Chapter 165: Zhang Fu, You Have Been Optimized

Outside Di'an Gate, the great parade ground of the Valiant Guard Camp.

The north wind swept in, whipping dust from the ground and snapping the forest of "Ming" banners planted across the field with a sharp, flapping sound.

Several thousand soldiers in mandarin-duck battle coats stood rigidly at attention in their ranks.

"Last place — Liu Ruoxian's platoon."

From the ranks rose a burst of barely stifled laughter.

By custom, whenever the last-place name was announced, the whole camp would erupt in thunderous jeering.

It was one of the soldiers' few pleasures amid the grinding, brutal training.

Even the second-to-last unit would strain their throats, mocking the one beneath them at the top of their lungs to prove they had not yet hit bottom.

Today, however, the laughter was different.

The moment it broke out, it felt out of place — scattered and sparse — and was soon swallowed up by the ever-present wind.

A few stray laughs rang out, then quickly fell back into silence.

Xu Yingyuan mounted the high platform.

As the seal-holding eunuch of the Directorate of the Imperial Horses, he had not worn his eye-catching python robe today, only an ordinary tieli tunic with a leather belt cinched at the waist, giving him a much more businesslike look.

He swept his gaze over the dense mass of men below and did not speak at once.

Only when every eye was fixed on him did he say slowly:

"The order was given in advance: at the month-end assessment, the capable rise and the mediocre fall. Drill, martial skill, combined exercises, written examination — every item is a contest of real substance, with not the slightest discount."

"Your two-dan monthly grain ration was issued in full to each man the day before yesterday. Names were called, identities verified, and not a single coin was embezzled or withheld."

"Now, as we act according to the order, those who are dismissed should have nothing left to say."

The soldiers below remained silent; no one made a sound.

"Every man dismissed has a posting. Tomorrow morning, follow the slip you received on leaving camp and report to your respective unit in the Capital Camps."

Here Xu Yingyuan paused.

Imitating His Majesty's manner, he let the silence hang over the parade ground for a moment, as though gathering some thunderous, soul-stirring words.

Yet after racking his brain, he could think of nothing to say.

Those rousing words seemed to belong to His Majesty alone.

Coming from his own mouth, they always felt lacking in flavor.

In the end, he could only wave his hand with a touch of chagrin:

"Dismissed. Morning drill proceeds as usual tomorrow. His Majesty will come to see you off — do not disgrace the Valiant Guard Camp's name then."

With that, he turned and descended the platform, no longer looking at the varied expressions on the faces below.

He then called over Company Commanders Sun Yingyuan, Cao Bianjiao, and the others, lowering his voice to give careful instructions: tonight they must guard the camp strictly, step up patrols, and guard against mutiny or camp panic.

In truth, he did not understand why His Majesty did not immediately disperse these dismissed soldiers, instead insisting they spend one more night in camp.

Soldiers are arrogant, fierce, and hard to control.

Two thousand men dismissed, their resentment at full boil, gathered in one place — trouble could easily erupt.

But since His Majesty had so ordered, he would simply carry it out.

By now, he had watched with his own eyes as latecomers like Gao Shiming and Wang Tiqian grew ever more favored before His Majesty.

The various gods who once wore down his doorstep had gradually grown sparse.

That ambition to win glory and build a career had already faded somewhat in Xu Yingyuan's heart.

He now thought: if he could just manage the Valiant Guard Camp's affairs honestly and dutifully, that would be enough to secure his footing in life.

After all, His Majesty always spent at least one shichen here every day.

It was just... this life was truly a bit too austere.

Wang Yongzuo, who had been assigned to superintend the Capital Camps — now that was a real fat post.

A few days ago, when he took the lead in donating money to cast a bell for Cheng'en Temple, he put up seven hundred taels in one stroke.

Word had it he had recently hired someone to survey the fengshui of the Western Hills — presumably to start building his tomb in advance.

It was enough to make a man green with envy.

The little abacus in Xu Yingyuan's mind clicked away furiously.

The Valiant Guard Camp was His Majesty's heart's blood — untouchable.

But those Tengxiang Four Guards — surely there was no problem there?

Wait a little longer, wait a little longer. First see what end Wang Yongzuo comes to, then decide. No need to rush.

With these thoughts, he headed straight back to the Directorate of the Imperial Horses' office. The bleak parade ground behind him seemed to have nothing more to do with him.

In the northwest corner of the great camp, inside an inconspicuous tent.

The atmosphere was less than harmonious.

Zhang Fu and the four soldiers under him had helped each other remove their armor and were now sprawled out on their respective bunks, no one speaking, only staring at the dark canvas overhead.

They were one file in "Liu Ruoxian's platoon," and among the two thousand men who had been eliminated.

In truth, they had not always been last in the old days; occasionally they had even seized a top-fifty finish.

It was just that today, upon learning the result, everyone's spirit had collapsed and their drive had drained away — which was why they had ended up in last place.

Suddenly, the tent flap was violently thrown open, and a blast of cold wind carrying bits of straw rushed in.

It was Skinny Zhang, back from fetching water.

Without a word, he set the field cauldron onto the stove, crouched down, and deftly pulled open the iron door at the stove's base, prodding the honeycomb briquettes.

Before long, a pungent coal-smoke smell filled the tent.

That familiar odor, instead, seemed to bring the deathly silent group back to life.

Pockmarked Li, Fat Sun, Stuttering Chen — the men sat up unconsciously and silently gathered around the stove to warm themselves by the fire.

Yet still no one spoke.

File Leader Zhang Fu stared at the orange-red flames that flickered now and then through the cracks at the bottom of the pot, his gaze somewhat vacant.

After a long while, he let out a heavy sigh, rose and returned to his bunk, groped under the pillow for a long time, and fished out a small brick of tea wrapped neatly in oilpaper.

He walked back to the stove, broke the seal, and tossed the tea brick into the pot.

"Today we disband, yet we have no wine — so let tea stand in for wine." His voice was somewhat hoarse.

That one sentence, like a switch, finally set the air in the tent flowing again.

"Hey, Old Zhang, you're really parting with something today!"

Fat Sun bared his teeth in a grin, showing a mouthful of yellow teeth, his smile a little strained. "That tea brick — you've been hoarding it for over ten days, guarding it like a treasure."

"That's right," Pockmarked Li chimed in. His face was pitted and scarred, and when he smiled it only made him look more ferocious.

"This is tea brick personally bestowed by His Majesty. If our squad hadn't lucked into a ranking earlier this month, we wouldn't even have had the right to sniff it."

Once the chatterbox was open, everyone spoke up one after another, and the atmosphere in the tent finally loosened up a bit.

"I say, going to the Capital Camps isn't such a bad thing," Skinny Zhang said as he poked at the stove fire, his voice muffled. "Training every day here, drilling every day — my bones are about to fall apart. I hear that for the ones staying, winter drill has been extended from the fifteenth of the eleventh month all the way to the first of the twelfth. Damn it all, is that any kind of life for a man?"

"Right, right," Fat Sun quickly agreed. "Once we're in the Capital Camps, just show up for roll call each day, make an appearance, and that's it, right? The days will be a lot more leisurely than here."

"Only thing is, once we're in the Capital Camps, who knows if the few of us can still be assigned together," Skinny Zhang said with some worry. "I only trust Old Zhang. Put someone else over me, and I won't feel easy about it."

"Exactly!" Pockmarked Li slapped his thigh. "Everyone knows what our squad is capable of. If those other squads hadn't dragged us down, how could it have come to this!"

"Keep it down!" Zhang Fu glared at him.

Pockmarked Li shrank back, muttered a few more curses under his breath, and said no more.

The tent fell quiet again for a moment.

"Ah, it's just a shame about that full monthly grain ration, paid out in full," someone sighed mournfully, no one knew who. "Two dan — not a single grain short."

That sentence, like a needle, punctured the forced cheerfulness everyone had been putting up.

"Forget two dan," Pockmarked Li snorted. "When I was at Datong Garrison, on paper they said eight dou, but by the time it reached your hands, if you got six dou you could count that dog-official as having a kind heart. As for holiday bonus money — don't even dream of it."

These words immediately struck a chord.

"Eight dou is still good!" Another soldier grew agitated. "Back when we were in Yizhou, back pay was routine. If they paid out half a year's grain in a whole year, you'd be burning incense in thanks! The life of a hereditary military household is worse than a beggar's!"

One after another, everyone began competing over who had it worse, venting about the rotten business of pay-skimming in the guard stations and garrisons across the realm, their language liberally laced with maternal references.

As they talked, the water in the pot finally came to a boil, and the fragrance of tea mingled with the steam and spread through the tent.

Zhang Fu brought out several coarse ceramic bowls and ladled a bowl of scalding tea for each man.

Everyone cradled their bowls and took a cautious sip. A warm current surged instantly from their throats out to their four limbs and every bone.

"Fine tea! Damned fine tea!" Fat Sun smacked his lips, his face full of rapture. "Rich and full-bodied — goes down and soothes the whole body."

"Mm, it's far better than those tea dregs we usually drink," Pockmarked Li nodded in agreement. "This tea — it's authentic. Right, authentic's the word!"

Skinny Zhang, imitating those scholars, took a delicate sip, then closed his eyes and savored it for a long while before finally forcing out a sentence: "This tea — after you swallow, there's a bit of sweetness in the throat. Is that what they call in the storybooks... that 'returning sweetness'?"

"Right, right! Returning sweetness!" Fat Sun slapped his thigh as if he'd found a kindred spirit. "I was just saying — this flavor is nothing like that bitter swill we usually drink! This tea liquor — look at it, golden and clear, so bright — you can tell at a glance it's fine stuff!"

Pockmarked Li, meanwhile, held the bowl right under his nose and sniffed hard, then said with a deeply profound expression, "Not only that — smell this fragrance. Like flowers, seeping right into a man's heart. This is called... called 'fragrance lingering in the teeth'!"

With all this chorus of praise, Zhang Fu felt considerably comforted.

He lifted his tea bowl and took another sip, and at once felt that this tea was indeed the finest of the finest.

Just then, Stutterer Chen, who had barely spoken the whole time, suddenly opened his mouth.

"D-do you all think... His M-Majesty... will he... r-reorganize the Capital Camps?"

Everyone turned in unison to look at him.

With so many eyes on him, he grew even more nervous, his face flushing bright red.

"His M-Majesty... is... b-b..."

"Brilliant and divinely martial!" Fat Sun blurted out the words for him.

Those four words, like a spark, instantly ignited the mood throughout the entire tent.

"How could he not reorganize them?" Pockmarked Li slapped his thigh, his eyes bulging wide. "The Capital Camps are rotten to the core — would His Majesty not know? If he reforms the Capital Camps the way he did our Valiant Guard Camp, then when we go over, won't we be eating two dan of monthly grain again?"

"Right! Meat at every meal then, and bonus money on holidays!" Fat Sun rubbed his hands together excitedly.

"You're dreaming," Skinny Zhang said, throwing cold water on them all. "I've heard from men in other squads who were transferred over from the Capital Camps — the Capital Camps have a full hundred and twenty thousand men, and most of them are on one dan of monthly grain!"

"The ones who get two dan are the elite vanguard, handpicked from a thousand selections — ten thousand men at the absolute most."

These words dampened everyone's spirits a little.

Having eaten a full, honest two dan of grain, going back to one dan — in the end, it didn't sit quite as well.

But Pockmarked Li shot back at once: "What the hell do you know? Haven't you heard the talk outside about 'the struggle for land and people'?"

"The eunuchs running the camps say our Great Ming has more and more people, and there's not enough land to farm. If we don't go out and grab territory, we'll all starve! If we don't train a hundred and twenty thousand men who can fight, how are we supposed to go grab it?"

"Exactly!" Fat Sun, having found his backbone again, immediately chimed in. "Liaodong, the Mongol Tartars' lands, and down south — I hear it's called... Dali! With territory that vast, how long will it take to seize? How can we do it without troops?"

Skinny Zhang added excitedly, "And! And! His Majesty's enthronement bounty hasn't been paid out yet!"

His eyes burning with eagerness, he looked around at everyone, his tone urgent: "If they finish reorganizing the Capital Camps next year and then pay it out — that'll be real silver, and no one will dare embezzle it! That'll be a full, honest tael of silver!"

"Right! The enthronement bounty!"

At these words, the atmosphere in the tent grew even more heated than before.

"Exactly! A heaven-born sage like His Majesty — how could he just watch the Capital Camps rot like this!" Pockmarked Li couldn't help standing up, rubbing his hands together in agitation.

"I'm guessing it'll be next year!" Skinny Zhang grew excited too, lowering his voice and speaking with an air of mystery. "By next spring at the latest — the first year of Yongchang, a new reign title, a good omen! He's bound to make a move!"

"The first year of Yongchang..." Everyone murmured the words, their eyes shining.

It truly was a fine omen!

"When the time comes, we few have to look out for each other," File Leader Zhang Fu said, looking at them all, his voice grave. "The waters run deep in the Capital Camps. The lot of us just happen to come from various guard stations. When we get there, strangers in a strange place — we can't let anyone push us around. Once we're there, move around often, keep in close contact, and twist ourselves into one tight rope!"

"Old Zhang is right!"

"That's right — anyone who dares push us around will have to answer to our fists first!"

Zhang Fu nodded and said, "Sun Fatty, go get the food. We'll eat while we talk things over. Once we're in the Capital Camps, we can just arrange a time to meet up again."

Sun Fatty grinned. "Right-o! The cook's my second uncle. Now that I've made the list today, he'll have to slip me a few extra slices of meat to cheer me up. Brothers, old Sun will be right back!"

The night deepened.

They ate and drank their fill, then spent a while flattering each other.

In his excitement, Zhang Fu recited in full every word of His Majesty's sacred decree that he had heard.

"Regional Commander in three years!" "The Son of Heaven's own personal troops!" "Whoever takes the head of the Four Great Beiles shall be enfeoffed as a Duke!"

Gathered around the firelight and that fine palace tea, steeped again and again, the few of them talked on for most of the night without pause, only gradually settling down when the night patrol soldiers shouted at them to stop.

Zhang Fu got up, sealed off most of the stove opening, then rose again and lifted the tent flap a crack to let some of the cold wind outside blow in.

This was not a matter to be careless about.

A few days earlier, a file of soldiers from another camp had burned coal for warmth through the night with their tent tightly shut — and by morning, every last one of them had stopped breathing.

When they were discovered the next day, all five men wore eerie, frozen smiles on their faces; they had long since gone stiff.

Ever since, the resident eunuchs in every camp had issued repeated orders: the File Leader was to take sole charge of the stove at night, and should anything go wrong, the File Leader alone would answer for it.

Each man lay down, and soon the sound of snoring rose.

But Zhang Fu lay on his bed, tossing and turning, utterly unable to sleep.

One moment his mind was on the Capital Camps, the next on provisions and pay, the next on the matter of Regional Commanders and dukedoms.

Amid the swirl of tangled thoughts, he seemed to hear the faint sound of weeping.

Startled, he shifted a few steps and stuck his head out of the tent to listen carefully — yet it seemed to be only the wind.

He looked left and right.

The night wind swept across the entire encampment; heaven and earth were a sheet of darkness.

Only the lanterns hanging from the watchtowers swayed violently in the wind, now bright, now dim.

He sighed, barely perceptibly, drew his head back in, and curled up under the blanket.

Better sleep… His Majesty was coming to see them off tomorrow.

He did not understand what this "seeing off" was about, but he had tried the beating that came with missing roll call once — and had no desire to try it a second time.