Chapter 555: The Boundless Majesty of the World's Gallant Heroes

"Just a tiny place beyond the northern border, a mere speck of land, and yet he dares provoke Us like this—what does he mean by it?! Just two generals of the Sixth Heaven, leading a ragged army that eats rotten meat and wilted greens in the freezing snow—who gave them the nerve!"

"Who gave them the gall, to dare do this here!"

"To dare insult Us before the eyes of the whole world!"

Jiang Yuan's furious voice thundered like thunder; the palace maids and eunuchs serving inside and outside the hall all trembled, bowing their heads low, afraid that some wrong gesture or poorly done task might drag them into the Emperor's wrath.

Though Jiang Yuan was extravagant and pleasure-seeking, he treated those within the palace quite well, often bestowing generous rewards. He loved amusement, and compared to the late Emperor, the rules were far less strict, giving more chances to earn rewards and favors.

They had never seen the handsome, martial-and-literate Majesty so enraged.

It was as if someone had said a single sentence—

Just that one sentence—

—and it struck precisely through the composure of Emperor Ying Jiang Yuan, making the fury in his heart swell in an instant, nearly beyond control, so that he wished he could drag the one who spoke those words here and beat him to death in the courtyard!

Jiang Yuan ground his teeth: "What beast, what beast!"

His fists clenched tight, his teeth bit down hard, the veins on his forehead pulsing, as if a whole furnace of rage were burning deep in his chest, nearly scorching him through. The assembled ministers all urged him not to raise a great army over a single sentence, but this only made the fury in Jiang Yuan's heart grow heavier.

Wei Yiwen, He Ruo Qinhu, and others knew it perfectly well.

Jiang Yuan's throne existed only because, to Grand Preceptor Jiang Su, Jiang Yuan held no particular significance; Jiang Gao's popularity and reputation among the people could affect Jiang Su's ability to commit fully to war.

A man of opposing political views was more troublesome than a pleasure-seeking wastrel.

To Jiang Su—

Jiang Gao and Jiang Yuan made no difference.

He only cared whether he could utterly defeat Qin Huang Li Guanyi.

If he could not win, then even if Jiang Gao in the rear earned a reputation for virtue, so what? And if he could win, the deficits left by Jiang Yuan's extravagance could be fully replenished by the Qin state's treasury reserves, with plenty left over.

Large-scale campaigns consumed enormous amounts of gold, silver, and logistical supplies.

But once victorious, the returns were generous enough.

Moreover, Wei Yiwen vaguely suspected that Jiang Wanxiang's arrangement was made with open eyes—if Grand Preceptor Jiang Su won, the Grand Preceptor would likely turn around and depose Jiang Yuan, supporting Jiang Gao to the throne.

And if Grand Preceptor Jiang Su were unfortunately defeated—

Then Jiang Gao, as an idle prince, still had decent relations with Qin Huang; Jiang Cai had an old acquaintance with Pojun, and the wife of Ashina, a great general under Qin Huang, was Jiang Gao's cousin. These layered connections, combined with Jiang Gao's reputation for benevolence and his protection of Qin Yulong—

Given Li Guanyi's character—

Jiang Gao would be able to end his days well regardless, perhaps even being enfeoffed as a Carefree Marquis, living out his life in leisure.

Win or lose, Jiang Wanxiang had found Jiang Gao a path to survival.

Even such a heroic figure, before his death, calculated so meticulously for his children. Wei Yiwen sighed inwardly, yet felt something complex—whether it was that he had failed to resist temptation in a moment, or that the posthumous title Wenzheng held too great a meaning for a scholar like him—

He had already taken Jiang Yuan's side, so he needed to break Jiang Wanxiang's final scheme.

Perhaps Jiang Yuan had also seen the deeper meaning behind Jiang Wanxiang's arrangement.

Knowing he was nothing but a puppet, that was why he grew so furious and murderous over some unknown person's single sentence; or perhaps, because Jiang Yuan guessed that after Grand Preceptor Jiang Su's great victory, the Grand Preceptor would turn around and depose him, he indulged himself so.

Like a man drinking, indulging in pleasure under a kind of self-anesthesia and self-deception.

Knowing that once things came to pass, something terrible would befall him, yet powerless to stop it, he could only indulge freely, forget the blade swinging toward him, and even subconsciously try to delay Jiang Su's pace toward victory.

That was why he wanted to win over Wei Yiwen and He Ruo Qinhu.

Every action stemmed from fear.

The pleasure of indulgence, the fear of what was about to erupt—these emotions had been stimulating Jiang Yuan for the past two years, and the composure he had accumulated over the years before, even back when he was the Second Prince, was fragile beyond belief; killing intent, built upon accumulated fear, verged on madness.

But this madness and the lurking hysteria—was it aimed at the one who spoke that sentence,

Or was it aimed at—

Wei Yiwen understood Jiang Yuan's thoughts.

But this was something he had pieced together step by step over the years of watching Jiang Yuan's excellent disguise, and over these past three-plus years, arriving at roughly eighty or ninety percent accuracy.

Yet that unknown strategist in the Taiping Army—

Could he really observe from the outside and see the weakness and fear in Jiang Yuan's heart, and the blustering fury it bred?

Wei Yiwen sighed inwardly.

Dantai Xianming—has another man appeared who is no less than you?

What a venomous schemer!

Yet he still advised:

"Your Majesty, you must not."

Jiang Yuan's fury only grew, and he roared: "Must not, must not!"

"We ask you—why must We not?!!"

Wei Yiwen looked at Jiang Yuan and said: "Saibei is extremely far from the Central Plains, and without the aid of Jiangnan's water routes, mobilizing troops and supplies will inevitably drain manpower."

Jiang Yuan said: "So what?!"

Wei Yiwen said: "Now that Qin Yulong has defected, the Zhenbei Pass area requires a famous general of the Eighth Heaven and three Sixth Heaven generals to assist, plus an additional hundred thousand troops, merely to hold Yue Pengwu in distant check."

"The situation in the northwest is already as it is, and in the south, Grand Preceptor Jiang Su faces Qin Huang."

"Does Your Majesty intend to cut off the logistics for the Zhenbei Pass region?"

"Or to siphon away the manpower from Grand Preceptor Jiang Su?"

Two sentences, cutting precisely to the core of Jiang Yuan's heart. His fury visibly ebbed, but then he fell silent and said coldly: "We understand. We shall not touch Zhenbei Pass, nor shall We touch the Grand Preceptor."

Wei Yiwen breathed a quiet sigh of relief within.

He stood on Jiang Yuan's side, yet still hoped Jiang Yuan would not go so mad. Then he heard Jiang Yuan's voice, terrifyingly cold: "But... are there not still plenty of common folk in the world?"

Wei Yiwen's head snapped up.

Jiang Yuan said coldly: "When the sovereign is insulted, it is as if the nation itself is insulted."

"Let these common folk vent Our anger for Us."

An indescribable emotion exploded in Wei Yiwen's chest, and he could not help but say: "The direction of Beicheng, and even the Grand Tutor's side, already bear very heavy corvée labor. Your Majesty is building palaces, digging canals—the suffering has gone on for years!"

He stepped forward a few paces, this aged Prime Minister cupped his hands, and said loudly:

"Year after year of endless labor, the common folk are worn out. I humbly beg Your Majesty to take heed and show some restraint!"

Jiang Yuan stared fixedly at him, swept his sleeve, and said no more.

After court was dismissed that day, Wei Yiwen's chest heaved, his face pale with rage. An old minister such as he understood the nation's strength, and knew that if things continued like this, a popular revolt would break out before long.

Then he started in alarm.

Is this what that poisonous schemer truly wished to do?!

He had precisely seized hold of Jiang Yuan's thoughts, and with a single sentence pierced through the unwillingness and fear this Emperor Ying had been accumulating for years on end, guiding Jiang Yuan to do things that would wreck the nation's strength, and also driving a wedge between Jiang Yuan and Jiang Gao, whose relationship was already terrible.

Now even if Wei Yiwen spoke all of this out, Jiang Yuan would only think that Wei Yiwen was deliberately exaggerating the facts, simply trying to further influence him.

Ruthless, yet open and aboveboard, carrying a sweeping momentum.

This is a strategist of the grand-tide level.

Wei Yiwen fell silent, and sighed bitterly.

Under Qin Huang's banner, what a gathering of talents!

He instinctively looked toward the front ranks, saw those famed ministers departing, saw familiar places—without Yuwen Lie, without Jiang Gao, and without Qin Yulong. At this moment, there was no one who dared step forward to stand on his side and counsel Emperor Ying.

Was it a single misstep that left him no choice?

Or is it that there is no suffering in the world that is not self-made?

Wei Yiwen laughed at himself. Knowing Jiang Yuan would not listen, he still wrote down his concerns and submitted a memorial.

The Emperor was deeply displeased. Afterward, he turned to his attending ministers and said with a cold laugh:

"Wei Yiwen claims that by his keeping the civil officials in check, he lets me sit upon the throne."

"And now he brings Jiang Su to pressure me."

"Puffed up with his own merits, a powerful minister endangering the state—what is his intent, what is his intent!"

"As if he, Wei Yiwen, alone has the nation's interests at heart. Am I then nothing but a straw sack stuffed with rice?! Do I not value the realm and the country?"

In the fourth year of Daye, second month, on the day Jiwei, the Emperor ascended the Fishing Terrace and went to Yangzi Ford, holding a grand banquet for all officials. Jiang Yuan, heedless of Wei Yiwen's obstruction, or rather, after these three years, had gradually seized control of the court's power.

In the season of spring warmth and blossoms, he still went to admire the water channels, the dragon-boat moving slowly along.

The dragon-boat had four tiers, was forty-five chang high, and two hundred zhang long.

The upper tier held the main hall, the inner hall, and the eastern and western court halls—everything one could need. The middle two tiers contained a hundred and twenty chambers, all ornamented with gold and jade. The lowest tier was where the palace maids resided.

The Empress rode the Soaring Chi Boat, slightly smaller in scale, but identical in ornamentation.

There were also nine Floating-Picture Boats, with three tiers of water halls.

There were also several thousand boats named Yangcai, Zhu Niao, Cang Chi, Bai Hu, and the like. The harem, officials, monks, and Daoist Priests rode in them, and they also carried the tribute goods of the various inner and outer departments. These great ships required men along both banks to bare their bodies and pull the great ropes to drag the vessels slowly forward.

They were called Trackers.

For this outing, more than eighty thousand Trackers were employed.

Among them, more than nine thousand were Trackers of the Yangcai tier and above. Jiang Yuan could not bear to see these wretched, ragged trackers baring their shoulders and backs before his eyes, so he gave these men brocade robes to wear.

The brocade robes were slick and unsuitable for exerting force; one careless slip and a man would fall to the ground, knocking himself bloody—but the Emperor enjoyed the sight.

Looking ahead at the vast expanse of heaven and earth, with the wind blowing in, those brocade robes billowed, as if a great hall were moving through the world, light and airy, as if about to take flight.

Jiang Yuan laughingly styled them the "Palace Foundation."

Seen from afar, the sight was quite magnificent, and his mood lifted considerably. He composed a verse:

"The dragon leaps amid the clouds, displaying its majesty; the banners stream in the wind, revealing their might."

"Shanhe enters the painting, a thousand autumns of grandeur; heaven and earth fill the breast, the four seas at peace."

These vessels, bow to stern, stretched for more than two hundred li. The Imperial Guards marched along both banks, their banners shading the fields. In every prefecture and county they passed, the common folk within five hundred li were ordered to present food; but with so much food, they could not possibly eat it all.

These fine rice and fine meats, when left over, would go a bit off when reheated for a second meal, so they were all thrown outside and buried.

This was precisely the spring plowing season. Many of those forced to deliver tribute brought the very rice seed meant for sowing, and these beauties casually tossed it aside. At the same time, taking advantage of Wei Yiwen's absence, he summoned troops from all directions to campaign against the Taiping Army beyond the Northern Pass.

Provisions and armor were made, loaded onto carts, and hauled northward.

Because the Northern Pass was simply too far from the Central Plains, a sufficient number of conscripts had to be mobilized. In the spring season, plowing and sowing missed their time, and many fields lay fallow. Added to this was famine, and grain prices gradually rose; in the worst places, a dou of rice cost several hundred coins.

But Jiang Yuan merely continued to ship provisions without affecting Jiang Su's position.

The two men together pushed three shi of rice. The road was treacherous and long; along the way, the men ate up much of the provisions themselves, and by the time they neared the Northern Pass, there was little grain left. Many common folk were thrown into panic.

The provisions had been hauled here, and now there was no grain left—were they to cut their own flesh and dry it for food?!

Their hearts were seized with dread.

Beyond the Northern Pass, Master Wen Qingyu, his expression mild and serene, propped up his chin. In spring, the rivers here still bore some solid ice. He held a green bamboo pole and fished, his manner calm.

Xue Tianxing said: "Jiang Yuan has mobilized troops to support the attack on our position here, but there hasn't been much real movement. A few clashes, but nothing fierce."

Master Wen Qingyu said mildly: "Sending troops across ten thousand li to campaign—that is the hand of a famed general. But among those under Jiang Yuan capable of this, some are under Jiang Su, and some are at Beicheng holding the line against Marshal Yue."

"He does not understand large-scale army operations over long distances, yet he insists on giving the orders himself."

"Even if Ying's foundations are great, they cannot withstand being drained like this. Set your mind at ease. Now that he has come, we shall match him using the tactics left behind by that old tortoise Lu Youxian. We need not seek victory—only one word: drag!"

General Yuan Shitong said: "Fight a battle that cannot be won?"

Master Wen Qingyu said lightly: "Set your sights further. Do not fix them only on the local battlefield. This great war is a war for the realm—the battlefield is not merely this small Northern Pass, but everywhere within our sight, and beyond it."

It seemed a fish had taken the bait; Master Wen Qingyu's fishing rod twitched.

The line touched the water's surface, sending out ripples. In Master Wen Qingyu's eyes, the water's surface reflected those ripples, which shattered the white clouds floating there, looking like a map of the realm's geomancy.

Master Wen Qingyu fished upon this cold lake beyond the distant Northern Pass, and said lightly:

"The battlefield is the entire realm!"

"Do you remember what I told you?"

General Yuan Shitong said: "... A great war is the fastest way to drain a nation's strength."

Wen Qingyu propped up his chin, watching the ripples spread across the surface of the icy lake, and said: "Yes, national strength is being consumed, extravagant pleasures — Jiang Su understands military strategy, but in this respect, he still cannot compare to the likes of us."

"Those who influence an emperor are not only flattering ministers; enemies can as well."

"The victory of today lies beyond the battlefield."

He watched the ripples on the water and said: "The fish is about to take the bait."

Yuan Shitong said quietly: "Is it Jiang Yuan?"

Wen Qingyu smiled slightly and said: "General Yuan Shitong can also understand what I left unsaid."

Yuan Shitong squared his chest and lifted his head.

Wen Qingyu said: "Pity, you guessed wrong."

"It's not."

So Yuan Shitong became somewhat dejected once again.

Yet in his heart he still had many doubts. He felt that this Mr. Wen Qingyu always spoke in roundabout ways — wasn't he just talking about Jiang Yuan earlier? How had it suddenly become someone else?

If the one taking the bait is not Jiang Yuan, then who is it?

Who can understand Mr.'s words?

Surely it can't be that my brain just isn't working well enough?

He instinctively looked toward his good friend Xue Tianxing beside him, hoping to catch even a trace of puzzlement on Xue Tianxing's face.

But Xue Tianxing, as expected, disappointed him once more.

Xue Tianxing's face wore a thoughtful look as he said: "Mr. intends to use Jiang Yuan's northern campaign as a lure?"

"Ordering Jiang Yuan to march north is not the objective, but rather... a means?"

A faint tremor stirred in Xue Tianxing's eyes.

Wen Qingyu said with a calm smile: "It is the stratagem of my friend from the Western Regions, Yan Daiqing."

"I am merely passing it along on his behalf."

Yuan Shitong muttered: "Western Regions Yan Daiqing, Southwest Yan Daiqing — just how many Yan Daiqings are there?"

Wen Qingyu seemed to be amused by this unprompted grumbling, and laughed at length: "Only one Yan Daiqing."

"Two generals, set your sights further; do not fixate solely on Jiang Yuan."

With a flick of his wrist, he caught a fish, and said lightly:

"The world is vast, and heroes rise on all sides."

"Do not underestimate the people of this world."

The fish flicked its tail, sending down a droplet, like a chess piece falling onto the board, stirring up countless ripples.

Jiang Yuan was admiring the scenery when yet another urgent report arrived—

"Your Majesty, terrible news, terrible news!"

"Someone has rebelled, rallying vagrants to storm our nation's cities!"

Jiang Yuan's expression froze; he then suddenly rose, furious: "What?!"

That day, in several places throughout the State of Ying, heroes rose up in revolt, each opening granaries to relieve the starving common folk and commanding the countryside. By the second day, there were already over a dozen such places; by the seventh or eighth day, across Ying's vast realm of ten thousand li, there were already a full seventy-two bands of rebels, each proclaiming himself king.

These were the embers left behind by Wolf Wang Chen Fubi back in those years.

They exploded at this most critical moment.

Several years ago, Dou De and Shan Xiong — the two who had led a sudden strike on Ducheng — did the same now: they broke through a pass and distributed all the grain being transported directly to the people. Dou De shouted: "The grain is being sent north, yet the people arrive without grain — by law, this merits execution! Today, following the state's policy means death, and rising up with us also means death!"

"Gentlemen—"

Dou De looked at the common folk before him, and suddenly thought back to long, long ago.

Seven or eight years ago, Jiang Wanxiang's spirit had been like a dragon, Emperor Chen had been composed and cold, the Great Khan had galloped across the grasslands, the Martial God King had been arrogant and disdainful — and the Qin Huang of that time had been nothing more than a boy of fifteen or sixteen.

He had still been young back then, and the world of that time — what magnificent, sweeping storms it had held.

Sword Madman and Emperor Ying departed one after another.

This once-magnificent, heroic world had already begun to wear the loneliness of a final movement drawing to its close.

But how could the heroes of the world be only those of the older generation!

Dou De drew a deep breath. He recalled the words of Yu Langwang back then, looked at these common folk burdened with corvée labor and robbed of their farming season, and shouted loudly:

"In this age of great chaos, death is certain!"

"Do you want to starve to death!"

"Or do you want to die a full-bellied ghost?!"

Just that one line was enough.

Dou De rose to prominence.

But Dou De was merely one strand amid this beacon-lit age of chaos. As for the cause of this upheaval, it could not be traced to a single event — it was the accumulation over these past years of incident after incident, each seemingly incapable of affecting the state of the world, that together brought it about.

In an age of chaos, the hearts of men are unsettled.

Yet it was nothing more than a single piece in the hand of that gentle, affable scholar.

The piece fell, stirring the hearts of men, and so the world burst apart once more.

And over such matters, Jiang Yuan's fury and unwillingness ran exceedingly deep.

The histories record that he raged to his close ministers: "When the bandits raise a single cry, tens of thousands follow — this only proves the people of the realm do not wish to be numerous; when they grow numerous, they gather and become robbers. If we do not exterminate them utterly, there will be no warning to those who come after."

These bandits raised an arm in a single shout, and rebel armies of a hundred thousand rose from all directions.

The people of the realm ought not to be so numerous — when they grow numerous, they become bandits!

Wretched commoners, eating Our grain, spending Our silver, showing no gratitude for the grace of their sovereign, and yet they dare to rebel!

Kill, kill, kill!

They should be killed! They should be killed!

Even a harsh official, hearing such words, would doubt his own ears; he did not know whether to say this sovereign's disposition was too poor, or that one should never overestimate the moral baseline of a person.

Winds rose from all four directions. Yue Pengwu, with a hundred thousand troops, had pinned down three hundred thousand of Ying's northern army, preventing them from leaving. Qin Huang personally checked Jiang Su, or rather, these two top divine generals had mutually traded pieces against each other.

The seventy or eighty thousand Taiping troops were like a nail.

At the border, pricking at the softest, weakest part of Jiang Yuan's heart.

Usually popping out, but once fighting was to begin, immediately shrinking back like a turtle.

And across the vast Central Plains, bandits rose everywhere — the larger ones over ten thousand, the smaller ones still over a thousand, gathering as thieves, giving the imperial army no end of trouble. He Ruo Qinhu stood beneath the imperial palace, gazing at the vastness of heaven and earth; Jiang Wanxiang's Star-Plucking Tower had long been sealed shut.

Standing here, he did not see the Ying emperor who once stood at the heights, gazing at the myriad phenomena of the world with grandeur — he only saw that the Star-Plucking Tower too had taken on a measure of forlorn loneliness.

"Divine Wu Wang, Chen Fubi…"

He Ruo Qinhu spoke this name, not knowing what feeling to bring to it.

Resentment, dread, unwillingness, or admiration.

Only now did he understand.

Wolf Wang Chen Fubi's final, seemingly suicidal charge was not merely a single sword strike — until today, they had always believed that the Divine Wu Wang's last desperate strike had shattered Ying emperor Jiang Wanxiang's fortune, causing Jiang Wanxiang, who could have lived another twenty years or more, to perish prematurely.

Shattering the dream of the Great Ying unifying the world.

Just this one sword was enough to rank Chen Fubi among the world's foremost divine generals.

But when top-tier national hands play chess, an early idle piece—

When its meaning is revealed later, it is so… magnificent and sweeping.

He Ruo Qinhu murmured: "Is this the second sword… Chen Fubi?"

Passing down Wu Gong, ideals, and military strategy across the land, like scattered sparks. While Jiang Wanxiang still lived, these sparks were dim, but once there was no one left to suppress the situation, these sparks would gather into the most lethal of swords.

One sword in the past, one sword in the future.

One sword severs the Great Ying's fortune, one sword shall sever the Great Ying's dynasty!

What a Chen Fubi.

What a—

Divine Wu Wang!

He Ruo Qinhu had previously been unconvinced by the Divine Wu Wang, feeling this man was merely ruthlessly skilled in Wu Gong, practicing forbidden arts, and that if he too practiced forbidden techniques, the outcome was still uncertain.

But now he could not but be convinced, and in his daze, a thought arose in He Ruo Qinhu's heart — if this situation were allowed to continue, would the decline of the Great Ying not begin and end with the Yu Langwang?

How wretched, how absurd, how—

Not to be made an enemy of.

Chen Fubi, oh Chen Fubi.

For three hundred years of Chen's dynasty, there was such a man as you.

And after you left, there were still people who could stir the situation and draw out this sword of yours! There were also Dou De, Shan Xiong, and such figures, raising the banner of revolt, pleading for the people, heedless of their own lives.

"After you departed, the world fell silent."

"But this gallant, sweeping spirit has not yet been severed."

He Ruo Qinhu suddenly thought of Yu Wen Lie, who had been arrogant all his life, and laughed self-mockingly.

The world's gallantry has reached this point — one lingers over it yet hates it.

An imperial edict arrived, summoning He Ruo Qinhu.

This divine general was silent for a long time. He had already entered the game, as if his body had stepped into a swampy mire, hands and feet all bound and restrained, no longer free. He merely sighed, glanced once at the Star-Plucking Tower, and turned to enter the palace.

The Star-Plucking Tower soared into the sky, yet carried much loneliness, no longer seeing the old acquaintances of those years. Subtly desolate — this Great Ying that once swallowed ten thousand li in ambition, once vast and mighty, in just a few short years seemed to have exhausted its mandate.

Desolate and lonely.

He Ruo Qinhu took one last look into the distance, and strode inside with the eunuch.

Only murmuring in his heart:

"Grand Preceptor, Army God, what are you doing…"

Jiang Su raised his eyes, looking ahead at the blazing Fire Qilin army, his pupils hard as iron.

He was — waiting!

?? Begging for monthly votes, friends~