Chapter 41: All Under Heaven Receives His Grace, the Mountains and Rivers Tilt

Zhou Cheng snapped back to attention.

His gaze fell upon the bearded giant’s attire, its style utterly unlike that of the south; he could not help asking:

“Brother, are you from the north?”

The giant had no wish to speak more, but the boy’s bearing stood out sharply amid the crowd.

The bearded giant was a seasoned escort veteran who had traveled far and wide; one glance told him the boy carried only a single servant.

Yet every gesture and movement radiated an innate nobility, impossible to conceal.

This young master was either wealthy, noble, or both.

Having survived war, he had long since grown cautious and wary.

Indeed, peace across the realm had lasted only a few years.

Now he came with his wife and child to Mount Zhongnan, solely to fulfill a vow at a Daoist temple.

The man did not wish to invite trouble and said nothing.

His child, sturdy and round-faced, now slept soundly upon his broad shoulder.

His wife stood beside him—a gentle southern woman.

The two formed a stark contrast.

At the sound, the woman turned around.

First she tenderly lifted the child from her husband’s shoulder, then rubbed his shoulder and whispered:

“If you’re tired, say so—you’re always like this!”

Her eyes held a hint of reproach.

The man replied with gentle eyes: “Not tired.”

Zhou Cheng stepped forward with a smile:

“So this is your wife? Brother, you’re truly blessed.”

The woman, merely hearing the boy speak, knew at once he was a southern noble—only someone raised in the capital could speak this refined Jingcheng dialect so naturally.

In the capital, every inch of land was worth its weight in silver; living there was no easy thing.

She gently nudged her husband.

Only then did the giant grunt out:

“Don’t deserve your calling me brother—we truly come from the north.”

At this, Zhou Cheng’s brow furrowed with confusion.

“Brother, you’ve braved mountains and rivers, traveled thousands of miles to reach Mount Zhongnan—what is your purpose?”

“Surely not merely to burn incense and pray?”

The burly man fell silent.

The woman gently clasped her husband’s hand and took up the thread:

“Young master, do you know who is most famous on Mount Zhongnan?”

“Of course—the mighty Lord Lu,” Zhou Cheng answered without hesitation.

The woman smiled faintly:

“Young master, you too have come for Lord Lu, haven’t you? So have we.”

Her words carried deep reverence for the lord.

Hearing this, Zhou Cheng felt a flicker of confusion.

He knew these two could not possibly know his true identity, yet they had not erred—he had indeed come for Lu Chen.

The woman seemed to sense his puzzlement; she pointed up the mountain path, where crowds surged thickly, incense seekers thick as clouds.

Among them were many dressed like their own family—clearly northerners.

“Most of them come from the north, all to fulfill vows to Lord Lu.”

“Fulfill vows?”

Zhou Cheng grew even more puzzled.

The woman sighed softly, her eyes shadowed with sorrow, and explained slowly:

“Years ago, I traveled north with my father to assume his post—just as the Northern Wind cavalry swept south, smoke and fire spreading everywhere. The north was ravaged by burning, killing, and looting; my father died there. I am a southern woman, yet my soul rests in the north.”

Zhou Cheng, hearing this, sketched out her past.

She had been born into an official family, relocated north due to her father’s transfer.

Her household must have been powerless—otherwise, how could they have been stranded in war-torn northern lands?

“I once wished to die to preserve my honor, rather than fall into enemy hands. But my husband risked his life to save me—and here I am today.”

At these words, the man gripped his wife’s hand tightly, offering silent comfort.

“But,” the woman’s eyes filled with deep memory, “back then, so many fled; my husband and I headed south with over thirty thousand others. We looked out for each other, but our group was too large—it became a target for northern light cavalry.”

“They chased us relentlessly, yet never tried to wipe us out—instead, they drove us to Fengling Ferry.”

“Young master may never have heard the name, but to me, it remains the most unforgettable place in my life.”

Zhou Cheng nodded; he understood military strategy intimately and knew the northern terrain by heart.

“Fengling Ferry is a vital crossing on the Yellow River, directly leading to Tongguan. One river divides north and south, sustaining the heart of the Central Plains. At this point, roosters crow in three provinces; cross it, and you enter the south. Its strategic value rivals Hulao Pass.”

Chen Ji stood beside him, slightly proud:

“My young master is learned and wise—he knows heaven and earth, read ten thousand scrolls by age nine, his knowledge vast. How could he not know Fengling Ferry?”

Hearing this, the woman, if truly so, raised her estimation of the young master by another notch.

In this age, a household owning ten books was already affluent—how much more so one that had read ten thousand scrolls? Such a family must be illustrious.

Zhou Cheng shot Chen Ji a sharp glance.

Chen Ji immediately fell silent.

The giant beside them now spoke coldly:

“The commander at Fengling Ferry, facing fifty thousand Northern Wind troops, declared: ‘Fifty thousand lives are precious, but how can they compare to the safety of the realm?’”

Zhou Cheng nodded inwardly: fifty thousand iron cavalry, fifty thousand civilians like meat on the chopping block.

If Fengling Ferry fell, the Northern Wind could bypass Hulao Pass.

The giant sneered: “I hate men who preach about the people’s welfare while hiding nothing but corruption and cowardice—spineless, petty, vile.”

Zhou Cheng, hearing this, smiled calmly.

The woman continued:

“We thought death was certain—until Lord Lu learned of it and rode overnight with nine thousand Lu family troops.”

Speaking of this, the man’s eyes shimmered with tears, as if he had returned to that night of howling winds and surging cavalry, in utter despair.

In the face of doom, someone gave his life to save you.

Who would not weep?

Men do not shed tears easily—only when moved deeply.

“I still clearly remember how Lord Lu looked when he arrived—drenched in blood, barely able to stay atop his horse.”

“He had fought for days on the road, gone without sleep for nights, and the northern chill had already made him gravely ill—but he could not bear to leave thirty thousand civilians in danger, so he came himself.”

“He was barely holding on, yet still spoke.”

“Too late.”

“I, Lu Shenzhou, came too late. You’ve suffered because of me.”

At this, the giant’s lips trembled, his voice growing lower.

“Nine thousand Lu family troops fought fifty thousand Northern Wind cavalry, slaying eight thousand. Only three thousand Lu soldiers remained alive. The Lu family fought without fear—and the Northern Wind fled.”

Zhou Cheng frowned; he knew the battle reports from the north by heart—there was no record of Fengling Ferry.

The giant spoke with bitterness:

“Fengling Ferry sent not a single soldier the entire time. Only after the battle ended did Lord Lu demand the gates be opened.”

“The commander made a deal: the victory credit goes to him, and the gates open.”

“Lord Lu agreed.”

The giant, for some reason, grew suddenly melancholy:

“Lord Lu didn’t hesitate at all—he agreed immediately.”

“Among the thirty thousand civilians, many begged to join the Lu family troops—but Lord Lu refused them all.”

The giant could no longer control his voice, his sobs growing louder.

“Lord Lu smiled and said...”

“Strangers, go home soon.”

At this, the giant’s voice was hoarse, tears welling in his eyes.

“If I hadn’t needed to protect A Ru, a girl I couldn’t leave alone, I would have knelt and begged Lord Lu to let me hold his horse’s reins.”

A Ru was the woman’s name.

The woman held her child in one arm, gripping her husband’s hand in the other.

The giant said: “Lord Lu once said: ‘Go home soon, marry, have children. When you have a child, you’ll have hope. If you do, just tell me.’”

In a brief exchange, hearts laid bare; a man’s word carries a thousand gold.

“How could I break the promise I made to Lord Lu?”

“Compared to Lord Lu’s three-day, thousand-mile ride, what is our journey from the north?”

The giant gently stroked the child in his wife’s arms, his eyes filled with emotion:

"Later, the Shaobao retired to Mount Zhongnan, and now this child is already three years old. Something came up over the past three years, so my wife and I decided that no matter what, we must come this year to inform the Shaobao."

"Whether the Shaobao knows or not, my wife and I must come."

"We are here to fulfill a vow!"

After hearing this, Zhou Cheng carefully studied the people on the mountain path who wore the same attire as the big man—many of them were bringing children.

The big man laughed:

"Young master, no need to look further. We were only thirty thousand saved by the Shaobao back then, yet countless millions across the northern lands have received the Shaobao’s grace."

Hearing this, Zhou Cheng could not help but recall how Lu Chen had once resigned and retired.

Some ministers in the court had secretly submitted memorials.

"Execute Lu Chen."

The reason was:

"All under heaven owe him grace; should he harbor any disloyal intent, the mountains and rivers may collapse."

(End of chapter)