Wang Chen stood behind a tree on the hillside, gazing from afar at Su Yan, who sat atop a tall horse, surrounded by soldiers. His emotions were in turmoil.
The last time he had seen Su Yan, the man had been bound like a dumpling and stuffed into a carriage, helplessly accepting his fate of being escorted back to the capital’s prison for trial. Who would have thought that midway, they would be ambushed by two groups of Tatar cavalry? The number of Embroidered Uniform Guard escorting Su Yan was insufficient, and they soon found themselves facing total annihilation.
At the time, he had believed himself doomed—just another worm waiting to be crushed under the boots of the Tatars.
—Rather than dying that way, he would have preferred for Su Yan to end his life himself. At least then, it would have been a fitting conclusion to the tangled web of gratitude and resentment between them.
Yet when Su Yan raised his blade, he merely cut through the ropes binding Wang Chen.
“If you’re going to die, at least die by the law, not under the blade of some barbarian. Go, save yourself!”
Even when his own life hung by a thread, the young imperial censor had chosen to set him free. The look in his eyes had been complicated—filled with regret, frustration, and a hint of disappointed pity.
Inexplicably, Wang Chen hadn’t fled. Instead, he picked up a weapon and joined the fight. He even followed the cold-faced bodyguard’s orders and helped protect Su Yan as they broke through the enemy’s encirclement.
But in the end, it hadn’t been enough. A Tatar warrior had ensnared Su Yan with a lasso, dragging him away. In that crucial moment, Wang Chen had only managed to loose an arrow, striking the Tatar off his horse—but he was too late. The panicked warhorse bolted, and before his eyes, Su Yan tumbled down a steep ravine.
The cold-faced bodyguard hadn’t hesitated; he leaped in after him.
Wang Chen, having just arrived at the cliff’s edge, peered down into the abyss. Under the dim moonlight, the ravine gaped like a beast’s maw, filled with unknown dangers.
He hesitated slightly, wanting to go back and save them.
At the very least, he should confirm whether that corrupt official was dead or alive—how else could he face the family and brothers who had died? He told himself this. But then he thought again: such a golden opportunity to escape was right in front of him. If he didn’t take it now, was he supposed to wait to be dragged to the execution stand at the city market?
As he hesitated, several Tartars with torches came chasing from behind. Gritting his teeth, Wang Chen raised his whip and lashed it hard on the horse’s rump, fleeing down the road. Taking advantage of the night, he eventually shook off the small number of pursuers.
He wandered around Qingyang Prefecture for more than ten days before finally making contact with his older brother, Wang Wu, who had escaped after their defeat.
Earlier, Wang Wu had laid siege to Su Yan’s carriage near Qingping Garden, attempting to rescue his younger brother. But Su Yan turned the tables on them. Using five hundred elite cavalrymen from Zhang Qianhu of the Ningxia Guard, Su Yan crushed Wang Wu’s force of over a thousand, leaving them in complete disarray. Most of Wang Wu’s bandits were either killed or fled. Wang Wu himself took a stray arrow to the arm and barely escaped.
Fortunately, though the losses were severe, they hadn’t shaken Wang Wu’s foundation. The troop he led to incite rebellion among the pastoral army was just a detachment. He still had three to four thousand bandits under his command.
After reuniting with the third leader of the gang, Yang Hui, Wang Wu cut off a segment of his own pinky finger and swore to the heavens: one day he would capture Su Yan, slit his throat, drain his blood, and chop him into mincemeat to avenge their dead parents and brother.
When the brothers were reunited after their ordeal, they were both shocked and overjoyed, embracing and weeping bitterly.
Wang Wu told his brother about the oath he had taken and asked for Su Yan’s whereabouts.
Wang Chen felt a pang in his heart, like being scraped by a small file—impossible to put into words. At last, he said he had personally seen Su Yan fall into a ravine and assumed he had died from the fall.
Wang Wu still felt Su Yan had died too easily—his rage was not yet appeased. As his brother cursed and ranted, Wang Chen drank the wine of reunion with a bitter taste in his mouth, eventually getting himself completely drunk.
The two of them continued leading the bandits across various prefectures and counties in Shaanxi, constantly recruiting struggling ex-soldiers, horse herders, and displaced refugees. They used the money and supplies looted from government granaries and wealthy households to buy people’s loyalty, and their force grew steadily.
—Until that d*mned Su Yan, Censor Su, came back alive.
Not only did he survive, he issued a series of highly effective reform decrees: he restructured the official herding system, gathered displaced people, and reduced the labor burdens on horse herders. He even made it clear to all the regional offices: if the reform of the official herding system succeeded, the civilian herding system could be abolished, and the long-suffering “Household Horse Law” might finally end within their generation.
It was like rain after a long drought. Displaced ex-soldiers and herders gradually responded to the government’s call and returned to their hometowns. Since the treatment of the pastoral army had greatly improved, most refugees eagerly signed up to join, taking care of the government horses in the pastures.
With so many new recruits in the pastoral army, death row convicts were no longer needed. Su Yan considered that group of heavily sentenced criminals—exiled by the Ministry of Justice—useless at best and dangerous at worst. They were no good at raising horses and often abused them. They were like ticking time bombs and a threat to social stability. He still clearly remembered the beastly and savage looks on those men’s faces when he saw them in the Qingping Garden fortress. So, he had them all sent to the Shaanxi Provincial Judicial Office—those who should be jailed were jailed, and those who should be executed were executed.
These changes in Shaanxi’s political landscape caused unrest even within the bandit ranks.
Ordinary people wouldn’t choose to become bandits unless they were truly desperate. Who would want to live each day in fear, constantly hunted by the government?
Now that there was a path forward and the government guaranteed amnesty for those who voluntarily returned to their hometowns—and even allocated land for them to farm or herd—why wouldn’t they go back?
So, many bandits began having second thoughts. At night, they would secretly ditch their armor and weapons, change back into civilian clothes, and return to their hometowns—sometimes even riding off with the horses the gang had assigned them. Often, the courtyards would be full of sleeping men at night, but by morning, half would be gone.
Wang Wu felt things couldn’t go on like this. Otherwise, the once-fearsome name of “the Xiangma bandits” would eventually be disgraced. Without soldiers or horses, how was he supposed to be a leader?
Worried, he went to his brother Wang Chen to discuss a solution.
Wang Chen was silent for a long while before he asked, “Brother, do you still remember why we founded this bandit gang in the first place?”
Wang Wu was stunned. “It was… because we couldn’t survive. We wanted to carve out a path for ourselves and for our suffering fellow villagers.”
“—Now that path has appeared.” Wang Chen lowered his head, not daring to meet his brother’s eyes. His voice was strained. “Do you remember, back in the stronghold, when the two of us were captured by Su Yan, the conversation we had with him, and the oath we swore with a handshake?”
Wang Wu’s gaze grew distant for a few brief moments.
He did remember.
Back then, they had been bound, at the mercy of others. And that young official, standing barefoot in his tattered robes, had promised them in a voice neither loud nor forceful, yet utterly resolute: “I will make sure you, the men who were forced onto this path, can lay down your arms, return to your fields, and live as free men again. I will see that officials fulfill their duties and that the people can live in peace.”
Su Yan had said, “When the world is set right, will you disband and return home?”
And in that moment, blood boiling, they had answered with heartfelt sincerity: “If that day ever comes, I won’t be a bandit or a king of the hills! I’ll go back to whatever life I was meant to live and make an honest living.”
—But now? Even if that day had arrived, could they truly go back? Would they be willing to?
—When had their original purpose changed? When had it become about power, about pursuing something larger, about reaching a point where there was no turning back?
— Desire was endless. Satisfy a small ambition, and a greater one took its place. Step by step, they were heading toward an uncertain fate—where only victory or death awaited.
Wang Chen slowly lifted his eyes to his twin brother. “Brother, everything he promised us, he’s making it happen. He never lied to us… but what about our promise to him?”
Wang Wu’s face darkened.
Without warning, he punched Wang Chen, knocking him to the ground. Then, grabbing his collar, he dragged him before their parents’ graves.
Kneeling, he roared: “Say that to our parents and niece! Tell them that you will wag your tail and beg for mercy from the officials who chopped off their heads, and then become a pig and dog to be slaughtered by others!”
“Tell them to the brothers who have followed us wholeheartedly! Tell them that your promise to share hardships and wealth is just bullsh*t! Tell them that you accepted the amnesty just to make them go back to the hard days of working hard!”
Wang Chen’s face burned red, but he could not answer.
After venting his anger, Wang Wu, breathing heavily, shoved the kneeling Wang Chen backward against the tombstone. Pressing his forehead against his younger brother’s, his voice was low and filled with emotion: “Six, listen to me—we have no other family left. Right now, the only one I can rely on is you. And the only one you can rely on is me. We have to depend on each other to survive, understand? We’ve been together since we were in our mother’s womb. We were united in the first half of our lives, and we can’t be separated in the second half either.”
He lifted the wolf fang necklace from around both their necks and pressed it into Wang Chen’s hand, as if trying to remind him—they were blood brothers, connected even if their bones were broken.
“I know you’re not willing to live an aimless life either. You’ve got the heart to rise up and make something of yourself! We’ve built this group up with great difficulty—if we turn back now, we’ll lose everything! Not only can we not turn back, we have to keep going!”
“…How much farther can we go?” Wang Chen’s forehead was damp with sweat, his eyes bloodshot. Clutching the two cold, hard wolf fangs in his hand, he murmured the question.
“As long as our lives last, that’s how far we go!” Wang Wu said with steely determination, as if trying to convince his brother—and himself. “We won’t be just bandits anymore—we’ll be a righteous army! If we can’t stay in Shaanxi, we’ll go to Henan… Have you heard of that Madman Liao?”
Wang Chen was startled. “Madman Liao? That guy who’s been rebelling for years, got crushed four or five times by the court, and is now skulking around like a stray dog?”
“He’s not as pathetic as you make him sound! At the very least, the court has thrown tens of thousands of troops at him over the years, spent a fortune, and still hasn’t been able to wipe him out!”
Wang Chen opened his mouth to argue further, but Wang Wu clamped a hand over it, leaned in close, and whispered: “Listen to me! Madman Liao sent someone to contact me. He says he’s long admired the names of Wang Five and Wang Six, and wants to meet us on the border of Henan and Xian Prefectures. He wants to become sworn brothers with us. He even has a scholar named Shi Sui who’s joined him—apparently a genius, here to help him succeed. This Scholar Shi also said that we brothers will be his right-hand men, and without us, he’ll never succeed!”
Wang Chen tore his brother’s hand away and panted, “I’m not about to be anyone’s right-hand man, helping someone else succeed!”
“And who says it won’t be the other way around?” Wang Wu laughed—a coarse, cocky laugh, his eyes shining with untamed ambition. “This is an incredible opportunity, Six. Miss it, and we’ll never get another shot in this life!”
Wang Chen frowned—half disagreeing, half uncertain.
Wang Wu suddenly twisted his mouth into a strange smirk and said in a peculiar tone, “I know what you’re thinking… You can’t let go of that Su brat, can you?”
“Bullsh*t! That’s not true at all! He sent soldiers after us, I even shot an arrow at him! If not for his guard, he would’ve died by my hand! He tied me up, threatened me, even buried me alive—”
“—And yet you still can’t let it go!”
Wang Chen’s rapid protest stopped dead.
“From the moment you saw him at the Eagle Beak Mountain waterfall, that’s when it started… You want to sleep with him.” Wang Wu said this while closely watching his brother’s expression, growing more certain in his mind. “And it’s not just about getting him under you. You want him to willingly lie with you, to smile at you, say sweet words to you… But have you ever thought—what do you have to offer him? Your looks? Your body? Your title as second-in-command of a bandit gang? Do you honestly think that even if you offered to be his stable boy, he’d spare you a glance?”
Wang Chen’s face turned pale with a greenish tinge. Humiliated, he gritted his teeth and growled, “You’d better shut the h*ll up before I beat you bloody!”
“He’s not just some official—he comes from a noble family. You saw his feet, right? Not a single callus. His skin’s whiter than milk. People like him look at you like you’re mud on the roadside, like you’re horse dung.” Wang Wu took a punch to the gut, coughed a few times, but continued, “In this life, you’ll never even touch the hem of his robe. Unless—”
Unless you can climb to a place equal to his. Or even above him. Only then will he look you in the eye, care about you, maybe even have no choice but to obey you.
Wang Wu didn’t finish the sentence, but Wang Chen understood everything.
Wang Wu, panting, pressed his forehead to his brother’s. “Sixth Brother, listen to me. We only have each other now. We’ve come too far to turn back.”
Wang Chen shook his head. “Impossible! That brat… that brat…”
He kept repeating “that brat,” but Wang Wu understood—his brother was tempted by the idea.
Wang Wu smirked and patted his brother’s shoulder. “Fortune favors the bold, and so do people. Gather all the brothers, break camp, and move out. We’re heading east along the Wei River to Henan Prefecture.”
—
As for the upcoming meeting of the rebel forces—an event later recorded in history—our dear Su Yan, being neither a specialist in dynastic history nor particularly meticulous in his studies, failed to grasp its significance at the time. He read more gossip and unofficial accounts than actual historical records, and so he had no idea that this would one day trigger a great storm.
At that moment, he was busy receiving envoys from the various tribes of the Northern Steppe. Surrounded by foreign-accented flattery, he absentmindedly overheard Inspector General Wei mention that the magistrate of Xian had reported a band of several thousand moving eastward into Henan, suspected to be the notorious bandit leaders Wang Five and Wang Six.
“My prefecture has been highly effective in suppressing bandits. I heard that the magistrate personally led troops to pursue them, and the outlaws fled in fear,” the official report from Xian proudly stated.
Inspector General Wei stroked his beard, nodding in satisfaction. These bandits had long been a thorn in the side of Shaanxi’s local government. Now that they had fled to Henan, it was no longer his problem. Henan already had the infamous “Madman Liao,” who had survived multiple government crackdowns. Adding Wang Five and Wang Six to the mix—who knew what chaos would ensue? But as the saying goes, “Better them than me.” Let the Henan governor worry about it.
Su Yan merely shook his head and sighed. “It’s hard to talk sense into the doomed. Forget it.”
With that, he refocused his attention on the northern desert envoys before him.
These envoys came from dozens of different tribes and factions in the north, all here to curry favor and, most importantly, secure a golden medallion.
—Not an Olympic gold medal, but a trade permit.
Su Yan had devised a golden medallion system.
The idea was simple: the imperial court would issue a limited number of golden bronze tokens, splitting each one in half. One half would be given to foreign factions officially recognized by the empire. When these groups arrived at the border markets, they would present their half for verification against the other half held by the trade authorities. If the pieces matched, great! They could trade for essentials like tea, silk, and salt—usually in exchange for horses.
No medallion? Sorry, that meant either (a) the empire had blacklisted you, or (b) you were trying to smuggle goods. Not a single tea leaf would leave the border.
This system primarily targeted smugglers and, secondly, forced northern factions to clarify their stance: Were they allies of the empire, or were they secretly colluding with the Tatars?
Want to trade? No problem—China welcomed all. But you had to prove your loyalty. If the empire caught you collaborating with the Tatars, well… tough luck. Go grow your own tea and mine your own salt.
Stealing someone else’s medallion wouldn’t work either. Each one had unique engravings, secret marks, and was carefully registered.
And of course, the empire’s horse markets would remain open for fair trade. But if China needed horses, any group holding a medallion would be summoned to supply them. Refuse? Ignore repeated calls? That medallion would be revoked, and the empire would personally send troops to “discuss” the matter—with the help of other tribes eager to curry favor.
As a bonus, any faction that participated in punishing defectors would receive a tariff reduction for the next year.
Yes, the plan was to divide and conquer—to isolate troublemakers and unite the rest of the steppe against them.
Of course, Su Yan’s official proposal wouldn’t be quite so blunt.
But when Emperor Jinglong read the memorial, he still chuckled. Tapping his fingers on some particularly audacious phrases, he turned to Lan Xi. “Remind the court eunuchs not to read these passages aloud exactly as written. Have the Grand Secretariat draft a more formal version for me to review.”
Lan Xi, suppressing a smile, nodded. Then he heard the emperor mutter with amusement, “I thought field experience would make him more composed. Turns out, he’s still as cheeky and unruly as ever.”
That wasn’t a reprimand at all! Lan Xi immediately chimed in, “Your Majesty, young talents like Su Yan possess a rare and genuine boldness. It’s a sign of true character, not recklessness.”
The emperor mused, “It must be snowing over there by now.”
Lan Xi replied, “Judging by the season, it likely is.”
“Send winter supplies. Have the courier stations expedite the delivery.”
“Yes, Your Majesty. I’ll select the finest materials from the inner treasury.”
“And begin drafting the designs for the golden medallions. If we wait for the court debates to conclude, who knows how long it’ll take?”
“Yes, I will issue a confidential order to the Ministry of Works.”
Thus, before the court had even begun deliberations, the decision had already been made.
As the eunuch’s high-pitched voice echoed through the golden halls of the Forbidden City, he read aloud:
“…Item Six: Establishment of the Golden Medallion System for tea-horse trade, appointment of border inspectors, and strict prohibition of smuggling.”
“…Item Seven: Reorganization of border garrisons, assessment of cavalry officers.”
“…Item Eight: Overhaul of Lingzhou’s salt tax, reduction of salt prices, allocation of funds to the treasury, and intensified crackdowns on illicit trade.”
Eight sweeping reforms, spanning the Ministries of Personnel, War, Revenue, and Works, each targeting long-standing issues with precise solutions. Even Li Chengfeng, a seasoned Shangshu who had served two emperors, found them impressive—broad in vision yet practical in execution.
He could already foresee that once this framework was in place and running smoothly, even without Su Yan’s direct involvement, China’s warhorse reserves would reach new heights. If similar reforms were applied to Shanxi and Liaodong, then within a decade, the empire could field an army of half a million well-equipped cavalry.
A tremendous boon to the nation.
“This boy…” Li Chengfeng stroked his beard, deeply moved. “This boy…”
The notoriously indecisive Gelao Xie Shiyan, known as “Mud-Fence Minister,” couldn’t help but quip, “Why is it that all the prodigies seem to come from your mentorship, Gelao Li?”
Li Chengfeng, unable to hide his pride, put on a stern face. “Nonsense. I never taught such a cunning student.”
Xie Shiyan chuckled. “But he studied under Academician Zhuo, which makes him your grand-disciple, doesn’t it? Admit it, you’re showing off, you old fox! Hahaha.”
The other two vice chancellors, Jiao Yang and Wang Qianhe, were quite displeased, but they had no words to refute it. All they could do was grumble behind his back, saying, “This boy is always coming up with wild ideas and straying from the proper path. One day, he’ll capsize—just wait and see.”
They had always been from a different faction than Grand Chancellor Li Chengfeng. With the rapid establishment of the Heavenly Works Academy, they were already resentful of how quickly this young upstart was rising. Furthermore, they knew that the Empress Dowager still harbored deep resentment toward Su Yan because of the Wei clan incident, so their stance was naturally biased against him.
However, with the emperor’s explicit support, they couldn’t openly throw cold water on the matter. Instead, they thought to themselves: if they could send Su Yan away from court for ten years or so, by the time he returned, the political landscape would have shifted, and there would be no place left for him.
Far away from the capital, Su Yan had no idea that the four grand scholars of the Inner Council held such sharply divided opinions about him. He was simply watching his mission progress smoothly. However, as winter deepened, the bitter cold winds became unbearable. No way—he wasn’t going to suffer through this in the wilderness. He needed to request permission to return to the capital for the New Year.
Before he could even draft his request, trouble erupted on the Oirat side.
