Meanwhile, in the northwest, Fan Jianglin – seated in the courtyard, struggling to draw a bow – had just set the weapon down when he saw a military officer walk through the gate.
“Has the reward for merit come down yet?” he asked.
The smoke of the great battle in mid-April had already dispersed. In the month that followed, soldiers and commoners alike had begun to forget their pain: the wounded fought to survive, the families of the dead waited for compensation, the living longed for their well-earned rewards, and the officers looked forward to commendations and promotion. In the height of summer, the northwest brimmed with vitality.
Fan Jianglin could now just barely walk a few steps, though most of the time he remained seated or lying down. The army doctor had warned that even if his wounds healed, his legs and arms would never be as they once were.
Xu Sigen was deeply saddened by this, but Fan Jianglin himself took it lightly.
“You don’t always have to charge the front lines to kill the enemy,” he said with a smile at Xu Sigen. “They’ve fulfilled their wish. As for me, I’ll follow you, and help raise horses. You’ve bred so many of them – when our fine lads ride out on their iron hooves and crush the Western raiders’ skulls, isn’t that also killing the enemy?”
This had been a major battle – and a victorious one at that. The court desperately needed a triumph to lift the nation’s spirits, and so the rewards were distributed swiftly, from top to bottom.
Hearing someone come in, Fan Jianglin’s wife, cradling their infant, quickly stepped out of the house. She listened as the soldiers read from their list, reciting the names of Xu Maoxiu and the other four men.
At the sound of those names again, it was as if Fan Jianglin could see his brothers striding toward him, smiling as they did. His nose stung, and he lowered his gaze.
“Yes, that’s right,” the young woman stepped forward and said.
“All of these items are here. You can check them over,” the soldier replied. There was no emotion on his face or in his voice. He had carried out this kind of duty too many times – whatever sympathy or sorrow he might once have felt had long since been worn away.
The young woman answered softly and, still holding the child, went to inspect the bolts of silk and money being unloaded.
“…Six strings of cash per person, eight bolts of silk,” the soldier read out beside her, not forgetting to emphasize the point: “…This time, the court and Master Jiang pushed hard for prompt distribution. Not a coin, not a thread of silk is missing…”
That was true enough. In the past, it was rare for families to receive their full compensation. Many soldiers’ bodies were never recovered, their families never learning what had become of them. And even when relief payments were issued, they passed through so many clerks and offices that by the time they trickled down, they had usually vanished without a trace.
That was why, from time to time, officers fabricated reports of casualties – so they could pocket large sums of compensation.
The young woman carefully checked each item while holding the child, speaking softly to him as she did.
“Tiedan, this is what your father left for you. Look carefully,” she said.
The little one, not understanding, waved his hands and babbled with delight. But to Fan Jianglin’s ears, it only made the pain sharper.
“All checked,” the young woman finally said.
One of the soldiers offered a few perfunctory words of consolation, then turned to leave.
“Wait.” Fan Jianglin called out.
Everyone in the courtyard turned their heads toward him.
“What else is there?” the lead soldier asked. Then, glancing at the wounded man sitting under the eaves, he suddenly realized something. “Ah, right, right – there’s still one more.”
Hearing this, Fan Jianglin’s expression eased a little as he watched the soldier turn back and pull a string of coins from another pouch.
“Injured soldiers receive one string of cash as well,” the man said.
Fan Jianglin was stunned.
“And what else?” he pressed.
The soldier blinked.
“What else?” he asked in return.
Fan Jianglin tried to push himself upright, and his young wife hurried forward to support him.
“My brothers were all warriors who defended Linguan Fort!” he shouted, eyes blazing, pointing toward the piles of money and silk in the courtyard. “Just this?”
The soldier chuckled.
“Just this? This is already no small sum,” he said, his tone weighted with meaning. “For others, the compensation is only five coins and five bolts of silk. Because you were at Linguan Fort, Assistant Commander Fang personally knelt and pleaded with the court for heavier compensation – he even offered to give up his own promotion and title…”
“He knelt! And yet he still got his promotion and title!” Fan Jianglin roared, cutting the soldier off.
Seeing the ferocity on his face, the soldier recoiled in fear.
“What do you think you’re doing?” he shouted. “Assistant Commander Fang fought bravely against the enemy, unafraid of death – naturally he deserves the highest merit in this battle…”
“He fought bravely, unafraid of death!” Fan Jianglin bellowed, hurling himself forward.
The soldier leapt back in fright, but Fan Jianglin couldn’t stand on his own. His wife, with one arm holding the baby and the other struggling to steady him, was powerless to stop him. He stumbled, staggered, and crashed to the ground.
The courtyard instantly dissolved into chaos – women screaming, children crying.
“…He fought bravely, unafraid of death! He fought bravely, unafraid of death!”
The man’s hoarse roar rose again and again from within the turmoil.
In the rear quarters of the government hall, the banquet was in full swing, laughter echoing without pause.
After the great battle, with rewards for merit settled, it was the very moment for men to bask in triumph – and none laughed louder than Fang Zhonghe.
He had good reason. In this campaign he had leapt four ranks in one stroke, from a mere ninth-rank Assistant Commander to being appointed commandant of Hangu Fort at Longgu City. It was nothing short of meteoric. Rank was one thing, but holding a real post was another – and with this new credential as a Commander, given Fang Zhonghe’s age, even the position of Inspector in the future was well within reach.
Inspector… Inspector…
Fang Zhonghe could not hold back another peal of laughter.
“Come, come – drink, drink!” He lifted his wine bowl and clashed it heartily against another’s.
“Sir, Sir.” Someone at Fang Zhonghe’s side called softly.
Fang Zhonghe frowned, but went on laughing and drinking.
“Sir…” the man persisted.
What a fool with no sense of timing! Fang Zhonghe turned back with a dark look.
“What is it?” he asked.
The minor clerk let out a breath of relief.
“Someone wishes to see you,” he whispered.
“Get lost, get lost,” Fang Zhonghe snapped impatiently, turning back again to his drinking and banter.
The little clerk slunk away.
“…Military Commissioner Jiang means for you to enter the capital and present yourself before His Majesty…”
Master Jiang – that was Jiang Wenyuan, the Deputy Military Commissioner. Since the post of Military Commissioner had yet to be filled, deputies generally disliked being addressed with the word “deputy.” So in conversation, people deliberately left the word out – except for a very few.
“…Such favor from Master Jiang, I am truly grateful…” Fang Zhonghe quickly replied.
He had just said this when, behind him, another clerk called out “Assistant Commander.”
“Can’t you call me anything else?” Fang Zhonghe turned, teeth clenched.
The clerk froze.
“My lord,” he said instead.
Fang Zhonghe exhaled sharply. This clerk could pack his things and get out later.
“Well? What now?” he demanded.
“Those two men said, if you won’t come out, they’ll come in and speak to you themselves,” the clerk whispered.
Fang Zhonghe sneered inwardly.
“And who are they?” he asked.
“Fan Jianglin and Xu Sigen,” the clerk answered softly.
Fang Zhonghe’s expression changed at once.
Of course. If it had been anyone else, they would never have dared. But Fan Jianglin -that man just might.
Fang Zhonghe tightened his grip on the wine bowl in his hand.
At Linguan Fort, he had fled the battlefield. Naturally, those who had run with him would never speak of it – it was hardly something to be proud of. As for the men who had stayed behind to defend the fort, they had all perished… all except Fan Jianglin, who, against all odds, had been dragged out alive from a heap of corpses.
If that man started shouting the truth around, it wasn’t as if there was real danger – but at a time like this, it would certainly look ugly.
His appointment letter had not yet arrived. If something went wrong before then…
Fang Zhonghe set down his wine bowl.
“I’ll just step out for a moment,” he said with a smile to those around him.
In a side hall of the back courtyard, when Fang Zhonghe entered, Xu Sigen hurriedly rose to his feet, and Fan Jianglin, leaning on his crutch, forced himself up as well.
“Commander,” Xu Sigen stepped forward and saluted.
That form of address instantly swept away Fang Zhonghe’s pent-up resentment, and a smile crept onto his face.
“No need for such words – the appointment letter hasn’t arrived yet,” he said quickly, waving his hand.
“Your merit is already nailed in place. It’s only a matter of time,” Fan Jianglin said coldly, putting particular weight on the word merit.
Fang Zhonghe’s expression stiffened ever so slightly.
“And what business brings you to me?” he asked, stroking his beard.
“My lord, our brothers died in battle – why are their families given only compensation?” Fan Jianglin demanded. “Were they not brave men, fighting the enemy without fear of death? You, who survived, have been granted rank and reward. Should they not at least be honored posthumously?”
So that’s what this is about!
“I’ve already reported it,” Fang Zhonghe replied. “But pensions for the dead and wounded have always had fixed quotas. All I can do is try again to press the matter.”
“We don’t want pensions! My brothers deserve posthumous titles, offices, recognition. They are not just recipients of compensation – they are warriors, they are the valiant,” Fan Jianglin shouted, taking a step forward on his crutch.
Fang Zhonghe frowned.
“No one ever said they weren’t,” he said. “All who die for the country are valiant warriors. Isn’t that why the court increased the compensation?”
“Don’t you play dumb with me here!” Fan Jianglin cut him off, his whole body trembling. “You know very well where your merit came from! Replace your name with my brothers’ names when you report to the court – see what result you’d get then! Would it just be this little bit of extra compensation?”
Fang Zhonghe’s face turned ashen; instinctively, he glanced toward the doorway.
“Fan Jianglin, what do you mean by this?” he hissed.
“You know damn well what I mean! It was my third brother who first stepped up to hold off the enemy, and in the end it was us who kept them back until the last. And you? You dragged men away halfway through the fight – you ran! Now my brothers are dead, and you’ve claimed the credit!” Fan Jianglin’s voice rose higher and higher; he grew so agitated that he broke into a fit of violent coughing.
“What nonsense are you spouting? When did I run off with men? I was leading them to… to ambush the enemy!” Fang Zhonghe shot back, his face dark with anger.
“Fang Zhonghe, just say it straight – will you report it or not?” Xu Sigen cut in.
“Report what? The rewards were submitted a month and a half ago! It’s all finished -what’s there left to report?” Fang Zhonghe snapped irritably. He clenched his teeth, glared at the two men, then muttered, “Fine. The silver, the money, the bolts of silk I was granted – I’ll give them all to you. Now go, go.”
“Who wants your money?” Fan Jianglin barked. “We don’t want money – we want the honors my brothers earned!”
Merit and honors? If they were given, then what did that make him?
Fang Zhonghe sneered. A dead man – what need had he for honors? Wasn’t it all just a ploy to squeeze out more money?
“How much do you really want?” he asked.
“Master Fang, we’ll say it once more: all we ask is that you report the truth,” Xu Sigen said. “No – whether you report truthfully or not about yourself, that’s not our concern. Your merit, whether deserved or not – we won’t contest it. What we ask is that you report the truth about our brothers who died defending the fort. Report their deeds, and have them honored posthumously.”
Report the truth about those men? Have them honored? Did they think those above were fools? That would be nothing less than cutting off his career!
Hatred churned in Fang Zhonghe’s heart. To destroy his prospects was no different from killing his parents – how could he allow it?
It’s just you alone, isn’t it? The rest are all dead men. What can you do to me?
Since you refuse to take this, don’t blame me for turning harsh.
He straightened his back, his face going cold.
“Have you anything else to say?” he asked icily. “If not, then go back. I know you grieve for your lost kin, so I won’t hold your rudeness against you. But return home, tend to your wounds, and don’t stir up trouble again.”
Fan Jianglin and Xu Sigen stared at him in disbelief.
“So you really won’t report it?” Fan Jianglin stepped forward, his voice trembling as he shouted.
“What I needed to report has already been reported. There’s nothing more to add,” Fang Zhonghe said coolly.
Fan Jianglin thrust a finger at him.
“How can you smother your conscience-” he roared, but the words broke off in a fit of violent coughing.
Xu Sigen hurried to steady him, patting his back while turning to look at Fang Zhonghe.
“Master Fang, how can you act like this? It chills the hearts of all our brothers…” he said.
“Manager Xu, I’ve already done my best. If the brothers are disheartened, there’s nothing more I can do,” Fang Zhonghe replied evenly.
Xu Sigen was about to say more when Fang Zhonghe flicked his sleeve.
“Attend me – see them out!” he raised his voice and shouted.
The clerks and attendants who had been standing at a distance immediately rushed in, shoving Xu Sigen and Fan Jianglin. Fan Jianglin’s crutch was knocked from his hand, and the two of them were dragged toward the door by four men.
“Don’t you regret this!” Fan Jianglin shouted, jabbing a finger at him. “Don’t you regret it! Don’t you regret it!”
Regret? What was there to regret?
If he hadn’t fled early back then, he’d already be a dead man – that would be regret.
If he truthfully reported his desertion now, he’d already be locked up – where would his four-rank promotion be? That would be regret.
Fang Zhonghe swung his sleeve again and turned his back to the hall.
Don’t you regret it! Don’t you regret it!
The hoarse cries trailed off into the distance.
