They departed in the sixth month and returned in the eighth month.
Yun Ye had participated in the Left Guard of Martial Prowess great army’s military parade. There was none of the stirring passion he’d fantasized about—only incomparable exhaustion and boredom.
The Qiang people were like rabbits fleeing across mountains and fields. There was no organized resistance, no strategic confrontation. The resistance at their old nest could better be described as naked slaughter. The great army of the Left Guard of Martial Prowess was like a great mountain moving across, crushing all living things.
In the face of absolute power, strategy was laughable. Perhaps there were examples of the few defeating the many, but this absolutely would not happen between the Qiang people and Tang troops. The Qiang people—this once glorious nation—didn’t even have the qualifications to become enemies before the Great Tang’s illustrious military might. The Great Tang still had eleven more armies like the Left Guard of Martial Prowess.
Cheng Yaojin had always hoped to clash with the Turkic or Tubo people to display his famous general’s style, but heaven didn’t comply with human wishes. The Tubo people were busy competing for supreme power on the plateau and paid no attention at all to Cheng Yaojin’s provocations.
The Turkic people had fled back to the great grasslands. Although they’d been ambushed by Zhangsun Wuji and lost the slaves they’d captured, the gain was greater than the loss. They hid in the grasslands and no longer showed their heads. The world seemed to calm down overnight, as if war had never existed—except for General Cheng’s clamoring to kill his way into the grasslands and take Jieli’s head.
No one paid attention to his old man’s clamoring. All of the Great Tang seemed to have forgotten there was a general named Cheng Yaojin, or perhaps deeply felt it was shameful and didn’t want to mention it. Since the Left Guard of Martial Prowess had been sent to subsist in Longyou, you should just eat properly in Longyou. Don’t constantly kill this one and kill that one. The world had quieted down—this was so difficult. Just give all the Great Tang’s common people a chance to catch their breath.
Yun Ye was out of luck. Ever since General Cheng ate the oil-splashed noodles, he’d been boasting among a group of old friends about how delicious these noodles were—simply not something that existed in the human world.
Niu Jinda said, “That boy Yun Ye’s official credentials were all written by this old man. Asking for a bowl of noodles to eat shouldn’t be a problem, right?” He sat himself down in Yun Ye’s tent with a grin, waiting to eat. There was no help for it. Yun Ye felt these people were impossible to refuse. Rather than hosting his old brother alone, he might as well simply invite all the colleagues in the army who could come to the table to eat together. Long pain was worse than short pain. He took out all the chili peppers and splashed them with oil, producing a large bowl of red oil. Then he had the logistics camp workers pick a large basket of wild vegetables, summoned three cooks to help—including the one who’d taken the beating. After all, Yun Ye couldn’t feel at ease after bullying someone. He believed that after this group meal, the three of them should learn how to make oil-splashed noodles, and afterward those various officers large and small wouldn’t come to bother him. He collected over twenty giant bowls for serving soup and a large pot that could boil an entire sheep. Everything was ready, just waiting for the guests to arrive.
The guests came and left. They came ravenously hungry and left staggering. Only Yun Ye was left behind to sigh lengthily at the moon. Twenty-six men, twenty-six officers, twenty-six gluttons! A full eighty catties of flour, a wooden bucket of vegetable oil, two large baskets of wild vegetables—swallowed into the stomachs of these masters. Every one of them ate until their ditches were full and moats level, yet still complained that the bowls were big but actually didn’t contain much—the method was just novel, they were just tasting something new. Was there tasting something new that included finishing even the noodle soup? The three cooks had collapsed on the ground catching their breath, tongues hanging out as long as dogs’, their buttocks covered with footprints—all from these bastards kicking them for being too slow.
Yun Ye extremely regretted inviting these scum to eat. Wasn’t it said that ancient people all had cultivation, propriety and restraint, putting others before themselves? Why was it that after Old Cheng and Old Niu served themselves, the rest just swarmed forward in a mob—including Huang Zhi’en who’d been immersed in mathematics these days? After eating one bowl, loudly clamoring for another bowl, not afraid of bursting to death. While kicking the cooks with his feet, he reached down to scoop noodles with his hands. This person who claimed to be a famous mathematics scholar and great learned man—the others weren’t surprised at all, clearly this was normal behavior for him.
“Live long in a room of orchids and you cease to smell their fragrance; dwell long in a fish market and you cease to notice its stench.” This famous saying touched Yun Ye greatly. Leaving this fish market of the Left Guard of Martial Prowess must be put on the agenda. He rewarded the three cooks with one string of cash and watched them leave happily. Yun Ye touched his flat belly and groped his way back to his own tent, burying his head in sleep.
Early in the morning he lifted the tent flap. Damp air carrying the earthy smell of rain hit him in the face. He’d slept too deeply last night—even heavy rain hadn’t awakened Yun Ye.
Looking at the curtain of rain woven like fabric outside the door, Yun Ye suddenly remembered the potatoes he’d planted. In a few quick movements he rushed to the back of the tent. He saw that the potato seedlings in five large vats were growing very well. In two months’ time they’d already grown to a foot and a half tall. The leaves were verdant and dense, covering the entire mouth of the vats. The five large vats were arranged in a plum blossom pattern. Above them was a thatched pavilion sheltering these potatoes from the storm. Occasionally a few drops of rainwater leaked through and struck the leaf surfaces, splashing up crystalline water droplets. The emerald green leaves tilted downward, the remaining rainwater slid down the leaf surface, and with a swish it disappeared into a patch of thick shade.
Yun Ye felt relieved. During the two months he was away, these potatoes had received good care. Looking at the several strings of flower buds among the leaves, Yun Ye became excited. In another five or six days, the light purple potato flowers would bloom. With flowers there would be a harvest. He’d been worried all along that these potatoes’ vitality had been damaged when passing through the wormhole. It seemed they were fine—his money-making great plan hadn’t suffered setbacks. When these potatoes matured, they’d all become seeds. As long as they didn’t degenerate, within three years Yun Ye was confident he could plant a hundred-some acres. In Chang’an there were also a thousand acres of good farmland. He believed that with potatoes as a new crop, making a fortune absolutely wasn’t a difficult matter.
Just as Yun Ye was drooling while fantasizing about the future with copper coins falling like rain from the sky, a sturdy man staggered through the rain into the pavilion. Seeing Yun Ye deep in thought, he didn’t disturb him but quietly stood to the side waiting for Yun Ye to come back to his senses.
This man was precisely Zhuang Santing, whom Yun Ye had pulled back from the brink of death. Because his injuries were too severe, he hadn’t been taken along for this suppression of the Qiang people, but was left in the camp to recuperate. A month ago, Zhuang Santing was already able to get out of bed. Staying in the empty camp with nothing to do, when he heard that Yun Ye had left behind several plants of flowers and grass, he ran over to look. But he was blocked by the guards, who said these were the lord’s beloved possessions, that even the commander greatly valued them, and that unauthorized personnel were not allowed inside—only two gardeners carefully tended these flowers and plants.
Zhuang Santing became even more curious. When had the commander cared about flowers and plants? In the residence while practicing blade techniques, he’d accidentally cut down his wife’s beloved peony cluster and was chased by his wife—it had become the joke of Chang’an. Yet now he commanded people to carefully tend Lord Yun’s flowers and plants. Strange indeed, bizarre indeed! Only after much pleading did he persuade the guards to let him go in and observe.
At first glance, Zhuang Santing, who came from a farming family, determined these weren’t flowers and plants. Although he didn’t know what tricks the commander and the lord were up to, it must concern something major. Perhaps these were precious medicinal herbs that the lord was cultivating. Thinking of the lord’s miraculous medical skills, Zhuang Santing’s face filled with yearning. How could the lord’s treasures be left to those unrelated gardeners to look after? If there was any mishap, these life-saving medicinal materials would be lost. So he moved his tent in front of the potato seedlings and built a grass shed. At sunrise he’d place the potato seedlings outside the shed; at sunset he’d move them back inside the shed. Every day he carefully tended them—loosening the soil, watering, catching insects were all common tasks. Watching the potato seedlings grow day by day, and in recent days sprouting flower buds, Zhuang Santing was indescribably delighted.
Last night during the heavy rain, he got up three times to check whether the grass shed was sturdy. Only after seeing everything was normal did he sleep at ease. Not long after sleeping, he heard footsteps outside and got up to check. It turned out to be the lord.