Chapter 853: No Martial Virtue!

After leaving the drill ground where the opera stage stood, Prince Pingxi did not return to Prince Fu Residence. Instead, he went straight out of the city and back to the army camp outside.

After one night on a fine bed beneath good quilts, looking again at his command tent, solemn in appearance but crude in reality, the Prince shook his head, sighed, then laughed.

“Dahu, go ask that opera troupe whether they’re willing to come with us. If they are, bring them. If they aren’t, it doesn’t matter.”

“Yes, Your Highness!”

After Liu Dahu left the command tent, the Sword Saint said:

“If he’s the one asking, they may actually stay.”

Replace him with Zheng Man, whose face almost screamed barbarian, or with the more heroic-looking Chen Xianba, and the troupe would probably assume the Prince had fallen in love with Lin opera. If they refused to go, the Yan would grow angry and start killing people. There would effectively be no choice except to follow.

But Liu Dahu looked honest because he truly was honest to the bone.

On the battlefield, he would unquestionably die protecting the Prince.

In ordinary situations, however, he could not help giving people the feeling that he lacked menace.

And the Prince had even added, “It doesn’t matter.”

So Liu Dahu would most likely go there and genuinely discuss the matter with them.

“This Prince already gave them a choice. Their daughter tried to kill me. What, do I also need to put their whole family on an altar, cry and beg them to come with me so I can protect their lives?”

“Fair enough.”

The Prince lifted his teacup, blew across the surface, and asked:

“Old Yu, how does it feel?”

“How does what feel?”

“This whole journey.”

“Not bad. The scenery in Qian is genuinely beautiful. I’ve been to Jiangnan before too. The scenery there is even better.”

“You know that isn’t what I’m asking.”

“In the past, I thought the retainers of Jin’s three great houses were all shortsighted. All they cared about was luxury and pleasure. But when something truly touched their foundations, they would rise and resist. When Yan took down the Helian Clan and Wenren Clan, it did so only after breaking the elite forces of those two houses. And even after the Situ Clan suffered something close to total collapse at Snow Sea Pass, Situ Lei still managed one last desperate strike before he died. But these Qian people...”

“That’s exactly why the court treated Jin as essentially equal from the beginning. Yan people and Jin people may still distinguish between one another and carry prejudices, but when it comes to governance, the court has treated Yan and Jin lands almost the same. Because the court was afraid the Jin people would rise in resistance. It did not want Jin to become a quagmire the court had no choice but to sink into. If Qian had been destroyed first instead, the levies and exactions imposed on Qian territory would absolutely have been much heavier than those imposed on Jin, because resistance from Qian people would be controllable. When a pack of wolves takes from a flock of sheep, it does so with far fewer scruples.”

“I never expected government policy could also amount to bullying the weak and fearing the strong.”

“It has always been the crying child who gets the sweets. Whether people dare rebel or not, whether rebellion can be suppressed quickly, whether it becomes difficult to suppress, or whether it cannot be suppressed at all—those differences are enormous.”

“Like your eastern Jin.”

“Exactly.”

“But you only just told Jingniang that Yan people and Qian people are really no different.”

“The influence of those above on those below cannot be cured overnight, even if you scrape the poison from the bone.”

“Then why did you lead troops out through South Gate Pass and all the way here?”

“It’s already been several years. Give it several more, and you can hardly still describe that as ‘overnight.’ Maybe five years. Ten. One crop dies away, another grows up. If the day ever comes when I sit there watching an opera, and the people trying to kill me aren’t the actors onstage but that crowd wearing official robes... how the hell are we supposed to conquer Qian then?”

“So you’re bullying the weak and fearing the strong too.”

“You can’t put it that way. You can’t blame people for lacking martial virtue and always choosing the soft persimmon to squeeze. First, you have to blame yourself for being soft.”

Zheng Fan turned toward Chen Xianba.

“Pass down the order. The entire army is to accelerate its rest and reorganization. Begin inventorying grain, fodder, and military supplies immediately.”

“Yes!”

Zheng Fan then looked at Zheng Man.

“Order Chen Xiong to lead the Vanguard Army south at once and make contact with Third Master’s scout cavalry.”

“Yes!”

“We’re moving?” the Sword Saint asked.

“Yes.”

Zheng Fan turned the inkstone sitting before him in slow circles.

“I’m afraid the people over there may get tired of waiting.”

“Which people?”

“Who else could I mean?”

“Where are they waiting?”

“Surely not under the walls of Shangjing. So long as my army reaches Shangjing, even if all we do is throw a single stone at the city wall, that great Qian victory in Liang they fought so hard to earn will be wiped clean in one stroke. Worse, they’ll end up owing change. Why do you think I’ve marched so slowly all this way? And why did I deliberately stop in Chuzhou City to rest? Because I want the Qian defenders ahead to believe that I, Zheng Fan, am retracing the same old road from back then.”

“And then? How do you plan to go?”

“Back then, Li Bao was in front drawing the main strength of the Qian army and fighting battle after battle. That gave Li Fusheng the opportunity to make his flanking thrust, cut around them, and enter Bianzhou Commandery first, breaking into Qian’s capital region. This time, I’m doing the opposite. I won’t follow Li Fusheng’s old route. I’ll follow Li Bao’s. I’m betting the Qian will place their main force to the south along the flanking route to intercept me, and I’m betting the Qian troops directly in front of me have bowstrings with no arrows on them.”

“You don’t seem like you should be explaining all of this to me.”

“You’re the one who keeps asking.”

“I’m doing it on purpose.”

“Why?”

“Because you seem a little nervous. I’m kindly keeping the conversation going so you can talk yourself through it.”

“Thank you.”

...

That evening more precisely, while it was still dusk—

Prince Fu Zhao Yuannian drove his mother and his entire household out of the city in carriages and straight into the Yan military camp.

He was afraid.

Afraid Prince Pingxi might simply leave without a word.

If that happened, Prince Fu Residence would truly be left with no answer from Heaven and no door into Earth.

The Prince did not allow the Princess Consort of Prince Fu into his command tent. Instead, the entire Prince Fu household was settled together elsewhere.

The Princess Consort was not Siniang.

Siniang could stay beside Zheng Fan in the command tent, eating, drinking, and sleeping there.

But Siniang was no ornamental vase.

When there was leisure, the Prince could naturally relax.

Inside the command tent, however, his mind remained clear at all times.

Liu Dahu returned and reported that the opera troupe did not wish to leave.

The Prince gave no further reaction.

The following night, the Yan army withdrew from Chuzhou City.

At dawn the day after that, the army began moving south.

Once it had been confirmed that the Yan had departed, a Qian force that had been lingering on the outskirts—only a few thousand men—approached Chuzhou City and successfully “recovered” it.

Everything proceeded methodically according to the precedent of Lanyang City.

Once Chuzhou City had returned to “Qian control,” communications with the imperial court were restored and memorial after memorial explaining the situation was sent upward.

The entire black pot was dumped onto Prince Fu Zhao Yuannian.

To be fair, he could hardly claim no responsibility.

The rest of the memorials focused heavily on how the officials of Chuzhou had led the common people in a desperate struggle against the Yan, at one point even fighting street by street, every man swearing death rather than retreat.

At the end, reinforcements had arrived and driven out the Yan invaders.

There was only one problem.

When the great lords came to describe the Yan army’s final movements, they found themselves in difficulty.

If the Yan had been “driven out,” yet you wrote that they marched south afterward... could you still call that driving them out?

Who had ever heard of an enemy being driven closer and closer toward your own capital?

So when recording the Yan army’s subsequent movements, everyone began blurring the matter.

Those with thicker faces and thinner brains wrote that the Yan had fled in rout, their formations shattered.

Those with thinner faces and thicker brains wrote that the Yan, having been repulsed and denied any advantage, had shifted toward the southwest or southeast. They respectfully urged the court to make preparations early and not allow the Yan to seize fresh opportunities, because officials and defenders elsewhere could hardly be expected to possess the same willingness as themselves to sacrifice body and life for the country.

In doing so, however, they inadvertently muddied something important: the Yan army’s direction of march.

The fact that the Yan were moving in a broad curve actually supported one particular possibility.

Of course, these officials were not the main force creating that confusion.

Xue San’s scout cavalry and the several thousand vanguard horsemen under Chen Xiong were also deliberately moving along circuitous routes, doing everything possible to beat the grass and startle the snakes.

What followed was an exceptionally dull stretch of long-distance marching.

And when the main army personally led by Prince Pingxi reached Xishan Commandery, it proved that the earlier gamble had succeeded.

Xishan Commandery was the last defensive line north of Bianzhou Commandery, which was itself the capital region of the State of Qian.

Within Qian’s defensive system, the Three Frontiers formed the first defensive chain.

Xishan Commandery formed the second.

Back then, Li Bao’s force had been held here by the Qian army and dragged into a brutal fight.

It had been the sort of grinding battle where one Qian force was shattered and another immediately filled the gap; that one was shattered, and yet another replaced it.

Li Bao had lost an arm here.

This time, however, Zheng Fan’s army passed not far from both Xishan Commandery’s main city and Xishan Camp, the largest military camp in the commandery, with an almost contemptuous lack of caution.

The Qian troops inside did not sortie to engage or block them.

That meant their main strength had most likely gone toward the Xiangsi Mountain line.

Because back then, Zheng Fan himself had suggested that Li Fusheng pass through Xiangsi Mountain while Li Bao served as the punching bag drawing all the aggro, allowing their own force to leap forward rapidly and strike straight toward Shangjing.

The Qian probably never imagined that Prince Pingxi, despite driving a lone army this deep into enemy territory, would still dare behave this aggressively.

Everyone assumed he would use the side door.

Instead, he walked straight through the front.

But just as the Yan army was preparing to pass through Xishan Commandery in one sweep, with its troops already nearing the commandery’s southern boundary, another army appeared from the north.

There were a great many men, perhaps fifty or sixty thousand.

Their armor did not match.

Their equipment did not match.

Their organization was loose and confused.

One glance was enough to tell that this was an improvised army hastily gathered to rescue the throne.

But this Qian force differed from the local troops encountered earlier, the ones that froze in place the moment they saw Yan banners and waited until the Yan had gone before stepping forward to “recover lost territory.”

Perhaps because they had already understood the Yan army’s purpose, these men now began “forgetting their own lives” and marched at high speed, almost recklessly chasing after the Yan.

Two armies each close to fifty thousand men could hardly pursue one another like children fighting, one simply running while the other simply chased.

In truth, contact, probing, and skirmishing between their outer screens had already begun.

And once the Yan passed Xishan Commandery into Bianzhou Commandery, they would still have to cross the Bian River.

The river had not frozen yet.

So, to deal with the trouble clearly hanging behind them, Prince Pingxi gave the order.

The Yan army stopped and made camp.

They would wait for the Qian force coming from the rear.

After closing the distance, the Qian army also halted and established a camp.

Even while their camp was being built, Yan scouts reported that deserters were constantly slipping away from the Qian side.

Clearly, during the pursuit, the emotions of many Qian soldiers had still remained manageable.

But once the Yan stopped running south, stopped outright, and it suddenly became obvious that they were really going to fight this tiger... the soldiers grew afraid.

They began deserting.

They had not even fought yet, and matters had already become like this.

It truly was a special characteristic of the Qian army in its natural state.

Nevertheless... an envoy came from the Qian camp.

He carried a formal challenge.

The two sides were to form battle lines in the open field on the morning of the day after tomorrow and fight a decisive battle.

For an instant... an ancient wind of battlefield ritual seemed to blow directly across Zheng Fan’s face.

He even paid special attention to the signature beneath the challenge:

Han Sui.

“How do you read that character?”

Zheng Fan asked A’Ming beside him.

“Sui.”

“Oh.”

The Prince nodded.

Then his attention moved to the endless string of titles written before the name.

Grand Tutor to the Crown Prince.

Marquis of Ning’an.

And on and on.

The titles were so long that a single glance could scarcely reach the end.

Clearly, this was no ordinary man.

“He should be some retired great figure of Qian. Perhaps even... a former Chancellor. Chancellor Han? Xianba, call Zhao Yuannian over.”

“Yes!”

Zhao Yuannian was summoned.

After looking over the challenge, he immediately supplied the answer.

“Your Highness, yes. This is Chancellor Han.”

“The one who got the Tattooed-Face Chancellor killed?”

Zhao Yuannian froze for a moment.

“There were reasons behind what happened, but... Your Highness can understand it that way. Yes, it is that Chancellor Han.”

“How old is he now?”

“He should already be past eighty.”

“So the commander of that Qian army is an over-eighty-year-old... civil official?”

“Your Highness, Chancellor Han has always had a fierce temper and an impatient disposition. Even after Your Highness’s previous invasion of Qian gave His Majesty the opportunity to force him into retirement, he remained in the provinces and frequently submitted blunt memorials criticizing errors in His Majesty’s government.”

“Fierce and impatient. This Prince can see that. If he weren’t fierce and impatient, he probably couldn’t have sent me a formal challenge demanding a decisive battle.”

During the previous invasion of Qian, the troops of the Three Frontiers had been unable to return and local forces had been shattered one after another.

Across Qian’s commanderies, local officials had organized volunteer armies to march to the capital and rescue the throne.

Presumably, this Chancellor Han had relied on his own reputation and status—perhaps with some Shangfang Sword or similar symbol of imperial authority in hand—to forcibly levy and organize troops from his home region and march out to block Zheng Fan.

“Xianba, take up the brush and write a reply for this Prince. Tell him I accept the decisive battle.”

“Yes!”

Whether he would fight, when he would fight, and whether he would fight according to the agreed terms...

Zheng Fan had not decided any of that.

It did not prevent him from agreeing first.

Promises, integrity, the ancient style of benevolent gentlemen... on a battlefield built from deception and trickery, none of that was worth a damn.

However... after Prince Pingxi’s reply had been delivered, the northern camp sent another envoy that same evening with a second letter.

Chen Xianba opened it and handed it to the Prince.

Zheng Fan read the letter.

Then he turned and looked at the Sword Saint standing beside him.

“I think my luck has come back.”

The Sword Saint looked puzzled.

“Heh.”

The Prince slapped the letter against his palm.

“Wasn’t the decisive battle supposed to be the day after tomorrow? Chancellor Han wants to meet me between the two armies tomorrow. And he specifically notes that, according to ancient ritual, each side may bring one flag bearer.”

It was much like the old custom that envoys were not to be killed when two armies met.

A conventional battlefield courtesy handed down through who knew how many generations.

Except... several years earlier, one particular man had taken that courtesy and ground its face into the dirt.

Now... the same man had received the same invitation again.

“Old Yu.”

“What? You want me to be your flag bearer again and cut down an old man over eighty in front of the armies?”

“You’re not going?”

“Don’t want to. Back then, killing Gelimu could at least be called sacrificing a minor principle for the greater cause. What excuse is there now?”

“No, no. That won’t do. You have to come.”

Prince Pingxi slapped the table hard.

“What if that nasty old bastard has no martial virtue either, and the flag bearer standing beside him turns out to be the Baili Sword? What the hell am I supposed to do then?”

[End of Chapter 853]