MFMH C85

Chapter 85 — When the Barbarians Invade

People looked at one another in silence; no one answered his question. Gu Changfeng felt like a fist pulled tight and released against soft cotton—stifling frustration.

Since the moment he had resolved to go to the frontier and fulfill his father’s legacy, he had prepared to take the field and kill the enemy; therefore, when action was required he struck without hesitation. But these men had none of that resolve. In recent years Great Qi had enjoyed favorable weather, the people lived at peace and with plenty, and many had simply forgotten the barbarians who lurked at the border, watching like predators and who had once ridden iron-hooved cavalry to slaughter their countrymen.

Gu Changfeng’s knuckles cracked as he tightened his fist; his face darkened.

The recruits swallowed and braced themselves to take his wrath, but he clenched and then unclenched his hand.

“Tonight the barbarians only sent patrols to probe us,” he said, his ink-dark eyes calm as he looked at them. “If full-scale war breaks out, it will not be small skirmishes like this. Everyone will be on the field; blades do not distinguish—either you live or you die. We cannot hide forever…”

“If you act on your own again like tonight, disobey orders and move without command, the next one to die might be you.”

“Laziness, softness, cowardice, an inability to harden your hearts—those traits only bring you closer to Death’s door.”

“One general’s success is paid for with ten thousand bones; I will not let you be anyone’s stepping stones.”

With that, Gu Changfeng fell silent and ordered the men to clear the battlefield, then to return to camp.

The soldiers stared at his hard, resolute face with complex expressions. Though he was the heir of the Duke’s household and thus of noble rank, he did not cling to status to demand special treatment; he shared the same burdens as the recruits and, if anything, drove himself harder. He trained harder than they did.

This man had never fought on a battlefield, yet when confronting an enemy he was composed, ruthless, and decisive—was he born a warrior?

But he was a eunuch’s child—he was shuang’er.

They felt diminished. Not even a shuanger could match him.

On the route back the recruits were less animated than when they arrived; everyone fell silent and the mood was heavy. Gu Changfeng could see bewilderment in their eyes.

Their silence earlier had angered him, but on reflection he realized that outside a few who dreamed of military life, most recruits were ordinary fellows. They joined simply to earn a little money, marry, raise children, and pass through a plain life. The concept of war was too remote for them; though they had enlisted, mentally they were not yet soldiers.

He felt a momentary helplessness, but then thought of Shen Yanbei.

Shen’s mind was quick; he always found novel solutions. If faced with this situation, Shen would not try to force the recruits into the right frame of mind by scolding them—nor would such scolding change them.

What would he do?

Find the needs and contradictions, and approach the problem from a different angle.

That thought brightened Gu Changfeng’s mind.

If they lack grand ambitions of defending the realm, then at least they should care about interests that affect themselves directly, right? A release tightened in Gu Changfeng’s chest: he had found the right entry point.

Back at camp, he first reported the patrol engagement. Tai Qigang asked about the night raid; Gu Changfeng gave an honest account and self-reflection.

“Though they disobeyed orders, it was also my failure to plan and to direct properly.”

Tai Qigang frowned as he listened. He regarded Gu Changfeng with gravity. “Even if your martial skill is great, battles are not settled by individual prowess. They rely on the cooperation of arms.”

“If the war starts, you cannot worry over every man,” Tai Qigang said in a serious tone. “To cling to each soldier’s life will affect your command.”

“Longfeng, on the field men die every day; you must learn to regard life and death more lightly.”

“They are soldiers you led here, but they are not your personal burden.”

Gu Changfeng was taken aback.

“Think carefully on the matter,” Tai Qigang patted his shoulder.

“Yes,” Gu Changfeng answered in a low voice.

…

At dawn the next day Gu Changfeng, though he had not slept the night through, arrived on the training ground as usual. The whites of his eyes were faintly bloodshot—an alarming sight.

Before the bugle sounded, the recruits stood in neat ranks awaiting roll call. When the drums beat the training commenced.

Gu Changfeng patrolled the lines with a long whip. The recruits who had previously been sleepy stirred when they saw him—his eyes red and his face hard—and quickly tightened their movements, repeating long-practiced drills with renewed vigor. The men from last night’s hundred-man squad, ashamed or newly resolved, trained particularly earnestly; nobody received the lash.

Gu Changfeng noticed and the tension around his lips eased a touch.

In the days that followed, barbarian patrols repeatedly tested and harassed the camp; the garrison’s atmosphere grew taut with tension.

Then, in mid-July, a ridge on the horizon birthed a thunder of hooves: a cavalry force rode down as an angry sea, dust and wind swallowing the sky—tens of thousands of iron-mounted riders surged forward like a wave, unstoppable.

The barbarians invaded the borders.

Usually the barbarians raided in the autumn after harvest, but this year they struck before summer’s end. Tai Qigang dispatched troops to meet them; urgent intelligence rushed eight hundred miles to the capital.

At the same time, Shen Yanbei—who had just received secret orders—packed his things and slipped away.

Shangrao suffered locusts; the emperor instructed that Shen, the imperial commissioner, handle the matter. Early that morning Shen had found an excuse to inspect a county below Min Prefecture and vanished with the accompanying imperial guards.

“Your decree, Sire,” a dust-covered junior eunuch said to Prince Jinyang, who stood as if struck by lightning when the decree was read aloud earlier, and now the eunuch reminded him yet again.

The prince’s complexion had flipped from white to blue to red, finally settling into a sullen black.

The edict declared the treasury empty. With Shangrao beset by locusts and the border needing money to raise troops, the court could not spare another hundred thousand taels. The earthquake had been proclaimed publicly, and the emperor called upon princes, officials, wealthy merchants, and nobles to donate funds and grain and to publicize their names, award them banners to honor their contributions, and only once the treasury was refilled would formal rewards be issued. The prince was ordered to watch for donors and register every contribution and to report up the lists.

Two hundred thousand taels—gone.

A low roar left his throat. Prince Jinyang lunged forward like an enraged lion, grabbed the little eunuch by the collar, and, face contorted with fury, demanded, “You said that Shen Yan left for Lianshui County as soon as he received the decree?”

The eunuch replied, “Yes. Shen said the situation was urgent and would not return to bid Your Highness farewell. He declared that the remainder of the relief silver would be used as burial funds for the dead, and notices have been sent to the villages. Tomorrow distributions will be made at the prefectural office. He also said the relief ledgers would be posted on Changsheng Street for inspection so that the totals would all match. Please rest assured, Your Highness.”

A storm raged in the prince’s chest; he nearly vomited blood.

Once the eunuch had been sent away, the prince raged, his hair aflame with fury; he kicked the prefect kneeling before him so hard the man rolled. “Pursue him! Bring that Shen bastard back and tear him apart!”

“Yes! Yes!” the prefect shrieked, stumbling out drenched in sweat.

The prince smashed the furniture in a frenzy, his features contorted; snatching a sword off the wall he rushed out with wild hair, slashing wildly. Servants, terrified that the blade might strike them, scattered in panic.

“Damn Heaven, you torment me!” he howled.

Because the flood of victims was overwhelming, he was forced to reveal the rest of the hidden supplies to distribute them; but now two hundred thousand taels were gone, the materials were gone—what would he use to feed the troops he had been concealing? Zhao Yu had ordered him to solicit donations from officials and merchants, but the money for purchasing supplies had been extracted under his coercion from those same officials and magnates.

Shen Yanbei, who had once again outwitted the prince, was under saddle, the insect chorus whining around him and his mood far from light. He had not even taken a carriage to flee.

“Master Shen, there is a courier station ahead—rest and have some water?” The leader of the escorting Forbidden Army proposed. The sun burned, and the road was merciless. Seeing Shen’s reddened face, the captain worried that the scholar-official could not endure.

As imperial troops, their duty was to guard the capital, and when ordered to escort the imperial commissioner south it was a wearisome task. At first they disliked it. Second, Hanlin scholars often looked down on rough soldiery. But Shen Yanbei had overturned their expectations.

His first impression was humility. On meeting them he bowed and thanked them, making a strong impression. Protecting the imperial commissioner was their duty—how could that be burdensome? They rode day and night and often slept rough, yet Shen cared not; he even showed occasional skill and did not act haughty.

Their second impression was that he was articulate. These officers were largely illiterate and coarse, yet Shen listened with a gentle smile, always able to respond; his manner was mild and witty, never arrogant.

But most of all they were struck by his sobriety and intelligence.

As an imperial commissioner, the young official displayed his most compelling face: quick-witted, calm, methodical. No wonder the emperor selected him.

“All right, brothers, you’ve worked hard—set out two good dishes and two jars of fine wine; let everyone rest,” Shen Yanbei said with a smile. They had ridden so fast the prince could not catch them.

“All right!” the captain ordered, and the men dismounted.

Sipping the bitter tea, Shen looked up at the high blue sky and felt a prickle of vexation. The summer sun baked. His husband was likely far harder pressed at the frontier.

Originally Shen had planned to, after the relief work, petition the emperor for a tour to the border to see his spouse. But Shangrao’s locusts had erupted first.

Locust swarms leave empty fields; a border war without food was impossible. He had to solve this problem before he could seek his husband.