Borteqina had followed Tang Pidi for so long that what he had absorbed simply from being near him was something he could never have learned in twenty-odd years of life on the grasslands. It has been said that a martial practitioner who has hit the limits of their progress and can advance no further should, by any means possible, find a way to be near those who are truly great — even if only to serve as a helper. Just having something to observe each day brings immense benefit. Even if one never witnesses a supreme master strike a blow, watching the way such a person speaks, the way they conduct themselves, the way they move through the world — the influence is profound.
By that measure, was Tang Pidi not the one-of-a-kind, unparalleled supreme master of this age? And so the battle at the Nalan royal court, which seemed on its surface to have been won almost easily — the word “easily” concealed behind it years of Borteqina’s painstaking study.
Among the Ning Army, those who had learned a great deal from Tang Pidi were numerous. Borteqina was far from the only one.
Youzhou.
The Ning Army formation halted on the northern bank of the Red River. Grand General Zhuang Wudi dismounted, walked to the embankment, and looked out across the water to the far shore.
His personal cavalry officer, the man who had been with him since the old days in the Yanshan camp, was named Di Gandang.
Standing at Zhuang Wudi’s back, Di Gandang asked, “Grand General, will the Tianming Army actually come?”
Zhuang Wudi replied, “They may choose not to come. We cannot choose not to be here.”
Di Gandang nodded. “Then I’ll go and set up the Grand General’s tent and get the Grand General’s books arranged.”
Zhuang Wudi gave a quiet sound of assent and said nothing more.
His subordinates had all long since grown accustomed to the fact that their general was not a man of many words. Di Gandang, having followed Zhuang Wudi for so many years, understood him even better than most. Besides, the Grand General did talk to him — not infrequently.
Zhuang Wudi had already ordered the army to make camp along the river, with mounted scouts dispatched to patrol both flanks. The formation was arranged with quiet discipline.
On the embankment, Zhuang Wudi found a spot and sat down, leaned back against a tree, and unclipped the book from his belt. He sat there in perfect stillness and read.
Di Gandang had once asked him: “Grand General, back in the Yanshan days, you hated reading more than anything. When the great chieftain told you to read more, you always found excuses to get out of it. How is it that you love reading so much now?”
Zhuang Wudi had replied: “Because now is different.”
In those days, Zhuang Wudi did nothing beyond following the great chieftain Yu Chaozong’s arrangements and drinking. But now? He was the commander of an army. The lives of tens of thousands of soldiers rested on his shoulders.
He was not good at expressing himself, so he had only said “now is different.” Ask him to explain why it was different, and his clumsy tongue would probably not manage it clearly.
But in his own heart he understood — he could not afford to fall too far behind. Not because he worried that falling behind would cost him his current position, but because he believed a person must be of use. Being alive, one must be of use.
Back in the Yanshan camp, never mind reading — he would get irritated just listening to someone else speak in a refined or bookish manner. But now, he read without the slightest reluctance, because Diudiu had once said: “Everything in the world we haven’t seen — it’s all in books.”
Think about it — what wonder is not to be found in the world we haven’t seen?
Diudiu had also said that every single character was created by the ancestors with their whole heart and spirit. To master those characters was to receive a kind of inheritance. And with that inheritance as a foundation, one could go on to create — it was as though the ancestors had already laid the foundation for us, and how tall a building we could raise upon it was entirely up to us.
The book Zhuang Wudi always kept on his person was one he had asked Tang Pidi to write for him. It was not exactly a book in the proper sense — it was everything Tang Pidi could call to mind regarding all things one should be mindful of on the battlefield. Written in great detail: for instance, the question of how to deploy troops in relation to terrain alone had been broken down into over a hundred specific points. Where the mountain sits, where the river lies, how high the mountain, how wide the river.
But what is written in a book is fixed and dead. Learning is only useful when applied, and the application must be living and flexible.
Zhuang Wudi’s little manual he had read hundreds of times, to the point where he could recite it backwards. But he knew he had only memorized the words — he had not yet fully mastered the art of flexible application. So wherever he went, he would consult the terrain against the book, find the corresponding situations, then add his own calculations and considerations.
Old Tang had said: “What you’ve thought of, the enemy may not have. But if you’ve thought of it and convinced yourself the enemy hasn’t, and then you don’t act on it — you will come to grief. Whether the enemy has thought of it or not, if you’ve thought of it and you act on it, the one who suffers will be the enemy.”
After receiving reports that the King of Heavenly Mandate Yang Xuanji had besieged Daxing for several months, Zhuang Wudi had immediately mobilized half the available forces in Youzhou City and marched south to the northern bank of the Red River.
Again, Old Tang’s words: “The enemy hasn’t thought of it — that doesn’t mean you can afford to think of it and do nothing.”
Half the regrets in this world come from not thinking of something. The other half come from thinking of it but being too lazy to act.
On the embankment, a gentle breeze drifted past. In the past, Zhuang Wudi would fall drowsy whenever he read — but Old Tang had later taught him a method: imagine the scene in your mind.
When you read about a battle, let the words form a picture in your thoughts — imagine the fighting, imagine the terrain. And moreover, imagine yourself as a god.
That was Old Tang’s own phrasing.
And paired with Diudiu’s words — all the wonder in the world is in books, and then you imagine yourself a god on top of that, with vivid imagery to boot — tell me, isn’t that exhilarating?
Old Tang had also said: “When you study a battle, don’t only look at one side. If you only look at the side that won, you’ll learn very little — because in seven or eight cases out of ten, winning is simply a matter of being stronger. Study both the winning side and the losing side together, and then you’ll understand what decided the outcome. Sometimes that deciding factor lies in the smallest detail. You must learn to see the small things — and you must also learn to see the grand picture.”
As for the grand picture — that was the part about imagining yourself a god. Old Tang had told Zhuang Wudi: once you’ve formed the battle picture in your mind, you must elevate yourself, rise up, soar upward. Float high above and look down — see the entire battle as it unfolds beneath you. Because of these words from Tang Pidi, Zhuang Wudi had never fallen asleep while reading again. He would imagine himself as a transparent, invisible presence watching over everything. Once that habit took hold, his progress was rapid.
And then you could pair it with what Diudiu said — a god doesn’t only float upward, a god can also descend. Transparent, drifting up and drifting down, rising and falling.
Old Tang was one-of-a-kind — learning from him didn’t mean anyone would become him. But to learn even a fraction of what he knew was an extraordinary gain.
Old Tang had also taught Zhuang Wudi: drink less wine, drink more tea. Wine excites a person and makes them impulsive. But tea is different — when you drink tea, your mind wanders without your willing it to. Most of the time the thoughts drift without direction, seeming entirely useless, perhaps little more than aimless spacing out. But one day, when you are confronted with some situation, you may suddenly recall that in some quiet moment, wandering in thought, you had already brushed past this very thing — and that too has its value.
“Grand General.”
Di Gandang came jogging over and offered several baked buns to Zhuang Wudi. “Grand General, time to eat.”
Zhuang Wudi gave a quiet sound of assent, and his gaze drifted to the surface of the Red River.
“The third month.”
He murmured the three words to himself, then lifted his eyes to the sky.
The sky was a deep and boundless blue. White clouds drifted lazily. A gentle wind moved through the air, clean and clear enough to feel it wash through the body.
But the third month — the rainy season in the south was coming.
This spot was the most ideal place to cross the river from Jingzhou into Youzhou — the channel here was broad, the current gentle. And this southern stretch of land was unlike the north. When they had pushed from Jizhou toward Youzhou, even with the South Peace River to the side, finding enough boats had still required considerable effort. But here in the south, finding boats could not be easier.
“Send men to the southern bank. Tell the fishermen along the shore that we intend to use large numbers of boats on the northern bank — first come, first served. Small boats will be paid five taels of silver per day; large boats, ten taels.”
Zhuang Wudi looked to Di Gandang. “Tell the people on both banks they are welcome to spread word to one another. Those who bring many boats will receive additional rewards.”
Di Gandang immediately assented and turned to make the arrangements.
Zhuang Wudi paused in thought for a moment, then added another instruction, “The place to collect the silver will be at Caitian County, thirty li north of the northern bank. The boats can be moored on the upper stretch of the northern shore. Payment is calculated by the day.”
Di Gandang came back, a little puzzled. “Caitian County is thirty li from here. Coming and going just to collect the boat fee is a long way — will the fishermen on the south bank be willing?”
Zhuang Wudi said, “Tell them that in Caitian County, the Ning Army will arrange lodging for them — though meals are not provided. Have men set up tents on the open ground within the county town, as many as possible.”
Di Gandang said, “Grand General’s meaning is: if the Tianming Army truly comes to attack, but there are no boats on this side for them to use, and they insist on crossing anyway, they will have to build a bridge — and if they attempt a hard crossing, we hold the advantage of rest against their fatigue, and their losses will be severe.”
Zhuang Wudi replied, “More than that. Concentrate the boats at the upper stretch of the northern shore and keep them for our own use. If the enemy builds a bridge and attempts to cross, we can use the boats to ram the pontoon bridge. Whatever damage is done to the boats we’ll compensate the fishermen for in full — we have the money.”
Di Gandang said, “That’s going to be a very large sum of silver.”
Zhuang Wudi gave a faint smile. “The Prince has always said — if something can be resolved with money, don’t let it cost lives.”
Di Gandang grinned. “This feeling of having deep pockets — it’s good, as good as anything could be.”
Zhuang Wudi said, “And we’re not only spending, either. Go and find the county magistrate of Caitian County. Tell him that before long a large number of fishermen will be coming to settle in Caitian County, and every one of them will have money. Every tavern and business in the town — if their daily revenue doubles compared to normal, we will take one-tenth of the increase. No doubling, no cut.”
In other words, if a business normally earned one tael a day, and now earned two, Zhuang Wudi’s people would take two qian of the increase, leaving the merchant with one tael and eight qian.
“Deploy half the cooking troops to the county. Set up stoves in the town and cook food in large quantities at low prices — don’t be greedy, a small profit is enough.”
Zhuang Wudi said, “Arrange for men from the intelligence unit to go as well. When dealing with the fishermen, there is much that can be learned. When the fishermen return home, the intelligence unit’s people can follow.”
Di Gandang was thoroughly impressed. He could not resist asking in curiosity, “Grand General, is all of this also something learned from the manual?”
Zhuang Wudi thought carefully before answering. “What I said earlier — gathering the boats, concentrating them upstream to await the right moment for battle — those things can be learned from a book of military strategy. What came after, the revenue cut and sending the cooking troops… that can’t be learned from any book. But spending time with the Prince Ning — you learn it naturally.”
Di Gandang stared for a moment. The corner of his mouth twitched. But he held it in, and did not laugh.
Di Gandang had followed Zhuang Wudi for so many years that the two were like brothers. So in Di Gandang’s presence, Zhuang Wudi was a little more talkative than usual.
“Go on, get it arranged quickly.”
Zhuang Wudi said, “And remember — half of whatever revenue we collect from the cut goes to Caitian County. Tell them this money is to be set aside for a dedicated purpose: if the fishermen suffer any calamity, it can be used to aid them.”
“Yes!”
Di Gandang immediately assented, turned, and ran to make the arrangements.
As he ran, he thought to himself: the Grand General now was truly nothing like the man he used to be. Back in the Yanshan camp, the Grand General had spent every day drinking — either already drunk, or in the process of becoming so.
But now, the Grand General’s mind held no room for wine. It held a realm to govern.
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