Chapter 228: The Sick Tiger's Fangs

The Zhang residence also lay within the outer city wall, not far from the Prince of Yan's mansion—just two streets away, so that the Prince of Yan could readily summon him to discuss military and civil affairs.

Under the setting sun, the Zhang residence was steeped in an air of mourning: white banners, white paper, white lanterns, monks and Daoists gathered together, and funeral music pervaded the scene, stirring the heart. All around, security was tight—guards with white cloth wrapped around their heads, cold-faced and standing sentinel, were the elite soldiers of the Prince of Yan's mansion. Youzhou was now nearly universal in arms, and after a year of expansion, attrition, and reorganization, excluding Zhuo and Yi, the cavalry and infantry forces defending the northern region with Youzhou as the defensive center alone numbered over twenty thousand.

Among so many troops, there were more than thirty officers at the rank of commander of a thousand men or above. Except for those assigned to garrison the surrounding counties, towns, and fortified villages, all were present, paying their respects in accordance with ritual.

"Young lord." In a corner of the courtyard, Zhao Siwan found Zhao Kuangzan and called out.

Zhao Siwan wore a suit of chainmail, draped with mourning cloth over it, his hand always resting on his waist saber, radiating a murderous aura.

Zhao Siwan had originally, for his merit at Jifeng Mountain, been due to receive imperial reward and be appointed Prefect of Yongzhou. But after following Zhao Kuangzan north, he received even greater favor, being appointed Commander of the Young Lord's Guard, becoming the foremost general under Zhao Kuangzan's command—one could say he was riding high on the crest of success.

"Are all the arrangements made?" Zhao Kuangzan hid behind the gray wall, gazing into the distance toward the direction of the mourning hall, where besides the unceasing funeral music, much noise and clamor had already arisen.

"Rest assured, young lord. The Ghost Face Guard and the yabing guards are all in place—all absolutely trusted brothers. They will not fail the great matter. We await only the command of the Prince and the young lord!" Zhao Siwan seemed eager and itching for action.

"On the list, how many have still not arrived?"

"There are still two Commanders. Should this subordinate send men to fetch them?" Zhao Siwan asked.

"No need!" Zhao Kuangzan rejected it without the slightest hesitation, and instructed: "I will send others to deal with them. You control the Zhang residence yourself. Tonight, anyone who comes through the gate—without orders, only in, never out. Not a single person may slip away!"

"Yes!"

In the front courtyard before the mourning hall, seven or eight tables of funeral feast had already been laid out. The civil and military officials of Youzhou qualified to enter the residence had all taken their seats—civil and military clearly separated, and among the military men there were further factions, each clustering together. The buzzing murmur of discussion did not subside, disturbing the solemnity of the occasion, showing no respect for the deceased.

"He's dead and gone, yet we still have to suffer this living torment." Several military officers gathered around one table, mourning silk draped carelessly over them, and one of them said impatiently.

"The Prince of Yan summoned us, yet he himself arrives late. What kind of reasoning is that? With this time, we might as well be drilling troops in the army!" Another chimed in.

Birds of a feather flock together—these men basically all belonged to the targets of Zhao Yanshou's "cleansing."

"All of you, shut up!" A stern-faced general rebuked them lightly, with a rather imposing manner. He appeared to be the head of this group, and indeed he was. This man, Zhang Yan, was an extremely powerful military boss in Fanyang, and now served as Deputy Chief Commander of the Young Lord's Guard (the Chief Commander post being concurrently held by Zhao Kuangzan), wielding military power. Previously, his standing in the Yan army could rank in the top five.

When he exerted his authority, the officers at the table shut their mouths—but only for a moment. Soon enough, they were chatting again. They were all military bosses; though of the same ilk, who could truly restrain whom?

"Administrative Assistant Zhang is dead, and the Prince of Yan is ill in bed—who knows how much longer he can hold on..." A pale-faced, beardless senior officer beside Zhang Yan lowered his voice, speaking with utter recklessness.

"Such words must not be overheard by others." Zhang Yan glanced at that man, putting on a cautious, hushed manner, but his mouth said: "I reckon he can't hold on much longer either."

"I hear the Prince of Yan's illness is worsening day by day. Look at how recently he's been going all out to support Zhao Kuangzan in taking great power—clearly he's preparing for his own end!" The pale-faced senior officer said coldly: "Who knows when the Prince of Yan might also pass away. Zhao Kuangzan is but a mere child—how could he possibly control the overall situation of Youyan? General Zhang, we must make preparations. Youzhou has a share belonging to us too; it cannot be destroyed in his hands."

Zhang Yan raised his eyebrows, gazing at the lanterns before the mourning hall, staring blankly at the character "memorial," and said lightly: "This is not the place to discuss such matters!"

"Understood!"

In the end, they were not kept waiting too long. Just as the officers' patience was nearly exhausted, the Prince of Yan, Zhao Yanshou, finally appeared. Black garments with a white robe, plain and solemn in attire, his steps steady—from his appearance, no abnormality could be detected, as if his health were as good as ever.

Accompanied by civil and military officials, he entered the mourning hall. The scene of Zhao Yanshou personally offering condolences was naturally far more solemn. A civil clerk held up a booklet and read aloud in a loud voice the spirit-path stele inscription that Zhao Yanshou had personally written for Zhang Li. Zhao Yanshou himself possessed considerable literary talent and poetic skill; the eulogy he had written was indeed sincere and moving—those who understood were touched, while the military men present listened with drowsiness creeping over them.

Only when the mourning rites concluded did the civil officials gradually disperse, while the military generals, by the Prince of Yan's order, moved to a separate courtyard.

"General Zhang, something is not right." Ever since entering the separate courtyard, the pale-faced senior officer had been staring at the guards standing all around—many of them bore scars on their faces.

"They are men of the Ghost Face Guard. Hidden within the Zhang residence, there are actually this many Ghost Face troops!" Zhang Yan's expression suddenly turned extraordinarily grave.

His gaze flickered several times, and without hesitation, Zhang Yan left the formation, intending to return to the front courtyard. The pale-faced senior officer seemed to have thought of something as well and followed closely behind—but they were blocked by soldiers at the courtyard entrance.

"How dare you! You dare block this general?" Zhang Yan shouted in a harsh voice.

The soldiers on guard simply paid him no heed, just blocking the way and refusing to let them pass.

Just before Zhang Yan could fly into a rage, a voice tinged with mockery sounded at his ear: "What does General Zhang intend to do?"

At the sound, his body tensed. Zhang Yan squinted, looking at Zhao Siwan's ugly visage, and suddenly felt a flutter of panic in his heart. He casually made up an excuse: "This general's stomach is unwell. I wish to go out and relieve myself."

"General Sun is also unwell?" Zhao Siwan smiled an ugly smile, glancing at the pale-faced senior officer.

"I..."

Not even listening to what he had to say, Zhao Siwan said coldly and directly to Zhang Yan: "This subordinate understands General Zhang's inconvenience, but the Prince of Yan has summoned you. I can only ask the general to bear with it."

"Please report to the Prince of Yan, General Zhao, that this general will come shortly!" Zhang Yan brushed it off, and as he spoke, he tried to charge outward.

Blocked once again, facing Zhao Siwan who occupied the path, Zhang Yan flew into a rage: "Zhao Siwan, you're just a petty Commander—how dare you collide with your superior officer?"

Seeing his arrogance, Zhao Siwan said nothing more, merely pressing his hand onto the hilt of his saber, cold glints flashing in his eyes. He had long found this direct superior of his displeasing to the eye.

Seeing this, Zhang Yan could not help but exchange a glance with that Sun-surnamed senior officer, both seeing the worry and apprehension in each other's eyes.

The two of them were practically escorted into the separate courtyard, and in the meantime, all the passages had been occupied by soldiers of the Ghost Face Guard. If one still could not understand what was about to happen under such circumstances, then one would be too stupid to be saved.

"The Prince has arrived!" Accompanied by a loud call, father and son Zhao Yanshou appeared, standing upon the steps.

"Prince, if you wished to receive us, why make such a show of force? Are you trying to treat us officers as prisoners?" Looking up at the father and son, Zhang Yan, full of resentment, stepped directly out of formation and took the lead in challenging Zhao Yanshou.

Sweeping his gaze across them all, Zhao Yanshou sighed and said: "You are all heroes of Youyan, the backbone of the Yan army. Recall last year, when I advanced shoulder to shoulder with you all, fighting in blood, recovering Youzhou together to drive out the Khitan. Now, in merely one year's time, hearts have scattered to such a degree. Toward you all, I consider myself to have been more than tolerant. But recently, some have been spreading rumors to deceive the masses, disturbing military morale, and causing unrest in the ranks. Youzhou has reached an extremely perilous state. For the sake of the hundred thousand soldiers and civilians of Youyan, I beg your pardon, Zhao, but I can no longer indulge this!"

"What does the Prince of Yan intend to do?" Zhang Yan asked nervously.

"Take them!" Without any intention of wasting further words, Zhao Yanshou waved his hand, and the soldiers all around pounced forward like wolves and tigers.