“Commander Huo wants to see me?!”
Xie Wuling shot upright from the bed with a “whoosh,” accidentally tugging at the wound on his leg and inhaling sharply: “Hiss.”
Fan Yuping, seeing him like that, couldn’t help swearing, “What’s the rush? Commander Huo isn’t going anywhere!” Though scolding, he still bent and pulled him up, muttering: “Have your leg wounds been dressed?”
“Dressed, dressed. I went straight to the military doctor as soon as I came back.” Xie Wuling climbed out of bed. “Uncle Fan, should I wash my face and change before I go?”
“It’s not like you’re seeing a girl — no need to fuss so much.” Fan Yuping sized him up and said, “Just wipe the blood off your face and that’ll do.”
“All right.” Xie Wuling answered and hurriedly took a handkerchief to wipe his face.
“You’re something else,” Fan grumbled. “You come back and don’t even clean your face or change your clothes, just flop on the bunk and get the whole bedding bloody — don’t you find that dirty?”
“Sigh, I’m tired.” Xie Wuling wiped his face; his voice sounded muffled through the cloth. “I really didn’t expect killing pirates to be so physical. My arm’s still shaking.”
“You know you’re tired?” Fan Yuping snorted angrily. “I heard that if Xu Feng hadn’t held you back, you would’ve chased after Wang Huoding! That’s tired? I think you’ve got plenty of strength!”
Xu Feng was the Battalion Commander of the Fourth Battalion.
The military system of the Liang dynasty largely followed the former dynasty’s military offices. Each prefecture, fu, and county set up a Zhechong Office; in the Ningzhou area there were thirteen Zhechong Offices of upper, middle, and lower rank. Huo Xiao, as the overall commander of Ningzhou with the second-rank grand commander title and the marquisate of Xizhennan, sat above the local Zhechong senior officials — the fourth-rank Zhechong colonels — who each had two deputies, the left and right Guoyi colonels.
Under each Zhechong Office were battalions, adapted to local needs and troop types: light infantry, heavy infantry, archers and crossbowmen, oarsmen, naval troops, siege-weapon crews, etc. Xie Wuling’s Fourth Battalion were close-combat naval troops; its captain Xu Feng held the rank of Chief Water Captain, and Shooting Captain Fan Yuping was likewise an official of the sixth rank.
Each battalion was divided into teams commanded by team leaders; teams were divided into three squads, each with a squad leader; squads were divided into five-man units with unit leaders, and below them were the ordinary soldiers.
As Fan Yuping led the way toward the Commander’s command tent, Xie Wuling couldn’t help calculating inwardly — today he had personally killed nineteen enemies in total—
There had been one pirate he nearly took alive, but a comrade shot an arrow and stole the kill; Xie Wuling didn’t bother to count that one among his tally.
Kill ten to be promoted one rank — would this time let him be promoted to unit leader?
“What are you thinking about, so distracted?”
Fan Yuping suddenly stopped.
Xie Wuling, not paying attention, crashed right into him with a clang.
Luckily Xie Wuling was tall so he didn’t hit his head, but Fan Yuping was knocked off balance, stumbling, almost losing his footing: “Xie Wuling!!”
“Uncle Fan, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” Xie Wuling hastened to steady him, smiling sheepishly. “I was just thinking about how many merits I can count this round and got lost for a moment. Didn’t see you there.”
Seven-foot man Fan Yuping: “…”
He wasn’t that short — what a d*mned kid!
“All you do every day is count merits, count merits.” Fan Yuping rolled his eyes. “From now on, if you keep using that suicidal style, I really won’t dare to send you on missions! Tell me, what are you thinking? You’re a fine young man with a good life, why risk yourself like this? You’re not a nine-lived fox spirit — why are you so careless with your life? Fighting pirates isn’t just a fit of bravado; if you don’t finish them off this time, you can finish them next time! Why are you in such a hurry?”
A month ago the kid had come to Fan Yuping asking to enlist, even bringing a little finger bone, claiming to be the son of Sixth Master Chang; Fan Yuping had found it odd. With Sixth Master Chang’s scrawny looks, could he have fathered such a handsome, powerful son? The hat on his head must be green as grass. Later Fan Yuping learned he was an adopted son, intent on military merit, and accepted the little finger bone, sending him to his good friend Xu Feng’s Fourth Battalion so Xu Feng would look after him.
Everyone loves beauty and talent, and Fan Yuping was no exception; at first sight of the tall, handsome Xie Wuling the old man had been pleased, even thinking that if Xie Yuping were still unmarried he could be a match for his own youngest daughter — who wouldn’t like such a handsome fellow? The old man himself liked him.
He hadn’t expected the kid to already have a wife and child; this time he’d come to make merits and become a general to show off to his wife, always mentioning “my wife” whenever he spoke, a true henpecked husband. Fan Yuping gave up matchmaking and took him instead as a nephew.
Seeing him act so reckless in battle this time made Fan Yuping furious — he wanted to beat him with a few sticks to teach him a lesson.
Somebody must have mentioned him to Commander Huo, because Commander Huo had specifically asked to see this “camp warrior,” this “jade-faced killing god.”
“Be careful how you speak before Commander Huo later, understand?” Fan Yuping stood in front of the command tent and gave him a pointed reminder.
“Understood.”
Xie Wuling put away his usual playful grin, his gaze earnest: “Commander Huo is a great hero. I’ve heard of his deeds since childhood, and I’ve long admired him.”
Seeing his solemn manner, Fan Yuping thought he carried a bit of heroic bearing, and couldn’t help but nod: “Good, go in then.”
On either side of the commander’s tent stood heavily armed guards. The two mounted the steps together. The tent doors were wide open, and in the flickering candlelight within, one could vaguely make out a tall figure seated before a desk, scroll in hand, brows stern.
“Your subordinate Fan Yuping pays respect to Commander Huo!”
“This lad Xie Wuling pays respect to Commander Huo!”
Two loud voices rang out in the tent. The man before the desk slowly lifted his eyes: “Rise, both of you.”
“Yes, Commander Huo!”
Following behind Fan Yuping, Xie Wuling lifted his head, his eyes unable to resist darting toward the figure at the desk.
The man looked about forty or fifty, his black hair combed meticulously though his temples were graying. With sword-like brows and starry eyes, clad in a plain grey robe, even sitting, his broad shoulders and long arms made clear his tall, imposing build.
The famed “General Huo,” praised far and wide among the common folk, was right before him!
Not only could he see him with his own eyes—he could even speak with him! Xie Wuling’s heart blazed hot, blood surging no less than in the heat of battle.
As he looked at Huo Xiao, Huo Xiao also raised his eyes to regard this young man who had joined the army not long ago yet already stood out.
Standing in the tent, his tall, straight figure lit by the candlelight from behind, though his uniform was ragged and dirty, it could not hide his sharply handsome features—or those pitch-black eyes, blazing like fire, shockingly bright.
What a striking youth, what a brilliant pair of eyes.
For an instant, Huo Xiao thought he glimpsed the shadow of an old acquaintance. Yet that man’s eyes had brimmed with unruly defiance, while this youth’s were filled more with the scorching, upward vitality of midsummer sun.
One looks first to the eyes. Almost at the first glance, Huo Xiao felt a liking for this young man.
He set down the military treatise in his hand: “Today’s bandit suppression—it was you alone who wiped out twenty of them?”
Xie Wuling first answered, “Yes,” then quickly corrected: “To report to Commander Huo, it should be nineteen. One I stabbed twice but he wasn’t dead yet—another brother from the camp finished him with an arrow. That credit should be his, not mine.”
At that, Huo Xiao’s lips curved faintly: “You’re not one to steal merit, then.”
Xie Wuling couldn’t tell if it was praise or mockery. He chose to take it as praise, scratching his face sheepishly: “Commander Huo, truth is, I’m actually very greedy for merit. But if the credit isn’t mine, I can’t take it from a brother. Anyway, if I killed one less this time, I’ll kill one more next time—no harm in that.”
Hearing this, Fan Yuping lowered his eyes, inwardly sneering—this brat sure knows how to repeat what he’s just learned.
Huo Xiao, however, gave a hearty laugh. His gaze flicked toward Xie Wuling’s injured leg, then he jerked his chin slightly: “Enough, let’s sit and talk.”
Clapping his hands, he soon had soldiers bring tea and pastries.
Xie Wuling dared not be forward—he followed Fan Yuping’s lead.
Uncle Fan sat, so he sat. Uncle Fan drank tea, so he drank tea.
From the main seat, Huo Xiao leisurely lifted his tea bowl, watching every gesture of this young man, forming an initial impression in his mind.
After two sips, he asked: “I hear you came all the way from Jinling just to join our Ningzhou army? Judging from your appearance, your family can’t be poor. Why did you want to enlist?”
Xie Wuling had been staring at the golden chestnut cakes on the table. The question caught him off guard. He looked up to see Fan Yuping winking at him, signaling him not to talk nonsense.
So Xie Wuling said: “I heard the bandits in Ningzhou run rampant—killing, burning, looting, committing every atrocity, hated by men and gods alike. To defend home and country is the duty of every citizen of Great Liang. Though I have little skill, my fists and strength aren’t bad. In Jinling there’s no use for them—so why not come serve the country and rid the people of harm?”
Xie Wuling felt this speech wasn’t bad at all.
Yet Commander Huo merely looked at him with a half-smile, as if his gaze spelled out: Let’s see how long you can keep spinning that yarn.
Xie Wuling had grown up on the streets, and was a master at reading faces. From this look alone, he knew Commander Huo was a man of sharp insight.
And with such people, the worst thing was to play clever tricks—
“Ahem.” He awkwardly clenched his fist and added: “Of course, if I can build achievements and rise to high office… that would be best.”
Huo Xiao asked with interest: “And how high an office do you want?”
“Well, the higher the better! If I could one day be a mighty general like you, Commander Huo—then my life would be without regret.”
“Hah, such lofty talk,” Huo Xiao said.
Fan Yuping shot Xie Wuling a fierce glare, then hastily stood, bowing with a forced smile: “Commander Huo, don’t mind this boy. He used to loaf about on the streets, never read a book, knows no manners. Barely grown, yet so arrogant—when I get back, I’ll discipline him well.”
“Sit, sit.”
Huo Xiao raised his hand, his broad dark face full of geniality: “Without a little wildness, what is youth? Besides, he’s not wrong—who doesn’t dream of making a name and becoming a general? Old Fan, don’t tell me you never wished the same when you were young?”
Fan Yuping gave an awkward smile: “Your subordinate is already old.”
When young and full of hot blood, who hasn’t dreamed of becoming a general? Yet from ancient times until now, nameless foot soldiers are as countless as dust—how many truly earned eternal fame, sealing wolves at Juxu and recording their names in history?
To become a mere captain was already enough to satisfy him.
Glancing at the handsome, extraordinary youth beside him, Fan Yuping sighed inwardly. It was good for the young to have drive and ambition, but the road to military merit and great deeds… how could it ever be so easy?
As he pondered, Huo Xiao asked Xie Wuling again: “Have you killed before?”
Xie Wuling started. Though puzzled, he answered honestly.
When Huo Xiao heard that in past fights Xie had taken two lives, his brows drew faintly together, and he asked again: “And this time, going into battle—did you feel even the slightest hesitation in killing?”
Xie Wuling’s heart jolted. Could this Commander Huo be a worm in his belly? How could he ask so precisely?
After a brief thought, he recounted the matter of Erniu, then straightened his posture and faced Huo Xiao: “My wife once told me: ‘Comrade-in-arms, when the king raises the army, I will sharpen my spear, and fight with you against our enemy!’ Erniu was my comrade. His enemy was my enemy. When it comes to avenging him and killing the foe, there’s no room for hesitation!”
“Didn’t expect you to know poetry,” Huo Xiao stroked his beard.
“I don’t. My wife does.” At the mention of Shen Yujiao, Xie Wuling’s face unconsciously lit with a smile: “My wife is truly learned. She teaches me reading, writing, and manners…”
Fan Yuping: “…”
There he goes again.
He coughed into his fist, muttering a reminder: “That’s about enough.”
Xie Wuling realized his old fault had slipped out again. He quickly stopped and clasped his fists toward Huo Xiao: “In any case, Commander may rest assured. In the battles to come, once I step forward, I’ll never show mercy—I’ll cut them down to the last man, and restore peace to the people of Ningzhou!”
Fan Yuping breathed easier—those words, at least, were proper.
Huo Xiao also smiled, looking at him: “Good. Then I shall wait to see your deeds in time.”
With that, he raised his teacup in a distant toast to Xie Wuling.
Startled and flustered, Xie Wuling hurried to his feet, lifted his cup, and drained the tea at once.
After the tea, Huo Xiao ordered someone to pack a bag of braised beef for Xie Wuling, then dismissed him.
Inside the command tent, Huo Xiao kept only Fan Yuping behind, nodding: “This young fellow is not bad.”
Fan Yuping smiled: “For him to earn such praise from you, Commander—that alone is enough for him.”
“If every youth in our Ningzhou army were like him, would we still fear endless bandits, or the waves never stilled?”
Huo Xiao let out a long sigh. Short of talent—far too short of talent.
Now his only grandson was just nine years old. By the time that child grew up, fit to take the field and command troops, it would be at least ten years.
These ten years, he himself not only had to endure—he must also raise up talent for his grandson, for the Ningzhou army, and for the coastal people.
If he could bring forth even one or two true generals, then even if he died at sea, he could rest in peace.
“Old Fan, keep an eye on this Xie Wuling.”
Saying so, another thought came to him. He picked up a copy of The Art of War from the desk: “Here. Send this to him.”
Fan Yuping blinked: “But the boy barely knows his characters. Give him this, he won’t understand it.”
“If he has the will to rise, do you fear he won’t learn?”
Fan Yuping thought, That’s true, and took the book: “Then this subordinate thanks the Commander on his behalf for the gift.”
Huo Xiao waved a hand: “Go.”
May these eyes of his not have judged the wrong man.
Outside the camp, Fan Yuping had barely walked a few steps when a black shadow suddenly darted out, nearly scaring him to death. “D*mn it!”
Looking closely—it was Xie Wuling. Fan Yuping frowned: “You brat, why haven’t you gone back yet? Out here in the dark, trying to scare someone to death?”
“Wasn’t I waiting to walk back with you, Uncle Fan?” Xie Wuling grinned, shoving the bag of braised beef toward him: “This is for you.”
“That was the Commander’s reward for you. Keep it and eat it yourself—I don’t need it.”
Fan Yuping knew the boy was tactful. Though he wouldn’t take it, it warmed his heart. Instead, he shoved the book into Xie Wuling’s hands: “Commander Huo gave this to you. Take it home and study it well.”
“A book? I can’t read much.” Xie Wuling froze, but by the campfire light he made out the four words The Art of War on the cover, and suddenly remembered. Flipping through it, he muttered: “This Sunzi—I remember him!”
“Hey, don’t go cursing people.”
“No, no—the author’s name really was Sunzi. My wife told me. His name was Sun Wu, from Qi during the late Spring and Autumn period. He had a whole set of strategies for war, later honored as the ‘Saint of Warfare.’ My wife also said this book is famous—the must-read of all military men…”
“Alright, alright, we get it—your wife’s educated.” Fan Yuping’s ears were growing calluses: “Since you know it’s a good book, then take it back and read it. If you don’t recognize a character, just ask someone—Doctor Hu, Xu Feng, or that clerk who writes letters. Be polite, and they’ll help.”
At last, he clapped Xie Wuling’s shoulder heavily, speaking earnestly: “Ah Ling, do well. Don’t let down Commander Huo’s expectations.”
Watching Fan Yuping’s back as he departed, then looking down at the bag of braised beef and the copy of The Art of War in his hands, Xie Wuling’s gaze slowly grew solemn.
After a long while, he lifted his head, looking at the bright moon hanging in the dark sky.
He wondered what Jiaojiao was doing now. And was the child in her belly still behaving?
After she followed that pretty-faced man back, had she ever thought of him again?
His palm pressed heavily against his chest. In the innermost stitched lining was a bright red lotus purse, personally embroidered by Shen Yujiao.
Facing the evening breeze and clear moonlight, Xie Wuling prayed in silence.
Jiaojiao, don’t forget me.
—
A full moon shone over the nine provinces.
The family banquet, outwardly harmonious enough, finally dispersed, and Shen Yujiao returned to Zhulan Courtyard together with Pei Xia.
Silvery moonlight spilled quietly over the courtyard, clear and still as pooled water. The bamboo grove along the wall cast its shadows upon the pale plaster, crossing one another like strands of floating algae.
Shen Yujiao sat silently by the window, gazing at those shadows under the moon, her thoughts adrift.
Suddenly, a soft outer robe was draped over her shoulders. “How can you leave the window open like this—aren’t you afraid of catching a cold?”
She started slightly, then turned back to see a handsome man in ivory inner garments, draped with a long robe the color of moonlight.
Having just bathed, the black hair he normally bound up now hung loose and soft, tied only with a bamboo-green ribbon. Against his cool, jade-white face, the look made him seem like a moon deity descended to earth, carrying an ethereal grace untainted by the mortal world.
Shen Yujiao stared for a moment, dazed, until Pei Xia’s gaze darkened slightly and she suddenly came back to herself, her cheeks flushing hot.
She had been staring at him so long—how utterly… discourteous.
And yet, she had to admit, this unrestrained, casual appearance of his was rarely seen—and breathtakingly handsome.
“I… I thought the room was a little stuffy, so I opened the window for air,” Shen Yujiao said softly, then rose. “Since you’ve finished washing, Langjun, you should rest. Tomorrow we must rise early for the journey.”
The banquet today had been held for one reason only: they were to set out for Chang’an on the morrow.
Yet not everyone attended. Madam Wang claimed illness and did not appear; Madam Cui also declined with illness. Thus, at the table, the highest-ranking female elder was only Third Madam, Madam Cheng.
Madam Cheng, aside from looking down somewhat on the second branch mother and daughter, usually treated others with friendliness. Now that Pei Xia had arranged a fine marriage for the third branch, and even handed the tally and key to her own daughter, her attitude toward Shen Yujiao naturally grew warmer.
She kept urging Shen Yujiao to eat more dishes, and even shared much advice about pregnancy.
The other women were no fools. With the way the winds had shifted in the household these past few days, if they still could not see who held favor, they might as well not survive in this courtyard. So they, too, all wore smiles and treated Shen Yujiao with utmost courtesy.
Though Shen Yujiao knew their goodwill was no more than surface courtesy, as the saying goes, one does not slap a smiling face. Even a feigned smile was easier to endure than the cold indifference of before.
Still, when the banquet ended, she felt drained in both body and spirit.
Thankfully, they would be leaving tomorrow.
At that thought, she felt much lighter at heart.
That night, after the lamps were put out, she lay on the bed with Pei Xia. Beneath one quilt, though he did not hold her tightly as he had that night when drunk, their arms brushed together—intimate enough.
“Langjun, tomorrow morning I’ll go with you to pay respects to Mother.”
Within the heavy darkness of the bed curtains, her gentle, quiet words made the silence deepen.
After a moment, the man’s voice sounded low and slow: “Yuniang, you don’t need to force yourself.”
“It isn’t forcing myself,” Shen Yujiao said. Besides, she was nearly certain that Madam Wang would refuse to see her anyway.
She turned her face slightly toward the man lying at her side. “These days, not going to pay respects could still be excused as ill health. But if I leave the household tomorrow without doing so, people outside will certainly gossip. You’ve already shouldered no small burden for my sake. For small things like this, I want to do my part…”
For husband and wife are one body. No matter the quarrels within, to the outside they must at least maintain appearances.
Pei Xia understood her consideration for the greater whole. After a pause, within the quilt he lightly clasped her hand. “Very well, then we’ll go together tomorrow.”
And after a moment: “Yuniang, to have a wife like you is my great fortune.”
Feeling the warmth and dryness of his large palm, then hearing those words, Shen Yujiao’s heart wavered faintly.
Fortune?
Though it was not of her choosing, the thought that her presence had driven a wedge between mother and son still left her with a trace of guilt.
Had he not brought her back, they might have been clear of one another. But now…
Shen Yujiao pressed her lips together and returned the grasp of that long, slender hand beneath the quilt.
She told herself in comfort: since she had caused him to grow distant from a close relative, then once the child in her womb was born, she would at least give him another close kin in return.
After a spell of wandering thoughts, she drifted to sleep, still hand in hand.
The next morning, once dressed and groomed, she went with Pei Xia to Madam Wang’s quarters to pay respects and take leave.
As expected, Madam Wang refused to see her, admitting only Pei Xia inside.
Pei Xia’s expression was somber, but Shen Yujiao smiled gently at him in reassurance. “Go in and bid farewell to Mother properly. I’ll wait for you here.”
Looking at his wife’s smile, Pei Xia’s feelings grew heavy. He ordered the maids to attend to her well, then helped her to sit by the couch. “I won’t keep you waiting long.”
Then he turned and entered the inner chamber.
Shen Yujiao sipped warm honey water, counting the bars of morning light slanting through the lattice window, striping the patterned floor tiles.
Inside, only two windows were open, the light dim.
Madam Wang, wearing a dark green forehead band of emerald, sat slantwise on the couch. A veil of misty white gauze hung down, half transparent to light but not to sight, so that only a vague silhouette could be seen—her features hidden.
Pei Xia entered, bowing with utmost respect to pay his greetings to Madam Wang. His calm, even voice betrayed no emotion: “Your son is about to depart with wife and child for Chang’an. I hope Mother can quietly reflect upon her own faults at home, and take good care of her health. If… if Mother misses her son, then send a letter to Chang’an. Each month, I too will write home to inquire after Mother’s well-being.”
When his words fell, the room was silent.
The figure on the couch acted as though she had not heard, not uttering a single word.
Pei Xia’s lashes lowered. After a pause, he lifted his robe and knelt to the ground, knocking his head heavily three times toward the one upon the couch.
“Forgive your son’s unfiliality.”
His voice grew hoarse. “No matter what, I beg Mother to take care of herself.”
Still, the person on the couch said nothing.
Pei Xia knew well his mother’s pride—likely she still bore resentment against him.
So be it. Resentment, hatred, whatever it might be—what was done was already done, and there ought to be punishment.
As things stood, mother and son estranged—this was her punishment, and his penance.
“Since Mother has no words of instruction, then Yuniang and I will not disturb your rest further. We shall take our leave.”
Only when his steady footsteps gradually receded did the one upon the bed collapse as though her backbone had broken, covering her face with both hands, sobbing lowly.
Just then, Gao Momo, who had gone out to see the young couple off, returned. Hearing the muffled weeping from within the curtains, her heart clenched sourly, and she hurried forward. “Madam, please don’t grieve so…”
Within the curtains, Madam Wang’s eyes were sunken, her face gaunt. Lifting her head to look at Gao Momo, she whispered: “Was I wrong? Am I truly wrong? My whole heart—it was all for his good…”
Gao Momo was at a loss for words.
Ever since their return from the ancestral hall, Madam had asked this question almost every day.
Having served at her side all these years, how could she not know her mistress’s pains and bitterness? It was only that day’s incident came upon them so suddenly. As a mother-in-law, as the head mistress of the household—emotion aside, reason indeed lay against her. In the end, it was all the fault of that cursed root of the second branch!
One wicked thought had set off a chain of errors thereafter.
Gao Momo could not help but curse Pei Tong viciously once more in her heart. Then, seeing Madam Wang’s muddled and haggard state, she leaned close and gently held her: “Madam, don’t grieve. What grudge can last between mother and son? Given time, it will all be well…”
But whether Madam Wang heard her or not, none could tell. Leaning on Gao Momo’s shoulder, her eyes stared blankly ahead, lips still murmuring low: “Was I wrong? Was I truly wrong?”
Endlessly, again and again, as though without weariness.
