu remnants has opened a southern front—an opportunity I fought tooth and nail to seize, even if it meant sacrificing my reputation. Most of those youths on the northern bank are your juniors by blood or friendship—they call you uncle or cousin, but don’t be fooled by their flattery. They’re fickle and hard to please. You must never let your good intentions backfire, or we’ll hand them the glory without earning their gratitude.”
Yang Huchen nodded solemnly.
Yang Shenxing patted his son’s shoulder, smiling, “Putting that aside, without the efforts of these youths’ fathers in securing resources, we wouldn’t have those five thousand fine horses. The Jinan veterans have always fought on foot, but now my grandson is finally living out his dream of being a cavalry commander. And that grandson of mine is far smoother than you—he’s already making friends with many of the capital’s young nobles. That’s a tremendous advantage.”
A faint smile finally appeared on Yang Huchen’s face.
Yang Shenxing sighed softly, “A tiger kept in a cage for too long must learn to hide its claws. Not everyone can break free. Look at Xu Gong, the Dragon General of Gumu Xu Clan. He missed this once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. Though you’re still a rank below him now, the future is uncertain.”
Yang Huchen nodded.
Yang Shenxing removed his sword and pointed southward, “The old Western Chu warhorses I respect—men like Pei Hongzhi of the Pei clan, Zhou Song, and Zhu Yinliang—are all reportedly still tied down in the southern Guangling region. Cao Changqing is locked in a standoff with Zhao Yi. If we can seize Kuixiao swiftly, we’ll secure our victory. After that, whether to advance or retreat, the court will have great flexibility. As for criticism from the Ministry of War, can it outweigh the influence of the noble families behind those northern youths? As for Lu Shengxiang, a mere vice minister from the Chunsxuelou—hardly worth mentioning. The only real uncertainty is whether someone in the Qingyang Basin dares to challenge us.”
Yang Huchen smiled, “Let them come. Wenqi has been itching for a fight. The future of our Yang family doesn’t rest on me—it rests on that young scholar-general.”
Yang Shenxing nodded, then suddenly sneered, “Cao Changqing was a scholar-general too. Pity his fate was poor.”
※※※
In the heavily fortified northern Guangling stronghold of Kuixiao,
The rebel commander Han Penglai, who had first betrayed the Yang regime and then the Western Chu, was found dead. His head had been severed and placed atop an invaluable sandalwood desk.
Along with him, his trusted aides, six senior Zhao Gou spies, and over three hundred members of a martial arts sect were also found dead.
The new master of this former general’s mansion was a refined, elegant young nobleman, widely known for his charm and sophistication throughout the Guangling region. He was Pei Sui, the eldest grandson of the Pei clan—one of the Ten Great Aristocratic Houses of the Spring and Autumn era.
Pei Sui ordered the removal of Han Penglai’s still-open eyes and began taking control of the military affairs of the fortress with calm efficiency, showing no signs of being a usurper. He was already deeply familiar with the operations of this garrison.
Clutching his brush tightly, Pei Sui declared, “Now it’s up to Xie Xiceh. This battle will be watched by the entire world. We must devour every last one of those four hundred thousand Jinan veterans!”
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