Chapter 860: To Pledge the Nation, To Pledge Her

Shenjing, Hongde Gate.

In the afternoon, sunlight blended softly; pedestrians came and went like shuttles, their demeanor relaxed and leisurely.

Sudden hoofbeats, impatient shouts from riders, the glaring uniforms of border troops, and the cold gleam of standardized steel blades sent pedestrians scrambling in panic.

The galloping warhorses tore through the crowd like ice-breaking ships, forcibly carving a path northward along the cleared corridor.

Jia Cong gazed far into the distance, his expression grave; the last urgent military report sent to the Inner Palace had come from the Liaodong border garrison, bringing the shocking news that the remnants of the Mongols had seized the military grain depots.

He did not know whether the three fast riders just passed were from the same border garrison, carrying another eight-hundred-li urgent report.

The horses were heading north—the Ministry of War and the Five Military Directorates both lay in the northern quarter, and farther north lay the Great Zhou Imperial Palace.

In short, at this moment, urgent border military reports could mean nothing good.

A few days ago, at the Dali Temple office, Jia Cong had analyzed northern military intelligence with Yang Hongbin, concluding that after Andahan seized the grain depots, he would surely make further moves.

Moving north could cut off the retreat routes of Xuanfu and Jizhou garrisons, allowing opportunistic capture.

Moving south would exploit the convenience of supply routes, enabling swift cavalry to advance day and night straight toward Shenjing.

What he had said then was not idle speculation; Andahan’s audacity to launch a surprise attack on the grain depots meant he had already staked everything.

Jia Cong’s projections followed conventional military logic.

Now, with border troops again rushing into the capital with urgent reports, if these were fresh Mongol military intelligence, the situation was likely far worse.

Jia Cong, thinking of this, felt an overwhelming weight; he had originally planned to return to the workshop outside the city before sunset to oversee construction matters.

Now he changed his mind and returned to the mansion first, for staying within the city meant faster access to battlefield updates.

He ordered Jiang Liu to turn back toward the Marquis’s mansion, but halfway there, he heard urgent hoofbeats once more.

This time, three fast horses passed by—riders still in military uniforms, but not border troop colors; they were couriers of the Five Military Directorates.

The riders still carried three-colored flags on their backs and leather pouches of dispatches, maintaining the classic hundred-li urgent report posture; their thunderous hoofbeats stirred fresh commotion on the streets.

The direction of this trio remained northward, suggesting their route matched that of the previous border troop riders.

Jia Cong noticed the terrified expressions on passersby; many were already whispering among themselves.

After the news of the northern grain depots being seized by the Mongol remnants was announced at court, it had spread rapidly through the city; every citizen of Shenjing knew.

Now, with two waves of military couriers arriving in quick succession, unrest had already stirred in the alleys and neighborhoods—likely to spread quickly.

Jia Cong’s anxiety deepened; multiple waves of military reports arriving in a single day left him nearly certain that major developments had occurred in the north.

When the carriage entered the eastern corner gate of the Marquis’s mansion, he ordered Jiang Liu to summon the steward and instruct him to dispatch sharp-eyed servants to the streets to gather news.

Should any military riders pass through the city or any official military bureau dispatches emerge, they were to return immediately and report.

…

After returning to the inner courtyard, he headed toward his own quarters, passing lush trees, grand pavilions, and a clear stream winding through dense flowers and foliage, cascading down stone crevices.

The scenery was serene and charming, yet Jia Cong had no heart to admire it.

Passing beside a curved stone bridge, he saw Daiyu, accompanied by Zijuan, crossing it.

She wore a light blue jacket embroidered with branching plum blossoms, a white collared undergarment, a pale yellow pleated skirt, and over it a crimson feathered gauze cloak lined with white fox fur.

Her jade-like face was delicate, her ink-black tresses flowing, adorned with a blue sapphire dangling hairpin phoenix pin; her grace was ethereal, like a fairy.

Seeing Jia Cong from afar, her expression lit up with sudden delight; she waved to him from afar, calling out, “Third Brother,” then hurried across the bridge to meet him.

When she reached him, Jia Cong asked, “Where have you come from, and where are you going?”

Daiyu smiled: “After lunch, I was reading opera scores in my room and grew tired; I was just heading to Second Sister’s chamber to chat.”

“Why are you back so early? Yesterday you said you were visiting Xuantian Palace; I thought it wouldn’t take a full day.”

“But lately you’ve always said court affairs are busy, and I assumed you’d return to your office first after descending the mountain—why are you back before sunset?”

Jia Cong noticed Daiyu’s hair had been tousled by the wind from her hurried walk; instinctively, he reached out, gathered the stray strands, and gently brushed them behind her ear.

As they drew closer, he caught her sweet, intoxicating scent; her skin was snow-white, faintly flushed, her hair like dark clouds, glossy and soft, radiating an unusual allure.

His fingers brushed her smooth, dewy earlobe, stirring an indescribable warmth; the jade-threaded pearl earrings trembled slightly, glinting in the sunlight.

Zijuan, seeing Jia Cong’s unguarded intimacy, blushed slightly and instinctively turned her body aside.

Daiyu’s eyes sparkled as she smiled gently at Jia Cong—she showed no shyness, only glanced left and right.

She tidied her hair herself and scolded playfully: “Third Brother, you’re getting too bold—why are you touching me? Be careful someone sees and makes a fuss.”

Seeing Daiyu’s charming, lively expression, Jia Cong’s heavy worries lifted unconsciously.

He laughed: “Let them see—if anyone makes a fuss, let them talk. Better than having them gossip behind my back. I’m not afraid.”

Daiyu, unmoved by his earlier familiarity, now blushed deeply at his words.

She understood the resentment and possessiveness in his tone—and found it strangely pleasing.

She gave a light huff: “You’re being ridiculous now. I won’t play along with you.”

…

Though her tone was teasing, Daiyu didn’t truly mind Jia Cong’s banter and turned the subject: “You still haven’t said why you returned so early.”

Jia Cong sighed: “I was going to the workshop, but just entered Hongde Gate and encountered several waves of military couriers—something’s very wrong. The northern front must have suffered another disaster.”

Daiyu frowned slightly: “Didn’t the Mongols seize the grain depots and get plenty of supplies for winter? Why are they still causing trouble during the New Year?”

Jia Cong said: “They didn’t just want grain. This time, they’re launching a major campaign. If I’m right, they’ll march south—war is coming.”

Daiyu, a noble lady raised in seclusion, had never cared for military affairs—but through Jia Cong’s influence, she now paid attention.

Hearing of impending war, seeing his worried expression, her heart sank, feeling suddenly unmoored.

She frowned softly: “Third Brother, you once commanded troops on the northern frontier. If the Mongol barbarians invade, as Yun Sister predicted, will you be sent to fight?”

Seeing her concern, Jia Cong took her small hand—soft as silk, boneless, yet chillingly cold, radiating helplessness.

He felt a pang of tenderness and led her to sit on a sheltered corridor bench. “His Majesty values firearms. If the Mongols launch a full-scale southern invasion, I’ll likely join the campaign.”

“His Majesty has been generous to me—bestowing titles and ranks over the years. As the saying goes: ‘Nourish soldiers for a thousand days; when the state calls, the warrior must answer.’ It is my duty.”

“Don’t worry—I’m no common soldier. I won’t be on the front lines. Modern firearms have changed warfare; we no longer rely solely on blades.”

“Great Zhou has enjoyed peace for generations, but the Mongol remnants beyond the pass remain the greatest threat. War is inevitable. If we win, we can strike at their roots and secure lasting peace.”

“Didn’t your father write that once you reach the age of coming-of-age, he’ll let you return south to visit family? When the war ends, I’ll accompany you—let’s wander the south together.”

Daiyu laughed: “You’re the best at soothing people. I won’t easily believe you. You’ve said this twice—don’t break your word, or I won’t forgive you.”

Jia Cong smiled faintly: “When have I ever lied to you? I’ll keep my promise.”

As he spoke, he unconsciously wrapped his arm around her slender waist; Daiyu’s face flushed pink, she pinched his palm, then lightly slapped him.

She glanced around—Zijuan was nowhere to be seen, vanished somewhere.

She scolded: “Third Brother, where are your hands? It’s because Ping’er and the others spoil you—you’ve grown even more reckless…”

…

Shenjing, Ministry of War.

In the office of Minister Gu Yan, affairs had been hectic these days; officials came and went frequently, and officers from the Five Military Directorates and the Ministry of Revenue often arrived to coordinate.

Since the Liaodong urgent report reached Shenjing, Emperor Jiazhao had swiftly approved and implemented every response measure.

The Five Military Directorates had long lost real command authority; now they handled only logistics like grain transport. The entire war effort against the Mongol remnants was now managed by the Ministry of War.

Within these few days, under Emperor Jiazhao’s decree, the Ministry had already mobilized troops: forty thousand guards from the four surrounding provinces and twenty thousand from the Five Armies.

Sixty thousand elite troops had assembled north of Shenjing and were gradually being dispatched to Dezhou and Tongzhou to strengthen northern defenses.

The capital’s defenses were also reinforced: all nine gates of Shenjing were on high alert, with forty-five thousand elite troops from the Five Armies stationed to guard against any threat.

Mobilizing such forces consumed enormous grain supplies; the Ministry of Revenue burned candles through the night, with grain transport routes flowing continuously.

They had to supply not only the troops gathering near Shenjing but also deliver grain to the nine border garrisons to quickly alleviate the shortages caused by the seized depots.

Gu Yan, aged sixty, had served in the Ministry of War for years but had never been this overwhelmed.

He had worked through multiple nights without sleep, eating and sleeping in his office, not returning home for days.

For several days, Emperor Jiazhao summoned him daily to meet with heads of other ministries to deliberate on critical matters—most urgently, selecting the Regional Commander for the Mongol campaign.

When the seizure of the grain depots was announced at court, officials were outraged; many veteran generals volunteered to lead the campaign.

Among those who volunteered were Prince Zhao Li Zhongmao, Duke Qi Chen Yi, and Minister of War Gu Yan himself.