Chapter 423

The Song Dynasty abolished Wu Gong, not just the soldiers, but the entire military system—restricting the powers of generals and commanders to prevent them from growing too powerful, lest another Jingbian rise to become Son of Heaven and overthrow the Zhao Song dynasty. Added to this were the civil officials' suppression of military officers, the sustained erosion of their status, and constraints on logistics and other areas, ensuring no one dared act independently. Over time, generals naturally forgot how to fight; even if they knew how, they dared not—instead, they studied battle formations. Whatever the civil officials ordered, the generals obeyed; whatever the formations dictated, that was how battles were fought.

Their guiding principle was simple: doing nothing was better than doing anything wrong. Victory or defeat meant nothing to them; they could continue safely lining their pockets.

Of course, this was only the mindset of some generals; there were still those with ambition, but they lacked the power. Families like the Zhong and Zhe, core military clans of the western armies, had steadily strengthened themselves through wars against the Western Xia, becoming the most powerful military factions in the Song—but even they dared not stir, tightly controlled and restrained.

Because they were already under suspicion, any move they made would guarantee their immediate destruction. The Song's vigilance against its own generals had reached an insane level.

But for mid- and lower-ranking officers and common soldiers, restrictions were not as severe—though one drawback was that once you became a soldier, you were branded a "criminal soldier" everywhere, unwelcome. They didn't care about being welcomed; as long as they had money and stayed alive, that was enough. It must be said: the lack of honor and sense of mission among soldiers was a systemic decay of the army. Though soldiers in all ancient dynasties were never like modern "people's soldiers," they at least still held the ideal of earning glory through martial valor. Sadly, in the Song, even this faint hope was gone.

Because their idol, Di Qing—a lowly common soldier branded and conscripted for a crime—rose all the way to Chief of the Privy Council, becoming the top figure in the military. Yet even this formidable man was destroyed by civil officials. Everyone thought they were the next Di Qing, yet no one believed they were Di Qing. How tragic.

Of course, those things had some influence, but on a broad scale, they mattered little to individuals—like Wu Gong. After all, it was a matter of survival; soldiers fought on the battlefield, and if your skills were poor, you died.

Ancient times were a history of war; war was the driving force behind technological advancement. As technologies improved, battlefield methods for survival and killing naturally coalesced into Wu Dao, refined and passed down through generations. Some remained within the military; others scattered among the people.

The Song's Imperial Guards numbered eighty thousand. Leaving aside other issues, every dynasty had problems with incomplete rosters and ghost soldiers, so this number was surely inflated. But even if inflated, there were still forty or fifty thousand men. Among them, naturally, many talents emerged. For example, Zhou Tong, the Imperial Guard instructor who trained Lu Junyi, Lin Chong, and now a child named Yue Fei.

The Dai Yu Qi Xie were elite bodyguards selected from the Imperial Guards to protect the Emperor's safety. Only six existed; the people called them "Imperial Sword-Bearing Guards." Rank: Sixth Rank, higher than Wang Da Guanren's Seventh Rank Zhengguo Captain. Thus, one could imagine how high the martial skill of the Dai Yu Qi Xie must be.

Wang Yan had long known that Lu Junyi's title of "Number One Martial Artist in the World" was artificially elevated—not because Lu Junyi couldn't fight, but because geographical limitations meant his one-on-one records were too few to be authoritative.

During Ye Wen's time, his title "Invincible Martial God" was no bluff; he had fought his way from north to south, east to west, maintaining a flawless record, earning true authority—he was the real Number One. That's not to say Lu Junyi was weak; in fact, his strength was already among the elite. But beyond mountains lie higher mountains, beyond people lie greater people. This Zhou Hong, the Dai Yu Qi Xie, truly possessed slightly superior martial skill to Lu Junyi—in physique, reaction, and technique, all top-tier.

But no matter how high one's Wu Gong, before Da Guanren, it was worthless.

For spectacle, Wang Yan did not choose to strike hard and end the fight quickly; instead, he held back some of his punches and kicks, allowing Zhou Hong to fully display his strength, matching him blow for blow.

Zhao Ji watched with delight, clapping and cheering at every fierce clash. He still loved physical activity; he had never abandoned his habit of watching wrestling and football, or else Gao Qiu would never have risen to power. Now, this brutal, bone-jarring fight—each strike echoing with a clang—was thrilling. How could Zhao Ji not enjoy it? Real men naturally loved such adrenaline-pumping activities. Clearly, Zhao Ji was still a normal man.

After a little over ten minutes, Wang Yan judged the time sufficient. He parried Zhou Hong's incoming punch, feinted a circle toward his face, and as Zhou Hong dodged, spun his body for momentum, swung his long leg, and delivered a flawless whip kick that sent the unprepared Zhou Hong flying. Wang Yan froze mid-motion, one foot planted, holding the whip-kick pose like a statue.

"Excellent! Excellent martial skill!"

Hearing Zhao Ji applaud, Wang Da Guanren dropped the pose, bowed without a trace of exertion: "Thank Your Majesty's praise. Zhou Yu's martial skill is also among the finest in the world. I've heard the Song's Dai Yu Qi Xie are selected from eighty thousand Imperial Guards, only six chosen—I imagine the other five are equally formidable. Our Imperial Guards truly produce extraordinary talent; they are the finest army in the world."

"Enough, enough. You praise your Imperial Guards so highly, yet Zhou Hong still lost to you—aren't you just praising yourself? I know your martial skill is strong; stop boasting."

As he spoke, Zhao Ji glanced at Zhou Hong, who was just rising, gasping for breath, then at Wang Yan, calm and composed. He knew perfectly well this boy hadn't taken it seriously.

"Your servant had the advantage of natural strength—I was born stronger than ordinary men. Since childhood, I've used expensive medicinal herbs to toughen my sinews and bones; ordinary families couldn't afford it. Zhou Yu likely began toughening his body only after adulthood, and his family's means were no match for my landlord household. That's why he lost."

Hearing this, Zhou Hong's expression eased. He was the strongest among the six, a man risen from tens of thousands of Imperial Guards. To lose to a country bumpkin from a wealthy family was humiliating. Of course, this was raw strength—he simply couldn't win. But Zhao Ji was watching. If he lost, who knew what Zhao Ji might think?

If he were Zhao Ji, and his most capable man lost, he'd surely hold another round of contests to select the strongest and replace the six, demoting them to mid-level officers. But mid-level officers in the army were nowhere near as comfortable as Imperial Bodyguards.

Now Wang Yan had given him an excuse. The rest was fate. Even without today's contest, their terms were limited anyway—only a matter of time.

Zhao Ji waved his hand: "Go, have lunch." He tightened his robe, didn't even glance at Zhou Hong, and turned away.

Wang Yan gave Zhou Hong a knowing eyebrow raise, signaling he could do nothing—let fate decide—and then stepped quickly to catch up with Zhao Ji as they departed together…

Leaving the palace, Wang Da Guanren declined the eunuch's offer to escort him, and walked slowly along the long street, leisurely heading toward the inn.

At dinner, no substantial talk occurred—only Wang Yan's flattery, which delighted Zhao Ji so much he ate an extra bowl of rice. Of course, Zhao Ji asked if Wang Yan wanted to join the military or serve as a local administrator, to serve the state. What could he say? He agreed entirely with Zhao Ji's wishes.

Zhao Ji praised him warmly, saying he could ask for anything he needed, and in time, he would surely make him an official. When an Emperor himself speaks like that, of course you have needs—he directly asked Zhao Ji for many master craftsmen from the Ministry of Works.

He knew Zhao Ji's words were bait—like the shepherd's grass to lure the ox, or the bone to tease the dog. He wanted Wang Mou to stay hopeful, to keep making more money.

After all, his ability to earn hundreds of thousands of guan per year was misapplied compared to joining the military or local administration. To Zhao Ji, he was merely a purse for boundless spending.

This time Zhao Ji summoned him to the palace for one simple reason: to see what kind of man he was. After all, Wang Mou had been too extraordinary—single-handedly inventing so many new things, accumulating such wealth—who wouldn't be wary? Kill him? Too wasteful. Keep him? Too risky. Completely normal.

In truth, what was said during this meeting didn't matter—it was the performance that counted. Wang Mou had shown the youthful arrogance of a young man who rose too fast, yet also shown reverence for Zhao Ji: a capable, quick-witted, and reasonably obedient lad, whom Zhao Ji felt he could control and manipulate, and thus relaxed his guard. Far from the prodigy Zhao Ji had imagined, this actually increased Zhao Ji's tolerance for Wang Mou's small maneuvers.

Overall, it was a successful meeting—both sides felt at ease…

A Wang family steward met Wang Da Guanren upon his return, handing him a letter: "Master, was your visit smooth?"

Wang Yan nodded: "Whose letter?"

"Tong Guan. He invites you to Fan Lou tomorrow evening."

"Send word back: I'm unwell, need to rest for several days."

The steward asked no questions, simply nodded in agreement.

Wang Yan grunted, strolled upstairs to drink tea.

He shouldn't, and couldn't, associate with Tong Guan or others. Today it was Tong Guan; tomorrow it might be Cai Jing. Though he claimed to hold weight in Zhao Ji's eyes, he was merely a merchant who rose by favor. Tong Guan and Cai Jing were Zhao Ji's confidants—holding military and state affairs in their hands, not just making money.

Moreover, he had already aligned with Yang Jian—that was a recommendation, understandable. But if he associated with Tong Guan and others, it would look improper. He was Zhao Ji's man. He couldn't use the excuse of "the Emperor's favor" to be slick and make connections with powerful ministers—good or bad, no exceptions. He must remain pure: merely a small merchant. Otherwise, he'd be inviting trouble.

Tong Guan's purpose in seeking him was obvious. Had it not been too difficult to meet, he'd have gone to see this eunuch who bought an entire city for a million guan—and was even granted a princely title.

He spent the afternoon drinking tea and reading. Looking out the dim window, snow still fell, showing no sign of stopping. He tossed the book aside, pulled on his bear-fur coat, descended the stairs, called his bodyguard, and climbed into the carriage to go out.

With snow thinning the crowds, the driver urged the horses into a gallop along the relatively wide road. Soon, they arrived at their destination: Yu Xiang Lou.

As the saying goes: since you came, you might as well go in. His goal was clear: having come all the way to Bianjing, he had to see for himself just how beautiful Li Shishi really was.

Lightly leaping from the carriage, Wang Da Guanren stood at the entrance, studying Yu Xiang Lou.

Like Fan Lou, Yu Xiang Lou was not a single building but a complex of multiple one-, two-, and three-story structures, sizable in scale. Architectural style of the era was generally fine; the difference lay in decoration. As a brothel, Yu Xiang Lou inevitably appeared more flamboyant and seductive—anyone could instantly tell what went on here.

Of course, it was a place to eat and drink, only with beautiful, affectionate women as companions.

"Da Guanren, it's cold outside—don't stand there. Please, come in, come in."

Facing the smiling old servant, Da Guanren entered, followed by his bodyguard, who grinned foolishly. Why? Because Da Guanren had promised to pay for his deep encounter with the affectionate young ladies.

"Da Guanren, you look unfamiliar—this is your first time at Yu Xiang Lou?"

"Yes."

"Heh, then you've come to the right place. Da Guanren, don't take this as boasting, but in terms of male elegance, even Fan Lou can't match Yu Xiang Lou. Here we have the number one courtesan, Lady Li—and…"

As they walked, Wang Yan listened to the servant's fluent, rapid-fire pitch. He now understood: it was a full-service establishment. There were also rankings of famous courtesans, many of whom were well-known here—not just Li Shishi alone. In short: many girls, good girls, rich men come here.

Wang Yan asked: "Is Li Shishi out today?"

The servant wasn't surprised—this question came dozens of times daily: "Da Guanren, you're lucky—Lady Li is in good spirits today. She played a tune and is now listening to scholars composing poems about the snow. But Da Guanren, you've surely heard: Lady Li is the Son of Heaven's exclusive possession. Listening to her sing or play is fine, but if you cause trouble, you'll lose your head. So I advise you: admire Lady Li, nothing more."

Not all courtesans were available for hire. Not to mention Li Shishi was tied to Zhao Ji—even if she weren't, if she were a Qing Guanren, selling art but not body, no ordinary man could force her. After all, Yu Xiang Lou was privately owned, not state-run. To hold prime real estate in Bianjing, with such a vast compound, was rare enough; to run a brothel—the most trouble-prone business—meant its backers were immensely powerful. Ordinary people couldn't touch it. Moreover, it wasn't all prostitutes; some high officials kept their concubines here too—the behind-the-scenes was complex.

Of course, "Qing Guanren" was just a marketing term. Who truly sold art without selling their body? Once you're here, you sell. It's just a business strategy—wait years until profits are maximized.

Clearly, Li Shishi, having caught Zhao Ji's eye, did not belong to this category.

"Many thanks for the warning."

"Wang Da Guanren, you're too kind, this one doesn't deserve it. It's just that over these years there really have been those who refuse to heed the warnings. This one saw that Wang Da Guanren has a kind face, so I spoke a couple of words out of turn. As long as you don't blame this one, that's enough." The pimp said with a smile, pointing at a door ahead: "Just go through this door."

Wang Yan nodded; he had already heard the clamor inside.

The moment the door opened, an entire large space appeared before his eyes. Apart from those in private rooms gathering in small groups of three or five friends, or those in a Miss's room handling business, the patrons should all have gathered in this main hall…

————Digression————

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