Chapter Nine: The Tiger Generals of the Yang Clan

The two had met before; although the Commandant had not clearly seen Zhong Ming’s face, he recognized his voice.

“Young man, is it you?”

The Commandant was quite surprised, studying Zhong Ming carefully before bursting into hearty laughter. “Indeed, heroes come from the young. Excellent! Excellent!”

It was now clear that the Commandant was not here to cause trouble for Zhong Ming. Liang Yu and the others heaved a sigh of relief, while Constable Wu and his men, already anxious, felt their hearts leap into their throats. Zhong Ming himself, however, did not relax his tightly furrowed brow, unable to guess the Commandant’s intentions.

The youth in coarse clothes, seeing the situation uncertain, remained silent, waiting for the Commandant’s next words.

Moments of silence passed in the courtyard. The soldiers following the Commandant had arrived at the ruined temple, and dozens of armored riders surrounded it so tightly that not even a drop of water could seep through. Some of the soldiers kicked open the temple doors and flooded into the courtyard, weapons drawn, their cold eyes sweeping over Zhong Ming and the others.

The youth in coarse clothes did not panic. Glancing around, he even noticed the lead rider he had chastised earlier.

That leader was Sun Longhu, who had recognized Fei Dacheng. Upon reining in his horse, Sun Longhu allowed the exuberant Fei Dacheng to clumsily climb down, still clutching the rosewood box and the lotus-leaf package. Fei Dacheng hurried to Zhong Ming’s side, calling out excitedly, “Brother Ming, not only did I bring you the box, I brought reinforcements too! Look at all these soldiers—they’re here to help us!”

Perhaps this was his first time on horseback, for the plump boy’s exhilaration lingered on his face. Pointing at Sun Longhu, he introduced him to Zhong Ming.

Sun Longhu, too, had known Zhong Ming as a child. He studied him closely now, finally recognizing him from his features, and marveled inwardly: People say girls change the most as they grow, but this little brother Zhong Ming has become even more handsome, just like those girls. If Dacheng hadn’t mentioned him, I almost wouldn’t have dared to believe it was him.

Beside him, Fei Dacheng chattered endlessly about his recent reunion with Sun Longhu, but the youth in coarse clothes paid no heed. He knew clearly who the real leader of these soldiers was.

From beginning to end, Zhong Ming’s gaze never left the Commandant. He did not look at Sun Longhu, but instead bowed politely and asked, “May I ask, sir, are you truly here to help a commoner like me?”

“Of course. I’ve come to the borderlands precisely to find my worthy nephew.”

The Commandant’s face was all smiles, his gaze toward Zhong Ming full of admiration. The youths in coarse clothes all noticed, and with the Commandant calling him “nephew,” there was a clear sense of closeness. The young man had his suspicions.

Only one matter remained to be confirmed: just how far would the Commandant go in helping him?

With this in mind, the youth raised his hand, pointing at Constable Wu and his men, and said loudly, “Sir, these people are my enemies. How do you wish to deal with them?”

At these words, the Commandant swung down from his horse, walked slowly to Constable Wu’s side, and without a word, his Silver Dragon Spear flashed like a flood dragon leaping from the sea. A glint of silver—Constable Wu’s broken blade was sent flying, and the black cap atop his head caught on the spear’s tip.

With a casual flick, the Commandant tossed the cap to Zhong Ming’s feet and said with a laugh, “I heard about your troubles from the plump lad back in the village. What do you say to stripping him of his uniform and sending these men off as laborers?”

Before the youth could reply, Constable Wu was already so terrified that he collapsed to his knees, begging for mercy. The bullies behind him fared even worse, prostrating themselves and pleading for their lives; Zhang the Scab was so frightened he soiled himself, a foul-smelling puddle spreading beneath his coarse trousers.

To ordinary folk, a constable might seem a lofty figure, but in truth, they held no official rank and were outside the regular hierarchy. Before an armored Commandant, Constable Wu was no different from any commoner—if the Commandant wished to kill him, none would dare question it.

Moreover, in the newly founded Tang, military officers still held supreme status over civil officials. Even if the Commandant killed a civil official below the seventh rank, he could simply say, “This corrupt official took bribes and deserved execution,” and it would pass.

To provoke this Commandant was to invite certain doom; not even Head Constable Kong could protect Wu, and the county magistrate himself would not dare challenge the Commandant. Wu’s composure shattered, and all he could think to do was beg for his life, kowtowing frantically.

Watching the Commandant’s actions, the youth in coarse clothes understood everything clearly.

Could it be that this Commandant had come to ask something of him?

Their brief meeting atop the city wall had already told the youth that the Commandant was not a bloodthirsty man. For him to go this far on his behalf, he must certainly have an important request.

With this thought, a cold smile played at the youth’s lips.

“Your actions are most reasonable, sir, but there is one thing you do not know, which to me seems quite unfair.”

The Commandant looked intrigued. “What do you mean by that, my young nephew?”

Without answering, the youth stepped forward and stomped the black cap beneath his foot, grinding it into the dust until it was unrecognizable. He sauntered to the cowering Constable Wu and, with a cold smile, seized him by the hair and, in a flash, drew his folding knife across Wu’s throat.

Blood spurted instantly. The youth stepped back to avoid the spray. Wu clutched his neck, terror on his face, struggled twice, and then was still.

The Commandant was momentarily taken aback, his grip on his spear tightening as though he might lift it, but he did not. With a slight frown, he asked, “What is the meaning of this?”

The youth calmly wiped his knife on his robe and pointed to the lifeless body of Shi Tou, announcing, “Wu held the post of constable and used his power to kill my brother. A life for a life—that is justice! Only by exchanging his life for my brother’s can the scales be balanced.”

The Commandant’s frown relaxed, and he nodded. “So it should be. A brother’s vengeance cannot go unanswered.”

Relieved that he had not angered the Commandant, Zhong Ming bowed again and said, “The rest, sir, may be dealt with as you see fit. That would be most fair.”

With a wave, the Commandant instructed his men, “Do as my nephew wishes. Send these villains to the yamen as laborers. As for the constable, say I killed him, and return his body to the authorities.”

Two soldiers stepped forward, gathered up Wu’s body, and drove away the rest, barking orders as they went.

With the dust settled, Zhong Ming felt the weight lift from his heart. He walked to Shi Tou’s still-warm corpse, gently closed his staring eyes, and said in a low voice, “Shi Tou, go peacefully. Brother Ming has avenged you.”

He then called Liang Yu and the others to him and quietly instructed them to take Shi Tou’s body for proper burial—also hinting that they should use this chance to slip away.

Liang Yu, still uneasy, glanced at the soldiers and whispered, “Brother Ming, what about you?”

“Don’t worry about me. This Commandant seems to need something from me—he won’t harm me.”

The youth gave Liang Yu a gentle push. “Go now, before any more trouble arises.”

Liang Yu, convinced, gathered up the others and left.

Before parting, Zhong Ming took the roster from Fei Dacheng’s arms and instructed him, “Return the box to its place. The lotus-leaf bundle holds crispy cakes—share them among yourselves, and make sure Xiao Lian gets a piece. The children should all get some.”

Fei Dacheng nodded. “I understand, Brother Ming. You take care. Yuni Village can’t do without you, Master Zhong.”

The youth smiled. “I know. Brother Ming values his life. Go quickly.”

He watched as Liang Yu and the others carried Shi Tou’s body away, then finally relaxed. He straightened his robes, smoothed his sleeves, and once more assumed the bearing of a refined scholar.

He returned to where he had been standing, picked up the fresh green willow twig, and tucked it carefully into his robe. The matter of the willow saving his life was surely no coincidence, but now was not the time to investigate. He would pursue it when he had the chance.

Having done all this, the youth approached the Commandant, bowed deeply, and said, “Sir, my affairs are now settled. If you have any commands, I will obey without hesitation.”

For the Commandant to have aided him so, the youth knew he must now humble himself. There is no free meal in this world, and he understood well that, whatever came next, he must accept the Commandant’s request.

The Commandant had watched the youth handle matters with increasing admiration—everything arranged perfectly, his nephew showing the qualities of a true commander.

As Zhong Ming bowed, the Commandant lifted him up with a smile. “No need for such formality, nephew. My name is Yang Yanlang, sworn brother to your father. You may call me Uncle Yang.”

At these words, the young man was stunned, his eyes wide with shock.

The name Yang Yanlang was not only familiar but legendary. Mr. Guo, the storyteller, had mentioned this general many times; in his tales of riding through the rivers and lakes, righting wrongs and seeking vengeance, General Yang was always the hero.

In those stories, General Yang’s life was full of hardship, and few knew the true twists behind his legendary status.

Yang Yanlang was a descendant of a noble military family from the former Chen dynasty. His grandfather was one of Chen’s two founding Dukes, and his father, Yang Chengye, was the only non-royal prince of Chen, holding the rank of Grand General of Cavalry, famed across the land.

For five generations, the Yang family produced top-ranking generals, wielding both military and civil power, commanding three hundred thousand troops, and guarding the western, northern, and southern frontiers.

But by Yang Yanlang’s time, the political winds had shifted. Emperor Ji Yan took power and, dissatisfied with the Yangs’ hold on the military, sought to reclaim their authority, leading to their decline.

The youth remembered Mr. Guo telling the story “A Villain’s Whisper, a Great General’s End,” describing how Yang Chengye led a campaign to the far north to quell the so-called Northern Barbarians.

In the bitter cold and famine, the campaign stalled. Yang Chengye urgently requested supplies from the court, but the powerful minister Qi Ying whispered into Ji Yan’s ear: “Why not use this chance to let Yang Chengye perish in the wilds? Accuse him of failure in command, and unless he admits guilt and submits to execution, refuse to send supplies.”

Qi Ying knew well that the old general was loyal and would never rebel; he forced Yang to exchange his head for the army’s rations.

In the frozen northern wastelands, without supplies, one hundred thousand soldiers would starve within a month.

When the imperial edict of guilt reached General Yang, his aides were furious, vowing to eat their horses and march back to punish Qi Ying personally and restore the family’s honor.

General Yang, in a rage, personally slapped the lead aide thirty times and declared with sorrow, “I have eaten the Emperor’s grain, I must serve the Emperor loyally. If the sovereign commands my death, I cannot refuse.”

He then drew his sword and took his own life, ordering his eldest son, Yang Jizhong, to deliver his head to the capital as proof of the Yang family’s loyalty.

On the day he died, the army of one hundred thousand wept through the night, their cries shaking the heavens and frightening the Northern Barbarians into retreat.

Iron men shed tears that night—hardened warriors sobbing uncontrollably.

When the chieftain of the Northern Barbarians heard the news, he was not pleased, but sorrowful. To his generals, he said, “A loyal minister should be like Yang Chengye. I am not his equal. Strike up the music and send him off with honor!”

The drums sounded from the enemy camp, and the two armies observed a seven-day truce to mourn General Yang.

Thus passed Yang Chengye, a loyal and mighty general, famed for his campaigns and honored far and wide—cut down by the slander of petty men in the wilds of the north.