By late August, the air in Longgu City already carried a hint of chill.
From a shabby little courtyard came the clanging sounds of hammering.
“Manager Xu, are you saying that with these horseshoes branded on, the horses will really be able to run fast on ice?”
Outside the straw shed, which looked more like a blacksmith’s shop, a few soldiers stood or squatted, watching the busy man inside as they asked.
“Yes,” the man inside replied, his upper body bare as he worked.
“Then this winter we’ll be able to charge across the Liangma River and strike deep into the Western bandits’ camp?” the soldiers said with a laugh.
“Of course we can.” The man reached out to take a few horseshoes handed to him by the blacksmiths, examined them carefully, then tossed them back. “The thickness isn’t even enough.”
The blacksmiths bowed their heads and went back to reforge them.
The man squatted down in front of a tethered horse, deftly lifting one of its legs. With one hand he dragged over a wooden anvil and placed the hoof upon it, while with the other he picked up a glowing red-hot branding iron.
Although by now most warhorses were already shod, and everyone was used to seeing horseshoes, not many had witnessed the shoeing process up close. Watching it before their eyes, the soldiers couldn’t help but draw in sharp breaths through their teeth.
“So painful…” someone couldn’t help but mutter.
Xu Sigen looked up. It was a soldier, no more than fourteen or fifteen, thin and pale, his uniform hanging loosely on him as if it didn’t quite fit. Yet his eyes were bright and spirited, tinged with excitement – just like he and his brothers had been when they’d first found a way into the army camp and pulled on the issued uniforms for the very first time.
“If it doesn’t hurt, it won’t be fast.” Xu Sigen chuckled as he spoke. While he branded the horseshoe onto the hoof, he set the iron back down with one hand, and with the other already had the hoof knife tucked beneath his arm, trimming swiftly. In the blink of an eye, all four hooves were finished.
“Master Xu, that’s some fine craftsmanship,” the others exclaimed in admiration.
Xu Sigen stood up with a smile.
“Yes, Master Xu, truly fine craftsmanship.”
But from outside came a voice dripping with sarcasm.
Xu Sigen’s smile faded. Everyone turned their heads, watching as two or three officers strode in.
They were men from the magistrate. The soldiers quickly lowered their heads and stepped aside.
“Master Xu,” one of the officers said, drawing out and emphasizing the word Master. “It seems you’re enjoying yourself here.”
“Without my official robes, I cannot properly salute you gentlemen,” Xu Sigen replied. “This is simply part of my duty.”
Part of his duty.
Xu Sigen was in charge of supervising military horses, but it wasn’t really his role to shoe them himself – he was only doing it because he had been reprimanded and punished.
“Xu Sigen,” another officer barked sternly, his face dark, “we’re not here to waste words with you. Tell us – how many warhorses have you crippled recently?”
Xu Sigen gave a small grunt.
“Twenty-five,” he said.
“You still have the nerve to say that!” another officer shouted, stepping forward with a glare. “You were put in charge of the army’s horses, not to ruin them!”
“It can’t be called ruining,” Xu Sigen replied. “We’ve already forged the finest heavy-iron shoes. This winter, our cavalry will be able to run faster and farther. Twenty-five horses in exchange for countless Western bandits’ lives – that’s worth it.”
The officers exchanged glances.
Truth was, there was nothing they could say. The horseshoes really had been Xu Sigen’s design, and they truly worked. In the past, they’d managed to kill enemies and earn merit without horseshoes, but now that they had them, it was hardly a bad thing. After all, with less wear and tear on the horses, the army could field even more mounts.
To keep quibbling over credit for the horseshoe was already out of date.
On this matter, Xu Sigen had solid ground to stand on. They did not.
“Do your work here properly,” one of them tossed over his shoulder as they turned to leave.
Xu Sigen paid them no mind and continued with the task at hand.
As they reached the doorway, one of the officers suddenly remembered something and turned back.
“Xu Maoxiu,” he suddenly called.
Xu Sigen’s hand froze in place, his body stiffening.
The officer burst out laughing.
“Ah, my apologies, my apologies – your names are so alike, I keep getting them mixed up,” he said. “It’s just that this Xu Maoxiu left such a deep impression on me. First time I ever saw someone die in battle because of his own uselessness, and then still want to claim reward for it. If that’s how it works, then all the soldiers buried outside Longgu City ought to be crawling out of their graves…”
Xu Sigen’s grip on the hoof knife tightened, veins bulging on the back of his hand.
But the officer’s mocking voice went on in his ear.
“…I just can’t stand that kind of worthless trash…”
Xu Sigen suddenly swung his leg out.
A loud shout echoed through the yard – before anyone could see clearly who had moved, the officer was knocked flying.
But it didn’t stop there. The man immediately lunged forward, his fists raining down like a storm.
The courtyard descended into chaos.
Fortunately others pulled them apart shortly after. The officer’s face was smashed -blood ran from his mouth, nose, and eyes. He wiped at it and, furious, roared as if to lunge again, but two or three men held him back.
On the other side, Liu Kui – who had been restrained – also bore a wound on his face.
“Come on then, you bastard – watch me beat you into uselessness,” the man shouted.
The officer bellowed in anger.
“No good ever comes of brawling in the army.”
“We can’t let this guy act recklessly.”
“He’s thrown away his future – giving up like a broken pot. We mustn’t be like him.”
They held him back with all their strength while keeping an eye on Liu Kui.
Liu Kui was unshaven, his clothes in disarray, his face smelling of liquor, eyes bleary with drink. When he saw everyone looking his way he made a move as if to strike.
These days he drank and made trouble in the army as if he no longer considered himself a soldier. The authorities had already notified the Liu family – in a few months he’d be sent home. This time it wouldn’t be like before, when he went to the capital to serve as a street patrol; this time it would be a full return home to live out his days.
Being expelled from the army twice would make him a pariah even in his own household.
“My fists would be disgraced hitting a worthless creature like you,” the officer spat, and with that he was dragged away.
“You’re worthless – your fists are only good for hitting your own men,” Liu Kui shouted, spitting toward the group. “Just wait, I’ll be ready when you come to beat me!”
When the officers left, the onlookers began pointing and whispering at Liu Kui.
Liu Kui, unconcerned, wiped the blood trickling from his nose.
“What are you staring at? Never seen a fight before? Keep looking and I’ll thrash you lot too!” he shouted.
The onlookers curled their lips in disdain and dispersed.
“Madman…”
“Lunatic…”
“Useless coward…”
The muttered voices drifted away in fragments.
Liu Kui paid no heed. Head lowered, he shuffled about the ground until he suddenly pounced on something as if it were a treasure. It turned out to be a wine gourd. He snatched it up, happily wiped it clean, pulled off the cap, and began gulping it down. Wine trickled down the corner of his mouth, mixing with the blood on his face.
Xu Sigen put down the hoof knife in his hand and walked over.
“You really are a worthless fool,” he said.
“Being a fool isn’t so bad,” Liu Kui retorted, shooting him a glare. “That’s right – I can’t compare to you, Master Xu, burying your head in official duties, waiting to climb rank and fortune.”
Xu Sigen reached out, snatched the wine gourd from his hand, and smashed it hard on the ground.
The gourd shattered, liquor splashing everywhere.
“Xu Sigen, have you lost your damned mind!” Liu Kui roared, leaping up and seizing Xu Sigen by the collar.
Just then, a sudden commotion rose outside, the rapid pounding of hooves.
“Urgent dispatch! Urgent dispatch from the capital!”
The cry swept past in an instant.
An urgent dispatch from the capital?
Xu Sigen froze, then suddenly shoved Liu Kui aside and rushed out, sprinting in the direction of the messenger. He ran until he saw the courier disappear into the magistrate, and only then did he stop by the roadside, gasping for breath, his gaze locked firmly on the government office.
“Give it up,” Liu Kui’s voice sounded behind him.
“Last time – you chased after the dispatch just like this. And what happened? Nothing! They still drank and feasted and lived happily, untouched!”
“Not necessarily. Not necessarily,” Xu Sigen shook his head.
“Not necessarily, not necessarily – you said the same thing last time!” Liu Kui shouted. “It will never come true. It’s useless!”
“Not necessarily. Not necessarily,” Xu Sigen repeated, still shaking his head, his expression resolute.
Not necessarily!
Not necessarily!
“Fourth Master, Fourth Master!”
A shout came from behind, along with the pounding of urgent hooves.
Xu Sigen turned back in disbelief, seeing a lone rider galloping toward him.
This was the scene that had appeared in his dreams countless times…
Was it real this time? Was someone truly coming? Had it truly succeeded?
“Fourth Master, a letter from the Eldest Master,” the rider dismounted in a rush and handed over a letter.
Xu Sigen swallowed hard, hesitantly reaching out before snatching the letter and opening it with trembling hands.
Fan Jianglin was barely literate, and Xu Sigen himself could only recognize a handful of characters, so between brothers they understood one another well – the letter was simple, direct. On the entire sheet of paper, there was only a single character.
“Say.”
Say…
It could be spoken now…
It was time to speak…
The truth could finally be said…
Clutching the letter in his hand, Xu Sigen’s always-straight back bent at last. A searing pain tore through his chest, forcing him to clutch at it with his hand.
He had known it. He had always known it. It could be done – his sister would make it happen.
“Say? What does that mean?”
Inside the magistrate, Jiang Wenyuan stared at the document in his hand, dumbfounded.
“Sir, it’s the question you’re being asked to answer,” a soldier said.
No sooner had the words fallen than Jiang Wenyuan slammed the document down on the desk.
“Answer what question? What do I have to answer for?” he roared. “Unclear rewards and punishments, stealing credit, deceiving the court – me? And I’m supposed to answer to that? What is the meaning of this?”
The soldier trembled at his shouting.
“It means… His Majesty has received Lu Zheng’s impeachment against you, my lord. His Majesty intends to thoroughly investigate the matter of the five men of Maoyuan Mountain.”
Even as he stammered, the soldier kept his head bowed, repeating the words he had been ordered to deliver.
The five men of Maoyuan Mountain!
Jiang Wenyuan glared at the soldier before him, as if he wanted to swallow him whole.
“The five men of Maoyuan Mountain – what are they to me? What does that have to do with me?” he roared.
“Sir, the document names Fan Shitou, Xu Maoxiu and the others…” a clerk murmured. “My lord, they’ve really blown this up.”
“The others?”
Jiang Wenyuan paused, trying to recall what this was about. Disbelief washed over him as he snatched the paper and read it again.
“…The five brave men of Maoyuan Mountain held the city and died in defense, their loyalty and righteousness shaking heaven and earth… Scholars and gentry stirred, the common people were agitated… Lamenting that the five died in battle without honor and were confiscated… Jiang Wenyuan, obstinate and unkind, has ignored public opinion… thus deceiving the Son of Heaven… For someone like Jiang Wenyuan, who has blinded the imperial wisdom and lied to the sovereign, a deceiver and flatterer of the throne, he must not be spared…”
He could read no further. Enraged, he flung the document across the desk.
“Lu Zheng! I’ll have him slaughtered!” he shouted.
“This isn’t about Lu Zheng right now, my lord – the key is those five men,” the aide urged urgently.
Those five men…
Jiang Wenyuan paced back and forth across the hall.
“All right, they’ve got some nerve – bringing this all the way to the capital…” he said, panting.
My lord, don’t regret this.
A young man’s voice echoed in his ear. Jiang Wenyuan halted and looked toward the hall; a youth stood there, staring back with stubborn defiance.
My lord, don’t regret this.
Jiang Wenyuan kicked the small table at his feet aside.
“Good for you, Zhou!” he bellowed. “If you can impeach me, why shouldn’t I be allowed to strike back?”
Accusations and impeachments – there are fiercer weapons than those. Jiang Wenyuan had not been coddled in some sheltered chamber; he’d faced verbal barbs his whole life.
Now let’s see who will be left regretting it in the end!
