When the new day arrived, it brought clear skies.
Galloping across the wilderness on horseback, the winter sun felt almost hot upon their bodies.
The leader of the group loosened the scarf wrapped around his head and face, gently stroked his goatee, and squinted at the road ahead.
"My lord," a subordinate beside him whispered, "we should still be cautious and not reveal our identity."
The goateed man looked displeased as he turned to his subordinate. "How have I revealed my identity? What difference is there between me and the people here?"
The subordinate hurriedly smiled ingratiatingly. "I didn't mean that you look different from the Great Xia people. I meant that since we're at war, your demeanor is too leisurely."
The goateed man gave a faint smile. "Though I am from Great Liang, and though it is wartime, I can still travel through Great Xia with ease and leisure—unlike the Great Xia people, who are already like startled birds, trembling with fear—"
As his words fell, they saw ox-drawn carts approaching across the wilderness. Three oxen pulled three carts, each carrying three or four people—elderly men with white beards, handsome young men, and charming young women.
Accompanying them were melodious music and women's singing.
These people were not fleeing with their families to seek refuge but were playing instruments and singing as they rode.
The goateed man stared in astonishment, stroking his beard.
"What are you all doing?" he couldn't help but ask.
The music and singing continued uninterrupted. An elderly man responsible for reciting poetry looked at him with a smile and said, "After days of overcast skies and cold winds, we finally have a warm winter sun today. Naturally, we should celebrate with an outing."
What kind of nonsense was an "outing celebration"? And what was this "warm winter sun"? The goateed man grew even more bewildered.
The old man laughed heartily. "Don't mind us, sir. This is just us scholars indulging in our pedantic amusements."
His self-deprecating remark drew no displeasure from the others, who joined in the banter.
"Lord Wangshan, you're the most pedantic of all! Weren't you just reciting your own poems earlier and pretending they were by ancient poets?"
"Come, come, listen to my tuneless playing."
The people on the ox carts chattered noisily.
The goateed man felt his ears buzzing and a simmering anger rising within him. Were they mocking him as a barbarian?
He raised his voice to interrupt them. "I understand all this, of course. I often engage in such pastimes myself."
The people on the ox carts looked at him but did not deny or question his claim, merely nodding with smiles.
Their smiles only made the goateed man more uncomfortable.
"But now, Gr-Gr-Great Western Liang has started a war," he stammered, his voice deepening. "The war is intense, the situation critical. How can you still have the mood for outings? Shouldn't you be hiding in your cities and homes?"
As he finished speaking, the men on the ox carts burst into laughter, and even the three women showed no trace of fear.
"Sir, the war is happening in the Border Commandery. There's no need for everyone to live in fear," the old man said with a laugh. "Moreover, Yunzhong Commandery has Garrison General Chu Ling. With the general holding the pass single-handedly against ten thousand, what is there to fear from puny Western Liang?"
With that, his hands fell upon the zither, and a clear, cold melody of breaking formations rose from the strings.
Following his zither music, flute notes and singing filled the air as the ox carts slowly passed the goateed man and his party, continuing into the wilderness.
The goateed man sat on his horse, watching them intently, his face dark with stormy clouds.
"With Chu Ling holding the pass single-handedly against ten thousand," he said slowly, deep hatred burning in his eyes. "It's been over ten years. Chu Ling is on the verge of death, yet these people still trust him so deeply."
A subordinate beside him whispered, "Though more than a decade has passed, Garrison General Chu Ling's military achievements are too deeply ingrained in people's hearts.""Those military achievements were forged with our flesh and blood," the goateed man gritted his teeth.
He wasn't unaware of the people's trust in Chu Ling. Even in Western Liang today, merely hearing Chu Ling's name—or even just the title "Garrison General"—could strike fear into many hearts.
He even suspected the Great Xia Emperor deliberately kept Chu Ling at the rank of Garrison General instead of promoting him, precisely because this title was Western Liang's nightmare.
Though the Great King had been preparing for war for years, he wouldn't dare confront Chu Ling now if not for Prince Zhongshan's private letter claiming Chu Ling was dying.
With the Emperor also dead and replaced by a six-year-old child, this was Western Liang's best opportunity—their only chance. Prince Zhongshan's messenger had smiled slyly, appearing both treasonous by inviting wolves into the fold and threatening in his implications.
Once Chu Ling died and the Emperor changed again, would Western Liang even get another chance to fight Great Xia?
The goateed man stroked his beard, squinting. The sight of the scholars joyriding in ox carts had vanished from view, but their laughter and songs still echoed in his ears.
"Times have changed," he said. "We should give everyone a reminder."
His attendant guessed his intent and hesitated slightly. "Prince Zhongshan letting us in was secret. If we act here, might we expose him?"
The goateed man chuckled. "No need to worry. Since Prince Zhongshan dared to let us in, he naturally has ways to avoid exposure." He looked toward the distant wilderness where the pleasure-seeking scholars had disappeared, his smile turning vicious as he raised a hand in signal.
He knew nothing of the scholars' refined pleasure of making music and singing while enjoying the sunshine, but there was one elegant saying he did understand: To die under the peony is to be a romantic ghost even in death.
...
...
Blazing fires roared across the wilderness. Standing on the city walls, one could see numerous civilians fleeing.
"Hurry, hurry!" The county magistrate stamped his feet anxiously on the ramparts.
Faster, faster—they must reach the city before the bandits arrived.
But stamping feet couldn't shrink the distance. Soon, a group of galloping horsemen appeared behind the fleeing civilians. They wore no armor, carried crossbows in their hands, long swords on their backs, and scarves wrapped around their heads, howling strange cries like wild wolves.
People on the walls gasped at the sight: "They're here!"
The civilians nearing the gates surged forward in panic. From above came shouts of "Close the gates now!"
The magistrate, chilled to the bone, snapped back to awareness at the cries.
"Don't close the gates!" he shouted. "There are still hundreds of people outside."
His subordinates knew this too—and they saw the racing bandits drawing their bows, watching fleeing civilians fall one after another.
"Your Honor," they lamented, "if we don't close the gates now and the Western Liang bandits charge in, thousands of our people will be slaughtered."
The magistrate looked back into the city. The once bustling streets had descended into chaos—countless people running, crying, doors and windows slamming shut. But if the killers broke through, what could mere doors and windows do against blades and fire—
"Signal fires," the magistrate demanded. "Have the signal fires been lit?"The officials nodded, but their expressions remained sorrowful. "Sir, all of Yunzhong Commandery's military defenses are stationed at the border and cannot support us. The garrisons from other commanderies in the rear are too far away, and we've heard that the court has issued orders prohibiting local troops from moving toward Yunzhong Commandery without authorization—"
They had once rejoiced at being far from the border, never imagining a day would come when heaven and earth would offer no solace.
There was no time to worry about the civilians now; the city gates had to be closed. The city walls were their only refuge.
The magistrate understood this all too well. He looked ahead, where the bandits were closing in on the civilians. The frontmost bandits had already sheathed their bows and drawn their broadswords, laughing arrogantly as they watched the people flee in panic—
The civilians had nowhere to go; the city gate ahead was their only path to survival.
The magistrate turned to look along the city wall and shouted, "How many constables do we have?"
The officials were startled. "Sir, what are you planning?"
The magistrate declared, "I cannot stand by and watch our people die. I will go to fight the enemy, to hold them off and allow everyone to enter the city."
He then turned to the constables.
"I, like all of you, have received the emperor's stipend and the people's support. Today, will you join me in protecting the civilians, our own families, and this city?"
The constables raised their swords and spears. "We will!"
"Sir!" The officials grabbed the magistrate, kneeling with choked voices. "You must not go! This is a suicide mission!"
The magistrate gazed at the wilderness beyond the city walls, where more and more civilians were on the verge of being overtaken and slaughtered, their desperate cries echoing.
"I will die without regret," he said, shaking off the officials and striding resolutely toward the city gate.
Behind him, over thirty constables followed closely.
"Close the gates once all the civilians are inside."
The magistrate's final words echoed.
"Do not concern yourselves with our fate."
On the city walls, the officials knelt, pressing their foreheads to the ground, weeping.
...
...
In the winter of the fifth year of Yongning, Gaoxian County in Shang Commandery was infiltrated by Western Liang forces, who pillaged and slaughtered. The magistrate led thirty constables in a desperate battle and fell.
Beyond Yunzhong Commandery, signals of war rose on all sides.
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