Chapter 62

Looking at Zhu Ying before him.

Fu Youde did not hesitate, striding forward without regard for the stench of blood on Zhu Ying’s person.

He spread his hands and lifted Zhu Ying up.

“Zhu Ying.”

“I’ve heard your name many times in the army—now at last I see you in person,” Fu Youde boomed with laughter.

“General Fu is a Duke of Great Ming, your fame echoing far and wide—I have long admired your name,” Zhu Ying replied at once with humility.

“You fought for over two months in the northern frontier, penetrating deep into the Tartar heartland, enduring peril—you’ve endured much.” Fu Youde spoke with deep emotion.

When he learned a force had remained behind in the northern frontier, Fu Youde had believed few would return.

Yet now he saw.

It surpassed his expectations.

Or rather, Zhu Ying’s command had surpassed everyone’s expectations.

Not only did he return alive, but he brought back thousands of soldiers; compared to the victories won against the Tartars, these losses were negligible.

“As soldiers of Great Ming, it is our duty to defend our homeland,” Zhu Ying replied at once.

Then,

Zhu Ying turned to face the multitude of soldiers behind him: “All soldiers, listen—pay respects to General Fu.”

As his voice fell,

Nearly three thousand soldiers bowed without hesitation, shouting in unison: “Hail General Fu!”

Though fewer than three thousand, their voices merged like thunder, echoing across the camp.

As the cries rose, the overwhelming killing intent surged forward like a wave—stillness and motion, as if the killing intent had taken form.

This was an army forged by months of battle and slaughter on foreign soil.

Some may have been new recruits, but now they had all been baptized by war, transformed into true battle-hardened veterans.

“These are soldiers tempered by the crucible of desperate war—such killing intent, a battle-hardened army.”

Fu Youde gazed at the three thousand soldiers before him, his heart filled with emotion.

These soldiers, like Zhu Ying, were caked in blood and grime—all had fought their way out of a sea of death.

Having commanded troops for years and personally helped forge the Great Ming Empire, Fu Youde had seen many elite armies—but this one, forged from the jaws of despair, was unquestionably worthy of his highest regard.

Fu Youde stepped forward and raised his hand: “All soldiers—stand at ease.”

“Thank you, General Fu,” the soldiers replied in unison.

With a rustle,

Every man straightened his body.

The powerful killing intent still hung invisible in the air; thousands of sharp eyes fixed on Fu Youde. A lesser commander might have quailed beneath such a gaze—but Fu Youde remained calm and composed.

“Soldiers, you have endured much.”

“You penetrated the northern frontier, plunged deep into enemy territory, placed yourselves in peril, held back enemy forces for Great Ming, and slew countless foes on foreign soil, crippling them.”

“This merit, I will report to Yingtian and present to His Majesty.”

“Your achievements will not be forgotten.”

“His Majesty will surely reward you according to your deeds,” Fu Youde declared loudly.

“I have one request.”

Zhu Ying bowed deeply before Fu Youde, his expression solemn.

“Speak your mind,” Fu Youde smiled.

Zhu Ying reached into his robe and pulled out a ledger stained crimson with blood.

“This is the roll of fallen soldiers from my Garrison Commander’s unit.”

“One thousand five hundred and seventy-eight names.”

“I beg General Fu to submit this to the Ministry of War and the imperial court—to grant mercy and support to the families of these heroic souls.”

Zhu Ying held the ledger with both hands and pleaded aloud.

“Please, General Fu, submit this to the court—grant mercy to the families of our fallen comrades.”

Behind Zhu Ying, thousands of soldiers shouted in unison.

In this moment,

No one remained unmoved.

Brotherhood, comradeship—here, in war, it was laid bare.

In this moment,

It had nothing to do with the glory won, the victories achieved.

This was what Zhu Ying and every soldier under him sought: justice for their fallen brothers, the support they rightfully deserved.

The men were gone—but behind them stood aging parents, children too young to speak.

Without support, their families would suffer.

Seeing this,

Fu Youde stepped forward slowly, his gaze complex as he stared at the bloodstained ledger.

At this moment,

He did not take it with one hand—he received it with both.

He opened it.

One by one, names stared back at him from the crimson pages.

Each had been written by Zhu Ying’s own hand.

After every battle, when tallying casualties, Zhu Ying personally inscribed each fallen comrade’s name.

Over two months of war,

Some died outright on the battlefield; many more succumbed to infected wounds.

Four thousand soldiers had set out.

Now fewer than twenty-five hundred remained.

This battle had cost them forty percent.

Though the victories were great, the dead were still dead.

“Rest assured, all soldiers.”

“I, Fu Youde, accept this ledger.”

“The compensation due to your fallen brothers will not be withheld.”

“This ledger will be submitted directly by me to Yingtian and to His Majesty,” Fu Youde declared, gripping the ledger tightly.

“Thank you, General Fu,” Zhu Ying said at once.

“Thank you, General Fu.”

The soldiers echoed their gratitude.

This time,

They sought compensation here because Zhu Ying distrusted the officials who distributed it.

Even though Emperor Zhu Yuanzhang in this Hongwu era punished corrupt officials with extreme severity—often executing them—many still stole compensation funds, embezzling the blood-money of these warriors.

Even though in today’s Hongwu era Zhu Yuanzhang treats corrupt officials with extreme harshness, killing them at the slightest offense, many still embezzle relief silver under the drive of profit, stealing the blood-money of soldiers who fought desperately for their lives.

Zhu Ying deliberately made this plea before so many commanders.

He brought forth this ledger.

To ensure his soldiers’ compensation was paid fairly, without injustice—only by drawing attention could such abuse be stopped.

“Where is the Chief of Military Discipline?”

Fu Youde called out loudly.

“Your servant is here.”

A commander stepped forward quickly.

“Zhu Ying, you and your men—if you have proof of merit, present it now for recording.”

“The Chief of Military Discipline will log your achievements, and rewards will be granted accordingly,” Fu Youde said.

“The Chief Military Commissioner will record your battle merits, and rewards will be distributed accordingly,” said Fu Youde.

Zhu Ying nodded at once.

He pulled a satchel from behind his back.

He hurled it to the ground.

A decaying human head, faintly reeking, lay before the officers.

Some preservation powder had been applied—standard issue for troops on campaign.

“This is the head of Ahachu, chieftain of the Jianzhou Tartars,” Zhu Ying pointed to the skull.

“This is the severed head of Aha Chu, chieftain of the Jianzhou Tartars,” Zhu Ying said, pointing to the head on the ground.

Fu Youde nodded.

Then,

Zhu Ying gestured to his soldiers: “One by one—no rush.”

Zhu Ying gestured to the soldiers behind him: “Take turns, one at a time. Don’t rush.”

“Yes.”

The soldiers all responded in unison.

Then they stepped forward in order, opened their packs, and upended them onto the ground.

Clatter.

Only then did Lieutenant Dai Zhang Wu pour out more than seventy ears from his satchel.

Then came Wei Quan.

Wei Quan.

Three other lieutenants—Zhuang Wei, and two others—stepped forward, each dumping sixty to seventy ears from their satchels.

All the officers stared in stunned silence.

……

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(End of chapter)