Chapter 600: Military Rod

Chapter 600: Chapter 600: Military Rod

The body of a cultivator is far tougher than that of an ordinary person; not only does this manifest in their use of the powers of Heaven and Earth, but even more so in the strength of their own fleshly bodies. Strength, speed, endurance, even lifespan—all are far superior to those of ordinary people.

Therefore, cultivators rarely fall ill. The higher one’s cultivation, the rarer sickness becomes; once one breaks through to the Gathering Spirit Realm, it can be said they are almost immune to all diseases.

But after all, cultivators in this world are but a minority; it is ordinary people who are the true foundation and mainstream of society. This holds true in the military as well—the number of ordinary soldiers is hundreds of times greater than the number of cultivators.

Thus, what the army fears most is not those blade-wielding, murderous enemies, but the unseen, untouchable plague. Once disease breaks out among ordinary soldiers, it’s like wildfire spreading across the plains—in such a situation, the enemy needn’t lift a finger; the army will collapse under the weight of its own illness.

This is precisely why armies are equipped with a large number of physicians, who hold extremely high status within the ranks.

Diarrhea and stomach pain—these have been chronic, persistent problems that have plagued military commanders for many years. Over time, physicians have summarized some experience and achieved certain results—for instance, drinking clean water, refraining from relieving oneself wherever one pleases, and so on. Yet still, they have not been able to eliminate or efficiently control military outbreaks of diarrhea and stomach ailments.

And now, out of the blue, appears a Chief Officer of the Inspector’s Office, bringing with him a string of claims regarding drinking water. However implausible they sound, the spot-check results make them impossible to ignore.

"Lord Shen, what is the reasoning behind this?"

"This humble official does not know either. It’s just that an old gatekeeper under me is especially fond of tea—he can’t go a day without it—and he used to be in the army. In his idle hours, he’d boast to me about how great tea is, saying that for years, no matter how well or poorly he ate, he never had diarrhea, claiming it was all thanks to tea.

I drink tea too—it’s tasty—but I never believed tea could prevent illness. I asked physicians about it, and they said they’d never heard of ’curing illness by drinking tea.’

Afterwards, I began to wonder: if it’s not the tea, could it be something else that’s kept the old man from ever getting diarrhea? That’s when I thought of the boiling water required to make tea.

This time, upon entering the army, I worried that the men under me might fall ill and drag down the forces—so within my means, I ordered them to drink only boiled water. To my surprise, it actually worked quite well.

Just a stroke of luck, really."

After Shen Hao finished speaking, he did not sit down but instead continued looking toward the section where the military supervisors sat, keeping his smile as he added, "So, I drink boiled water simply to spare the soldiers below from falling ill. Whether or not it’s absolutely effective, that was indeed my intention.

But as for you Supervisors, is that sandalwood you’re scented with? Or snow orchid? Back in the Flower House, plenty of ladies loved such fragrances—called it elegant and refined. Seems like even in the army, you gentlemen haven’t forgotten the lifestyle of the Flower House girls—my respect!"

Saying this, he even put on an air of seriousness, giving a formal salute in the direction of the Supervisors’ gathering, as if genuinely impressed. Yet after a moment of stunned silence from the surrounding officers, the place erupted in raucous laughter.

Satisfying! Utterly satisfying!

The officers around, while not quite hating the Supervisors to the bone, had built up quite a bit of resentment toward them over time. Yet, held back by the supervisors’ authority and lacking their gift of gab, most days they could only stew in frustration with nowhere to vent. Who’d have thought that Lord Shen of the Inspector’s Office would serve up such a cathartic blow for them?

Comparing these Supervisors—who usually look down on everyone—to the girls in a Flower House? The insult is immense and the mockery all too clear.

They could not help but think secretly to themselves: Word is Lord Shen is also an outstanding literary giant. No wonder—he can deliver such scathing ridicule without even using a single curse. One suspects that if he ever went all out, he could infuriate a man to death with his words alone!

"Shen Hao, you..."

"Insolence! Have you forgotten all about hierarchy and respect? How dare a mere Hundred Households Officer call my name directly in this place?" Shen Hao’s True Qi surged, and a wave of killing intent swept straight toward his opponent. His right hand found its way to the Yanji Saber at his waist, though he managed to restrain himself—for with Zuo Yuliang present, taking it further would be disrespectful to him.

But what happens when the overwhelming killing intent of someone at the Gathering Spirit Realm’s ninth layer, coupled with Shen Hao’s own naturally fierce aura, is focused on a Supervisor who’s only at the Qi Refining Realm’s fifth layer?

With a dull thud, the Supervisor buckled under the pressure, dropping to his knees, face pale, unable to utter a single word.

"Hahahahaha..."

This kneeling was no less humiliating than Shen Hao’s earlier comparison of the Supervisors to Flower House girls. But the problem is, every word out of Shen Hao’s mouth had justified standing—no one could argue otherwise.

Didn’t you just call boiling water "fussy" and "untimely"? Now that it’s all explained, you’ve got nothing to say, right? Well then, care to explain why you scent your clothes? Don’t tell me it’s to prevent stomach problems or skin disease?

And besides, military protocol dictates that at official events you address one another by rank, and the hierarchy must be clear and unambiguous—it’s all about establishing and maintaining authority. Violate this lightly, and you’ll be questioned; violate it gravely, and it’ll be the military rod for you. Shen Hao’s rebuke was already quite "mild."

"Lord Shen, don’t you think you’re going a bit too far?" Another stood up—it was precisely Liu Qingyue, the Supervising Officer of the Southern Border Army. Liu’s face was livid, but wisely he didn’t touch upon Shen Hao’s last two pointed questions, knowing no good could come of it. His shift in topic was a way of accusing Shen Hao of bullying, suggesting he should know where to stop.

"Too far?" Shen Hao smiled, ignoring Liu Qingyue, then turned to look at Zuo Yuliang in the highest seat, saying, "Great Marshal, according to military regulations, shouldn’t a breach of respect for rank be punished with the military rod?"

"Indeed. Of course, the severity of the punishment depends on how egregious the violation is. Lord Shen, as a seasoned law officer of the Xuanqing Guard, you are best at passing judgment—how many strokes do you think are appropriate?"

Shen Hao’s question was routine enough—everyone present had to give face to Zuo Yuliang; if he wanted to "make a mountain out of a molehill," he’d need Zuo’s nod first. But Zuo’s response was quite something. No wonder Zuo had previously flogged a Supervisor for neglecting protocol—it seemed he’d long since gotten fed up with their attitude.

"With respect, Marshal, this is a crucial gathering of the central army. For a Supervisor to so brazenly disregard discipline is proof enough that he never keeps it in mind. A light punishment will have little deterrent effect. Therefore, I believe a stiffer penalty is in order. Would eighty strokes of the military rod be appropriate, sir?"

"Marshal! That cannot be! No one survives eighty strokes—surely you can’t punish so harshly for a mere slip of the tongue..."

"Lord Liu, that’s not quite right. This is punishment, not killing. Besides, without rules, nothing can be accomplished—it’s precisely because Supervisors neglect discipline that the system is undermined. Maybe Supervisors behave this way outside, but in the army it is gravely improper." Shen Hao would not make things hard for Zuo Yuliang; since the latter was supporting him, Shen Hao would help fend the pushback on small matters like this himself.

And while Shen Hao was speaking, Zuo Yuliang waved his hand. Immediately, some men came forward and bound the newly-recovered Supervisor.

"Take him away. Flog him—eighty strokes, no less."