Chapter 885: The Iron Cavalry Descends upon the South in Wind and Snow (Part 11)

At that moment, when the unconscious Lianghuai Governor Han Lin finally awoke, he found himself already on the road back to his official residence. The high-ranking official, holding the prestigious second-rank position, lay in the carriage. Sitting up, he leaned against the carriage wall, lost in thought.

There were many things he couldn’t comprehend—just as he had failed to understand back then why his mentor, amidst the gathering of talents in the Zhanglu School, had chosen Wang Xionggui, who clearly lacked the bearing of a prime minister, as his successor over Zhao Youling and Yin Maochun. Now, this Governor Han, entrusted with great expectations by the court, similarly couldn’t fathom why, when the matter of grain transport had already shown promise and the court had begun to relent, that young man had insisted on personally leading troops south to stir the muddy waters. While it was true that suppressing rebellions was the duty of a feudal prince, the emperor was not yet in such dire straits that he couldn’t even issue an edict from the capital. How dare the Northern Liang cavalry leave their jurisdiction without authorization? Han Lin also couldn’t understand why the Governor Cai Nan, with whom he had no personal ties, had advised him to withdraw and distance himself from this political storm that could ruin his career, rather than dragging him down into the mess.

It was only at this moment that Han Lin, who had steadily climbed the ranks of the capital’s officialdom, realized one thing: no matter how much knowledge a scholar possessed, they would never truly align with those battlefield warriors. Because you could never predict what shocking move they would make next.

Han Lin lifted the carriage curtain and gazed at the vast expanse of white snow outside, feeling a bone-chilling cold.

He felt a twinge of guilt toward Cai Nan, but resentment toward the unruly Northern Liang Prince.

Han Lin thought that if Cai Nan survived this calamity, he would risk the court’s suspicion and share a drink with this former subordinate of Gu Jian Tang. Yet, Han Lin soon grew despondent. With such a massive cavalry charge, how could Cai Nan, as the commanding general, possibly survive?

Han Lin sighed softly, then his eyes hardened with resolve. He made up his mind: as long as he served as an official in Lianghuai, he would protect Cai Nan’s family for as long as he could!

But at this moment, Governor Han could never have imagined that Cai Nan had not died in battle. Instead, he had been bedridden and unconscious for many days. That bed was not in the Cai residence but in the military camp tent—a testament to the severity of his injuries, which had reached a point where even the slightest jolt of a carriage could be fatal.

When the eunuch from the Directorate of Ceremonial, who had rushed all the way from the capital to Hezhou to deliver the imperial edict, entered the tent holding the rhinoceros horn-rolled decree, he was immediately struck by the overwhelming scent of medicine and the unmistakable stench of blood. Even before lifting the tent flap, he had seen the Governor’s wife and children, their faces filled with panic and sorrow—fearful not only for the life of their family’s pillar but also anxious about the court’s potential wrath and punishment. Along the way, the scenes in the military camp, though glimpsed only briefly, painted a picture of utter defeat and despair—a true reflection of an army that had suffered a crushing loss.

As one of the eight junior eunuchs in the Directorate of Ceremonial, far from the most senior, he would never normally be tasked with delivering edicts to second-rank frontier officials. But this mission was clearly an unspoken, undesirable assignment that none of the higher-ranking eunuchs wanted. The Director of Ceremonial, Song Tanglu, couldn’t leave the emperor’s side, and the second-in-command, the Drafting Eunuch, would only handle edicts with white jade rollers—anything else would be beneath his dignity. Thus, the task fell to the most junior and least connected among the eight junior eunuchs. Who else could they send? The middle-aged eunuch, resigned to his fate, kept a stern face and narrowed his eyes, surveying the surroundings before slowly turning his gaze to the sickbed. Beside it stood a pale young officer, leaning on a crutch, barely able to stand straight. The eunuch frowned. Before his arrival, a Zhao Gou agent had briefed him on the situation in Cai Nan’s army, detailing the key officers. This burly young man was likely Cai Nan’s only adopted son, the orphan of a comrade who had died in the Southern Tang years ago. He had taken Cai Nan’s surname early on and was named Cai Bai. In the Cai household, Cai Bai’s status was no lower than Cai Nan’s three biological sons. Many of the family’s unsavory tasks were reportedly handled cleanly by Cai Bai himself. The Zhao Gou agents monitoring Cai Nan had even given him favorable reviews, suggesting he was worth cultivating as a future asset for the court. If successful, Cai Nan’s tens of thousands of loyal troops could seamlessly transition into the court’s service.

The middle-aged eunuch would never normally have access to such inside information. But this long-distance edict delivery involved far more than just the decree itself—it was riddled with hidden agendas from the start. First, the powerful Drafting Eunuch had summoned him for a private talk, instructing him to deliver the edict to Lianghuai in secret. Stranger still, he was given not one but two edicts! The boxes were slightly different, and the Drafting Eunuch had discreetly marked one with a fingernail scratch, explaining: if Cai Nan’s army successfully intercepted the Northern Liang cavalry, he was to deliver the edict in that box. If they lost—and it had to be a crushing defeat—he was to open the other box. If the confrontation was half-hearted, merely a show to let the Northern Liang cavalry pass unimpeded, then he was to return to the capital as if nothing had happened, without opening either box. But he was emphatically warned: no matter which edict he delivered, it had to be done only after the situation was fully clear—better late than early, even if it meant delaying by several days! If he was unsure, someone would advise him when the time came.

Thus, after receiving a hint from a Zhao Gou agent, the junior eunuch found himself in Cai Nan’s tent, utterly bewildered.

Cai Bai limped forward a few steps, bowed, and said in a low voice, “This humble general, Cai Bai, greets Your Excellency.”

The eunuch nodded and replied in a high-pitched voice, “General Cai, has the Governor not awakened? If so, receiving the edict will be difficult.”

Cai Bai struggled to hide his grief and said softly, “Reporting to Your Excellency, my foster father woke briefly yesterday but soon fell unconscious again. The army physicians and the renowned Doctor Ma, whom we summoned overnight from Liuzhi County in Hezhou, all agree that his internal organs are severely injured. Even if he wakes someday, he may never lead a charge again.”

The eunuch asked impassively, “Doctor Ma from Liuzhi County? The Ma family that has produced six or seven imperial physicians?”

Cai Bai nodded. “The very same.”

The eunuch hummed in acknowledgment. In truth, after Doctor Ma left the tent, Zhao Gou agents had secretly approached him and confirmed Cai Nan’s condition: it was indeed grave, with internal injuries. For ordinary people, a broken bone required a hundred days of rest—how much more so for such severe wounds?

Finally, the eunuch allowed a hint of sorrow to show, sighing deeply. “I had no idea the Governor was so badly injured. Very well, let him receive the edict lying down. I’m sure His Majesty won’t blame him. Even if there’s some reprimand, it’s on me. No matter what, I won’t let such a loyal servant of the state suffer any injustice—even if it costs me my life.”

Upon hearing this, Cai Bai—a hardened soldier who never shed tears on the battlefield—suddenly fell to his knees before the edict was even read, sobbing uncontrollably as if overwhelmed by grief, yet saying nothing.

Only then did the eunuch feel a flicker of genuine emotion. Had the young man shown even a trace of sycophantic gratitude, he would have been suspicious. Cai Bai’s character, as recorded in Zhao Gou’s secret files, was clearly not the type to flatter.

Satisfied with the test, the eunuch cleared his throat and began reading the edict.

The calligraphy was exquisite—unlike any of the Hanlin Academy scholars’ work, but bearing some resemblance to the Director of Ceremonial’s own handwriting.

The content of the edict was shocking, even to the eunuch himself, though he hid his surprise well. It stated that the Northern Liang’s ten thousand cavalry had left their jurisdiction for Guangling on imperial orders. The court had originally planned for them to cross the border discreetly in late spring, joining forces with the southern expedition’s commander, Lu Shengxiang, and the Minister of War, Wu Zhongxuan, to deliver a decisive blow to the Guangling rebels. But upon hearing that the Northern Liang had inexplicably advanced their march, the court had no time to inform Lianghuai, leading to this unfortunate incident.

Cai Bai looked up abruptly, his tear-streaked face a mix of shock, confusion, resentment, and—most unbecoming of a loyal subject—anger.

The eunuch was inwardly pleased with the young man’s reaction. It was exactly what a normal person would feel.

Following Zhao Gou’s covert instructions, the eunuch didn’t reveal everything at once. Instead, he frowned and said sternly, “What? Does the general harbor dissatisfaction?”

Cai Bai’s face twisted in pain. Finally, he slammed his fists against the hard ground. “This general has no dissatisfaction toward the court! I only hate the Northern Liang Prince—why did he advance his troops? Even if Xu Fengnian had received the edict, why didn’t he explain it to my foster father or our Lianghuai border troops? Did he have to use our soldiers as stepping stones to boost his own reputation? Xu Fengnian clearly held a grudge against my foster father for years! I, Cai Bai, refuse to accept this! If I ever command troops alone, I swear I will avenge my foster father and my fallen brothers—”

He suddenly cut himself off and bowed his head even lower.

With one man lying half-dead and the other kneeling with his face to the ground, no one in the tent was looking at the eunuch. He allowed himself a slight smirk before saying slowly, “Young General, it’s only because I see the Cai family’s loyalty that I’m willing to share these words with you. Some things are better kept in the heart than spoken aloud. Not everyone is as tight-lipped as I am.”

Cai Bai raised his head, wiped his face roughly with his sleeve, and nodded vigorously.

A quick learner, this one.

The eunuch smiled. But when he remembered the task Zhao Gou had assigned him, his expression grew solemn. Still, since the Drafting Eunuch had already laid the groundwork, the shocking content of the edict made the unwritten secret decree seem almost reasonable.

He stepped forward quickly, holding the edict in one hand and helping the young general up with the other, his tone kindly. “I’ll break protocol too and skip the formalities. Just take the edict, young general.”

Once Cai Bai had accepted the edict with both hands, the eunuch lowered his voice. “Young General, besides this edict, there’s also an oral secret decree from His Majesty. Few words, but listen carefully!”

Cai Bai, startled, knelt again.

The eunuch declared solemnly, “By imperial decree, Lianghuai Governor Cai Nan is hereby enfeoffed as the Earl of Loyalty and Righteousness!”

This time, Cai Bai looked up with an entirely different expression—one of joy and gratitude.

The eunuch chose his words carefully. “Some things, young general, are best understood without saying. I’m no immortal who can fly across the land—just a eunuch with ordinary legs. How could I deliver this secret decree to your foster father so quickly? It’s because the moment His Majesty learned of the Northern Liang’s premature advance, he anticipated your foster father and the Lianghuai elite would bravely intercept them. He foresaw this day. Otherwise, would your family have received such imperial favor? Clearly, in His Majesty’s heart, Lianghuai is a pillar of the state.”

Cai Bai turned eastward, toward the direction of Tai’an City, and kowtowed vigorously.

There was no time for the usual pleasantries between eunuchs and officials. The junior eunuch prepared to leave immediately and return to the capital. Cai Bai tried to offer him valuable gifts—more precious than silver—but the eunuch refused with a smile and departed without delay.

There were eunuchs in the world who didn’t covet wealth, but they were rare, and he wasn’t one of them. Still, as a junior eunuch who had served under two formidable Directors of Ceremonial—Han Shengxuan and Song Tanglu—he knew that sometimes, with certain people, refusing bribes not only ensured peace of mind but could be more valuable than accepting them.

After carefully setting down the edict, Cai Bai limped stubbornly to the camp’s main gate to see the eunuch off, watching until the carriage disappeared from sight before returning to the lifeless tent. He sat silently on a small stool by the bed, his eyes dark and unreadable.

A hoarse voice that shouldn’t have been there whispered, “Bai’er, is that eunuch gone?”

Cai Bai showed no surprise. “Foster Father, he’s long gone.”

Cai Nan lay perfectly still, only his lips moving. He wanted to sneer but found it too difficult. His injuries were real—but the young Prince’s strike had been measured and precise.

Just like the actions of the Northern Liang’s ten thousand cavalry.

They had opened a path.

Not broken through.

Had Lianghuai border troops died? Of course—many of them Cai Nan’s own men. But the interesting part was this: while the casualties appeared severe, the actual death toll was low, with countless injuries instead.

Only seasoned veterans would understand the nuance.

But to say Cai Nan had been in cahoots with the Northern Liang cavalry from the start would be unfair. Initially, he had fully intended to die blocking their path—hence placing his elite troops at the front.

Though far from recovered physically, his spirit was rejuvenated. He spoke smoothly, “Bai’er, it must’ve been hard for a rough man like you to act.”

Cai Bai smiled wryly. “Foster Father, with the Cai family’s fate at stake, how could I not take it seriously? But honestly, it was harder than fighting on the battlefield.”

Cai Nan asked, “After hearing the two edicts, what are your thoughts?”

Cai Bai sighed. “If I hadn’t known beforehand that the Northern Liang couldn’t possibly have been permitted to march south, and if the Northern Liang cavalry hadn’t acted so strangely, I might’ve believed that eunuch’s lies today!”

Cai Nan stared fixedly at the tent ceiling. “They say ‘when the rabbit dies, the fox mourns.’ I don’t know what our Great General thinks, but I certainly feel it. Over the years, watching the court’s tactics against the Northern Liang—both overt and covert—I couldn’t help but worry. Why do you think I’ve held military power at the border for so long? Is it because I’m such a brilliant commander? I’d say I’m competent, but not outstanding—inferior to Lu Shengxiang and Xu Gong, for instance. The reason I rose to become a Governor boils down to two people: the Great General, and again, the Great General.”

The last part sounded redundant, but Cai Bai knew it was anything but. Its implications were staggering—even terrifying.

The first “Great General” referred to Cai Nan’s patron: Gu Jian Tang, the second Pillar of State of the Liyang Dynasty. The second was the reviled “Butcher of Spring and Autumn,” the old Prince of Northern Liang, Xu Xiao.

Cai Nan murmured, “But even with these misgivings, I’ve only ever felt awe toward Emperor Zhao Li and his successor, Zhao Dun—not a trace of treasonous thought. Why? Simple: they were formidable. Regardless of the reasons, they kept both Great Generals and the entire court in check. Zhao Li made Xu Xiao willingly conquer the realm for him and, even after death, defend it against the Northern Desert. He made our Great General Gu wear court robes instead of armor and sit on that cramped bench in the Ministry of War for twenty years. Zhao Dun was no slouch either—when he wanted the all-powerful Chief Councillor Zhang dead, the ‘Green-Eyed’ one obeyed. After Zhao Dun’s death, he left the current emperor a vast legacy. But alas, while Zhao Dun harbored personal grievances, he never harmed state affairs. Under Zhao Zhuan, things slipped out of control. Not that the young emperor was entirely wrong—it was just the way of the world. Still, I believe if Zhao Li were emperor, the Northern Liang wouldn’t even have considered marching to Guangling. And Zhao Dun would’ve sent the edict to us much earlier, without all this hesitation.”

Cai Bai hesitated. “Though I’ve no fondness for the young emperor, I’d probably have done worse in his place.”

Cai Nan grunted. “Zhao Zhuan isn’t bad. Given time, he might’ve surpassed his father and grandfather. But he’s still green, and with the ‘Green-Eyed’ one gone and the ‘Plainspoken’ one likely disillusioned, the court lacks its former strength. Though there’s still Qi Yanglong—left by the late emperor—as the Grand Academician of the Shangyin Academy and Yuan Benxi’s mentor, Zhao Zhuan naturally trusts Chen Wang, whom he promoted himself. But trust aside, in critical moments, he doesn’t truly value Chen Wang’s counsel—because both are young. Without Xu Xiao in the northwest, the Northern Desert attacked immediately. Without Yuan Benxi and Zhang Julu in court, problems arose. I suspect if Zhao Zhuan had been more generous with grain transport, Xu Fengnian’s inexplicable march might’ve at least been accompanied by a request for an edict. But the young emperor likely wanted to use our Lianghuai troops to test the Northern Liang cavalry’s mettle. Now, with this mess and no ‘Green-Eyed’ one to fix it… Thinking of this these past few days has eased my frustration somewhat.”

He sighed. “If Qi Yanglong and Huan Wen don’t speak up now, Liyang’s bright prospects may truly turn to disaster.”

Cai Bai looked puzzled.

Cai Nan didn’t explain. His already hoarse voice grew even fainter. “I’ve cheated death this time, so I’ll tell you something—though I haven’t fully grasped it myself. Ponder it.”

Cai Bai leaned in. “I’m listening, Foster Father.”

Cai Nan said calmly, “‘Guard openly against the Northern Liang’s Xu family, secretly against Chen Zhibao. Be a good border general, and greatness awaits.’ That’s the only secret message the Great General ever sent me—verbal, not written.”

Cai Bai’s pale face turned even whiter, then flushed with feverish red.

Cai Nan closed his eyes, exhausted. “After dying once, I’ve realized something: that young man surnamed Xu is the only interesting one left. The rest are just… ordinary. Oh, Bai’er—once I officially receive the edict making me Earl of Loyalty and Righteousness, you’ll take command. Whether you become Governor depends on your own skill; I can’t help much. Don’t argue. I suppose I’ve lost interest.”

Cai Nan fell silent, eyes open.

In his ears echoed the war drums of the Spring and Autumn conflicts. In his eyes flickered the smoke of those battles. In his heart lingered the fearless recklessness of youth.