At the end of May, Zhang Yongbao had already saved sixteen wen with She Wanlin.

Holding onto such a large sum of “stolen money,” She Wanlin was also scared out of his wits.

It wasn’t about the money itself—it was that this kid had recently gotten quite bold, once even skimming five wen straight out of the reward money the audience had tossed onto the opera stage.

Five wen used to mean nothing much to She Wanlin, but now he understood clearly—five wen could buy two vegetable buns, a measure of coarse wine, five pieces of brown sugar, or even half a foot of coarse cloth. There were so many things five wen could do.

Wanting to redeem his little brother wasn’t wrong, but digging into the troupe’s pocket like this was not right—after all, troupe master Zhang Shuangxi had poured his heart and soul into keeping them fed, and on top of that, the man had taught him a trade to survive in this world.

Having played together for so long, She Wanlin had grown quite fond of Zhang Yongbao and the others. After all, there was nothing on this boat—yet whenever he ate at the big stove, little Bao always saved him the best spot in line, and even when the soup pot had only a single drop of oil left, the kids let him eat first.

He’d been thinking that it wasn’t much money—once tomorrow’s business with Jin Dian was settled, he’d help redeem the boy’s brother, so the family could be reunited.

Now he understood even better—the pair of gold-threaded little boots he casually wore at home could probably buy twenty of little Bao’s brothers.

Stealing was wrong no matter what, and he needed to talk to the kid about it, but he hadn’t found a good moment—the boat was too busy, and the troupe’s business had been booming lately, so the troupe master hadn’t noticed yet.

If he found out tomorrow, someone like little Bao would never be tolerated in the opera world again, high or low.

Time passed quickly, and the weather grew hotter and hotter. At last, the opera boat finally reached the checkpoint at Jin Dian’s Ai City.

That day, right around noon, the boat served a coarse-grain radish rice—the kind where you steam a big pot of radish chunks, then dump it over a mix of cowpea-flour and elm-bark-flour steamed dough, toss on some salty sauce, and mix the three things together roughly for a proper meal.

Whether the food was good or not was debatable, but the salt was generous, which for the young performers counted as a rare treat.

Having a full belly every day felt like the life of an immortal.

She Wanlin ate a bowl of it and ended up farting under the covers half the night, and lately he’d taken to eating with Old Stinky. It wasn’t that he looked down on him—he’d already learned not to be picky—it was just that the smell was too foul to bear.

Especially the young performers—every day after the noon meal, sure enough, they’d line up and fart one after another; truly, less than half an hour after a meal, the smell simply wouldn’t clear, and the deck became unbearable.

Even with the wide river and strong wind at Jin Dian, it couldn’t disperse this collective radish-fart of humanity.

Still, everyone was in good spirits—being able to eat their fill, as much as they wanted, was no ordinary treatment, clearly showing the Five Fortunes Troupe had struck it rich.

With something in their stomachs, the youths grew lively, tossing about together every day in this world. In all his years, She Wanlin had never had such carefree fun with peers his own age.

The day they entered the checkpoint at Ai City, She Wanlin was catching up on sleep in his cabin, right in the middle of a sweet dream about begging for food at the Tong family’s house—Big Bronze Hammer was being so generous, bringing him out twelve plump chickens, just about to land in his bowl—when he heard someone outside calling him: “Young master, Brother Yi! Come out quick, we’ve arrived!”

Then came a string of bare feet thumping against the floorboards outside the door.

They’d arrived? Huh? Finally arrived?

She Wanlin sat up in a daze, wiped a bit of drool from the corner of his mouth, and thought—these ungrateful little devils, how many of his snacks had they eaten, couldn’t they at least let him gnaw on a chicken leg before waking him up properly?

Seeing him like this, Old Stinky started chuckling, then jutted his chin at him and said, “Go on, go take a look at this Ai City checkpoint, see the Tan family army your father came from. Seeing this kind of thing broadens a person’s horizons—go on, quick.”

So She Wanlin shuffled out in his slippers, and the moment he stepped out, the harsh sunlight stung his eyes, bringing tears—and once he finally managed to see clearly, he sucked in a sharp breath of cold air.

Before him, on the river’s surface, towering timbers as tall as the sky formed a wall-like formation blocking the river pass, with two checkpoints beneath for boats to pass through. The inspecting soldiers stood in four rows, and just one visible row alone had about twenty men.

They all stood on platforms as large as donkey-drawn millstones, wearing heavy armor, holding strange iron ge-halberds in their hands.

An ordinary ge-halberd has only one hook, shaped like the character 卜, with a straight point that can serve as a spear-thrust and a hook that can slash, hang, pull, or scrape—and if it meets a truly fierce wielder, the blade-head can become a cross-shaped ji-halberd in all sorts of forms… But here in Jin Dian, the Tan family army’s ge-halberds had a double hook hanging beneath the ji-blade, and the shaft itself was lengthened—which made them look rather intimidating.

Whatever the reason, in this age of peace and prosperity, why bother scaring people with such vicious weapons—these coming and going were just ordinary common folk after all.

Whoever it was meant to deal with, this row of heavily armored soldiers standing rigidly with such fearsome weapons was terrifying enough on its own.

Struck by this show of force, over a dozen boats waiting to enter Jin Dian at this checkpoint fell utterly silent on the water.

She Wanlin walked to the bow of the boat and saw a group of young performers sitting on the deck holding their bowls, peeking out with only half their heads showing toward the distance.

He went over and crouched down too, and immediately noticed two handprints on Zhang Yongchun’s face.

“Did the troupe master hit you again?”

Zhang Yongchun grinned it off. “Yeah, he’s worried we’re making too much noise and might stir up trouble.”

Having said that, She Wanlin crouched down, frowned, endured the smell for a moment, and then heard Zhang Yongchun say to him, “Brother Yi, last time we came, there weren’t this many generals guarding the place.”

By now they were all familiar with each other, and no one called She Wanlin “young master” anymore—everyone affectionately called him Brother Yi.

These young performers came here every year, so they knew better than anyone about the changes in Jin Dian.

Understanding what was going on in his heart, She Wanlin didn’t press further. He was curious about the sluice gate at the Ai City checkpoint, so he asked, “Such a huge gate—are there actual people pulling the floodgate boards behind it?”

The young performers all shook their heads in unison, and Zhang Yongbao blurted out the explanation: “No, no! There’s a winch back there, and it’s ten big oxen pulling the ropes—so sturdy! You’ll see for yourself later, Brother Yi. You know what, those oxen are even pampered, they even wear armor, so mighty~ Have you ever seen that before? Bet you haven’t!”

He said it so proudly, as if those oxen were his own.

She Wanlin held back a laugh and shook his head. Just as he was about to speak, he heard the troupe master scolding from behind: “Shut your mouths! Quiet down! You bunch of death-seeking little bastards, if you die, you die, but don’t you dare bring trouble on me! If you startle the officials, I’ll toss every one of you into the river to feed the fish!”

That silenced them all at once—each one gulped down their rice without daring to chew, cheeks bulging, pressing against the railing as they shuffled back to the kitchen for more.

Watching them eat without restraint, Zhang Shuangxi cursed again: “Useless little toads, good for nothing but eating…”

The troupe master always had a colorful way of cursing people, and She Wanlin covered his forehead and laughed.

But today Troupe Master Zhang had something on his mind, and he said to him without standing on ceremony: “You should go back to the cabin too. This is a sensitive place—don’t cause trouble for your uncle.”

She Wanlin shook his head and said it was fine.

Seeing that he didn’t understand the gravity of the situation, Zhang Shuangxi was about to step forward to lecture him further, when he heard a loud shout from ahead: “Hah! You bastard Ai City checkpoint bullying people—this old man Tan Shouyi’s own damn… you dare to touch even the old man’s advantage…”

Before the words even finished, screams rang out, someone shouted that murder was happening, and people scattered, jumping into the water from the foremost boat.

Troupe Master Zhang and She Wanlin both instantly crouched down.

Curious, She Wanlin lifted his head to look, but saw Troupe Master Zhang crawling along the ground on all fours, and he started laughing.

When he finished laughing and looked over again, he saw several unlucky passengers just about to climb onto the stone pillar of the platform—they’d originally just been caught up in the chaos, and having barely managed to swim to the edge of the platform, before they could even cry for help, the motionless heavily armored soldiers suddenly shifted, all stepping forward in unison, raising their ge-halberds and hoeing down onto the men’s heads.

In just an instant, the water at the checkpoint turned red with blood… then the color faded, several people dead without so much as a sound. Once the bodies were cleared away, the heavily armored soldiers returned to their positions, motionless once more.

She Wanlin sucked in a cold breath inwardly—his mind worked differently from others, and he understood at once the intent behind these armored soldiers: someone clearly believed it was better to kill wrongly than to let one go.

Jin Dian’s inspection was this strict.

The troublemaking lead boat was still fighting—only shouts and curses could be heard, and even some inspecting soldiers were slashed and tossed into the water—yet those heavily armored soldiers remained motionless throughout, as if each were a bronze beast guarding the river.

“In the army, everyone keeps to their post and never oversteps. Your father and your uncles all came from an army just like this.”

A voice murmured softly beside his ear; She Wanlin knew without turning that it was Old Stinky.

With such a major incident unfolding, the troupe members had all long since hidden themselves—only these two fools from out of town dared lie on the bow watching the spectacle.

Thinking of his father and uncles, who doted on him so and always wore gentle smiles, She Wanlin’s heart clenched.

For no particular reason, he felt a pang of tenderness.

In his ear, Old Stinky kept muttering on: “…In the previous reign, His Majesty had five great armies, and he was never short of generals who understood warfare, nor of men skilled in battle. Your young uncle Chang Lianfang’s father, Marquis Chang, may not look like much, hmph! But the man is a master strategist, truly a wise commander.

According to the military classics, generals are divided into benevolent generals, righteous generals, trustworthy generals, infantry generals, and cavalry generals—and among his subordinates, this mix of general-types was perfectly balanced. Yet, the Chang family army was still no match for the Tan family army…”

Old Stinky sighed with much emotion as he said this.

She Wanlin naturally didn’t believe it, and asked, “Why is that? Don’t tell me their family has fewer great generals too?”

Old Stinky sneered, “The Tan family? With that rotten reputation of theirs, who could they possibly keep loyal? Great generals, huh. The Tan family has no such figures. Understand this—when three armies act as one, the great general is the heart and the soldiers are the body. The Tan family army has no true general, yet it’s unbeaten because of its sheer ruthlessness—it’s an army that’s fed on the blood of soldiers for generations to sustain itself… and yet His Majesty has no choice but to use it.”

In his mind, the glorious image of His Majesty grew a little more distant. After a long while, She Wanlin said, “That’s right—raising a general means high office and generous pay, and our Emperor is dirt poor. These soldiers are nothing more than tools to him—break one, and you can buy another for three or five wen. I heard from my young uncle before that when the Chang family army moves out, it takes at least fifteen days from the order to actual departure, and at the very least the provisions must go first. But the Tan family army, once they say they’re leaving, they just leave. People can’t be compared to livestock—don’t you think so, Uncle Stinky?”

Beside him, Old Stinky let out a long breath, smacked his lips, and said, “Well, it’s not that His Majesty is wrong either. Extraordinary times call for extraordinary men. The Tan family army is without benevolence, and after the Emperor established the state and put down the rebellion, he switched to using the Chang family army instead—there’s no denying they’ve been sidelined, everyone tacitly understands this. It’s just, seeing this show of force now, Marquis Tan is clearly still not reconciled to it.”

She Wanlin looked at the motionless heavily armored soldiers and nodded slightly, asking, “Uncle Stinky?”

Old Stinky grunted in response, and then heard the child continue: “So tell me, who’s the most formidable general in our Great Liang?”

He himself thought it was his own father.

But Old Stinky answered without hesitation: “My Emperor, Yang Zao.”

In his heart he’d said “my emperor,” but She Wanlin heard it as “Emperor Wu.”

He didn’t think it disrespectful—in fact, the She family had always been rather casual in their attitude toward that person, mainly because they were genuinely close relatives, and His Majesty had always treated him well.

She Wanlin turned his head, both eyes full of doubt.

Seeing him like this, Old Stinky chuckled and said, “You little thing, let me teach you something useful today—don’t judge an emperor by what’s right in front of your eyes, or you’ll die without even knowing how. Think carefully—the ancient military strategists spoke of it: a general has ten flaws. Do you know what those ten flaws are?”

She Wanlin immediately recited: “Recklessness that risks death lightly, impatience that acts too hastily, greed that covets profit, benevolence that can’t bear cruelty, wisdom that turns to cowardice, trustworthiness that’s too easily deceived, integrity that…”

“Alright, alright, alright, I know you’ve got a good memory, no need to recite it all. What I mean is—no matter what kind of general, no matter what kind of commander, even a ruthless one like the Tan family, they all answer to His Majesty’s command. So tell me, isn’t my Emperor Yang Zao truly formidable?”

That was indeed true, She Wanlin nodded, and after a while asked again, “Then Uncle Stinky, what kind of general would you say my father is?”

As the boy asked this, his eyes were full of anticipation. He’d thought it over carefully—his own father was deeply trusted by His Majesty, commanded great authority outside, and among all the generals in the army, who didn’t admire him?

Surely his father had to be a mighty general too.

Being a modest person, he didn’t go so far as to say his father was material for a great commander.

But Old Stinky thought it over seriously, and in the end only said quietly, “In my view, your father is, at best, a fierce foot soldier—by no means general material.”

The boy grew furious and was about to argue back, when a loud shout rang out ahead—someone leapt from the lead boat, touched down lightly at the foot of the checkpoint’s high wall, and scaled it as easily as walking on level ground.

From that movement alone, this was clearly someone from the martial world.

At this point, She Wanlin finally got a clear look at the man—he appeared to be in his thirties or forties, and he wasn’t dressed in sleek martial-arts attire but rather like a country squire, wearing a long green robe patterned with peonies on shiny silk, a square-topped headscarf on his head. The man was quite fat, carrying a huge bundle on his back, and as he moved, the flesh at his waist rippled visibly—yet his movements were agile all the same, marking him as a practitioner of internal energy cultivation.

Just as this man, with a blood-soaked pair of straight swords in hand, mounted the wooden wall, She Wanlin was about to say something when he saw several gaunt figures suddenly appear atop the wooden wall. They leapt nimbly along the narrow wooden posts, and in just a few steps, arrived together right in front of the fat man.

The lowest-ranking soldiers of the Great Liang army wore felt hats, blue cloth armor, and cloth skirts.

At a glance, these few clearly held low status in the army—their cloth armor already rotted through, as if stripped from some grown man’s body and simply draped over them. Standing there on the wooden posts, the wind made the tattered strips of their cloth skirts and armor flutter wildly, and their felt hats drooped over their faces, with two holes poked in them, through which their eyes were barely visible.

These weren’t soldiers—they looked like a group of beggars.

No, even the most wretched beggars in this world would look better than them.

At that moment, the fat man had already landed steadily, and seeing that his attackers were just a few skinny bamboo-poles of men about to raise their blades, he burst into wild laughter: “Ha! Oh heavens? That stingy old bastard Tan Shouyi always keeps up appearances with just a few presentable faces—what the hell are you lot, bamboo-pole spirits? You think you’re going to poke this old man into the river? Hahaha… oh, what the hell is this!”

As he spoke, the man charged forward laughing wildly—but he was ruthless too, and even against these bamboo-poles he had no intention of holding back, raising his pair of gleaming straight swords to strike.

Those few bamboo-poles met the attack without the slightest fear… In the space of an instant, too fast for those below to follow, by the time everyone realized what had happened, the fat man had already been torn into several pieces… In another blink, the pieces fell into the river, making a series of plopping sounds…

Looking back at the figures atop the posts, they had already vanished without a trace.

A cold glint flashed in She Wanlin’s eyes, and he was about to spring up, but his Uncle Stinky pressed him back down.

Old Stinky murmured in his ear, “Seems like the Tan family army has the Old Blade Battalion again.”

She Wanlin let out a long breath and said quietly after a while, “The Six-Hand Blade Technique!”

Old Stinky chuckled in his ear, “So you recognize it. I thought your father couldn’t bear for you to touch things like this.”

She Wanlin’s expression turned solemn: “Of course I recognize it, it’s just that my father hasn’t practiced these things for years now.”

His father seemed to be practicing something else these days, and he’d been reading military texts quite earnestly at home.

Old Stinky said in a somewhat goading tone, “You say the Tan family is this vile, and yet they’ve quietly revived the Old Blade Battalion even with your father having been one of them—what do you think that means?”

She Wanlin shook his head. “I don’t know. My father said the Six-Hand Blade Technique goes against the harmony of heaven, and it would be best if such a thing never existed in this world again.”

The gate at the lead checkpoint slowly rose again, and several fast skiffs emerged from within in single file. Soldiers with bare feet wearing armored vests reached the boat and took up ropes from the skiffs to bind the lead boat, while others used bamboo poles to fish out their fallen comrades.

Everything proceeded in perfect order—before long, something inside gave a pull, and the lead boat quickly passed through the gate… then a small team of soldiers rode small boats out through the gate, truly killing whoever needed killing, searching whoever needed searching, collecting corpses as needed… An army like this—even today’s Imperial Guards probably couldn’t compare.

Once the following boats became the lead boat, She Wanlin slowly stood up, looking at the still-motionless heavily armored soldiers ahead, and said, “Uncle Stinky~ you know?”

Old Stinky came to stand beside him and asked, “Know what?”

Sunlight fell on the boy’s cheek. Instead of worrying for his father over the newly emerged blade-wielders, he said, “My father, even though he’s just an unimportant foot soldier, he can cross the river—do you believe that?”

Old Stinky was stunned for a moment, then finally laughed, patting She Wanlin’s shoulder affectionately. “You little thing, you really do take after him.”

Not wanting to dwell on this unpleasant matter any further, he changed the subject: “Tell me, that fat man who used the double blades just now—if he were out in the martial world, what kind of figure would he be? And if that Young Zai chased him down, once he got here, would those few blade-wielders stand a chance against him?”

She Wanlin thought about it. “That I wouldn’t know. But if Young Zai came today, this checkpoint would fall to a single strike of his…”

He suddenly paused, and then a strange light flashed in his eyes as he said, “No, no, that’s wrong! Even if Young Zai came, it still wouldn’t work. You must understand—ancient mighty warriors could lift cauldrons and prop up the heavens with sheer strength, but martial artists of the wandering world are mostly just brave individuals. You must realize how many Old Blades there are among two armies clashing in formation. Moreover, a commander leads—no matter how Young Zai might come, a commander can turn a thousand soldiers into one, a general can be the foundation of a nation. What is Young Zai in comparison? Nothing more than a common outlaw.”

Having said this, he clasped his hands behind his back and walked off. In truth, there were things he didn’t really want to say—the adults at home always treated him like a child and kept things from him.

But he’d already known. He’d already worked it out long ago.

His father, Chen Dasheng, had for all these years devoted himself to just one thing: to utterly erase from Great Liang armies as ruthless as the Tan family army.

His father said that even war could be one of redemption and righteousness—that things like the Old Blades shouldn’t exist in this world.

As for figures like Young Zai, looking at it now, they too amounted to nothing much.

He walked off proud and carefree, never noticing that behind him, Uncle Stinky’s face, covered in lumps beneath his disguise, wore a look of pure gratification.

“This little brat, growing up so fast!”