Chapter 82: The Campaign for Yanyi (VI)

Yishan Quarter, the residence of Duke Wu Yan Yi at the Zhou State Duke’s Manor.

“Heh heh, this time I’ll show those lowborn fools who the real master of military training is. Quan Ce? He’s nothing but a fart. He thinks he can make trouble for me? I’ll make him lose both his soldiers and his wife,” Wu Yan Yi chuckled, flipping through his booklet, his laughter harsh as an owl’s cry in the night.

“Master, this booklet’s origins are unclear. You should proceed with caution,” the maid at his side advised, massaging his legs as she spoke. “I only glanced at a few pages, but it seems heavy cavalry moves slowly and is only useful in positional warfare. Out on the steppe, light cavalry rides like the wind. Using this to threaten the Western Turks might not be effective.”

“Hah! Women know nothing,” Wu Yan Yi laughed, pleased with himself. “I’m no fool—I wouldn’t race heavy cavalry against light cavalry. Heavy cavalry is a trump card, reserved for after the armies engage, to break the enemy’s formations and strike at their center. The combination of light and heavy makes us unbeatable.”

“Master is wise,” the maid praised, cradling his hand though her brow furrowed. “But heavy cavalry is terribly expensive. Now the court orders the construction of Great Cloud Temples in every province. I fear there’s not enough money to support both.”

“Bah! This is serious business. Those filthy monks and their mumblings are worthless,” Wu Yan Yi suddenly erupted in fury, kicking over the table, sending its contents crashing to the floor. Not satisfied, he kicked it several more times.

The maid, well acquainted with his temper, quickly soothed him. “You’re right, Master, you’re right. Still, it’s best to investigate the booklet’s origins. I’ll see to it right away.”

“Hmph,” Wu Yan Yi grunted, fixing her with a glare. “No need. It was presented by Linghu Lun, a commander of a thousand cavalry, whom I personally promoted from the ranks. Don’t trouble yourself.”

The maid shivered under his gaze, adopting a coquettish posture. “Of course, I obey your every command. Women are always plagued by suspicion...”

Before she finished, she moved like lightning, suddenly darting toward the study door, flinging it open and grabbing someone by the hair, a glint of steel flashing from her sleeve and pressed to the intruder’s neck.

“Ah—!” The visitor was a delicate young woman, terrified by the sudden violence, shrieking as the hot soup she carried spilled to the floor, scalding the maid’s legs with a hiss.

The maid merely grunted, holding her grip firm around the woman’s throat. “Speak—why were you lurking outside?”

“Sir, I wasn’t!” the young woman whimpered, voice soft as a lamb, her eyes brimming with tears.

Wu Yan Yi grew impatient at the sight, waving dismissively. “Let her go. Chunzi, what are you doing here? What did you hear?”

Released, Chunzi collapsed to the ground, looking pitiful. “Yesterday you complained your back hurt from riding, so I made you a soup of blood vine and ox tendon to nourish you. I overheard you mention a fox soldier and this elder sister talking about suspicion. Sir, can foxes be soldiers?”

Chunzi spoke with complete innocence, her face sweet and naive.

Wu Yan Yi burst out laughing, scooping her up. “Your lord doesn’t recruit foxes as soldiers, but he does take fox spirits.”

That afternoon, Wu Yan Yi indulged himself in pleasure within his chambers, joined by Chunzi’s twin sister, Lianzi, who attended him devotedly. Only when his legs gave out and his back ached did he finally rest.

Lying on the couch, flipping through the heavy cavalry drill manual, Wu Yan Yi grew troubled. For all his bravado, he dared not cross Empress Wu’s forbidden lines; he could not afford to offend Xue Huaiyi or the Great Cloud Temple. He racked his brain for connections: “Where can I find the money?”

Chunzi peeked over his shoulder, flattering him, “Such thick armor, surely only a hero like you could bear it.”

Wu Yan Yi pondered, weariness deepening. He realized it wasn’t just a matter of money—the soldiers and horses for heavy cavalry would require painstaking effort to assemble anew. Still, finding men and horses would be easier than finding funds. With his father Wu Chengsi’s name, it should be manageable.

He was mistaken.

At the Ministry of War, Wu Yan Yi sought an audience with Lou Shide—a man of remarkable talent, nearly sixty, with black hair and a tall, commanding presence. Recently recalled from the Tibetan front, he had cleaned up the mess left by Wei Daijia’s disastrous campaign, winning three battles at Dayu Pass and stabilizing the western border. He was a stalwart, meritorious minister.

“Looking for men? Go to the Sixteen Guards—they command the troops and can supply whatever you need.”

“Looking for horses? Go to the Imperial Stables—they oversee the herds.”

“Why come to me?” Lou Shide dismissed him with a few curt sentences and departed.

Wu Yan Yi left, disheartened. His cousin Wu Youji, General of the Left Guard, was the logical next stop, but as the consort of Princess Taiping, that was complicated. Quan Ce, meanwhile, was recuperating at Princess Taiping’s residence.

The Right Guard’s general was Xue Huaiyi, that bald monk—not someone easy to deal with, and Quan Ce’s mentor to boot. Asking him would only invite humiliation.

After much deliberation, Wu Yan Yi returned home. His younger brother Yanxiu, a Lieutenant in the Left Leopard Guard, commanded many troops; surely there would be some bold warriors among them.

“Warriors? Elder brother, surely you jest. The Guards are in decline. My men are farmers wielding weapons, and barely any can ride. If you need heavy-armored warriors, I’m afraid I can’t help,” Yanxiu shrugged, helpless. “But if you need horses, Uncle Yizong in the Granary Department might help. The Imperial Stables are under his control.”

“Bah, I know that much,” Wu Yan Yi snapped, leaving in a huff. Yet he felt bitter—his younger brother held a lower rank and was younger, but was more handsome and better informed. Clutching his whip, Wu Yan Yi vowed that at the upcoming review, he would prove himself, show them all what kind of man he was.

Wu Yan Yi busied himself organizing heavy cavalry, while Quan Ce had fully recovered—plump and healthy—and prepared to bid farewell to Princess Taiping.

“Since you’re well, I won’t keep you,” Princess Taiping said softly, holding his hand as she led him out. “Take care when you return home—a noble son shouldn’t sit by an unstable hall. If you dare risk yourself again, I’ll make sure you get what you ask for.”

Quan Ce replied awkwardly, promising he wouldn’t.

As he mounted to depart, Princess Taiping called him back, frowning. “Are you not at all curious about the matter of the Double Carp?”

Quan Ce paused and answered honestly, “I am, but I keep it to myself. I fear breaking taboos—whenever curiosity strikes, my backside aches as if warning me.”

Princess Taiping laughed heartily, pinching his cheeks and shaking him. “Don’t worry. Double Carp’s mother was a nun at Ganye Temple, who once helped me. She later became involved with the second son of Chu Suiliang, and gave birth to her. That’s why I seek to protect her.”

Quan Ce understood, squinting playfully. “Chu Suiliang’s second son has quite the appetite.”

“Don’t be impertinent,” Princess Taiping scolded, poking him. “Be off!”

Quan Ce answered quickly, spurred his horse, and fled, making Princess Taiping laugh. She turned, remembering something, and ordered the steward to send nourishing delicacies to Princess Yiyang’s residence.

Such was her nature—cold outside, warm within. She was kind only to those who understood her; to others, she cared not at all.