Chapter 1048

On the ground against the wall east of the thatched shed, several stones were stacked, topped with wooden planks; in the firelight, she could clearly see two layers of straw mats laid upon the planks, and atop those, a thick layer of wheat straw.

Two human-shaped depressions had been worn into the wheat straw, clearly showing that the two men had been sleeping there before Pan Yun knocked.

Pan Yun took two steps inside the room and, nearing the wall, noticed straw stuffed into the cracks of the wooden walls—yet thin threads of cold wind still squeezed through the gaps.

Pan Yun fell silent.

The two old men, already hunched over, had dragged two low stools from the west side and invited them to sit.

There were only two stools, so he gathered a pile of wheat straw for Seeing Miao Zhen and the others to sit on.

Pan Yun walked over and sat down; Seeing Miao Zhen and the other three stood obediently behind her, not sitting.

The two old men understood at once: Pan Yun's status was higher than theirs.

The two old men did not mind; they sat cross-legged on the wheat straw, their cloudy eyes wide as they stared at Pan Yun, their voices hoarse: "You just said—you are who?"

Pan Yun said: "I think I need to reintroduce myself. I am Pan Yun, National Teacher of Great Ming. Your address was given to me by the Minister of War and Chief Cabinet Minister Yu Qian."

"National Teacher of Great Ming?"

"Yes. Which of you is Zhao Shizhu?"

The old man who opened the door said: "I am he. This is my comrade Hu Ning."

Pan Yun: "Reconnaissance soldiers Zhao Shizhu and Hu Ning—do you still wish to rejoin the ranks?"

Without hesitation, the two rose from the ground and stood at attention, firmly saying: "Zhao Shizhu (Hu Ning) wishes to rejoin, swearing lifelong loyalty to Great Ming!"

Pan Yun asked in surprise: "You believe me so easily, just like that?"

Zhao Shizhu grinned: "I don't know if you're truly the National Teacher, but you're certainly from Great Ming. Few Han Chinese from the Central Plains ever come to this small town. Your accents haven't changed, your faces show no dust or wear—you must have come from our glorious Great Ming. Whether your words are true or not, at least on this point, you haven't lied."

"We've only got two rotten lives left. Even if you're lying, what does it matter?"

Pan Yun said solemnly: "I am not lying. I am truly the National Teacher of Great Ming. I have come to reorganize Great Ming's border strategy."

Pan Yun looked at Miao He and said softly: "Bring out the supplies. The dew is heavy and the night is cold—someone should make something warm to eat."

Miao He agreed. Together with Tao Yanbai, they took rice, flour, and some meat and vegetables from their jade space and began stewing porridge over the fire the two veterans had lit.

The two veterans' teeth were clearly bad, and porridge was easy to eat.

The two veterans watched, stunned, as the group pulled various items from their sleeves as if by magic.

Pan Yun offered no explanation, and immediately began asking about their situation.

The two veterans answered Pan Yun's questions while keeping half an eye on Miao He and the others.

Their small squad originally had six men who survived to reach this small town.

Later, one died in conflict with locals; another was the first sent to deliver a message—but vanished.

They assumed he had died on the road.

So when they sent a second messenger back, they sent two men.

They succeeded in returning to Great Ming, but both were old by then, and never came back.

"We heard they died of illness less than a year after returning—they walked four years to get back to Great Ming. They must have endured too many hardships on the road; their bodies gave out," Zhao Shizhu said. "But we did reestablish contact with the border troops. For over ten years since, occasional merchant caravans from Great Ming have brought us letters and goods."

Pan Yun said: "Eight years ago, the border troops received your message saying you had trained a group of recruits here?"

Zhao Shizhu smiled bitterly: "That letter was written ten years ago. We didn't expect it to take two years to reach you. At the time, we heard the late Emperor had passed, and the new Emperor was a child. We feared renewed warfare on the frontier, so we specifically inquired about the Wala's troop deployments."

"Though our town is small, it lies on the frontier, garrisoned by a major Wala force. Since the founding Emperor seized the throne, the remnants of the Yuan have never accepted defeat—especially the so-called Golden Family."

Zhao Shizhu and Hu Ning lived among the Mongols and understood their psychology: "Common folk don't care. Whether the emperor is Han or Mongol, their lives go on the same. Besides, under the Yuan, life was worse than under our Great Ming. The Yuan rulers oppressed these tribal people, treating them as serfs."

"But the tribal nobles refused to accept it. They longed to restore their ancestors' glory. Among them, the Wala and the Tatar clans even sought to surpass the Golden Family."

Zhao Shizhu frowned: "But our Great Ming has been lax in guarding against the Wala. Though stationed on the frontier, I still receive news—the imperial court has lavished rewards on the Wala, who use these gifts to subdue other grassland tribes and crush the Tatars into submission."

"Ten years ago, we realized that if this continued, the Wala would grow too powerful. Once they subdued the other tribes, they would surely turn south and invade Great Ming. So we wrote back, using plain language to give our location, and coded language to urge stronger border defenses. If possible, we advised sowing discord among the grassland tribes so they could not unite under the Wala. But… sigh~~"

Pan Yun thought inwardly: Even two lowly veterans could see this problem—yet the imperial court knew nothing. The border strategy had decayed.

And such an important message, once sent back, was reduced to only an address and a name; everything else was unrecorded. No wonder Zhu Qizhen charged blindly toward the frontier and suffered a crushing defeat.

"Less than a year after we sent the letter, war broke out here. First, two nearby tribes fought over land. After we barely quelled that, the Wala attacked the Nogai Khanate. Our adopted children—some willingly, some forced—joined the fighting. Heavy casualties."

Zhao Shizhu sighed: "The dead were buried outside the town. The survivors scattered into the wilds. In the end, only the two of us old fools remain."

Pan Yun: "What happened to your house?"

Zhao Shizhu smiled bitterly: "Those children lived with us for twenty years—not our own, but better than blood. The dead had to be buried; the wounded had to be treated and kept alive. We ran out of money, so we sold the house. We had nowhere else to go, so we built this wooden shed."

Hu Ning: "Luckily, we still have our skills. We're better than the locals—we can build a place that blocks wind and snow. If anyone else tried, they wouldn't survive one winter."

Pan Yun ran her fingers along the straw stuffed in the cracks and sneered: "Is this what you call skill? Couldn't you at least plaster a mud house? What good is this wooden shack?"

Hu Ning: "If you lived here three months, you'd understand. Mud houses are hard to build—and even if you build one, you can't keep it."

"Here, good clay is scarce. Even if we could build a stone-and-mud house, we're old, and most of the children are disabled—they can't protect us anymore. If we built a fine house, we'd die faster."

Here, houses could be seized. No government would defend them.

Pan Yun understood. She frowned: "So even if I give you things, you can't hold onto them?"

Zhao Shizhu's eyes flashed with sudden sharpness. He grinned: "With enough money, even the weakest among us can hold onto anything."

Pan Yun understood: they lacked money, so they couldn't keep a house—but with enough money, even the grandest house would be theirs to hold.

Pan Yun slapped her thigh: "Fine. I'll lend you a hand."