Chapter 234 - 53: With a Wave of a Hand

Chapter 234: Chapter 53: With a Wave of a Hand

The new day dawned bright and clear.

Galloping across the open plains, the warm winter sun felt almost hot.

The man in the lead unwrapped the scarf covering his head and face, gently stroking his goatee as he squinted ahead.

"Sir," his attendant whispered, "let’s be more cautious. Don’t give us away."

The man with the goatee looked displeased as he glanced at his attendant. "How am I giving us away? Do I look any different from the people here?"

The attendant quickly forced a placating smile. "I’m not saying you look different from the Great Xia people, sir. I’m just saying... it’s wartime, and you seem a bit too leisurely."

The man with the goatee smiled faintly. "Though I am from Great Liang, and though it is wartime, I can stroll through Great Xia’s territory as I please. Unlike the Great Xia people, who must be as jumpy as startled birds, panicked and uneasy—"

As soon as the words left his mouth, he saw carts approaching across the plain. Three oxen pulled three carts, and on each sat three or four people: an old man with a white beard, handsome youths, and pretty young women.

The carts were accompanied by the sound of melodious music and a woman’s song.

These people weren’t fleeing for their lives with their families in tow. They were in their oxcarts playing instruments and singing.

The man with the goatee stroked his beard, dumbfounded.

"What are you all doing?" he couldn’t help but ask.

The music and singing didn’t stop. One of the old men, who was reciting poetry, looked over at him and said with a smile, "After so many days of cold wind and overcast skies, we’ve finally been blessed with a warm winter sun. Naturally, we must celebrate with an outing in the countryside."

’Celebrate with an outing? What the hell is that? And what’s so special about a warm winter sun?’ The man with the goatee was even more baffled.

The old man chuckled. "Don’t mind us, friend. This is just us scholars enjoying our stuffy, pedantic pastimes."

The others didn’t seem to mind his self-deprecating comment; they just laughed and joked along with him.

"Wang Shangong, you’re the most pedantic of us all! You were just reciting one of your own poems and passing it off as an ancient classic again, weren’t you?"

"Come on, listen to me improvise."

The people on the oxcarts grew boisterous.

The man with the goatee felt his ears ringing, a subtle anger stirring within him. ’Are they mocking me for being a barbarian?’

He raised his voice to interrupt them. "I understand all of this, of course. I often indulge in such pastimes myself."

The people on the oxcarts looked at him. They didn’t deny or question his claim, just smiled and nodded.

Their smiles made him even more uncomfortable.

"But now... G-Great... Western Liang is at war with us." The man with the goatee stammered before his voice grew heavy. "The fighting is tense, the situation is critical! How can you possibly be in the mood for an outing? Shouldn’t you be hiding in your homes inside the city walls?"

As he finished speaking, the men on the oxcarts burst into laughter. Even the three women among them showed no sign of fear.

"My good man," the old man chuckled, "the war is in the Border County. There’s no need for everyone to panic. Besides, Yunzhong County has General Wei, Chu Ling. When he guards the pass, not even ten thousand men can break through. What is there to fear from the petty forces of Western Liang?"

With that, his hands fell to his zither. A crisp, clear battle melody rang out from its strings.

As the zither played, a flute and chanting joined in. The oxcarts slowly rolled past the man with the goatee and his retinue, heading out into the open plains.

The man with the goatee remained on his horse, staring after them, his face as dark as a thundercloud.

"’When he guards the pass, not even ten thousand men can break through,’" he repeated slowly, his eyes filled with a deep hatred. "It’s been more than ten years. Chu Ling is on his deathbed, yet these people still have such faith in him."

His attendant whispered at his side, "Even after more than a decade, General Wei Chu Ling’s military victories are too deeply ingrained in the public’s memory."

"Those victories were forged from our flesh and blood," the man said, grinding his teeth.

It wasn’t that he couldn’t understand the people’s faith in Chu Ling. Even now in Great Liang, the mere mention of Chu Ling’s name—or not even his name, just the two words ’General Wei’—was enough to strike fear into the hearts of many.

He even suspected the Emperor of Great Xia had deliberately refrained from promoting Chu Ling, just to let him keep the title of General Wei. That title was a nightmare for the Great Liang people.

Their own Great Liang King had been preparing for war for years, but he wouldn’t have dared to challenge Chu Ling now if the King of Zhongshan hadn’t sent a private letter revealing that Chu Ling was on his deathbed.

Add to that the death of the previous Emperor and the ascension of a six-year-old boy, and this became the Great Liang King’s best and only opportunity. The King of Zhongshan’s smiling messenger had framed it as an offer to betray his own country and let the wolf into the fold, but it had also sounded suspiciously like a threat.

Once Chu Ling was dead and a proper emperor sat on the throne, would the Great Liang King ever get another chance to fight Great Xia?

The man with the goatee stroked his beard and narrowed his eyes. The scholars and their oxcarts were long gone from view, but their laughter and songs still echoed in his ears.

"Times have changed," he said. "I think we should give everyone a little reminder."

His attendant guessed his intentions and hesitated. "The King of Zhongshan letting us in is a top-secret matter. If we make a move here, won’t we expose him?"

The man with the goatee smiled. "Don’t worry. Since the King of Zhongshan dared to let us in, he surely has ways to keep himself from being exposed." He then glanced toward the open plains where the scholars had long since vanished. His smile turned sinister as he raised a hand and gave a sharp wave.

He might not understand the scholars’ refined pastime of playing music in a field just because the sun was out. But there was one refined notion he did appreciate: to die at the feet of a beautiful peony is a fine fate, even for a ghost.

...

...

Flames blazed across the open plains. From the top of the city walls, one could see scores of people running for their lives.

"Faster, faster!" the County Magistrate shouted from the city wall, stamping his foot with anxiety.

’Faster! They have to get inside the city before the bandits arrive!’

But stamping his foot couldn’t shrink the distance. Soon, a troop of riders appeared behind the fleeing commoners, galloping at full speed. They wore no armor, carried crossbows, and had long sabers slung across their backs. With their faces wrapped in scarves, they let out guttural howls like a pack of wild wolves.

Seeing this, the people on the wall cried out in alarm. "They’re here!"

The civilians who had almost reached the gate surged forward in greater terror as shouts of "Close the gates!" rang out from above.

The County Magistrate, whose blood had run cold, was jolted back to his senses by the shouting.

"You can’t close the gates!" he roared. "There are still hundreds of people out there!"

His subordinate officials knew that, of course. They could also see the galloping bandits drawing their bows, felling the fleeing civilians one by one.

"Sir," they cried out in anguish, "if we don’t close the gates now, the Western Liang bandits will storm the city! Our thousands of citizens will be doomed!"

The County Magistrate glanced back into the city. The once-bustling main street had descended into chaos. Countless people were running and screaming. Doors and windows were being slammed shut, but if the butchers got in, what good would flimsy doors and windows be against swords and torches—

"The signal fires! Have the signal fires been lit?" the County Magistrate demanded.

The officials nodded, their faces still etched with grief. "Sir, all of Yunzhong County’s forces are at the border. They can’t come to our aid. The garrisons in the other commanderies are too far, and besides, we heard the court issued an order forbidding any garrison from moving toward Yunzhong County—"

They had once rejoiced at being far from the border. Who could have imagined a day would come when their cries to heaven and earth would go completely unanswered?

They couldn’t afford to worry about the people outside any longer. The gates had to be closed. The city itself was their only hope.

The County Magistrate knew this as well. He looked out as the bandits closed in on the civilians. The raiders in the lead had already stowed their bows and drawn their sabers, their laughter ringing out as they eyed their fleeing prey—

The people had nowhere to run. The city gate ahead was their only hope of survival.

The County Magistrate turned to the men on the wall. "How many constables do we have?" he yelled.

The officials were startled. "Sir, what are you doing?"

The County Magistrate declared, "I cannot stand by and watch my people die. I will go out and fight the enemy, hold them off so everyone can get into the city."

He then turned to the constables.

"Like you, I eat the Emperor’s grain and am sustained by the common folk. Today, will you join me to protect our people, to protect our own families, to protect our city?"

The constables raised their weapons. "We will!"

"Sir!" The officials grabbed the County Magistrate and fell to their knees, their voices choked with emotion. "You can’t go! It’s a suicide mission!"

The County Magistrate looked out at the fields beyond the city walls, at the growing number of people about to be cut down by the pursuing bandits. Their desperate screams filled the air.

"I die without regret," he said, shaking off the officials and striding down from the wall toward the city gate.

The thirty-some constables followed close behind him.

"Close the gates once all the civilians are inside."

His final words floated back up to them.

"Don’t worry about whether we live or die."

The officials on the wall fell to their knees, pressing their foreheads to the stone as they wept.

...

...

In the winter of the Fifth Year of Yongning, Upper County Gaoxian was infiltrated, pillaged, and burned by Western Liang forces. The County Magistrate and his thirty constables fought to the death and were slain.

Outside Yunzhong County, signal fires also rose from all directions.