Chapter 41: Stirring Up Trouble

Liu Ji took off running, startling Yang Yu, who watched his retreating figure head straight for the drill grounds. What was he up to now? Yang Yu quickly stood and hurried after him.

“Spread your feet, grip the ground with your toes, that’s how you keep your stance steady. Why are your hands shaking? I’m not some barbarian, haven’t you seen blood? After a few times in battle, you’ll get used to it. But if you want to stay alive, you need to practice harder. Don’t be afraid—the more you fear, the faster you die. Enemy arrows always target the timid.”

The formation of fifty men was divided into eight ranks during lineup. The captain stood at the front; the second row of three men carried the flags. From the third to the seventh rows were warriors, each row increasing in number: seven in the third, eight in the fourth, nine in the fifth, ten in the sixth, and eleven in the seventh. These seven rows made forty-nine men; the final row had only one, the vice captain, who wielded a great sword and enforced military law.

At that moment, Captain Zhang Wujia was training the eleven men in the seventh row, most of whom were new recruits—the weakest link in the unit. He had to devote extra attention to them; otherwise, if they lost their nerve before the enemy, they wouldn’t just break formation—they’d die at the hands of the vice captain’s blade.

His voice was not particularly loud, but it carried a natural authority, forged from thirty years of military service and countless battles—a steely, blood-soaked presence.

“We are the Vanguard, flanked by comrades, with the main camp behind us. There’s only one path: break the enemy’s lines, tread their corpses, carry their heads, and survive.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Zhang Wujia caught sight of a figure, feeling a wave of annoyance. He spoke as he walked in the opposite direction, hands clasped behind his back.

“Zhang Zhechong, Vice Captain Zhang.” Liu Ji, seeing him pretend not to hear and intending to walk away, shouted again, “Zhang Wujia!”

Zhang Wujia’s full title was: General of the Vanguard, Deputy Commander of the Left Guard at Tonggu County, Assistant Officer at Xiaji Prefecture, Vice Captain at Qian Pit Garrison, High Pillar of the State, holder of the Purple-Gold Fish Pouch!

He stopped, slowly turned, his gaze cold and indifferent.

Before the hundred-man formation, Liu Ji strode calmly to his side, never glancing at those eyes, but leaned in to whisper at his ear.

“Did I steal your wife? Is that why you won’t even give me the time of day? Haven’t they taught you in the army how to address your superiors?”

Zhang Wujia’s eyes suddenly reddened, anger rising uncontrollably, hands clenched tight. Before he could act, someone tugged him from behind.

“Forgive him, Commander. He’s hard of hearing, didn’t catch your words,” Xu Guangjing said, pulling him back a step and quietly warning, “Don’t be reckless. If you provoke him into using military law, your death will be for nothing.”

Zhang Wujia pressed down his fury, rounded his eyes, and saluted Liu Ji: “Commander, I greet you. Please give your orders.”

Liu Ji glanced sideways, coldly snorting, “It’s nothing, really. I just wanted to ask—how’s your young wife?”

Upon hearing this, Xu Guangjing was stunned, his grip loosened, and a figure suddenly lunged forward like lightning.

“You go too far! I’ll kill you!”

He acted as soon as he spoke. Even Liu Ji, though prepared, changed expression—the punch brushed past his face, stinging his skin.

He was truly enraged!

“Old Zhang! Don’t do it!” Xu Guangjing, a beat too slow, threw himself at Zhang Wujia, wrapping his arms around his waist. The latter remained furious, struggling and cursing.

Things were getting complicated—Yang Yu had been right after all. Liu Ji really had committed the crime of abducting a civilian woman. What a mess.

The commotion drew the attention of not only his hundred men, but also other units and battalions. By the time Yang Yu arrived, he was regretting having said that extra sentence—wasn’t this fellow still the same old Five Wolf?

“Five Wolf, personal fights are forbidden in the army. Whatever you have to say, do it privately. If you make too much trouble, it’ll be hard to explain to Commander Duan Yu, and even Sima Feng will have a hard time.”

Liu Ji remained unfazed, staring at the figure until the crowd of soldiers gathered to watch, and the matter had truly escalated.

“These past days, I’ve seen your drills—they’re well-organized. Success in battle depends on unity up and down. As a team, you share brotherhood and the secrets of victory: formation is one, skill with blade and fist is another. I wanted to see your abilities, so I wished to spar with Vice Captain Zhang. He’s your leader—his skill should be the best, right?”

His words caught everyone off guard—even Zhang Wujia ceased his struggle. Xu Guangjing, quick-witted, whispered a suggestion.

“Take this step down—otherwise, you’ll get nothing in the end. He’s the commander, after all.”

Zhang Wujia broke free, saluted: “Commander, how do you wish to spar? Name your terms.”

“That’s the spirit,” Liu Ji praised. “I won’t take advantage—choose your weapon: fists or blades.”

“Face my fists first,” Zhang Wujia replied, advancing with a roar, fists swinging toward Liu Ji’s chest.

The main camp was built on the riverbank’s high ground. With the marshal away, only the banner of Feng Changqing, the acting commander, fluttered alone, looking forlorn and weak.

Inside the command tent, the atmosphere was tense. The envoys sent to Kucha over ten days ago had not returned, yet a messenger from the Grand Protectorate arrived first, bringing not only news but also a great seal.

The Seal of the Four Garrisons.

“... On his deathbed, Lord Wang repeatedly instructed me to deliver this message: the army cannot go a day without a leader. He has reported to the court, requesting that Lord Feng act as commander until an imperial decree arrives. Until then, the four garrisons, three armies, ninety-odd prefectures, and a million souls rest in your hands.”

“Who am I to deserve this? I dare not usurp such a position, nor accept this seal.” No matter how resolute, until things were settled, Feng Changqing kept his guard. Now that his wish had come true, he dared not show joy, only made a modest refusal—such was the custom among officials.

“Sima, that’s not right. This was the only matter Lord Wang couldn’t set aside. How can you put personal concerns above the welfare of the three armies, the Emperor, and the Prime Minister’s plans?”

“The judge speaks well. We are all Lord Wang’s subordinates. He never chose wrong—please, Sima Feng, take command.”

“Agreed—please, Sima Feng, act as commander,” Li Siyue, Yang He, and others echoed.

“Please, Sima Feng, act as commander,” the rest of the officers chimed in.

...

After the customary three refusals and three requests, Feng Changqing reluctantly accepted the great seal, becoming the rightful commander of the camp. His first order was:

“All troops in white, mourn Lord Wang!”

This was only proper. With a great battle looming and the commander lost, it was a bad omen—but if handled well, it could become a source of strength.

A mourning army is sure to prevail.

Unexpectedly, before they could decide their next steps, trouble broke out in camp—Liu Ji was fighting someone.

“No more deliberations—let’s go have a look.”

Feng Changqing, unfazed, pushed aside the desk and rose to his feet.