Chapter 859: The Wind Rises from the Tip of Green Duckweed

Youzhou, Changping County, backed by the Jundu Mountains to the north and overlooking Youzhou City to the south, together with Huairou and Yuyang counties to the east, was a key defensive position against Liao. Of course, this "key position" was only relative—with most of the strategic passes of the Yan Mountains in Khitan hands, the so-called defense could only be described as passive.

For this reason, the Yan army and people under the command of the Prince of Yan had always lacked a sense of security. Under the governance of the Prince of Yan's administration, the people of Youyan basically all possessed the ability and awareness to plow the fields and wield blades to kill enemies.

Somewhat fortunate, since the Han–Liao peace treaty, nearly seven years had passed, and the soldiers and people of Youyan had enjoyed roughly seven years of peaceful days. In the exchanges between the two states and three powers, though contradictions and conflicts were unavoidable, the overall situation leaned toward the favorable.

However, as for how long this peace and stability could last, most people had no confidence. Especially after news of the court's pacification of Chuanshu spread north, the atmosphere north of Youzhou had clearly changed—on the border, conflicts between Liao and Han people had noticeably increased.

Though it was only lower-ranking Liao people hostile to the Great Han stirring up trouble, one could still see from this a shift in the Khitan upper echelons' attitude toward the Great Han. Even the Liao sovereign Yelu Jing, who had always taken a "soft" stance and followed a "peaceful" path toward the Great Han, would hardly be willing to see the Great Han truly unify the south.

Especially recently—a small band of Khitan cavalry brazenly crossed the border, plundered a small market town in Huairou, and killed 23 Yan civilians. After the incident, the Prince of Yan, Zhao Kuangzan, flew into a rage. On one hand, he submitted a memorial to the Eastern Capital reporting the abnormal situation in the north; on the other, he dispatched Surveillance Commissioner Gao Fang to personally go to Miyun to negotiate with Xiao Siwen, the Southern Commissioner of Military Affairs of Liao stationed in Tanzhou.

Due to the peace treaty between the two states, or perhaps because he did not yet dare to rashly escalate the conflict and trigger a full-scale war between the two countries, facing Gao Fang's arrival to demand accountability, Xiao Siwen did give an explanation. He had the low-ranking Liao officer who led the raid captured and executed, offering that as a form of atonement. However, since then, the Liao border defenses along the Tanzhou–Miyun line had clearly been strengthened and vigilance raised.

Afterward, the trading posts and market towns along the border gradually quieted down. The Han–Liao trade that had flourished for several years began to decline, and many merchants and commoners who sensed the danger no longer dared to risk doing business. This led to, within less than half a year, more than half of the trading posts and markets north of Youzhou closing down, and the transactions that still continued were backed by official endorsement.

In response to the unusual movements in Liao's border defenses, the Prince of Yan's administration correspondingly raised its own defense readiness. Besides strengthening defenses, Zhao Kuangzan also submitted memorials to the court requesting support to guard against the Khitan.

While the upper echelons of both states were still engaging in "friendly" exchanges, conflicts at the Han–Liao border were frequent. The two states moving from harmony to conflict and once again forming a hostile standoff seemed impossible to reverse.

A small squad of riders roamed the wilds outside Changping's outskirts. Each wore light, fitted attire but carried weapons, their figures agile. The key thing was that every face bore a scar carved into it—the leader, a burly man, had the most ferocious one of all.

This group was naturally the renowned "Tattooed-Face Army," the most elite force in the Yan army, famous for their utter fearlessness in the face of death, commanded by the Yan army's great general Zhao Siwan.

This time, Zhao Siwan had brought his personal guards out hunting. Finally spotting a dull-witted hare, Zhao Siwan drew his bow and loosed an arrow—the first shot missed, and the hare bolted in fright. He nocked another arrow, took aim, and pierced the hare clean through.

"The General's archery is divine!" A personal guard hurried forward, bent down to pick up the hare's carcass, and brought it before Zhao Siwan, smiling: "This beast is quite heavy!"

"Getting old after all—my eyesight isn't what it used to be!" Zhao Siwan seemed dissatisfied with not having scored a hit on the first shot. The scar that ran across his face like a ravine carried a hint of gloom.

Zhao Siwan was now in his forties—not exactly old—but he was indeed no longer in his prime. It wasn't difficult to pick up a blade and charge into battle as he once had, but maintaining the sharpness and ferocity of his younger years was nearly impossible.

A trusted military officer beside him, upon hearing this, flattered: "The General is too modest. The hare was still and you missed; when it bolted, you killed it with a single arrow. This shows the General's archery is undiminished from his prime!"

At these words, Zhao Siwan's somewhat gloomy expression finally relaxed a little. He, Zhao Siwan, had spent half his life in the saddle, a ruthless character who had crawled out of piles of corpses—how could he truly admit to being old?

Glancing at the hare still dripping blood in his guard's hand, Zhao Siwan said in a somewhat disgruntled tone: "We've been out nearly an hour and only bagged this one hare. Have all the prey in these wilds gone into hiding?"

"I'd say the wild beasts are too afraid of the General's tiger-like might to dare show themselves!"

"Haha!" Zhao Siwan laughed, seemingly quite pleased by the remark.

He looked around and spotted a figure on a wooded ridge to the northeast. Though the distance was considerable, he could make out that it was a farmer from a nearby village, carrying firewood on his back, with what was likely a machete in his hand.

Zhao Siwan immediately led his men forward. When they closed to about fifty paces, the farmer, noticing the movement of these government troops, was clearly startled and hurriedly fled.

Gazing at the panicked figure, Zhao Siwan nocked an arrow, the arrowhead glinting coldly, and aimed at the man. A curve formed at the corner of his mouth as he joked with his guards: "What do you say—can I hit this man?"

The guards all watched the fleeing figure with keen interest. But before they could answer, with a "whoosh," the arrow left the string with tremendous force and struck the farmer precisely in the back.

Seeing him topple over, the group cheered and spurred their horses forward, circling around the fallen farmer. Blood gushed from the arrow wound, soaking his hemp clothing. The poor wretch convulsed a few times, then gradually fell still.

A guard dismounted, checked, then looked up and shrugged: "General, you hit the heart. He's dead!"

Hearing this, Zhao Siwan raised an eyebrow, a cruel smile spreading across his face. With a hint of regret, he said: "I wasn't aiming for a vital spot—he was just unlucky. Daring to run around like that, losing his life is his own fault!"

"Bury him!" he ordered in a relaxed tone, as if he had merely shot an ordinary piece of game.

"Yes!"

Zhao Siwan had always been cruel and bloodthirsty. This was hardly the first time he had done something like this. In his words, what fun was prey compared to hunting men? He was a man who treated human life like grass. To someone like him, what difference was there between ordinary commoners and prey?

Still, he was somewhat careful—he only did such things while hunting, in places with no one around, and only in the company of personal guards who had followed him for years. Otherwise, with the way he carried on, Zhao Kuangzan would have dealt with him long ago.

Having killed a man, Zhao Siwan's mood improved considerably, as if the pent-up malice weighing on his heart had been released. Once the body was disposed of, he called out to his men: "Come, continue north!"

"General, further north is the range of Juyong Pass!" one of his subordinates reminded him.

Zhao Siwan smiled faintly: "So what if it's Juyong Pass? What can it do to us?"

Juyong Pass was an important gateway connecting the inside and outside of the Yan Mountains, held by Liao, and nearly adjacent to Changping. Of course, over the years, it had also been an important window of exchange between Han and Liao.

Of course, Zhao Siwan riding north wasn't to stir up trouble or create friction. His main purpose was to conduct a meeting—a meeting that concerned his very life, death, honor, and disgrace.

Over the past two years, Zhao Siwan's days had become somewhat difficult. He was still a heavyweight general under the Prince of Yan, holding military power, and Zhao Kuangzan still trusted and respected him.

But at the same time, amid this preferential treatment, Zhao Siwan sensed something amiss compared to previous years. For instance, the Prince of Yan had promoted several Yan army officers such as Zhang Cangying and Gao Yanhui, and memorialized the court to have them bear the title of Prefect, sharing military command with him.

Such an obvious move to divide his power and check him—even if Zhao Siwan was merely a military man, how could he fail to see it? Though he didn't understand what had earned him the Prince of Yan's displeasure, Zhao Siwan was equally resentful of Zhao Kuangzan's arrangements.

As time passed, this resentment accumulated day by day, driving a wedge between him and the Prince of Yan. Zhao Siwan was ruthless and merciless—not a man to sit idly and wait for death or be at others' mercy. Outwardly still obedient, inwardly he constantly racked his brains for a way to solve his problems and find another path.

In truth, his options were few. The only thing he could rely on was the Khitan to the north. The border conflicts between Han and Liao over the past six months had given him room to imagine possibilities.