“In his youth, Nanlou took pride in chivalrous exploits; after joining the army, he gradually became more tempered and gentle.”
– Later Zhou History · Biography of Song Nanlou
If Song Nanlou knew how the author of his biography had described him, he would probably find it rather hard to believe.
He didn’t particularly object to the line “took pride in chivalrous exploits,” but he definitely had something to say about what came after – though he had grown older, he was nowhere near as mild and gentle as described.
Recently, Song Nanlou had been hearing rumors: after a long period of peace across the realm, certain regions were beginning to stir with unrest again. He wrote to a friend, urging him to stay vigilant. Half a month later, a reply arrived. Shi Zhuhe thanked him for his concern and casually mentioned that during his last trip to the capital to report on his duties, he had heard that someone at court had impeached the Song family. Still, the Emperor was clear-sighted and discerning – so long as a minister fulfilled his duties loyally, there was no need for undue worry.
Shi Zhuhe was right.
During the most turbulent years of the Great Zhou, the Sovereign had never shown suspicion toward her generals. Instead, she steadily delegated authority, displaying the resolve of a wise ruler capable of turning the tide. Now her prestige only grew stronger by the day. Not to mention the generals outside the capital – even if the ancestral forebears of the Wen clan were to rise from the dead, they would not be able to shake the authority of the reigning emperor.
As frontier generals, both Song Nanlou and Shi Zhuhe were required to return to the capital periodically to report on their duties. When it was Song Nanlou’s turn, the Emperor issued a special decree: after returning to the capital, he need not immediately seek an audience, but could first go home and rest for a couple of days.
From the Song family’s perspective, this gesture was, on the one hand, a sign of the Emperor’s consideration for a subject long separated from his family. On the other hand… it also had something to do with the fact that she herself had slipped out of the palace and wasn’t currently at home anyway.
Song Nanlou had spent years away from home, so this reunion with his family was naturally a warm and lively one.
Song Wenshu said with a smile, “You’ve been out there for so long, and yet you haven’t grown any more steady – you’re just the same as when you were at home.” Then he added a reminder, “When Her Majesty summons you for an audience later, you must rein in your temper.”
Song Nanlou felt his uncle didn’t trust him enough. “I’ve been a camp commander for years now – I certainly won’t do anything to incur Her Majesty’s reprimand.”
Song Wenshu shot him a glare. “I’m worried you’ll displease Her Majesty!” Then he sighed. “Her Majesty works so tirelessly. As her subjects, even if we can’t ease our ruler’s burdens, we mustn’t add to them.”
“… ”
In his uncle’s eyes, he was just the same as when he had been at home.
And in his eyes, his uncle was exactly the same as he had always been too.
Two days after Song Nanlou returned, a palace attendant finally came to summon him into the imperial palace.
The Emperor had been on the throne for quite some time now, and her conduct had grown increasingly composed and assured. Instead of receiving General Song in the main hall, she summoned him directly to the imperial gardens to accompany her in horseback riding and archery.
The autumn wind was brisk. Dressed in black, the Emperor rode ahead, then drew her longbow and loosed an arrow straight from horseback. Though it didn’t hit the bullseye, it wasn’t too far off.
Wen Yanran seemed to sigh lightly, then turned back to the young general behind her. “You must find this amusing.”
Song Nanlou replied, “Your Majesty is diligent in state affairs. To have such accuracy now shows how much effort you’ve put in.”
Wen Yanran had seen from “screenshots” that Song Nanlou had been quite headstrong in his youth. In some side stories, although he did enter official service, his unruly temperament never truly changed – he would argue with heaven and earth alike, even clashing with the emperor in his daily conduct. In several scenes after Wen Jiangong’s accession, he had even mocked the ruler to his face more than once.
Enraged, Wen Jiangong had summoned Song Wenshu to account for it. The elder statesman, born of a great aristocratic clan, merely replied coldly that his nephew’s nature was simply like that and that he was hardly suited for great responsibility. If the emperor found him intolerable, then he might as well be stripped of office and allowed to live freely outside as an unrestrained gentleman.
If the comment section had concluded from those storylines that Song Nanlou was “gentle and easygoing,” then it was no wonder she had been under a misapprehension – she truly hadn’t expected his character to shift depending on the situation…
The Emperor and General Song spent the day riding and shooting, though they didn’t bring back much game. After casually loosing a few arrows, Wen Yanran began discussing various matters in the provinces with him.
“These days, banditry across the realm has diminished somewhat. Although people in the localities no longer dare to openly establish fortified manors, many households are still privately maintaining their own retainers and dependents.”
Wen Yanran gave a slight nod.
Resolving this issue would not be accomplished overnight. The court was currently deliberating how to define the personal status between such retainers and their patrons. The tentative plan was to reclassify a portion of them as tenant farmers – legally recognized commoners – so that over time, the ties between the two sides would gradually weaken.
The Emperor smiled again. “General Song, it’s rare for you to return to the capital. After you’ve completed your report, stay home a few more days – and take some time to stroll about the city as well.”
Song Nanlou smiled. “Though I’ve long been stationed at the frontier, I’ve often heard of how lively Taikang City is.” Then he added, “It’s just that I seldom come to the secondary capital – I’m afraid I may feel somewhat out of place here.”
He was a general, commanding troops far from home, guarding a region – a pillar of the realm’s stability. Yet he could never enjoy such peace for long.
Fifteen years ago, there had been no pastime in the world that Song Nanlou wasn’t good at.
While on leave at home, Song Nanlou changed into an ordinary cotton robe, traveling light as he stepped out.
Taikang was a city that felt particularly unfamiliar to him; everywhere he looked was filled with sights he had never seen before.
The laughter and liveliness of the city made him smile without realizing it. He wandered from daytime into the evening. Taikang had been built largely with brick and stone – materials that, unlike wood, did not fear fire – so its curfew came later than that of Jianping. Lamps lined the streets, glowing one by one. Standing on a bridge and looking down, the young general almost felt as though he were gazing upon a sea of stars.
The lamplight reflected in Song Nanlou’s eyes, softening the young general’s expression immeasurably.
He had been born and raised as the son of a great aristocratic family in a place of prosperity – yet had become merely a passerby in this age of peace.
Once his reporting term ended, Song Nanlou would have to ready himself and return to his post. Before his departure, the Emperor sent a palace attendant to ask if there was anything he desired.
Song Nanlou said, “I have long admired Your Majesty’s skill at chess. If it would not trouble you, perhaps you might bestow upon me a chess manual you often read?”
Wen Yanran’s misunderstandings about her ministers could be clarified with the help of that intermittently functioning game system, but her ministers’ misunderstandings about her had never once wavered. Even now, Song Nanlou remained firmly convinced that the Emperor was a grandmaster of the game, hoping to learn a thing or two from her.
As for the request, although the emperor herself felt somewhat at a loss, she still had someone send over the chess book she had been reading recently. It was a Chess Classic printed by the Southern School – its title plain, its contents equally straightforward, only a step above Introduction to Chess Strategy.
After receiving the book, Song Nanlou pondered for a moment, then suddenly understood everything – since Her Majesty was a grandmaster, she could naturally perceive the deepest principles even from the simplest material.
Just before setting out, Song Nanlou also took with him a glass lamp from home.
Though he could not remain long in this most flourishing of cities, he could, under the glow of a new kind of light, slowly read the book he had brought from the capital – one that carried with it the very essence of Taikang.
“Wen Xun, courtesy name Yaoshi, was the great-grandson of the Prince of Hemou. She lost her father at a young age, was poor yet fond of learning. In times of turmoil, she volunteered for military service; the Sovereign commended her resolve and bestowed upon her the name ‘Xun.’”
– Later Zhou History · Biography of Wen Xun
If Wen Xun were to tell it herself, her family had indeed been poor when she was young – but not so poor that they couldn’t afford even a single meal. The reason their life had been so tightly stretched was simply that her appetite far exceeded that of ordinary people, and her build did as well. By the time she first entered the palace for an audience, she was already taller and more solidly built than the Emperor – who was both younger than her and of a higher generation. She had very much needed to find a job to support herself.
If Song Nanlou couldn’t have imagined how he would be portrayed in his biography, then Wen Xun couldn’t have imagined that she would have a biography written about her at all.
If asked to evaluate herself, she had always felt that she had never accomplished anything particularly great – she had simply been very lucky, always able to ride on the coattails of others.
During the southern snow disaster, the actual strategy had been handled by the Emperor, while other operations were supported by her colleagues. At most, she had personally gone into battle and cut down a few rebels.
Later, when she led troops north for training and, incidentally, blocked the rebels’ retreat route, the overall process was essentially a copy-and-paste of the snow disaster campaign – the Emperor coordinated the grand strategy, while her colleagues provided support alongside.
Wen Xun felt that she was truly someone blessed by good fortune.
She had a good working environment – her colleagues had never claimed credit for her achievements, and her ruler had always assigned her appropriately. At a time when all four camps – front, rear, left, and right – were short of personnel, Wen Xun had been posted to the southern region, where matters were relatively easier to handle. True, some had warned her about the miasma and pestilence there, and she had indeed been unlucky enough to fall ill – but after barely two days, physicians were dispatched from Jianping, bringing with them the Emperor’s concern and prescriptions, along with a reminder that they should communicate more with the local inhabitants to better understand the region.
Care, attention, support, guidance… to encounter a ruler who was like both a teacher and a parent – this was truly her good fortune.
As Wen Xun grew older, she was transferred from the south to the west. After leading troops and putting a check on some of the more unruly vassal states beyond the borders, rumors began to circulate around her, praising her as possessing “the bearing of the High Ancestor.”
Wen Xun vaguely felt that she ought to be alarmed upon hearing such praise – but she simply couldn’t summon the appropriate emotion.
She had once had dreams. In those dreams, she held greater military authority, achieved even higher feats, and commanded the support of more people… and met a far more tragic end.
The emperor in those dreams was different from the current sovereign: outwardly harsh but inwardly weak, a despot lacking reliable generals. That ruler could only rely on members of his own clan to command troops, yet, because of that remark about her “bearing of the High Ancestor,” he grew wary of Wen Xun. At the same time, he feared that showing any suspicion might prompt this imperial kinswoman-general to turn the tables with her army. In the end, he sent people with smiling faces to bestow rewards, luring her into the city – only to have her poisoned to death within the palace halls.
Wen Xun had never once thought of rebelling. Even if the mountains and rivers were to collapse and the dynasty’s mandate come to an end, she knew she would no longer be capable of turning the tide. All she hoped for was to offer one final measure of strength for the realm of Great Zhou. As for the Sovereign, her only wish was that she might be permitted to die on the battlefield – beyond that, she desired nothing more.
The sunlight in the western regions seemed somehow different from that of the Central Plains, leaving one pleasantly drowsy. Resting her head on her arm, Wen Xun narrowed her eyes and smiled, repeating for what must have been the umpteenth time, “I really am someone blessed with great fortune.”
Generals of Great Zhou never had to worry about being suspected by the central court for commanding too many troops. Nor would they ever, by virtue of their own excellence, create a situation where the ruler was weak and the branches strong. The emperor knew how to recognize and employ talent, granting capable individuals the fullest scope to display their abilities. At the same time, she herself was exceptionally formidable – the unquestioned pillar of Great Zhou – commanding the heartfelt loyalty and admiration of all.
After arriving in the western regions, Wen Xun traveled widely. She first stayed in Dan Province, and after the court established the Protectorate of Anxi, she moved further west of Tai Province. There were many foreign merchants there, and they brought with them a peculiar kind of animal called the camel.
Wen Xun wanted the Emperor to see these strange and fascinating things from the west as well, so she sent camels and various seeds of plants from the Western Regions to the capital. She also dispatched people to safeguard the merchant caravans traveling back and forth. Great Zhou’s glassware, silk, tea, cotton cloth, and cane sugar flowed steadily westward, while gold and silver from foreign lands poured like a stream into the imperial treasury.
Spices, horses, and camels from distant lands became fashionable for a time in Jianping and Taikang, and streets in the cities began to feature snacks with distinct Western flavors.
She watched as Dan Province and Tai Province – once considered remote and uncivilized borderlands – grew ever more prosperous and flourishing. More and more foreign states came to the capital to pay tribute; drawn by immense profit, the rulers of these smaller nations willingly attached themselves to Great Zhou and declared themselves subjects of the Emperor.
Compared to the famous generals of her era, Wen Xun had not experienced large-scale wars. Her most notable achievement was leading five hundred cavalry beyond the frontier, joining forces with several neighboring small states to form a force of over six thousand, which greatly deterred those foreign tribes with designs on invasion.
As a military general, Wen Xun did not seek dazzling feats of glory.
For her, the greatest fortune of all was simply to be born into an age of peace and prosperity.
