Chapter 84

Pan Yue gripped his broadsword, aimed at the Tartar's spine, and drove it down hard; the Tartar's eyes bulged as he felt Pan Yu's throat, his mouth opened, and blood gushed onto Pan Yu's head.

He rolled halfway, trying to see who killed him, but collapsed before he could finish.

Pan Yue shoved him aside and pulled at Pan Yu, who still clamped his teeth on the Tartar's neck, shouting into his ear: "Pan Yu, Pan Yu, he's dead, let go, he's dead!"

Pan Yu released his grip, raised his foggy eyes to his brother, opened his mouth, and blood spilled out.

Pan Yue saw at once that his internal organs were damaged; his eyes burned red as he helped Pan Yu lean half-sitting against a tree.

He turned, pulled the blade from the Tartar's back, and charged toward the other two Tartars still entangled…

Jin Zhangli hurried after him, stomped on the Tartar's hand that had just reached for his knife, and picked up the blade.

Without horses or swords, even the fiercest Tartars could only fight hand-to-hand—and they had swords.

Eight men killed three Tartars.

Though all were badly wounded, each covered in blood and bruised, they were happy.

"Once Tartars dismount, they don't seem so terrifying."

"If Zong Silang hadn't run out, he wouldn't have had to die."

Looking at the severed head lying not far away, everyone fell silent.

Pan Yue ignored them; he ran back to Pan Yu, felt his body, and asked: "Where does it hurt?"

Pan Yu felt pain all over, especially in his belly; tears welled up as he struggled to speak: "Big brother, I—I feel like I'm going to die."

Pan Yue wiped the tears and blood from his face, but more kept coming; he pretended not to see and scolded softly: "Don't talk nonsense—I see you're fine."

Pan Yue pulled a string from his collar; tied to it was a small red cloth pouch, hanging around his neck.

He unfastened the pouch and pulled out a piece of paper, now turned to charcoal.

It had burned away, yet still showed its original triangular fold; he touched it, and the paper crumbled to ash.

Pan Yue stared at it, unsure if it would work, but shoved it into Pan Yu's mouth anyway: "Swallow it."

Pan Yu recognized it—it was the peace talisman their little sister had sent; after receiving it, their father had sewn three cloth pouches, each holding one talisman for them to wear.

He'd always thought it was just a symbol—proof their sister still thought of them; he wore it not because he believed it could protect him, but because it was her prayer, and when he missed her, he could touch the pouch and feel better.

He never imagined this talisman could truly grant protection.

At that moment, he'd felt it: when the blade swung toward his neck, the pouch on his chest burned hot; his foot slipped, he fell, and the blade struck his back instead—but his back felt as if covered by a stone slab.

He heard a thud, felt the force of the blade cutting into him—but he wasn't wounded.

Thinking of the talisman's miracle, though swallowing ash was disgusting, he opened his mouth and ate it all.

Pan Yue pulled out his own pouch, untied it, and took out his talisman.

His talisman was hot, half-charred, but not fully turned to ash.

Pan Yue's eyes lit up; he slipped his talisman into Pan Yu's pouch, then hesitated, unwilling to let go—he pulled it out and shoved it into Pan Yu's mouth: "Just eat them all. Folk tales say talisman water cures illness—maybe swallowing works better than wearing."

This talisman was worse than ash; the burned one had a faint fragrance, but this one carried a strange odor and the stench of blood.

But he'd just drunk a Tartar's blood—what wasn't fit to swallow?

He chewed and forced it down.

Pan Yue stared at him intently: "How do you feel?"

Pan Yu felt a little stronger; he smiled at his brother: "I feel much better."

Pan Yue: "Good."

He turned to look at the others; no one knew if more scattered Tartars lurked outside—no one dared move; all sat or lay quietly on the ground.

Three corpses lay sprawled on the earth.

Pan Yue scanned them, picked one, stepped forward, stripped off its armor, raised his broadsword, and swung—head severed in one stroke.

Jin Zhangli and the others stared wide-eyed.

Pan Yue said: "This head belongs to my brother; the other two, divide them yourselves."

Jin Zhangli and his brother Jin Zhongwu exchanged glances, looked at the remaining four, then rose, grabbed a broadsword, and chopped off one head: "This one's ours; the last one's yours."

The four exchanged glances—no objections.

Without Pan Yue's plan, without Pan Yu and Jin Zhangli leaping from the trees to drag down the three Tartars, they'd never have killed anyone.

The four whispered among themselves and decided to credit Yiside Sect's Zong Silang, splitting the head's merit equally.

They were all exiled families of disgraced officials, all young; a Tartar head's merit meant much to them.

It could improve their families' lives.

"Should we return to Huicheng now?" Pan Yue stood behind a tree, gazing far off. "Wait a little longer."

After the battle, everyone trusted Pan Yue; he said wait, so they waited.

Pan Yue stared fixedly into the distance, glancing back now and then at Pan Yu leaning against the tree; he was more anxious than anyone, more desperate to return to Huicheng—but he couldn't. He had to confirm soldiers from the garrison were out—otherwise, they'd be sitting targets.

After nearly half an hour, Pan Yue saw dust rising in the distance; his eyes brightened, he studied the direction and movement of the dust, then turned sharply: "We leave now."

Pan Yue helped Pan Yu onto the horse, hung the severed heads and armor on its back, hefted his sword, mounted, and rode ahead.

Jin Zhangli and Jin Zhongwu shared one horse; the remaining four lifted the worst-injured man onto another horse, placed Zong Silang's head on his lap, and the other three ran alongside, keeping pace.

Eight men, with horses and heads, trotted for a long while until they reached Datong City.

The gate guards spotted them, shouted for them to halt from afar, checked their identities and the heads on the horses, then let them in.

Soldiers inside were assigned to receive them.

Three Tartar heads meant nothing to Datong's garrison—they'd seen too many.

!. Read

Rice harvest was nearly complete; Tartars from the north frequently raided southward.

Minor clashes kept happening.

The imperial court had questioned the Tatars repeatedly—but the Tatars never admitted these raiders were soldiers, or even civilians.

When asked about the Tartars, they replied that they were horse bandits, and the Tartars themselves suffered greatly from them, having been unable to eradicate them despite several campaigns.

Thus, every year at this time, Datong Prefecture would send troops to "suppress bandits," securing some battle merits—but no one had ever seen three exiled convicts, unarmed, kill three Tartars.

The soldier compiling the records carefully examined their wounds.

A hundred-man commander walked over, "What's going on?"

"Captain Qin, these three exiled convicts killed three Tartars."

Captain Qin stepped forward, glanced at the knife cuts on the three heads, then scanned the wounds on Pan Yue and the others. Seeing Pan Yu's pale lips, leaning on Pan Yue just to stand, and the numerous injuries on the rest, he said, "Nine men killed three—what's there to doubt? Record it."

"Yes!"

The soldier confirmed their names and backgrounds, then recorded their merits.

The three heads were confiscated, the horses turned in. The soldier glanced at Captain Qin, then tossed them their armor and greatsword. "Go back and wait. Once the bandits outside the city are wiped out, we'll tally the merits."

Pan Yue agreed, slung on the armor, bowed to Captain Qin, then shouldered the greatsword and helped Pan Yu home.

Captain Qin clicked his tongue. "I hate these bookish types—but they've got some grit. Who is this guy? A convict's family member? Which of his relatives committed the crime?"

In Great Ming, exile and military conscription mostly involved criminals who failed to kill or officials who committed grave offenses.

Neither group had committed crimes warranting execution, so they were exiled and conscripted.

The former exiled themselves; the latter might implicate their families. Thus, this young man, bookish and exiled, was clearly a convict's family member.

The soldier said, "Their father is Pan Hong. We don't know what he did. If you want to know, Captain, I'll find out."

Captain Qin was about to wave him off when another soldier passing by said, "Pan Hong? I know him. I was the one who arranged his family's transfer. He was a Censor. His charges were accepting bribes and dereliction of duty, but I heard he was framed—he angered Master Wang in the palace, so they exiled him here."

Captain Qin spat. "What Master Wang? He's a eunuch."

The soldier grinned foolishly, thinking to himself: The Emperor himself calls him Master. How dare we lowly soldiers defy the Emperor?

Only here in Datong, far from the Emperor's reach, could Wang Zhen not receive news from this region. Otherwise, Captain Qin would have ended up just like Pan Hong.

The soldier left, but Captain Qin took notice of the Pan family. He sent someone to investigate them.

Pan Yue helped Pan Yu walk a stretch when Jin Zhangli ran off to rent an ox cart and, with Pan Yue, helped Pan Yu onto it. "You're taking him home?"

Pan Yue: "No, first to the clinic."

He said, "Brother Jin, please go home and tell my father to bring money to the clinic to find us."

Jin Zhongwu glanced at his older brother, nodded, slung his own battle spoils over his back, and strode toward the exile village.

Pan Yue took Pan Yu to the clinic.

The physician at the clinic took one look at him and knew his internal organs were injured. After feeling his pulse, he said, "The problem isn't huge, but it's not minor either."

Pan Yue: "Please tell me honestly."

"We can save his life, but he'll need long-term care. The medicine is expensive. Treat it now, and you can root it out. If you only take medicine to keep him alive, he'll likely carry the illness for life—damaging his heart and lungs, possibly leaving him with consumption."

Pan Yue's face turned pale.

The physician comforted him: "He was kicked in the waist and abdomen—but even this injury is rare."

(End of Chapter)