Chapter 835: Dark‑Red Badges Grant the Sword, One Hundred Political Commissars Emerge from the Mountains

On the day of the graduation ceremony, the sky was so overcast it felt like a lead plate pressing overhead, the cloud layer so thick the sun was invisible, yet the atmosphere on the Xiaochang was hotter than any sunny day.

One hundred three Militiamen stood at the center of the Xiaochang, heels together, backs straight; each wore midnight‑black uniforms hastily finished overnight, collars tightly fastened, cuffs neatly sewn.

Their gazes were completely different from those half a month earlier when they first entered Jiangwu Tang.

Half a month ago it was confusion and fear.

Now it is something solidified to the degree of molten iron, burning hot, yet its surface has already set.

Chen Yan stood on Gaotai, with Zhang Wenqian, Gao Jiong, Gu Yuci and Lu Ming lined up behind him; Hongye stood half a step to his right, hand hanging beside the sleeve.

At the edge of Gaotai lay a long table covered with Red Silk, on which rested the heavy wooden box; its lid had been lifted, and the contents glimmered a steady dark‑red sheen in the overcast light.

Chen Yan walked to the table, reached into the box, and took out a chest badge.

The badge was cast from fine copper, coated with a layer of dark‑red lacquer; beneath the lacquer lay delicate relief: two crossed swords at the center, each side of the blades bearing a drooping ear of wheat, the wheat tips curving upward to meet the ends of the sword handles.

In the blank space between the swords and wheat, four extremely small yet clear characters were cast.

Loyal, brave, strict, bright.

Chen Yan held the badge in his palm and raised it to a height visible to everyone.

"Make sure you all see clearly."

One hundred three pairs of eyes simultaneously fixed on the dark‑red badge in his palm.

Chen Yan's finger traced across the two swords on the badge.

"The sword is the blade you hold, the weapon that draws out for the people."

His finger moved to the wheat.

"The wheat is the grain in the fields, the rice in the people's bowls."

He clenched the badge in his fist, raising the fist to his chest.

"The sword protects the wheat, the wheat sustains the sword‑bearer; that is the purpose of your existence."

His voice deepened, each word rolling from his lips.

"From today onward, you are the Duke's eyes in the army, the sword‑bearers for the people of Xiazhou."

He stepped down from Gaotai, the thuds of his boots on the steps echoing.

Hongye carried the wooden box behind him, his steps neither hurried nor slow.

Chen Yan approached the first Militiaman.

Li Gen.

The old scar on Li Gen's knee, worn by an iron chain, showed faintly through the seam of his trousers, his body tensing to the limit the moment Chen Yan reached him.

Chen Yan took another chest badge from the box, threaded its pin through the fabric of Li Gen's uniform at his chest, and firmly affixed the dark‑red metal above his left breast.

The soft click of the pin sounded in Li Gen's ear like a distant thunder.

Chen Yan patted his shoulder.

"You are the first."

An acidic surge rose in Li Gen's throat, twisting his whole face; his lips trembled three times, and his voice rose from the deepest part of his throat.

"Shuyi, this life of mine is now nailed to this badge."

Chen Yan said nothing more, turned, and walked to the second Militiaman.

Zhou Xiaoman.

Zhou Xiaoman's face held no tears; his gaze fixed straight on the badge in Chen Yan's hand, the turmoil in his eyes hotter than fire, harder than iron.

Chen Yan pinned the badge onto his left chest.

Zhou Xiaoman's right fist slammed heavily onto his Chest Armor, striking the newly‑pinned badge, a muffled thud resonating from his bones.

One.

Two.

Three.

Chen Yan moved from the first to the last; one hundred three dark‑red badges were affixed by his own hand above the left chests of one hundred three people, each placed perfectly steady, none even slightly crooked.

Chu Ci was one of the last three; he stood at the end of the line, still clutching the Political Commissar Manual whose pages were frayed, his knuckles white.

When Chen Yan reached him, he paused a beat.

"You are different."

Chu Ci's body stiffened.

Chen Yan drew another badge from his chest, its design identical to the other one hundred two, but with an extra line of tiny engraving at the bottom.

Chief Political Commissar Assistant.

Chen Yan pinned this badge onto Chu Ci's left chest, his finger lingering a moment on the pin.

"You compiled the Duke's Political Commissar Manual; from now on you will oversee all political work for the army, from Military Soul education to Militiaman selection, all under your charge."

Chu Ci's Adam's apple rolled, his voice hoarse to the point of breaking.

"Shuyi is the pen in the State Pillar's hand; wherever the State Pillar points, Shuyi writes; if I write poorly, I will break the pen myself."

Chen Yan patted his shoulder and turned back to Gaotai.

He stood at the very top of Gaotai, facing the one hundred three dark‑red badges.

The wind blew from behind him, the hem of his Great Cloak lifting into an arc.

"Oath."

The right fists of one hundred three people simultaneously rose to their chests, the knuckles pressed against the dark‑red metal.

Li Gen's voice erupted first, his tone tinged with sobbing yet each word enunciated heavily.

"Swear to die loyal to the State Pillar!"

The other one hundred two voices followed within less than a half‑beat after him.

"Swear to die loyal to the pillar of the state!"

"Swear to die defending Xiazhou!"

"Swear to die defending Xiazhou!"

"Loyal, brave, upright, unchanging until death!"

"Loyal, brave, upright, unchanging until death!"

The wave of sound surged out from the center of the Xiaochang, crashing over the camp wall, over the Flagpoles bearing Human Heads, and into the gloomy sky, tearing a thin slit in the lead‑gray clouds overhead; a beam of sunlight squeezed through the gap and fell precisely on the one hundred and three dark‑red chest badges at the center of the Xiaochang.

Gao Jiong stood at the side of the Gaotai, the Armor flashing in the sunlight; his gaze slowly swept over those one hundred and three fervent faces, and the curve of his mouth changed.

No longer sinister.

It was something he himself had never seen.

When Chen Yan descended from the Gaotai, his steps were two beats slower than when he had ascended.

He walked to Gao Jiong's side, his voice audible only to the two of them.

"Has your Mingjing Department paved the road yet?"

Gao Jiong hammered his fist onto his Chest Armor, his voice dropping to its lowest.

"The garrison structures of the twenty‑eight counties—Shuyi has gone through each one; which camp lacks a Political Commissar, which camp's commander has a criminal record, which camp's soldiers are the most suffering and need oversight—all have been marked."

He pulled from his chest a neatly folded Bamboo Silk Scroll.

"Any general who dares to obstruct a Political Commissar from descending to a company has their leverage recorded in the Mingjing Department's files; as soon as they reach out, Shuyi can expose those levers at any time."

Chen Yan took the Bamboo Silk Scroll, glanced over it, and lightly tapped his finger twice beside a few of the names.

"Unless absolutely necessary, don't use leverage; first courtesy, then force. After the Political Commissar goes down, speak with concrete actions, win hearts with the skill of speaking for the soldiers."

He refolded the Bamboo Silk Scroll and returned it to Gao Jiong.

"The sword is the last resort, not the first."

Gao Jiong's voice deepened a notch.

"Shuyi understands."

Chen Yan turned, facing the one hundred and three people in the center of the Xiaochang who still held their fists aloft.

He waved his hand forward.

"Descend the mountain."

The one hundred and three people simultaneously lowered their right fists from their chests, turned, and strode toward the camp gate in unison; their boots striking the Mudi produced a muffled drumbeat.

When they stepped out of the camp gate, the one hundred and three horses waiting outside were led over by Ti Cavalry; each saddle bag contained a Political Commissar manual, a set of spare uniforms, and a commission Bamboo Silk Scroll sealed with Chen Yan's private seal.

Li Gen, as he flipped onto his horse, glanced back at the plaque of Jiangwu Tang, his lips moved but no sound came.

He tugged the reins; the horse's head turned toward the northern official road, his boot heel kicked the horse's belly, the black horse let out a long whinny, its four hooves leapt, raising a trail of dust.

One hundred and two riders followed closely, like one hundred and two stones slung from a sling, scattering toward the twenty‑eight counties of Xiazhou.

Zhang Wenqian stood at the camp gate, watching the riders' silhouettes fade along the official road; his voice rose from his throat, carrying an indefinable mix of emotion and awe.

"One hundred sparks."

Gu Yuci stood beside him, his hand on the hilt, a slight tug at the corner of his mouth.

"Once these men go down, the heavens within the army will truly be different."

Lu Ming scratched the back of his head, a grin spreading from ear to ear across his simple, broad face.

"The Subordinate General just hopes to be assigned someone in the Subordinate General's camp who gets along with the Subordinate General; the Subordinate General isn't afraid of the Political Commissar, only fears being given a mute, stifling gourd."

Chen Yan flipped onto the black horse, twirling the reins in his hand.

"Return to the city."

He squeezed the horse's belly; the black horse galloped toward Tongwan City, red leaves trailing behind, its moon‑white sleeves fluttering in the wind like two small flags.

When they returned to Zongguan Fu, it was already dusk.

Chen Yan did not return to Shufang; he went straight to Zheng Hall, stood on the steps at the doorway, and raised his voice toward the interior of Zheng Hall.

"Zhang Wenqian, Gao Jiong, Gu Yuci, Lu Ming, come in."

The footsteps of the four converged from different directions at Zheng Hall's entrance, filing in one after another.

Chen Yan walked to the desk, sat down, traced a slow arc with his finger on the tabletop, and swept his gaze over the four faces in turn.

"The Political Commissar is the first step."

The four bodies tensed a fraction at the same instant.

Chen Yan's palm pressed onto the table, his voice lowered, so low that the air in Zheng Hall seemed to thicken threefold.

"This Duke announces the formal establishment of an entirely new organization!"