On the morning of the fifteenth, before dawn had even broken, crows had already begun circling near Tan Er’s mourning tent—they could always smell the scent of a rotting corpse, and General Tan Er, lying in his coffin, had only a torso now, no head.

At the Tan family army’s horse ranch, stationed twenty li south of the gates of Yandu, the war horses had all been led out, their hooves pounding the earth until it trembled. A few unlucky souls who had been sleeping in the hay piles pushed the straw aside and poked their heads out one by one to look.

Ma Ergu gazed enviously through the fence at the soldiers outside fitting new armor, straw still stuck to his head. He looked left and right, didn’t spot his eldest brother, and turned to feel around. Finally, he found someone buried in the middle of a haystack, grabbed hold, and yanked—Chen Dasheng was pulled out flat on his back, his eyes opening straight into the sun.

In an instant, two lines of hot tears burst through a crust of sleep-grime. Chen Dasheng threw an arm over his eyes and rolled over.

Then he closed his eyes again, meaning to go back to sleep, only the memory of that long dream stirred in his mind—well, maybe just a little longer.

He shut his eyes once more, but his mind kept replaying last night’s dream, the one that had finally let him sleep soundly for the first time in ages.

…The imperial palace ablaze, the sound of slaughter everywhere, flesh and blood flying. Hundreds of armored cavalry blocked the last gate of the empire—a group of men with nothing left to lose. He and his brothers had followed behind General Tan Er, pushing forward. Compared to those fully armored knights, the Long Blade Battalion had only half a strip of leather armor each, their backs bare, gripping nothing but their own long blades.

A general in black armor, face twisted and ferocious, grabbed the soldier nearest him to shield himself from the enemy’s black cavalry.

In the dream, Chen Dasheng shouted: “Yangdan!!”

Yangdan was skewered on a black spear and flung far away—there was no saving him, one glance told him that.

That day, he didn’t know what had come over him—maybe he’d thought of too many things at once. He thought of his hometown, his mother, his sister, his grandmother, and his father who had drowned in the river.

He thought of the new recruits’ camp, of swearing brotherhood with Wanquanzi, of howling on the battlefield with little Huar… and later, of being selected out of the recruits’ camp into the Long Blade Battalion by Tan Er—the moment he stopped being a man and became a ghost.

Two thousand strong young men, stripped bare, each holding nothing but a whitewashed wooden stick, facing rows and rows of fully armored war horses and armored knights. The knights spurred their horses into the mass of flesh, while Meng Wanquan dragged him this way and that trying to dodge…

The Long Blade Battalion never expelled anyone for failing to train well—only death by being trampled by horses, or run through by blunted spearheads, thinned their ranks. In under three months, two thousand strong men became five hundred. They naturally formed themselves into fighting formations, becoming the Long Blade Battalion, becoming the Tan family’s blade.

Tan Er had once told them: you need not hate me, nor pledge loyalty to me. To this general, you are objects—and this general is an object too. An object must know its place as an object. If you want to eat your fill, if you want to live, go earn it on the battlefield…

So they went. Without armor, only bare flesh, bone, and skin. They carried their long blades and numbly accepted an identical death, wave after wave of men falling, until only eight remained. Yangdan wasn’t even officially one of the Long Blade Battalion’s men.

There had been a time when Chen Dasheng envied Meng Wanquan. He was the anomaly, the one thing even Tan Er couldn’t control. Because of him, Chen Dasheng learned that Tan Er could, in fact, be resisted—that he didn’t control every single one of his “objects.”

Wanquanzi had hacked off his own arm with a blade, collapsed on someone else’s stretch of battlefield, and been carried off and treated by the enemy. Several months later he returned to the Tan family army; Tan Er, with no other option, simply gave him a post and let him go.

He had escaped death just like that, and left laughing with sheer relief.

After that, the ghost that had been suppressed inside Chen Dasheng’s heart began to surface. He too wanted, just once, to feel that same relief.

Wanquanzi had said he didn’t want to give the old Tan family one more day of his life, because they were nothing but evil ghosts.

In the end, that evil ghost had lifted Yangdan up to shield himself from a spear. He didn’t know where the strength had come from—he’d swung his blade and cut down that black-armored figure, then reversed the blade and severed Tan Er’s head with a single stroke.

That head spun through the air, its eyes staring back at him in disbelief. He stepped forward and stomped it beneath his foot… what relief!

He’d wanted to do it for so long, and now he’d finally done it.

His brothers, desperate to cover it up, had scoured the battlefield frantically, leaving not a single witness alive. The cut from a long blade was unmistakable, so to disguise the wound, Yu Qingguan had found the enemy’s own saber and cut Tan Er’s neck again. Perhaps to comfort him, the remaining six brothers each stepped up and added their own strike, hacking Tan Er’s body into pieces beyond recognition.

It was said that when the Tan family came to collect the body, they’d even brought a tailor along.

As for the head—the one part too difficult to deal with—they’d thrown it into a lotus pond within the imperial palace. Having thrown it so far, they’d ended up getting lost inside the palace themselves.

Lately, with no more fighting to occupy him, Chen Dasheng often found himself thinking of Yangdan. That boy had been so clever. He used to call all of them, sinners every one, “Dad.”

Yangdan had no surname—he was a child Chen Dasheng had picked up beside a battlefield once. The boy had said: give me one bite to eat, and you’re my ancestor. Chen Dasheng had said: I’ll feed you, but skip the ancestor part—call me Dad, and I’ll give you steamed buns.

So Yangdan started calling him Dad, and he brought the boy into the Long Blade Battalion, where he became a little soldier with no pay and no ID tag.

The Long Blade Battalion formed up in a spearhead formation—he was the tip, and Yangdan was the tail. None of them wanted Yangdan’s hands stained with blood, so Yangdan never once shed blood; the boy was protected well, and smiled every single day.

They never knew what he’d run to the front for that night. Thinking back on it now, it must have been because army rations were running short, and the boy, hungry, had gone rummaging through the grain sacks.

He’d doted on his “fathers” so much—every time they went to battle and killed at the front, Yangdan would loot behind them. His small, thin frame always managed to carry back so much. From the inside out, even the socks Chen Dasheng wore had all been gathered and mended by Yangdan.

Chen Dasheng used to think that men like them were already dead men, in truth—even while they still drew breath, people like them floated through life with no weight at all.

Like his father, like his uncles and older brothers—men who never left the village their whole lives, who died without a sound. Aside from their own family, who would even know where they were from, which way their front door faced, whether there was an old locust tree by the gate.

When he was small, his grandmother used to tell him: in spring, don’t go stealing bird eggs—a family only lays one nest a year. And don’t go pissing on anthills either—one wicked stream of piss down there and a few thousand lives are gone, how will you face your next life then?

Turns out he hadn’t needed to wait for his next life to face retribution—he’d already paid for it in this one.

His mother used to complain endlessly about this being wrong, that being wrong, but now, thinking back, life had actually been happiest back in the old hometown.

He was the youngest in the third branch of the family, and his older brothers had doted on him most. He’d been allowed to make mischief, and whenever something happened he’d cry loudly, calling for Grandma, calling for Grandpa, calling for Mother, calling for Father, calling for his brothers, calling for his sisters…

There was always someone home. His crying alone would summon a whole crowd to comfort him, and in the end he’d get a few kicks from his father, then run outside clutching a hot boiled egg his grandmother had cooked for him, to go watch the ants some more…

“Big brother, isn’t that our banner?”

The Long Blade Battalion’s banner fluttered in the wind as the armored generals slowly departed the camp.

Chen Dasheng studied it carefully for a long while and shook his head, saying nothing. How could that be the Long Blade Battalion’s banner—so clean, so vivid.

Guan Si’er asked: “Big brother, where do you think they’re going?”

Chen Dasheng gazed off into the distance. He didn’t know.

Ever since crawling their way back from the palace, the group of them had simply been dumped at the horse ranch, forgotten. No one had even asked how Tan Er had died.

Lucky for them, the ranch’s soldiers remembered to call them for meals each day—otherwise they wouldn’t have known where to find food at all.

These past few days, Chen Dasheng kept indulging in sweet daydreams—now that they were of no more use, maybe they could finally go home, just like the old soldiers said: hang up their armor, return to the fields.

When would that day come?

Chen Dasheng lay sprawled in the hay, continuing his daydream. There’d be no food today anyway, so he might as well not move.

Some time later, an unfamiliar soldier with a full beard, wearing a long coat of armor, was led by an old ranch hand to this very haystack.

The bearded soldier stared in astonishment at the old hand and asked: “Here?”

The old hand looked at him strangely: “That’s right, Captain Chen is right here.”

With that, he turned and walked off, leaving the bearded man staring miserably at the haystack. After a long while, he finally asked in a trembling voice: “Excuse me… is Captain Chen present, present, present? In the tent?”

No sooner had he spoken than five or six heads popped out of the hay. One of them grinned and called out: “Here, he’s here!”

Then he kicked someone out of the pile with one foot.

Chen Dasheng tumbled to the ground, slowly climbing back up, scratching his head as he looked over at the soldier, a bit puzzled: “Over there?”

The soldier’s face twitched, and it took him a good while to find his voice: “Greetings, Captain Chen. This humble one serves under Earl Chang, and today I’ve accompanied my lord to pay respects to General Tan Er.”

What did that have to do with him? Chen Dasheng remained puzzled, still watching the soldier.

Seeing Chen Dasheng not responding, the soldier hastily pulled a letter from his robe and held it out: “A while back, my young master went to visit your household’s, your household’s honored grandmother. As it happens, your household’s old lady just arranged a marriage for Captain Chen…”

Before he could finish, the haystack collapsed all at once as Ma Ergu and the others scrambled up and swarmed around the soldier, all talking over each other: “What did you say? What did you say? Our big brother has a wife? What’s she like? Where’s she from? Are her eyes big? Is her backside round? Can she bear sons?”

Hu Yougui turned to Chen Dasheng: “Big brother, once you have a son, can we name him Yangdan? That way I get to be a dad again!”

As luck would have it, this soldier had met Qiqian through Chang Lianfang and knew a bit about the matter, so he stood there and gave them a simple account.

The gist of it was: the family’s old grandmother had arranged a marriage for her grandson, a well-mannered and virtuous woman. The old lady had no way of knowing where Chen Dasheng was, and as it happened, Chang Lianfang had gone to the wounded soldiers’ camp, so the new wife had asked the young master to pass along a letter to Chen Dasheng.

The soldier handed over the letter. Chen Dasheng, flustered, reached out, then pulled his hand back, wiping it hard against his filthy cloth armor several times. Taking the letter, he unfolded the paper, then said with some embarrassment to the soldier: “Brother, forgive me—I can’t read.”

Hearing this, the soldier smiled: “I know. Your lady wife said as much.”

He went on, pointing his finger at the open letter: “Your wife said—her name is Huo Qiqian. Look here, this is Huo, your wife’s surname. This is Qi, the number seven. And this is Qian, a kind of red madder herb.”

Chen Dasheng’s eyes slowly filled with a smile. A red herb—red, huh… before his eyes rose the image of a great hillside, just like the one back home, covered in that same red grass.

The soldier then pointed to Chen Dasheng’s own name: “And here, this is your name—Chen, Da, Sheng! A fine name, sir, an auspicious one.”

Was that really how his name was written? Chen Dasheng committed it to memory in a single glance.

The soldier smiled and continued: “Your household’s lady also said—knowing you couldn’t read, she wrote out the name so you’d know: Chen Dasheng has a wife now, her name is Huo Qiqian. So that from now on, if anyone asks, you’ll know how to answer.

“My young master had originally wanted to come see the Captain himself today, but when we set out, His Majesty called on him to attend, so he’s busy up front and couldn’t make it. He asked me to tell the Captain that all is well at home, the new bride is virtuous and has taken very good care of the old lady. Just take care of yourself from now on—if there’s ever pay or grain owed you, no need to have Fourth Uncle Chen carry it back home, since your grandmother won’t have use for it anyway…”

Having finished, the soldier smiled at the now thoroughly dazed Captain Chen standing before him.

Seeing Chen Dasheng fall silent, the soldier asked urgently: “Is there nothing else?”

Nothing else?

The soldier shook his head, but seeing Chen Dasheng’s face fall, he couldn’t help adding: “This humble one has met your lady wife in person—she’s a righteous, filial, and very capable young woman. And… hmm, your household is quite well-off, in fact she recently came into a fair bit of wealth. Supporting an elderly grandmother won’t be any trouble at all…”

With that, the soldier took his leave, leaving Chen Dasheng standing there dumbfounded, stiff as a post, his face frozen in a smile.

He said nothing, moved not at all, just held the paper and stared, and stared, silently repeating two names over and over in his mind. In his head there even appeared a woman in a red dress, her face unclear, saying to him again and again: “Chen Dasheng has a wife now, her name is Huo Qiqian.”

That page burned scorching hot against Chen Dasheng’s heart, burning on until, at last, someone else arrived at the ranch.

Wu Xiu, dressed in brand-new gleaming blood-red leather armor, a long blade strapped to his back, swaggered up to Chen Dasheng. Though the two of them held equal rank as captains, Wu Xiu didn’t dismount, and addressed him by name outright: “Chen Dasheng!”

Wu Xiu looked him over—shabby, disheveled—and sneered with contempt. Then he pulled out a letter sealed with vermilion military wax and dropped it down to him.

Chen Dasheng caught the letter, glanced at it, and said: “Is this an order from the command tent?”

Wu Xiu lifted his chin: “That it is.”

Chen Dasheng’s heart clenched, though he didn’t let it show, and asked: “I can’t read.”

Wu Xiu shot him a contemptuous glance: “The general knows, that’s why he sent me. Have your men pack up over the next two days—the day after tomorrow you’re to lead your unit to follow the grain convoy to Jinzhou, Zuoliang Pass, and report to the local garrison commander Tan Ying, who will arrange your posting from there…”

Saying this, Wu Xiu leaned over to look at the sorry lot of them, and finally couldn’t hold back—he burst into wild laughter: “Hahahaha… well then, farewell. Wishing Captain Chen boundless prospects ahead. I won’t see you off the day after tomorrow, so take care! Hahahahaha…”

He raised his riding crop and galloped off in a cloud of dust.

They weren’t letting him hang up his armor after all? Not letting him go home?

Chen Dasheng’s mind filled entirely with those two thoughts.

He’d been to Jinzhou before—six thousand li from Yandu…

Someone muttered beside his ear: “That bastard—big brother just got a wife and hasn’t even met her yet…”

From far off came a long, drawn-out cry.

…Mighty… Mighty! Mighty! Mighty!

It was the roar of soldiers assembling.

Chen Dasheng gazed off into the distance, then pulled the letter from his home out again, stroking it for a while. Finally he tore open the military order envelope and shook out the paper inside. Unable to read, he could only scan it—but scanning back and forth, he saw no trace of the three characters “Chen Da Sheng.”

In an instant, as if a blade had sprung up beneath him, Chen Dasheng leapt to his feet. He held up the order and examined it from every angle, counting through every single character on it—there was no Chen, no Da, no Sheng…

He could hardly believe his own eyes. He yanked half a sheepskin pouch from his waist and shook it out, spilling two sheepskin packets onto the ground.

He opened one—inside were every single military order he’d received since being promoted to captain.

A thick stack, over a hundred documents in all.

“Lay them out! Lay them all out!”

Chen Dasheng ordered his brothers.

Cui Erdian, thinking his big brother had gone mad, stammered: “Big brother, are you all right? Don’t be scared—tonight, let’s just—let’s run tonight!”

Chen Dasheng roared at him: “Open them! Open every single one of these orders!!!”

And so, at the edge of the horse ranch, Cui Erdian and the others spread out the orders one by one, weighing them down with stones…

Chen Dasheng got down on the ground, holding the letter his wife had written him, searching through those military orders for the three characters “Chen Da Sheng.”

Not there. Not there. Not there… Not a single order bore the name Chen Dasheng.