Life in Jizhou City remained as peaceful as ever. The people seemed to believe that simply living inside a solid fortress meant they needn’t concern themselves with whatever happened outside.
In the summer of the thirty-first year of Dachu’s Renshou reign, just as the wheat harvest was approaching, rebel bandits broke through Tang County under Jizhou’s jurisdiction, plundering grain and supplies and killing countless people.
Tang County’s seat was burned to the ground, and an untold number of people were left homeless and destitute.
And it was at precisely this moment that the first order issued by Military Governor Zeng Ling was not to eliminate the rebels—but to seal all of Jizhou City’s gates and refuse entry to any refugees.
So long as those ragged, starving refugees couldn’t enter the city, Jizhou City itself remained a flourishing place of song and splendor.
The people inside the city felt nothing wrong about it. Keeping refugees out was naturally in their best interest. Jizhou City had granaries, and the stored grain was said to be enough to sustain the city’s population for decades. As long as none of it was divided among the refugees, the people of Jizhou City had enough to live on.
Jizhou City was vast, with every trade and profession represented within its walls. Military Governor Zeng Ling assembled his officials to deliberate and run through their calculations—they concluded that as long as Jizhou City itself stayed secure, the city had the resources to be fully self-sufficient.
As for the refugees—they were standing outside waiting for the gates to open. Surely they wouldn’t still be there after three to five days? After ten days or more?
Once the refugees dispersed, Jizhou would reopen its gates, as though nothing had ever happened.
This was the state of affairs throughout Dachu—not just in Jizhou, but in many places.
Things were somewhat better further south, since it was closer to the capital and the Dachu garrison troops were formidable. Rebel armies that hadn’t yet grown to the scale of hundreds of thousands dared not engage them—but that didn’t stop the rebels from sweeping through like a plague of locusts, descending in a roar and departing the same way.
Li Diudiu continued to live his days as before. Whatever chaos reigned outside the city was beyond his ability to see. Only the soldiers on the walls could see the mass of refugees piled outside the gates.
But the garrison had been given strict orders: nothing about the people who had already starved to death outside the walls was to be spoken of. Anyone who let word slip would face military law.
Yet orders were orders—the soldiers knew what was happening, and couldn’t help saying a word or two to their families, urging their loved ones to stock up on grain while they could and not worry about anything else. Grain, at least, had to be taken care of.
The result of this was that the grain shops in the city suddenly became very busy. At first the merchants hadn’t quite caught on, but after several consecutive days of people buying grain in large quantities, their instincts sharpened.
So the price of grain began to rise, and life for ordinary residents of the city started to grow difficult.
This had not been within Military Governor Zeng Ling’s calculations.
The Military Governor’s Residence.
Zeng Ling’s face was dark as he surveyed the people arrayed before him. On his left stood a group of civil officials wearing expressions of barely concealed schadenfreude—this matter seemed to have nothing to do with them, and word had it that the soldiers had been the ones to leak the information. On his right, a row of generals wore expressions of pure misery. Zeng Ling had just unleashed a torrent of abuse at them, leaving them feeling both aggrieved and humiliated—but daring to say nothing.
Those civil officials wore unpleasant faces—but could they defend the walls? Of course it was the soldiers who had to do that.
“I am announcing several matters that are to be put into effect immediately.”
Zeng Ling rose and began to pace as he spoke. “The first matter is to stabilize the morale of Jizhou City’s population as quickly as possible. Anyone caught hoarding grain hereafter will be executed without mercy. Any grain shop that raises its prices will likewise be executed without mercy—all assets confiscated.”
“The second matter: if we want the people of the city to stop panicking, we must give them something to do. The great households within the city—look into whether any have occasions coming up, whether it’s a longevity celebration or a birthday. Whatever it is, go find opera troupes and have them set up stages in the streets for public performances. If any household refuses, their assets are confiscated.”
“Third: all teahouses, wine houses, gambling dens, brothels, and every other business within the city must continue operating as normal. None may close, none may leave Jizhou, and none may raise prices. Otherwise—assets confiscated.”
“Fourth: load two hundred carts with grain from the granaries and drive them through the main streets of the city once, then return them to the granaries. It will be announced that this is the newly arrived summer grain being brought in from outside for storage.”
Having laid all this out, Zeng Ling turned to look at Gao Shaowei, the dean of Siyi Academy, who had been sitting to one side throughout without a word.
“Elder Gao, the academy’s field holiday is almost over. When you return, instruct the teachers to make things clear to the students once they’re back—tell them not to stir up trouble. They’re scholars, and scholars carry a great deal of influence.”
Gao Shaowei promptly bowed. “Please be at ease, Military Governor. I will make the arrangements.”
Zeng Ling acknowledged this with a sound, then asked the room, “Does anyone have any other ideas?”
Lian Gongming, Prefect of Jizhou Prefecture, rose to his feet. “Last year the court issued a circular stating that this year marks His Majesty’s sixtieth birthday, and localities everywhere are to hold grand celebrations in His Majesty’s honor. By my reckoning, there is less than a month remaining.”
Zeng Ling nodded. “Mm. I had already dispatched people to begin arrangements… Since Prefect Lian has raised the matter, let’s expand on what we’d previously planned and make the scale even grander. Have all the streets of Jizhou City freshly whitewashed, and deck the entire city out in red and festive colors.”
He paused, then continued, “I think Jizhou Prefecture can draw on a special allocation of funds to recruit large numbers of laborers to repair and improve the streets, and purchase materials to put up colored banners and flags throughout the city. This will also keep a large number of currently idle people occupied.”
Lian Gongming cursed inwardly, but still bowed dutifully. “This official will return and work out a detailed proposal with the people at the yamen, then submit it for your review.”
“No need to submit a proposal.”
Zeng Ling waved his hand. “Use your own judgment.”
And so, in the wake of Tang County being overrun by rebels with countless lives lost, a hall full of powerful men decided to deck Jizhou City in festive red and set the city’s people to celebrating the birthday of the Dachu Emperor, far away in the capital.
Outside the walls, the dead lay strewn across the ground. Inside, the beating of drums and gongs was about to fill the air.
—
Siyi Academy.
Every morning, Li Diudiu would practice the Formation-Breaking Blade technique over and over in Master Yan’s small courtyard. His arm had healed considerably—perhaps because of how well he was eating, his recovery was faster than most people’s. They always said that bone injuries took a hundred days to heal, yet within a month his arm showed almost no sign of having been hurt at all—though he still didn’t dare put full force through it.
He had long since mastered the Formation-Breaking Blade technique, and over the past twenty days, Yan Qingzhi had spent his time reconstructing from memory the military texts his own forebears had taught him.
Today Xiahou Zuo was absent, so he finally brought it out to show Li Diudiu.
“This military text is what I recorded based on my father’s accounts of the battles once fought by Grand General Xu Qulü. Every major battle—my father could recount each one as intimately as his own possessions…”
Yan Qingzhi paused, a flash of sorrow crossing his eyes.
He was an only son. His ancestors had served as close-guard captains under Xu Qulü, yet he himself remained unmarried and childless to this day. The story of Grand General Xu Qulü was not something he could tell to descendants of his own—but at least he could tell it to Li Diudiu.
“You must remember this above all else: do not let anyone know this military text exists. Not even Xiahou Zuo. Privately reading military texts is a serious crime—and my writing them down is an even graver one.”
Yan Qingzhi impressed this upon him several times. Li Diudiu nodded hastily, grabbed the text, and ran off to sit on the steps to one side, reading with complete absorption.
Since the age of three or four, his teacher Changmei the Daoist had taught him to read and write, though the teaching had ranged widely across subjects. What Li Diudiu was most fascinated by was precisely this kind of battle record, but Changmei’s knowledge in this area was limited, and what he did know was secondhand hearsay—and often embellished into something fantastical.
The military text Yan Qingzhi had now compiled consisted entirely of actual historical battles, many of which were celebrated examples of fewer defeating more.
Grand General Xu Qulü had lived a life of legend without parallel—pacifying the northern frontier, bringing peace to the western territories, turning the tide of battle time and again when all others thought him certain to fail.
Li Diudiu read word by word, afraid to miss a single character, as though skipping one word would mean losing an entire treasury.
He sat reading while Yan Qingzhi pulled a rattan chair to the doorway and sat there keeping watch, ensuring no one would come near unnoticed.
By midday, Yan Qingzhi rose and stretched his arms. “Li Chi, let’s go—time to eat.”
Li Diudiu didn’t react. He didn’t seem to have heard at all.
Yan Qingzhi found this rather astonishing. Even the words “time to eat” couldn’t get a response out of Li Diudiu?
“Li Chi. It’s time to go eat.”
Yan Qingzhi repeated it.
Still no reaction from Li Diudiu whatsoever. In that moment, his mind had conjured an image so vivid and sweeping it was absolutely clear.
On a high slope in the steppe, Grand General Xu Qulü was holding a spyglass to his eye, looking toward the vast enemy army advancing in the distance—his face utterly serene.
He had eight thousand cavalry. His main force had already been dispatched to circle around and strike at the enemy’s rear. Beside him remained only eight thousand men—yet opposite them were sixty thousand elite cavalry coming to decide the battle.
“The E’ergan River.”
Xu Qulü pointed to the winding waterway before him, curving like an enormous serpent through the land.
He lowered his spyglass, smiled faintly, and asked the generals at his side, “I intend to use these eight thousand light cavalry to encircle sixty thousand enemy horsemen. What do you think?”
His subordinates were all somewhat dumbstruck. It was simply impossible—how could eight thousand cavalry form an encirclement around sixty thousand?
The image in Li Diudiu’s mind was overwhelmingly real. He seemed to hear Xu Qulü say it himself, and so murmured along in continuation, “Though the enemy’s numbers are vast, they’ve made a grave mistake. Their cavalry is advancing along the river channel, which winds and bends so extremely—do you see? This forms one curve after another, one after the next, each like a half-circle.”
“Shortly, I will personally lead the main force to strike from the flank. With the E’ergan River on one side, the enemy will be compressed against the riverbank, hemmed into those half-circles one by one. Each of those half-circles is a sack—”
Li Diudiu had barely spoken those words when Yan Qingzhi snatched the text from his hands.
“Li Chi!”
Yan Qingzhi called out sharply.
Li Diudiu raised his head and looked at Yan Qingzhi with a blank expression. “What is it, Master? Why did you take the book?”
Yan Qingzhi said, “I called your name five or six times and you didn’t respond at all. I was afraid that if you kept reading you’d become completely possessed—you’d been sitting there muttering to yourself the whole time…”
But what left Yan Qingzhi even more astonished was this: Li Diudiu had been sitting there reading, and he hadn’t yet reached the part where Grand General Xu Qulü laid out his deployment—yet the words he’d been murmuring to himself were nearly identical, word for word, to what Yan Qingzhi had written down based on his father’s account.
In that battle all those years ago, Grand General Xu Qulü had indeed won a crushing victory by exploiting the terrain—eight thousand light cavalry breaking sixty thousand, using an encircling strategy, no less.
It was the kind of thing that, if you hadn’t witnessed it yourself, you might not believe even if someone told you. Yet Li Diudiu had clearly not yet read that far—and already he had described Xu Qulü’s entire deployment with perfect clarity.
“Surely not,” said Li Diudiu with a laugh. “I’m not going to get possessed.”
Yan Qingzhi shook his head. “I’ll confiscate the text for now and return it to you tonight. Come with me to eat—you’re heading to Yuanzhai Teahouse again this afternoon, aren’t you?”
Li Diudiu looked up at the sun’s position, and only then realized it was already midday.
“The half-circles formed by the river bends are the sacks, and Dachu’s cavalry are the cord that cinches the sacks shut—the enemy is all penned inside, shot down or driven into the river to drown…”
Li Diudiu let out a long breath. “What a beautifully fought battle!”
Yan Qingzhi sighed. “He truly is possessed.”
—