When Xu Fengnian woke up, he opened his eyes and turned his head to see the bright sunlight outside the window, illuminating every speck of dust near the frame. Yet the room itself remained dim. Shifting his gaze from the distance, he noticed a massive figure sitting by his bedside like a small mountain—Chu Lushan, the Protector of Northern Liang. It was this man’s presence that had blocked the sunlight.
Chu Lushan, his back to the light, spoke in a hoarse voice, “After Master Nan Gong brought Your Highness to Huaiyang Pass, he left without a word. I couldn’t stop him.”
Xu Fengnian, his lips dry, slowly sat up, his breathing uneven. A person’s back is surprisingly thin, and the so-called “heart of the back” is perilously close to the actual heart. Taking a full-force strike from Tuoba Pusa was far worse than just broken bones or torn tendons. Fortunately, Xu Fengnian was all too familiar with injuries—long illness makes a doctor of a patient. Following the Wudang Great Yellow Court’s internal techniques, he briefly assessed his own recovery before asking, “Where’s the iron spear?”
Chu Lushan replied softly, “Placed in the coffin.”
Xu Fengnian nodded. “Tell Second Brother Yuan to take down the banner from the Great Snow Dragon Cavalry’s standard and bring it here. As for the cavalry, just say they need a new banner. If anyone objects, don’t force the issue. I’ll explain it to the officers myself later.”
Chu Lushan said, “Reporting to Your Highness, Yuan Baoxiong has already left for the Hulu Pass outside Youzhou. As for the banner, there’s no need to worry. Old Qi was a veteran of the Great Snow Dragon Cavalry, and news of his death has spread throughout the border army. No one will dare to question it.”
Xu Fengnian interlaced his fingers over his abdomen, not looking at Chu Lushan. “If I had arrived at the Dragon’s Eye Plains battlefield just a moment earlier, he wouldn’t have died.”
Chu Lushan shook his head. “If? Then should we also say that if the Protectorate hadn’t approved the proposal from the three White Horse Scout captains, even Sun Ji and Wei Musheng wouldn’t have died? The battlefield is ever-changing. Life and death are beyond reproach—there’s no room for ‘ifs.’ Dead is dead.”
Dead is dead.
A simple, almost indifferent statement.
Xu Fengnian turned to look at this man, infamous for his atrocities. The Xu family had dominated the northwest for twenty years—wasn’t that essentially warlordism? Chu Lushan’s misdeeds were numerous, and as a high-ranking official of Northern Liang, future historians would surely spare no ink in condemning him, perhaps even more so than Xu Fengnian, the shared leader of the Northern Liang Iron Cavalry. Yet Xu Fengnian didn’t erupt in anger at Chu Lushan’s callous words—not just because this adopted son of the Butcher’s fate was inextricably tied to Northern Liang’s fortunes, but also because this man had been recognized by both Xu Xiao and Li Yishan as the closest to Chen Zhubo in military talent, a true strategic genius of Northern Liang. In fact, had it not been for Chu Lushan’s open sycophancy back then, the younger officers of the Northern Liang border army might have overwhelmingly sided with Chen Zhubo, making Xu Fengnian’s hereditary succession far more difficult, if not outright bloody. A single Huaihua General Zhong Hongwu would never have been enough.
But the real reason Xu Fengnian remained silent was that the man before him, towering like a mountain, had once led a thousand cavalry to conquer Shu, had turned the tide in the first great battle between Liyang and Northern Mang beyond the pass, and had personally commanded eight thousand Yeluohe cavalry to thwart Dong Zhuo’s schemes. Thus, this man surnamed Chu, with nearly thirty years of military experience, had far more authority to speak on matters of war than Xu Fengnian—even if Xu Fengnian was a grandmaster on the martial rankings, even if he was the King of Northern Liang.
Chu Lushan clenched his fists on his knees. “Partings in life and death—no feast under heaven lasts forever.”
Xu Fengnian curled his lips, his gaze distant, as if recalling the forest of thirty thousand steles behind Mount Qingliang. “No need to comfort me. I know every name carved on those stones belonged to someone with family, just like Qi Dangguo. So no matter who dies, someone will grieve. It’s not necessarily me, Xu Fengnian, who grieves the most.”
He paused. “But when I think that next Spring Festival, I’ll write all those couplets and ‘fortune’ characters as usual, only to realize the person who always asked for them is gone—that I can’t give them to him anymore—my heart feels hollow.”
Xu Fengnian lifted his head. “Before my second journey through the martial world, Xu Xiao took me to the bottom of the Listening to the Tide Pavilion. I saw many memorial tablets there. At the time, I didn’t fully understand his feelings. Now I do. In truth, I began to understand when Liu Jinu and Chu Hanqing died in Hutou City.”
Chu Lushan listened silently to the young feudal lord’s soliloquy, his face expressionless.
Xu Fengnian got out of bed, staggering slightly. Chu Lushan moved to support him, but Xu Fengnian waved him off with a smile, and Chu Lushan didn’t insist.
Chu Lushan led Xu Fengnian to a quiet courtyard nearby. Entering the inner chamber, they saw the cypress coffin. Chu Lushan stepped closer and sighed with a smile, “Huaiyang Pass couldn’t scrounge up any decent nanmu, so Old Qi had to make do. Luckily, he was never one to stand on ceremony. Remember back at Xileibi, this guy could use corpses as pillows. More than once, we had to dig him out from a pile of dead bodies when we went looking for him. The Princess Consort scolded him many times, but it never stuck. Later, in the northwest, of the six of us, only Old Qi had his residence personally arranged by the Princess Consort—she was afraid he’d just slap together some tiny shack and call it a day. Even his marriage was arranged by her. Old Qi agreed without a second thought, probably seeing his bride for the first time when he lifted the red veil on their wedding day. But all these years, he lived happily, content as a fourth-rank officer for over a decade without complaint. If it were me, I’d have thrown a tantrum at Father and the Princess Consort long ago.”
Chu Lushan suddenly slapped the coffin lid hard. “Old Qi, wake up! His Highness is here to see you!”
Xu Fengnian glared at him.
Chu Lushan grinned sheepishly, withdrawing his hand. Glancing at the coffin, he murmured, “Sleep on, then. You always slept like the dead—thunder couldn’t wake you. Only six words ever worked: ‘Battle’s coming, carry the banner.’”
Xu Fengnian stood by the coffin, gazing at the sunlight spilling into the courtyard like a golden carpet. Softly, he asked, “What’s the situation north of Hutou City and in Liuzhou?”
When it came to military matters, Northern Liang’s Protector Chu Lushan grew solemn. “The battle at Dragon’s Eye Plains took both sides by surprise. Northern Mang suffered heavy losses—their elite scouts, the Raven Fences and Black Fox Fences, were wiped out, leaving Dong Zhuo and Murong Baoding’s central army blind. Of Dong’s eight thousand private cavalry, only a thousand escaped. The six thousand Rouran cavalry thrown into the battle were reduced to two thousand. With Hong Jingyan dead, the Rouran riders are leaderless and will likely be carved up by Northern Mang’s factions soon. A cavalry without structure has no combat power. Most crucially, the destruction of Dong’s private riders and the Rouran cavalry severely hampered the central army’s mobility. On our side, Yuan Nan Ting’s White Feather Light Cavalry remains intact. It’s just a pity about Old Qi’s Iron Pagodas…”
He hesitated. “Deputy General Ning Emel of the Iron Pagodas was ordered by Old Qi to remain near Qingyuan Garrison with only a few hundred men. Even with the remnants from Dragon’s Eye Plains, they barely muster two thousand. With another major battle imminent, we can’t pull troops from He Zhonghu and Zhou Kang’s left and right cavalry—those two old marshals are already fuming. If we push them, they might rebel. That means the Iron Pagodas likely won’t fight independently in the next battle. It’s not good news—a force like that, two thousand versus four thousand, makes a world of difference.”
Seeing Xu Fengnian deep in thought, Chu Lushan continued, “Current intelligence suggests Dong Zhuo and Murong Baoding are holding their positions, which makes sense—the old dowager’s wrath is enough to keep them in line. As for Liuzhou, everything’s proceeding as planned. The only wildcard is Zhong Tan, the deputy commander of the western front, who’s gone missing. Huang Songpu’s 170,000 elite southern troops are advancing along the same route Liu Gui took to Qingcang City. Now it’s up to Kou Jianghuai’s harassment to throw Huang off balance. If Huang reaches Qingcang unimpeded, our chances in a head-on fight are slim. The battle for Liuzhou must be fought outside the city.”
Xu Fengnian suddenly said, “I’ll assign eight hundred White Horse Righteous Cavalry to the Iron Pagodas. Starting with me, all officers of fourth rank and above will contribute part of their personal guards. I want the Iron Pagodas back to four thousand within a month, then sent to Liuzhou alongside Yu Luandao’s Youzhou cavalry.”
Chu Lushan blinked, interlacing his fingers over his abdomen as he pondered the implications.
Xu Fengnian walked to the doorway. “Before Xie Xi’chui left Liangzhou, he proposed a plan—but the risks are enormous. It would mean heavy casualties for all Liangzhou border cavalry, losses Northern Liang might not withstand.”
Chu Lushan raised an eyebrow. “Oh?”
Xu Fengnian smiled wryly. “Luckily, Xie said he needed to scout Liuzhou’s borders first and asked me to wait a month. He admitted he might retract the suggestion himself.”
Chu Lushan chuckled. “By deciding to secretly deploy ten thousand Youzhou cavalry to Liuzhou, hasn’t Your Highness already endorsed Xie Xi’chui’s strategy?”
Xu Fengnian nodded. “I’d rather gamble big than wait helplessly as Northern Mang advances step by step.”
Chu Lushan leaned against the doorframe, sighing inexplicably. “The twin pillars of Great Chu—Kou Jianghuai and Xie Xi’chui—plus Yu Luandao. Three young outsiders.”
Xu Fengnian’s expression darkened. “Is it too reckless?”
Chu Lushan gave an ambiguous answer. “Hard to say.”
Xu Fengnian didn’t leave the courtyard but sat on the threshold instead.
Chu Lushan looked awkward, unsure whether to sit or stand—the threshold was too narrow for his bulk. Compromising, he stepped over and sat on the porch steps.
Xu Fengnian asked, “Lu Qiu’er, if we proceed as Xie suggested, will you Northern Liang old-timers resent it?”
Facing away, Chu Lushan answered obliquely. “Remember when Li Yishan orchestrated the purge of Liangzhou’s local powers, exiling them as convicts to what’s now Liuzhou? Noble families were decimated, but the Xu army finally took root here. At the victory banquet on Mount Qingliang, you got drunk watching the hall full of generals and said something unexpected—that for the Xu family to endure in Northern Liang, swords alone weren’t enough. The people needed stability too. The Xu army couldn’t stay on horseback forever. After dismounting, besides enjoying their spoils, they had to govern.”
He looked up at the blue sky. “From then on, many soldiers left the ranks—like Lin Doufang and Hu Kui—while scholars like Li Gongde and Yan Jiexi rose in the bureaucracy. But Father still worried privately that his infamous reputation kept outsiders away, making your succession harder. That day, perhaps after talking with Master Li, you surprised us by spouting some literary phrase—‘Flowing water never stagnates; a door-hinge never rusts.’ Then you glared at us adopted sons. Yao Jian and Ye Xizhen stifled laughs, while I, of course, flattered you. Old Qi, the simpleton, asked Father what it meant, delighting him so much he repeated Master Li’s explanation verbatim, chuckling secretly. So you see, the straightforward Old Qi was truly blessed in his simplicity.”
His tone grew calm. “The Princess Consort had a bodhisattva’s heart. She treated all six of us equally, though differently—urging me to study more, telling that Chen fellow to smile more, advising Yao Jian and Ye Xizhen to exercise… But of the six, only Old Qi obeyed her every word like divine decree. Even when he knew she wouldn’t scold him for mistakes, he’d fret like a schoolboy who’d misrecited texts, beyond consolation. When she passed, we six bore her coffin. Strangely, even Chen and Yuan Baoxiong reddened their eyes, while I bawled. Old Qi alone showed nothing. When I asked why, this fool said the Princess Consort had become an immortal in heaven, so he wasn’t sad—just… missed her.”
Xu Fengnian smiled. “So as a boy, whenever I got into trouble, I’d turn to Qi Dangguo. Just send word, and he’d come charging with troops. Back then, I didn’t think deeply—just found this sworn brother the most straightforward. He solved my problems without lecturing, fearless as if he’d hold up the sky for me. Once, in a remote county of Fengzhou (now Lingzhou), Li Hanlin, Yan Chiji, Kong Wuchi, and I clashed with some young nobles who didn’t know our identities. Their family soldiers chased us like headless chickens. Qi Dangguo happened to be inspecting nearby with some old generals. Hearing the news, he brought two hundred cavalry, tearing down the offenders’ gates for firewood. The scandal was huge—with Zhong Hongwu, then Northern Liang’s cavalry commander, and a bloc of Lingzhou officers backing them, Qi Dangguo lost his shot at becoming Lingzhou’s deputy general. Xu Xiao was furious but dared not vent on me, so he thrashed Qi instead. Guilty, I sneaked over with Yan Chiji and two jars of Green Ant Wine to apologize. Knowing Qi’s demotion was irreversible—I couldn’t sway Xu Xiao, and no one in the army would listen to me then—I braced myself to find him drowning his sorrows. Instead, he acted like nothing happened, overjoyed just to see me visit. I’ll never forget his beaming face as he strode toward me—as if Xu Xiao himself had come calling.”
Chu Lushan shook his head. This time, he didn’t address him as “Your Highness.” “Xiao Nian, you’re wrong.”
Xu Fengnian frowned. “Hmm?”
Chu Lushan said slowly, “I remember that scene. When Old Qi saw you, it wasn’t like seeing Father—it was like an unremarkable farmer seeing his younger brother return home after years away, now a top scholar who hadn’t forgotten him. That’s why he was so happy—and proud.”
Xu Fengnian was silent for a moment before smiling bitterly. “Back then, all I did was carouse. What pride was there in that?”
Chu Lushan grinned. “Maybe in Old Qi’s eyes, you always had potential. In this, not even Yuan Baoxiong or I could match him. Of the six, only Old Qi never doubted you’d become a man like Father. As he’d say in his eastern Yue accent, ‘No damn explanation needed!’”
Xu Fengnian sat on the threshold, lost in thought.
The Protector of Northern Liang faced away from the young feudal lord, who in turn had his back to the coffin.
Two living men, one dead—for a time, none spoke.
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