The northern frontier. The border pass.

Rising early, Xiahou Zuo ambled out of his quarters and made his casual, unhurried morning rounds of the camp — a habit now so deeply ingrained it had become part of his very bones.

Not long ago, the border garrison’s Third-Rank General Liu Boyuan had passed away from illness, leaving the army momentarily without a commander-in-chief.

General Liu had served at the frontier for over twenty years and was deeply beloved by his soldiers. In the prevailing state of the court, keeping his men fed and alive was itself a formidable feat — and General Liu deserved all the credit for it.

Especially starting around eleven or twelve years ago, when the court had ceased all disbursements to the frontier armies entirely. Even when funds were allocated, there was no telling whose hands they would end up in.

At the height of Liu Chongxin’s depredations, military funding and grain supplies for the frontier armies were not merely skimmed — what money did he not dare seize for himself?

Nor was this skimming done by Liu Chongxin alone.

Liu Chongxin was simply the patriarch of all corrupt officials. To illustrate the scale of it: if the annual military budget allotted to the frontier was one million taels of silver, five hundred thousand would end up in Liu Chongxin’s hands. Two hundred thousand would fall into the hands of the next tier of officials. One hundred thousand at the tier below that. Fifty thousand at the tier below that. And so on down the chain — by the time the money reached the lowest rung, there might be nothing left to distribute.

Layer upon layer of extraction, until by the time anything reached the frontier it amounted to nothing but a blank sheet of paper. Not a single tael of military funding, not a single grain of military rations.

Every year General Liu had no choice but to make a journey to Jizhou, cap in hand, to petition Zeng Ling — it was as good as begging. Fortunately, Zeng Ling still grasped how critical the frontier was, and even when the court’s allocations fell through, he kept the grain supply going.

These frontier soldiers endured because of nothing but iron will and a heart full of loyalty.

General Liu also led his soldiers in growing what food they could manage. The climate was bitter and harsh, the yields pitifully low — but something was better than nothing.

After General Liu died of illness, the whole army went into mourning. Yet they were so desperately impoverished they could not procure enough white cloth to make full mourning garments — every soldier had to make do with a strip of white cloth bound around his arm.

The quartermaster was heartbroken, wanting to give General Liu a proper funeral but finding himself with nothing to work with.

General Liu had wept at length before his death, despairing at his own helplessness.

After General Liu died, all his men wept at length, despairing at their own helplessness.

After General Liu’s death, the frontier army sent a dispatch to Jizhou — but Zeng Ling had just returned from a military defeat and was mired in his machinations against Prince Yu, with no capacity to spare for the frontier. A dispatch was also sent to Youzhou. Luo Geng sent back some condolence money but made no arrangements.

In the end, the officers and men talked it over: with neither the court nor the regional authorities taking responsibility, they would have to manage on their own. They decided to elect one of their own to take up the post of commanding general.

Xiahou Zuo had not been present. He had said that whether in terms of seniority, prestige, or battle record, he could not compare to the seasoned generals in the ranks.

But even he had not expected what happened: he had not attended, and yet the man selected was him.

Xiahou Zuo was well-liked — liked for his forthrightness, liked for his courage, liked for the way he charged headlong into whatever lay ahead, liked for treating every frontier soldier as a brother.

Those who were junior to him deferred to him.

Those who were senior to him also deferred to him.

Dozens of Fifth-Rank-and-above generals gathered in the main camp. Each man wrote his chosen name on a slip of paper, and to spare anyone embarrassment, no one signed his own name.

When the slips were unfolded, every single one bore the same name: Xiahou Zuo.

Xiahou Zuo dared not accept. For the first time in his life, he was seized by profound uncertainty and dread — but outside his quarters stood dozens of generals of Fifth Rank and above, drawn up in solemn formation.

They faced his door and performed, in perfect unison, the frontier army’s military salute. Then, in one voice, they called out:

*We pay our respects to the General!*

From that day, Xiahou Zuo became the first frontier commanding general in the hundreds of years since the founding of Dachu to hold his rank without imperial appointment.

He had not been bestowed the title — he had inherited it.

Every morning, Xiahou Zuo went into the main camp to drill alongside the soldiers. Whatever the soldiers ate, he ate. Whatever the soldiers lived in, he lived in.

To get the soldiers their winter clothing, he had gone out raiding like a bandit himself — leading his personal troops in engagements with bandits and horse thieves both inside and outside the pass.

Every single tael of silver was spent on the soldiers.

Over the past six-odd months, the troops had grown accustomed to it. Their commanding general was named Xiahou Zuo. On the battlefield, he was the brother who charged at the front. In everyday life, he was the father who wore himself ragged worrying over them.

But Xiahou Zuo remained exactly as he had always been — that devil-may-care air, the same loose-limbed swagger he’d had back in the academy, effortlessly, rakishly at ease.

A smoking pipe dangling from the corner of his mouth, he ambled into the camp and spotted a soldier urinating not far off. He strolled over, glanced down, then curled his lip and walked away.

“Brother, mine’s bigger than yours.”

The soldier looked back at him — then broke into a roar of laughter, snapping a salute and calling out: *General!*

Out on the drill ground, Xiahou Zuo ran laps and practiced formations alongside the soldiers. Trained in wrestling with them: losers ran extra laps. When he lost himself he played dirty, sitting down and refusing to get up, throwing a mock tantrum — then after making enough of a scene, got up and ran his two laps.

He made sure the soldiers both knew and remembered: brotherhood was brotherhood; military discipline and orders were a separate matter entirely.

The battle drums sounded, and the soldiers began shifting formations in time with the drumbeats. Some of these battle formations Xiahou Zuo had devised himself; others he had refined from existing ones.

He was standing there watching the troops run through their formations when a soldier on duty came jogging over to report: someone was asking for him at the main gate. A young man who gave his name as Li Chi.

The color of Xiahou Zuo’s face visibly shifted — and then he let out a yell and sprinted toward the gate at a flat-out run.

The soldiers stared at their general’s retreating figure, thoroughly baffled. In that moment, their commanding general looked like a child.

He ran all the way to the main gate in one breath. Xiahou Zuo spotted Li Chi standing outside the entrance at a glance — not looking toward the camp, but gazing at the peaks and ridgelines in the distance.

Moving soundlessly, Xiahou Zuo crept up on him, light-footed and quiet. He raised his hand, pulled it back, and swung it in a full arc at the back of Li Chi’s head — then stopped short of landing the blow. His palm came to rest lightly on Li Chi’s head instead, and the next moment was ruffling Li Chi’s hair into a complete mess.

“Show a little consideration, will you.”

Li Chi’s head wobbled back and forth under the assault. He said helplessly: “I’m at the age where I should be pursuing girls now. My appearance matters.”

Xiahou Zuo laughed uproariously. “Ha — when did pursuing girls ever depend on your hair?”

Li Chi froze. He turned to look at Xiahou Zuo, then asked: “Is frontier army culture really this uncouth?”

Xiahou Zuo laughed and pulled him into a bear hug.

A moment later they separated, because it had suddenly occurred to him: Li Chi showing up here out of nowhere probably meant something had happened.

“Trouble?”

Xiahou Zuo asked.

Li Chi said: “Nothing major. Is there food? Let’s eat first.”

Hearing those words, Xiahou Zuo believed him. If it were truly serious, would Li Chi even have the appetite to eat?

“Nothing good to offer.”

“As long as there’s enough of it.”

A quarter-hour later, in the main camp, in Xiahou Zuo’s tent, Li Chi dispatched seven buns — each larger than a fist — and polished off a heaping plate of pickled radish strips.

“That hit the spot.”

Li Chi exhaled a long breath after finishing, then looked at Xiahou Zuo and said: “Alright, I’m full — come rub my legs for me.”

Xiahou Zuo swung a kick at him, but Li Chi had already retreated to the other side of the tent.

Li Chi explained the full purpose of his visit, including the current state of affairs in Jizhou City, though he said only a single sentence about Prince Yu’s death and moved on.

When Xiahou Zuo learned that Prince Yu was dead, his expression changed noticeably. How could he achieve perfect inner stillness at such news?

“You’re going to take the Yanshan Camp?”

Xiahou Zuo asked.

Li Chi nodded: “Elder Brother Yu’s thinking was right from the start. Back then, he had no way to resist the authorities, so he could only entrench himself in Yanshan. It’s the same for me now.”

Xiahou Zuo said: “I’ll mobilize troops to help you.”

Li Chi said: “No need. Your soldiers aren’t meant for this kind of fight. The most important thing right now is getting Daizhou Pass and Xinzhou Pass secured as quickly as possible. A stable frontier matters more than anything else.”

Xiahou Zuo said: “Now that you’ve decided to enter the game, those tens of thousands of troops matter greatly to you.”

Li Chi shook his head: “Those tens of thousands — if given to me, I’d be using them to fight our own people. Leave them at the frontier, and they guard the nation’s gates and fight the real enemy.”

Xiahou Zuo sighed: “Someone like you entering the game to contend with people who have no limits — I honestly don’t know if that’s a good thing or a bad thing.”

Li Chi said: “It’s a good thing.”

Xiahou Zuo asked: “Good in what way?”

Li Chi looked down and said: “This northern land — once I have it, I’ll farm it. Raise pigs. Grow vegetables. And send them to you… You men at the frontier, you shouldn’t have to live on nothing but buns and pickles.”

Xiahou Zuo was momentarily struck silent.

Li Chi let out a slow breath and continued: “I’ll raise pigs for you all. Yu Jiuling has inherited the true art of pig-rearing from Teacher Li — we’ll raise fat pigs, and you’ll have meat at every meal.”

Xiahou Zuo was quiet for a good while. Then he raised his hand and ruffled Li Chi’s hair again, murmuring as if to himself: “What an absolute fool… Everyone else who wants Jizhou wants it to be a local stronghold, a stepping stone to contend for the realm. But you — you want to raise pigs…”

Li Chi looked out the window and said: “I’ll raise pigs and grow vegetables for you all first. In time, I’ll raise pigs and grow vegetables for everyone under heaven. Does it sound more impressive put that way?”

Xiahou Zuo laughed — laughed with the faintest reddening at the corners of his eyes.

“I need to go.”

Li Chi rose: “I came all this way just to tell you about the frontier situation. Get things arranged as quickly as you can. Those soldiers defending the frontier — if they fall into Huangjia’s hands, they’ll become cannon fodder for his ambitions. If they become yours, they’re at least men standing tall and upright.”

Xiahou Zuo nodded: “Then go. If you need me, send someone.”

Li Chi made a sound of agreement, then dug through his clothes and turned out every last banknote he had on him, pressing them into Xiahou Zuo’s hands: “It’s not much — enough to get the soldiers a few hundred new quilts, maybe. Winter’s coming.”

Xiahou Zuo raised a hand to his chest and gave it a firm pat. Once, twice.

While patting, he said: “Warmer already.”

Li Chi said: “Alright, I’m off. Take care of yourself.”

Xiahou Zuo said: “You’re the one who should be taking care of yourself. I’ve got the run of this place — everyone here listens to me. But you—”

He had been about to say: *as long as Yu Chaozong is still alive, you’re not the one in charge* — but the words would not come out.

He lifted his hand and straightened Li Chi’s collar for him, then smiled and said: “You really have grown up, haven’t you. Whenever you do become the one in charge, remember to send word — I’ll set off firecrackers for you here at the frontier.”

Li Chi smiled and nodded, then turned and left.

Xiahou Zuo walked with him all the way to the camp entrance. Li Chi mounted his horse and looked back at Xiahou Zuo: “Go back in. I won’t be living in Jizhou anymore. The Yanshan Camp isn’t all that far from here — if I have a free moment I’ll come.”

“Get out of here.”

Xiahou Zuo waved a hand. “Get going, you’re making me sick. You shameless wretch — you ate a whole plate of my pickled radishes and you want to come back?”

Li Chi laughed out loud, spurred his horse, and galloped off.

Behind him came Xiahou Zuo’s voice: “Take care of yourself — Diudiu!”

Li Chi raised a hand and waved it without looking back, shouting: “I know! Tiezhu!”

Xiahou Zuo raised a hand and rubbed at his eyes. His adjutant asked: “General — are you crying?”

Xiahou Zuo said: “Bullshit!”

A moment later, he snorted: “Yes. I am. What are you going to do about it?”

He turned, shoved the pipe back between his teeth — the pipe had no tobacco in it, as it always did; it was General Liu’s keepsake, and the old general had always patrolled the camp with it between his lips. He clasped his hands behind his back and walked back.

That devil-may-care Xiahou Zuo.

After a few steps, he turned back again.

From very, very far away, came Li Chi’s voice, carried on the wind:

“Tiezhu! One day I’m going to raise pigs for you!”

Xiahou Zuo spat: “Ptuh!”

Then laughed.

—