Chapter Two: What Kind of Thing Flies in the Sky

A moment ago, the border soldiers who had been standing so neatly all turned their heads toward the source of the voice, their expressions tense. Having suffered a defeat only two days prior, a shadow now lingered in their hearts, making them no longer dare to hold the world in contempt as they once did. Whether to fight or to flee, each harbored his own thoughts, and the ranks grew somewhat chaotic.

“Inspector-General Gao, Protector of Andong, has arrived!” The rough shout swept over them like a fierce wind.

So, Lord Gao had arrived. The border soldiers exhaled in relief, straightened their backs, and waited to see what would happen.

Pei Erbi scampered toward the camp gate like a startled rabbit...

Lu Hu shouted after him, “Erbi! Slow down, or you’ll fall flat on your face! No one’s competing with you, what’s got you so desperate? It’s just receiving a guest, is there any need for such haste?”

He shouted while stretching his neck to peer at the gate.

With the clatter of hooves, a cloud of snow rose outside the gate. A squadron of heavily armored cavalry surged through like a flood released from a sluice.

All clad in shining silver helmets and armor, their breastplates gleaming. Magnificent! Just the gear on these men and horses must be worth a fortune.

Lu Hu estimated there were at least five or six hundred of these riders.

But they were all dressed identically—he couldn’t tell which one was Lord Gao.

“That wily Lord Gao, always on guard against assassination,” Lu Hu muttered inwardly, just as the armored soldiers ahead parted to either side, opening a passage for Pei Erbi.

Pei Erbi trotted down the corridor and saluted a particular knight. Taking the man’s reins, he led the horse forward.

As they drew near, Lu Hu finally saw the man’s face: features clear and refined, complexion fair, three long strands of beard beneath his chin lending him an air of scholarly grace.

But in those narrow eyes lurked a deadly intent.

“Here will do. Begin,” the man said softly as he approached within ten paces of Lu Hu.

“Yes, Lord Gao.” Pei Erbi tugged the reins, bringing the horse to a halt.

Lord Gao swept his whip across the six accused, all kneeling in a row in the snow. Indicating the first prisoner on the left, he asked, “What is this man’s crime?”

Lu Hu, kneeling first on the right, realized the question was directed at the first on the left.

“Reporting, my lord—this man was caught stealing a rooster at midnight,” Pei Erbi replied.

A chicken thief, Lu Hu scoffed inwardly.

The camp’s roosters were used to crow at dawn—no alarm clocks in this era. Soldiers relied on the rooster’s call to drag themselves from warm beds, assemble, and begin their training.

Why would anyone steal a rooster? It didn’t even crow at night to disturb your sleep. And if you must steal it, at least don’t get caught! Now he was bound for a beating, if not worse.

Lu Hu was still laughing at the chicken thief when Lord Gao uttered two words: “Behead him.”

The thief didn’t even make a sound before the executioner behind him dispatched him like a chicken.

Lu Hu’s heart pounded—this Lord Gao killed without blinking. Was stealing a chicken really a capital crime? Even if life must pay for life, surely not in this way. Besides, the rooster wasn’t dead—just frightened, its morning crow a little hoarse.

A neighbor’s mosquito dies, and someone gets their head chopped off—what madness.

Lord Gao, expression unruffled, indicated the second man from the left with his whip. “His crime?”

“He stole a sheep from the camp and ate it,” Pei Erbi replied.

This fool was finished. If stealing a chicken meant death, a sheep was worth several times more. With Lord Gao’s temper, he’d be lucky not to be torn limb from limb.

Lu Hu was already mourning for the sheep thief when Lord Gao suddenly asked in a booming voice, “Is the camp kitchen not providing enough to eat?”

Pei Erbi flinched, instinctively shrinking his neck.

He was greedy, often skimming from the rations. Some soldiers truly went hungry.

“My lord is astute,” the burly thief replied. “I’ve never had my fill at meals. Hunger drove me to steal and eat the sheep.”

Lord Gao stroked his beard. “Take him away for thirty strokes with the military rod.”

Then, turning to an armored officer at his side, he said, “Keep an eye on him. If he can’t endure the pain, if he wails and cries, behead him.”

He pointed to the third man. “His crime?”

“He acted as lookout for the sheep thief,” Pei Erbi replied lightly, thinking that if the thief got thirty strokes, the lookout might get ten at most.

But Lord Gao glared and snapped, “Behead him!”

The lookout had already wet himself in terror, and now he trembled uncontrollably as his head was struck from his shoulders.

Lord Gao indicated the fourth man to the left, not even bothering to speak.

By now, Pei Erbi was drenched in sweat, silently grateful the fat thief hadn’t exposed his ration-skimming.

His voice trembled. “This man, bold as a dog, stole a farmer’s ox and sold it. He’s been accused here.”

“My lord, I did steal an ox, but from the barbarian lands beyond our borders. I sold it cheaply to our own people, just to supplement my family’s income. But the cattle trader reported me. I believe I am not guilty, and ask my lord to judge fairly,” the ox thief said boldly, showing no fear.

Lord Gao laughed, stroking his beard. “You are pardoned.”

“My lord, these two Zhanmadao handlers lost their swords in battle…” Pei Erbi hurriedly explained the cases of the two men beside Lu Hu, not waiting for Lord Gao to point his whip.

“Scoundrels!” Lord Gao’s face darkened with rage. “The Zhanmadao is the Great Sheng dynasty’s weapon of battlefield victory. Each is forged from the finest materials, tempered a thousand times, taking three years to complete. Once drawn, man and horse are cleaved alike!

“Why are there two handlers, main and deputy? To ensure nothing is lost. The sword and the man are one—if the man dies, the sword must be lost with him. Yet you dared lose the Zhanmadao? Unforgivable! Behead them!”

“My lord, spare us!” But before their pleas were fully uttered, two flashes of white, a spray of blood, and two heads rolled.

Lu Hu finally understood: theft of chickens, sheep, or cattle was not truly a capital crime; only losing the Zhanmadao warranted death. Lord Gao did not judge by law or severity, but by his own likes and dislikes.

Those with courage received leniency for their crimes; the timid met death for the slightest offense.

His principle, it seemed, was: on the battlefield, a soldier may err, but cowardice is unforgivable.

After all, fear could infect the entire army in the thick of battle.

The more afraid you are to die, the less likely you are to survive. Today, it was time to risk everything, to take a gamble.

Lord Gao’s gaze happened to fall on Lu Hu. Lu Hu widened his eyes and met the gaze, drawing a deep breath to shout, “My lord, wise and mighty! If you seek to build a legacy, why slay your warriors?”

His voice boomed like a great bell, startling Pei Erbi, who was about to speak, causing him to spin and flee.

But Lord Gao reacted instantly, kicking Pei Erbi in the face from horseback, knocking him to the ground.

“You are Lu Hu?” Lord Gao ignored the groaning Pei Erbi and asked, stroking his beard.

“Yes, my lord, I am Lu Hu.”

“I’ve long heard you are a fierce fighter, yet you care not for making merit in battle, only for bullying the good in camp, flouting the command of your superior, always acting as you please. What use have I for such a troublemaker?”

Damn this Pei Erbi—the scoundrel not only claimed the original Lu Hu’s achievements as his own, but also ruined his reputation. No wonder the original could never get promoted…

But did Pei Erbi think he was still the docile Lu Hu he could push around?

“My lord, I have always aided others out of justice, standing up for my comrades. When I saw officers skimming rations or shirking from battle, I confronted them. Perhaps I offended someone, so they spread slanderous rumors about me. But wise men see through lies—may my lord judge fairly.”

Lord Gao’s brow lifted, his gaze softening. “You’re glib enough. This time, you defied orders, launched a reckless attack, suffered defeat, and brought shame to the Great Sheng dynasty. How do you explain that?”

“My lord, I did not defy orders. I am but a squad leader—how could I have authority to lead an entire regiment to war? I don’t have the power to march out on my own!”

Damn, if this continued, the truth would come out. Pei Erbi panicked, scrambling up despite his swollen cheek. “Reporting, Lord Gao! This villain twists words and distorts truth, jealous of my noble birth as the son of the prime minister. He’s wicked—he covets my lovely stepmothers and wants to make me call him father! My lord, why not kill this fiend?”

Lord Gao sneered, aware that Pei Erbi was invoking his father’s status to pressure him, but he was not without his own concerns.

Lu Hu fanned the flames: “My lord, how could I dare covet his stepmothers? Just now, he whispered in my ear, boasting that his father is the prime minister, who cuts down high officials like you, and warned me not to speak the truth or he’d crush me like a bug.”

Lord Gao’s face flushed, then paled. After a moment’s thought, he said coldly, “General Pei, Captain Pei, I have inspected many garrisons, but never one where the men go hungry as they do under you.”

He paused, realizing that ration-skimming was common in Great Sheng, but Pei Erbi was simply too greedy. Pursuing it would implicate too many—better to vent his anger another way.

“You stir up trouble without cause, attack without scouting the enemy, and when disaster strikes, you shrink from battle—truly a disgrace to your father. Guards, take him away and give him thirty strokes as punishment!”

“Well done, Lord Gao! Well deserved!”

“That scoundrel has long bullied us—about time he got what he deserved!”

“Beat him to death and it still wouldn’t be enough!”

The bystanders muttered their approval.

Lu Hu was secretly pleased, but Lord Gao’s next words were a cold dousing.

“Squad Leader Lu, regardless, three hundred soldiers have died because of you. This crime cannot be forgiven…”

Lu Hu cut him off quickly—if he let him finish, he’d be dead.

“My lord, spare my life! Let me atone through service. I’ll fight to the death for you!”

“You’re just a brute. I have no shortage of brave men—what I lack are those who are both wise and courageous.”

“My lord, I have strategies in my belly. Last time, I only failed because I was following orders. Let me fight a few battles at your side, and I’ll prove myself a great general!”

Lu Hu boasted without the slightest hesitation.

“Hmph!” Lord Gao sneered. “You fool, you probably barely know your letters—what strategy could you possibly have?”

“My lord, I am well-read in books of war and strategy, and can produce plans with ease. Test me if you doubt.”

Lu Hu thought, I studied for over twenty years in my last life—maybe I’m not Tsinghua or Peking University material, but I can run circles around you old pedants…

Lord Gao couldn’t help but quack with laughter, stroking his beard. “Then compose a poem about this snow—but you must not mention the word ‘snow.’ Well?”

Damn this old fox, what a tricky challenge.

After so many years of study, rote memorization was his weakest point—he barely remembered any poems, only a children’s rhyme:

The snow falls, whoosh whoosh
A call comes from the capital
I’m summoned to be a soldier
But I’m still just a child

But that was only fit for amusing children in his past life. If he tried it on this old rooster, he’d be dead for sure.

They’d never even seen a flashlight here—telling them about telephones would probably make them faint.

Though Great Sheng valued martial prowess, poetry was also highly esteemed—so much so that a poem could serve as currency. Those who could compose verse at will never had to carry money.

It was said that a famous poet had the emperor’s favor and could stroll into the palace at will; even the emperor’s favorite concubines and eunuchs deferred to him.

Another poet, it was rumored, could frequent brothels without ever paying—courtesans would fight to host him.

What Lord Gao wanted was for him to buy his life with a poem—but was his poetry worth the price?

If only this old man would stop staring at him like that—he was about to lose his mind.

Suddenly, inspiration struck.

Lu Hu lifted his head to gaze at the sky, letting snowflakes fall on his face.

Everyone present was puzzled and looked up as well.

With a sudden howl, Lu Hu startled the crowd, but then began, voice solemn and rhythmic:

“What is that drifting in the sky?”

Damn, isn’t this just stating the obvious? In a snowstorm, what else would be flying but snow?

One of Lord Gao’s guards grumbled, but a sharp look from Lord Gao silenced him.

Lu Hu went on, “Wobbling down to the ground below.”

Another guard muttered his dissatisfaction, but was quickly silenced by Lord Gao’s glare.

Lu Hu continued,

“The Queen Mother thinks the wall’s too black,
So all the immortals sprinkle white ash.”

The crowd was stunned.

Was this poetry? It seemed to lack elegance, but who would dare say it wasn’t—a simple rhyme, but without the word “snow,” and yet it captured the essence of snowfall, even hinting at deeper meaning.

Who among the immortals would dare not curry favor with the Queen Mother? It was a veiled jab at flattery in the court, but so cleverly veiled that no fault could be found.

“This poem will do. Your crime is forgiven,” Lord Gao pronounced.

What? He’d squeezed his brain dry, given birth to a poem as painfully as constipation, and all he’d won was a reprieve from death—he’d still have to struggle to survive? This old Lord Gao was truly wicked.

Lu Hu cursed him a hundred times over in his heart, but outwardly wore a mask of gratitude.

His eyes suddenly sparkled with inspiration, and he declaimed with passionate fervor:

“Fierce snow flies, blanketing the sky,
Kneeling, I gaze toward the gates of death.
A hundred battles in iron armor beyond the wilds,
I vow not to return without the Zhanmadao.”

“Excellent, excellent poem!” Lord Gao applauded.

Lu Hu pressed his advantage. “My lord, allow me to penetrate the enemy lines and reclaim the Zhanmadao!”

“Unbind him!” Lord Gao ordered. Seven or eight guards dismounted in a flurry and rushed to untie Lu Hu.

“Thank you, my lord! Thank you for your mercy…” Supported by the guards, Lu Hu stood, ignoring the needle-like pain where the blood returned to his bound limbs, and thanked Lord Gao at the top of his voice.

“Lu Hu, hear my command. I appoint you as the Officer of Reconnaissance. You have five days to recover the Zhanmadao. If you fail, present your head instead.”