Chapter 44: Your Reaction Is Very Wrong

The northern frontier shifted with the winds and clouds, centuries fleeting, burying countless nameless travelers.

On the walls of Ma Yi, gazing far into the distance, the sky arched like a tent, covering all four directions.

By the roadside, beneath an ancient tree, the horsehead fiddle played, a long song lamenting parting—where had the warrior left his homeland for?

Do you recall how Qin Shi Huang built fortresses to drive back the Hu Ren, and Emperor Wu of Han devised strategies to sweep away the Hu bandits?

Now, standing here again, chasing memories of the past, I see no Han people left—only Hu robes everywhere, the air thick with stench.

“Lord, this scene calls for a poem, to honor the ancients.”

Yang Kan, Gao Ang, and Yu Jin all came from noble families and possessed cultural refinement; Hou Jing was different—he grew up in Huai Shuo, never studied literature, only martial arts and military tactics.

For days, Hou Jing had trailed Li Shuang, interacting with Yu Jin and others, feeling deeply uncomfortable.

Li Shuang glanced at Hou Jing, and upon his words, composed a poem on the spot.

“One jin, two jin, three or four jin, five, six, seven, eight, ten jin. A thousand jin, ten thousand jin, countless jin—all vanished into the pouch.”

“Good! Good! Good!” On the wall, Hou Jing clapped loudly, “Lord, that line—‘all vanished into the pouch’—has tremendous power, tremendous power indeed!”

Though the Grand General had low culture, his awareness was high.

Whether he understood or not, he never failed to clap.

“Lord, the entire Hengzhou is poor; only Pingcheng is wealthy. When will we put all its gold and silver into our pouches?”

“Silence!”

Li Shuang’s face turned stern.

“Bandits run rampant; we are ministers of the court—we must uphold the sovereign, aid the state, stabilize Wei and revive Yuan. How can we only think of what’s in our pouches?”

Hou Jing nodded.

“I thought the same. But then I reconsidered—Wang Yuanshen is nothing but a Liu A Dou; he’ll lose Pingcheng eventually. Better we take it before the rebels Han Baling and Yujiulu An Gui do. Better in your pouch than theirs.”

“That’s precisely what troubles me. Wang Yuanshen is surrounded by vermin. How can we protect the Wei realm alongside such pests?”

Hou Jing’s eyes lit up, his whole body brimming with energy.

“Then we do as before—three steps?”

Li Shuang shook his head, sighing deeply.

“This isn’t the deep mountains of Bingzhou—we’re no longer rebel troops. We must change tactics.”

“What do you mean, Lord?”

“First, both Han Baling and Yujiulu An Gui want Pingcheng, yet each fears the other. They worry that after fighting Wei troops, the other will profit. So their best move is to back a rebel force within Hengzhou to drain the imperial army. As I know, Beilie Buruo has already contacted the Rouran and the Liuzhen envoys.”

Hou Jing sneered:

“That worthless fool?”

“Correct—he’s a fool, but we must make him seem less so. I have a batch of military supplies; go secretly sell them to him.”

“What’s the second step?”

“With these supplies, Beilie Buruo’s strength surges. I’ll order Kuodi Qian and others to retreat, fall back to Ma Yi, leaving Pingcheng exposed. Beilie Buruo suffers defeat first, then wins—gaining vast lands without effort, his army at Pingcheng’s gates, his prestige soaring. Wang Yuanshen has lost the people’s trust; seeing the rebels’ strength, he’ll dare not sortie, only lock himself inside.”

“Lord, what’s the point?”

“The Liuzhen and Rouran are financially strained, yet to back Beilie Buruo, they’ll pour in more resources. This is a strategy to exhaust the enemy!”

A flicker of understanding crossed Hou Jing’s face.

“And the third step?”

“When both sides are worn down, the only viable troops left in Hengzhou will be those in Ma Yi—then our value will skyrocket.”

“Good! Good! Good!”

A round of applause suddenly echoed beside the wall.

An elderly man, plain-clad with white hair and beard, had appeared nearby, now gazing at Li Shuang and Hou Jing with a gentle smile.

“How did this old man get here?”

Hou Jing looked equally baffled.

“I don’t know—I had men watching him. How did he get up here?”

The old man walked slowly closer, smiling, and asked:

“If you rephrase these three steps for Ma Yi’s defense, isn’t it just called ‘nurturing bandits to increase one’s own importance’?”

Hou Jing bristled.

“Who the hell are you?”

“I am Minister of the Palace, Envoy with Imperial Authority, Grand Commander of the Northern Expedition, Commander of All Military Affairs in Heng and Shuo Provinces, General Who Subdues the North—Li Chong!”

Li Shuang and Hou Jing exchanged glances; Hou Jing instinctively gripped his sword hilt, but Li Shuang stopped him.

Li Chong saw it all, yet showed no fear, still smiling.

“Back in the Bingzhou campaign, you sneaked up on me and stole over three thousand sets of armor—I’ve never forgiven you. Now we meet again, and this is how it turns out? What do you say?”

Li Chong looked at Li Shuang, this young Ma Yi defender far younger than himself, his face brimming with triumph.

Below the wall, Hou Jing’s troops were all under the control of Li Chong’s personal guards.

On the nearby watchtower, elite marksmen had taken position.

Li Chong had issued his order:

If the two men on the wall resisted, kill them on the spot.

Legally justified—saved him the trouble!

Though the crouching tiger was old, his killing intent still burned hot.

But Li Chong hadn’t expected Li Shuang to resist.

He dropped to his knees with a sudden motion, buttocks raised high, voice trembling with tears.

“General Who Subdues the North, you don’t know—I was young and foolish back then, stole your things. Ever since, I’ve been wracked with guilt, unable to sleep a single night, filled with regret, longing for the day I’d meet you to return everything and make amends.”

Saying this, Li Shuang turned around, presenting his buttocks to Li Chong.

“If you’re still angry, beat me—don’t hold back. I deserve it.”

Li Shuang’s posture left Li Chong speechless—and even Hou Jing stood frozen.

Only then did Hou Jing realize, and he too dropped to his knees.

Li Chong, nearing seventy, had weathered countless storms—south campaigns, north expeditions, seen every kind of man.

But never one like this.

Li Chong felt his heart pounding uncontrollably.

Nothing else—just infuriated by this brat.

“Take them away!”

“What’s happening in the city?”

Yang Kan and Gao Ang, leading troops back toward the city, were blocked outside. The great banner still flew atop Ma Yi’s walls—but the gates were shut. The guards on the walls were all strangers.

Yu Jin was lowered from the wall, his face grim.

“Li Chong, ordered to replace Wang Yuanshen and lead the northern campaign against bandits, took advantage of our absence and seized Ma Yi with a light force, undetected.”

Yang Kan and Gao Ang exchanged glances, both faces grave.

“What of our Lord?”

This was what Yu Jin couldn’t understand.

“The Ma Yi defender didn’t panic—he cooperated fully, even ordered us to leave our troops outside and follow him into the city.”

Yang Kan and Gao Ang had doubts, but Yu Jin spoke the secret password Li Shuang had given them.

They stared at the ancient, weathered city of Ma Yi, lost in deep thought.

Lord, what are you doing?

……