The wine in the Prefect’s Mansion was only warmed once before and after the ceremony.
The Northerners suffered a great loss this time and are certainly unwilling to let the matter rest; there will likely be further actions within a day or two. After the banquet was cleared, He Gao sent someone to invite him again, saying that Prince Zhao, Deputy General Li, and others were settled in the mansion, and asked, “Is Master Wu willing to come for a visit?” But Xie Jing still politely declined, saying he had “gone to sleep.”
With only a quick glance along the path just now, with one of them stood in plain view while the other stayed in the shadows, Lu Lingcong naturally did not see Xie Jing, so at this moment he was also not in the mood to go and socialize—three years have already passed, they are bound to meet sooner or later, so why rush this moment?
Besides, if he went, Prince Zhao’s personal guards would all drop to their knees at once and end up frightening Lord He, which would not be good.
Drum sounds suddenly rang out before the fifth watch, piercing the long night and startling the stars scattered across the sky. Although it was unexpected that these barbarians would come knocking for a fight so quickly, Prince Zhao was, after all, a man of immense capacity who could still hit a bullseye a hundred paces away after three rounds of wine. Therefore, as soon as the scout reported about the enemy situation, he immediately grabbed his spear and mounted his horse, leading the young men of the Tiger Division out of the city to meet the battle.
One moment later, when Xie Jing rushed onto the observation platform with his hair still half-tied, he couldn’t help sighing and admitting that three years of lying in wait with his spear had truly worn him out.
One should know that back then in Prince Zhao’s Mansion, “getting up” was the number one most difficult task for them. It was understandable for the children, who were young, to love to sleep, but it was also not uncommon for the two of them, after indulging in pleasure late into the night, to wake up when the sun was already high in the sky.
He Gao had been observing on the platform for a long time; at this moment, he turned to Xie Jing and said, “The vanguard is one of the finest generals under the King of Northen Desert. I observe that the visitors are hostile, and I fear there are even reinforcements—which one did His Highness kill yesterday to provoke the barbarians to seek revenge like this?”
After returning to the Prefect’s Mansion the night before last, Xie Jing specifically went to inventory the newly stored spoils of war. After a brief contemplation, he said, “His saddles, harnesses, and armor were all top tier, but his warhorses lacked power. On top of that, the edge of his blade still wasn’t fully honed as well—it simply means that it hadn’t taken enough lives. He should be a brother of the King of Northen Desert, someone who rarely used a sword, saw Yongzhou as an easy target for quick gain but unexpectedly ran straight into the tip of Prince Zhao’s spear.”
There are no military books that discuss the specifics of the Northen Desert Royal Court; Xie Jing heard all of this from casual chats among the North-South caravans when he was wandering in the marketplace.
He Gao pondered for a moment and worriedly said, “When confronting foes beneath the city walls, His Highness is naturally fearless, but if the barbarians draw him into the vast desert, I worry the battle will drag on.”
Xie Jing stared at the formation below the city walls from a distance, and after a long pause, he muttered as if to himself, “He won’t.”
He Gao doubted from the side, “How do you know?”
Xie Jing was startled, realizing he had spoken rashly, and quickly explained to He Gao: “My Lord, look closely. The personal guards in the formation are indeed elite, but there are just over a thousand of them. Delaying further when the enemy is numerous and we are few is a serious mistake. The three thousand-strong Tiger Division are still stationed outside the city, yet they cannot be seen anywhere.”
He Gao frowned, “Are you saying… the North?”
Xie Jing said, “The Tiger Division excels at marching at night; if you don’t see them, you won’t hear them. His Highness has likely already ordered the rest of the army to form up in the North, blocking the enemy vanguard’s retreat and the route for reinforcements, covering both fronts, and setting up an ambush from front to back.”
He Gao nodded, but his worry did not recede, and he felt vaguely uneasy in his heart.
At dawn, the wind started to blow; the light, which should have been bright, was instead a dull grey. The frontier wind is naturally unpredictable and hard to trace; at this moment, it swept the yellow sand of the great desert over the city, bringing coarse grit that stung the face sharply. In an instant, the entire world seemed engulfed; dusk and day were indistinguishable, and the sound in the ears resembled wolves’ howling and ghosts wailing.
He Gao urgently said to Xie Jing, “This wind is wrong!”
Xie Jing’s brows were deeply furrowed: “This is exactly the moment the barbarians were waiting for. The frontier is exposed, and celestial events at night are predictable; they probably planned for this wind long ago.”
Looking from the observation platform, the cavalry on the desert, cloaked in yellow dust, could be seen approaching from afar. The full situation below the city was hard to grasp; although the Tiger Division was brave, they were ultimately unfamiliar with the terrain. If they were forced to retreat once the dust arrived, the enemy bandits could take advantage of this moment to break out and rendezvous with reinforcements, and if they advanced further, the situation would likely turn very bad.
He Gao anxiously said, “We must not retreat,” but it was difficult to send a message down to the city in time. He watched as the Tiger Division divided into three routes, retreating along the two flanks under the onslaught of wind, sand, and enemy cavalry, while the center, personally led by Prince Zhao, confronted the enemy general and reinforcements head-on; shrouded in the blinding yellow sand, a swift escape seemed impossible.
Xie Jing’s face grew grim; then his eyes lit up as he dashed up the city tower before shouting to those around him, “Bring the painted horn!”
Moments later, the horn on Yongzhou City’s wall blared into the sky, instantly piercing the thousand-foot yellow cloud and transforming the world’s colors.
The first blast came fast: the left flank extends, coil!
The second blast was one long, one fast: the right flank outflanks, sweep!
The third blast was long: the center moves straight down, cut!
In front of the formation below the city, Lu Lingcong heard the sound and turned back in surprise, his gaze piercing the dust and straight towards the city wall.
In just a moment, he led his horse, brandished his spear, and plunged into the strong wind while shouting:
“Obey the command!”
The wind and sand arrived swiftly and vanished just as quickly. As the dust began to clear, the Tiger Division’s left and right flanks finally linked, blocking the enemy’s advance and leaving those trapped beneath the city like fish in a barrel. The later arrivals, seeing no chance to break through, were forced to change course, fighting as they retreated.
As He Gao let out a long sigh of relief on the observation platform, his gaze involuntarily fell on the slightly frail figure bathed in the pale morning light.
How can the Tiger Division sweep across the land unmatched? One reason is due to the commander leading from the front, the second is their strict military discipline, and the third is—the advance, retreat, attack, and defense of all thirty thousand soldiers depend entirely on the horn commands. The long and short blasts alternate in countless combinations, said to have eighty-one variations devised by Prince Zhao, unmatched anywhere in the world. Without facing the Tiger Division hundreds of times, one would barely grasp even a fraction of it.
Such a vital military secret, he fears, is not something that could be heard in the streets and alleys.
The Tiger Division pulled back, with Lu Lingcong spurred his horse, racing back to the city wall at full speed. The soldiers guarding the city gate were intimidated by this sight, thinking that His Highness Prince Zhao had not had enough fun in the previous battle and intended to practice on them again.
He Gao and Xie Jing returned to the Prefect’s Mansion, where the steward reported that Prince Zhao had ordered Lord He and—specifically naming—”the one who blew the horn on the city wall just now” to come to the main hall immediately for a discussion.
Xie Jing declined, saying, “My rough clothes and messy hair might offend His Highness’s sight and hearing.”
He Gao stroked his beard, thinking to himself, ‘Let’s see where you’ll hide this time, young man’, and said, “It’s alright, His Highness is naturally informal and probably won’t hold it against you.”
Xie Jing had no choice; he realized that since the matter had reached this stage and refusal was impossible, so he reluctantly consented.
Following He Gao, they skirted the side courtyard, crossed the central hall, and stepped onto the covered walkway. Looking from afar, the one standing tall with hands behind his back in the middle of the main hall was none other than Prince Zhao, Lu Lingcong.
Hearing the sound of footsteps, he turned slightly and looked back towards the outside of the hall.
At that instant, Xie Jing had nowhere to hide. Lu Lingcong’s glance struck him like a clap of thunder directly in his eyes.
Three years ago, outside Shenlong Hall under Gongche Gate, amid a torrential downpour mingled with blood that smeared every face, Xie Jing didn’t even have time for a proper last glance at Lu Lingcong.
Fortunately, seeing his old acquaintance today, his features were as before, showing no sign of being worn down by time at all—but a new scar had appeared on his forehead.
He Gao entered the main hall to pay his respects and then made way for the person following him: “Your Highness, this is…”
Lu Lingcong, who had been awake nearly all night and had just emerged from the wind and sand, looked slightly worn. He turned to face them, and for a moment, silence hung between them.
Even though he had imagined this reunion a thousand times, when the person finally stood before him, words felt entirely unnecessary.
But Xie Jing lowered his eyes, knelt without hesitation, and performed the prostration, saying, “This humble commoner dare to seek punishment from Your Highness, Prince Zhao.”
Those attending Lu Lingcong were his confidants, such as Li Qi and others. Subconsciously, before the shock even registered, the moment they saw Xie Jing, they nearly reflexively began to bow; their legs had already bent into an arc, and it took great effort to halt abruptly. They exchanged glances for a moment; no one dared to wade into this mess, so they buried their heads and focused on their own internal thoughts instead.
After a long pause, Lu Lingcong finally moved a finger; his voice was slightly hoarse as he said, “Rise. What crime have you committed?”
Xie Jing rose as instructed, but this time he controlled the lift of his eyes perfectly, showing deference as his gaze barely touched the lapel of Lu Lingcong’s garment.
He Gao did not notice the lapse in composure from Li Qi and the others but only felt that the atmosphere in the main hall was subtle, like a string pulled taut, ready to snap at the slightest touch. He dared not speak rashly, unsure how to mediate the situation. The hall fell silent for a moment, yet subtle tensions rippled through, as if demanding a reassessment of the recent battle—no punishment was one thing, but questions still needed to be answered.
Lu Lingcong finally said to He Gao, “Is this the ‘Master Wu’ that Your Lordship mentioned earlier?”
He Gao was startled and quickly replied, “Precisely. He is Wu Zhi, the accountant in this humble one’s residence. His contributions to the several victories this winter are indispensable.”
Upon hearing this, Lu Lingcong almost—though outsiders could hardly notice, reluctantly nodded and said, “A young talent.”
Xie Jing, who was standing silently to the side, bowed deeply and said, “Your Highness overpraises this humble commoner. This humble commoner is no longer young; my little daughter has already reached the age for childhood braiding.”
When he heard the words “little daughter,” Lu Lingcong’s eyes lit up for an instant, but he immediately masked it and only asked casually:
“How do you know the eighty-one movements of the Tiger Division Command?”
Xie Jing lowered his lashes, his eyes betraying unclear emotions, but if Lu Lingcong looked closely, he would see an expression of equal parts jest and helplessness, the very look of Xie Zhiwu, Jiangbiao’s foremost genius who once looked down on others, entirely genuine.
As for what he was thinking, it was: After fighting fiercely for half the night, no one would blame you for letting everyone rest now. Could you stop fishing for information with irrelevant questions? You’re not the one who has to answer, and you’re not the one who’ll draw He Gao’s suspicion if the reply falls short, forcing others to strain their minds to lie for no reason either.
Although he had often used his knowledge to play tricks and deceive people in his youth, Xie Jing genuinely couldn’t figure out how to invent an excuse for this question—How do I know? We created the command together, and now you ask me how I know it?
It’s slightly embarrassing to admit that the origin of the famed and mysterious eighty-one-move “Tiger Division Command” is far too trivial to disclose.
When the Heir Apparent Lu Shuqing was young, he preferred quiet. His Highness Prince Zhao, who was worried that his beloved son might fall ill from being confined, insisted on bringing in the child’s mother, and the three of them played hide-and-seek in the Prince’s Mansion. Unexpectedly, Xie Jing was too good at hiding; the father and son almost never found him, suffering defeat every time. Little Shuqing was greatly discouraged and refused to play, no matter how much his father kindly persuaded him.
Lu Lingcong coaxed until he grew impatient, complaining that Xie Jing was far too serious, even when playing with the child.
Xie Jing, however, said sharply that children are not fools and should not be deceived.
It was their first time as parents, and their opinions clashed on many matters. Neither of them yielded, so they ended up sulking at each other for half a day.
It wasn’t until night while lying in bed, that Lu Lingcong finally nudged the person beside him: “I also fear that in the future, we’ll raise a child who can’t carry anything on his shoulder nor lift a hand.”
Xie Jing was facing away from him while lying on his side, and coldly said, “There is someone in Prince Zhao’s Mansion right now who can’t carry anything on his shoulder nor lift a hand. Are you afraid?”
Lu Lingcong chuckled softly, turned on his side, and embraced the “one who can’t carry anything on his shoulder nor lift a hand” from behind while conceding, “Of course. In Prince Zhao’s Mansion, the heavens are number one, and you are number two.”
Xie Jing was quiet for a moment, then stopped moving, and only whispered, “You’re pressing on my hair.”
Many years later, Xie Jing couldn’t recall exactly where or how they finally reached a compromise, but in any case, they later devised a method—which was the rudimentary form of the “Tiger Division’s Command.”
They would agree beforehand on how to combine long and rapid sounds and what direction each represented using the method of whistling with fingers. If he was truly hidden and couldn’t be found, he would blow a whistle as a secret signal. But at that time, there was no need for eighty-one movements; there were only a dozen or so variations in total. It was neither too serious nor deceptive, and it could also encourage Shuqing to run around.
This method was no longer used after Lu Shuqing started martial arts training. As for Lu Shuning, she left Prince Zhao’s Mansion before she even reached the age for hide-and-seek, so she naturally never witnessed it.
What Xie Jing blew on the city wall just now was actually the simplest—to the west, to the east, to the north commands. He was blowing it for Lu Lingcong to hear, knowing that Lu Lingcong could understand it, and once he understood it, he would know how to command.
What was unexpected was that Lu Lingcong actually expanded that child’s trick into eighty-one formation commands, training thirty thousand elite soldiers to advance, retreat, and act entirely on the sound, following orders precisely.
Thus, with a single blow from Xie Jing, the entire Tiger Division was set into motion.
These things certainly couldn’t be told to the venerable Lord He. Xie Jing could only casually fabricate a few ancient books that no one reads, saying that he had inadvertently read that previous generations used the length of horn sounds to indicate direction, and at the time, he felt the principle was similar to the Tiger Division Command. In a desperate trial today, he unexpectedly struck a lucky blow.
With a few ambiguous phrases, he truly couldn’t worry about whether He Gao would be suspicious or not.
Fortunately, His Highness Prince Zhao, who excels at nothing but causing trouble, didn’t press the matter further.
Lu Lingcong slowly walked to the sand table, looking at the small city and the surrounding desert, then said in a low voice, “He escaped.”
After saying this, he turned his face and glanced at Li Qi. Li Qi immediately came to attention: “Reporting to Your Highness, there is a Han general under that barbarian’s command; he’s skilled in archery and resourceful. Today’s plan likely came from his hand.”
Lu Lingcong’s expression was obscure: “A Han person?”
Li Qi replied, “The message sent back from Xuanshi[mfn]It’s a government bureau in ancient China responsible for handling official documents, memorials to the throne, and sometimes intelligence or administrative oversight.[/mfn] is likely true.”
Lu Lingcong thought for a moment and then laughed scornfully: “The Han people know best the rule of ‘three drums to exhaust the spirit,’ which saves a lot of trouble. Tell the men to rest well today.”
Li Qi took the order and left without further mention. The others briefly discussed a few more points and then dispersed as well.
When Xie Jing excused himself, he walked out constantly bowing. His long, loose hair hung along his cheek to his shoulder, blocking his view, so he didn’t notice Lu Lingcong’s slightly bloodshot eyes, perhaps from fatigue.
That night, in the prefect and his wife’s bedroom, Lord He leaned against the desk with a worried frown, earning a scolding from Madam He:
“What are you turning over and thinking about again!”
He Gao sighed: “I’m wondering where we failed to treat His Highness Prince Zhao with due courtesy.”
When Madam He heard mention of Prince Zhao, she grew concerned and quickly asked, “What do you mean by that?”
He Gao said with a face full of worry, “I thought the Prefect’s Mansion was quite meticulous with etiquette, so why did the steward just now come and say he saw someone climbing over the wall onto the eave, and just as he was about to shout ‘catch the thief,’ he looked closely and saw it was actually Prince Zhao?”
Madam He was also completely puzzled upon hearing this, and she put down her needlework, muttering to herself, “Did the steward see things? Even if the hospitality was poor, he wouldn’t climb onto the roof on his very first day here either, would he…”
When Xie Jing returned to the back courtyard after finishing his work in the official treasury, he saw Lu Shuning standing alone in the courtyard in the bitter cold, sparsely dressed, craning her neck and staring blankly at something.
He stepped into the courtyard, casually took off his outer coat, and draped it over the little girl while asking, “Are you looking at the moon? So absorbed.”
Lu Shuning had no reaction, murmuring as if entranced, “En, looking at the moon.”
Xie Jing followed her gaze, turned around, and looked up, then was speechless for a moment. He patted Lu Shuning’s shoulder and said, “Say hello to Prince Zhao.”
Lu Shuning: “Hello, Father.”
“…Prince Zhao.”
Lu Shuning finally managed to withdraw her gaze from the eaves and looked at Xie Jing, her tone unwavering: “Father.”
Xie Jing admitted defeat and let her be, then added, “Ask Father what he’s doing on the roof.”
Lu Shuning then lifted her small face: “What is Father doing on the roof?”
“One grows timid when nearing home[mfn]This idiom describes the complicated, nervous, or uneasy feelings people often experience when approaching their hometown after a long time away.[/mfn].” Being hesitant and timid, Lu Lingcong didn’t know how to answer. After a long moment, he finally stood up, and just like what he had done countless years ago, tapped the tiles with his toe, lightly leaped off the wall, and landed in the courtyard, standing before the person he wished to see.
Then he stepped forward, stopped a few feet from Lu Shuning, slowly squatted to meet her gaze, and cautiously opened his arms.
The next second, the small, warm body, carrying the familiar scent on the coat that had haunted his dreams for over a thousand days and nights, tumbled into Lu Lingcong’s embrace.
The flawless white jade disc tied to the young girl’s waist shone faintly in the night. It should have been cool to the touch, but at this moment, as if sensing something, it felt as warm as water in the fifth month of the lunar calendar.
Those eyes inherited from his old friend contained no impurities as they gaze straight at him. Lu Lingcong seemed to see the seventeen-year-old Xie Jing through this clear spring.
It’s just that the soft lips now had more defined lines, making her resemble her father even more.
“You’ve grown up.” Her father said.
Xie Jing was not by his side throughout the entire process of coaxing Lu Shuning into the room to sleep—in fact, since entering the courtyard, they had not spoken directly to each other.
When he firmly closed the side room door and turned around, Lu Lingcong saw Xie Jing sitting silently on the veranda with his back to him, bent over two wooden basins, washing clothes.
Lu Lingcong was startled and blurted out, “You wash them yourself?”
Xie Jing replied without turning his head: “If I don’t wash them myself, should I let Ningning wash them?”
Lu Lingcong remained silent for a long time before slowly walking to Xie Jing’s side. He sat down, rolled up his sleeves, picked up the dirty clothes from the basin next to him, put them in the water, and began to wash.
It was the middle of winter, and the intensity of the cold at night in the North was no joke. The washing water was chillingly cold, almost instantly stealing the last bit of warmth from Lu Lingcong’s fingertips. Yet Xie Jing beside him seemed completely unconcerned, soaking and scrubbing the clothes quickly and efficiently while letting the biting wind and icy water redden his hands.
The wooden basin was not large, and the four hands were inevitably touched. Although the cold numbed his sense of touch, Lu Lingcong could still feel that those ten fingers, which once only needed to pluck flowers or hold a brush, were now marked by the trials of the world after three winters of chapping, wounds, and frostbite.
The long silence made every breath seem to dissolve into the sound of the wind. It wasn’t until the dirty clothes were nearly clean and Xie Jing was about to rise that he finally heard Lu Lingcong’s low whisper:
“That one bow from you will cost me ten years of my lifespan.”
