The fire crackled and popped, illuminating the ink-black night sky.
The night was eerily silent, as everyone held their breath, even those lying on the ground to sleep tossed and turned, restless and uneasy, fearing that something terrible might happen at any moment.
Yet, the night was also filled with noise.
Shouts of battle, screams, and the clashing of weapons echoed from both inside and outside the walls, disturbing the peace of the courtyard.
Shao Xun got up several times, once to put out a fire.
The servants of the wealthy families were not very skilled in combat and nearly collapsed under the attack of enemy troops sneaking in from next door.
If it weren’t for Shao Xun and his patrol arriving just in time, the compound might have already been breached.
After repelling the enemy, he walked around the walls once before returning to rest.
Yu Liang, watching from the sidelines, couldn’t help but admire Shao Xun’s unyielding determination.
He had heard stories about Shao Xun’s early encounters with a divine being who taught him various martial and literary skills.
Yu Liang had been skeptical before, but now he was beginning to believe.
This realization changed Yu Liang’s perception of Shao Xun once again.
In these times, martial prowess and military strategy had become far more important than idle talk, elegance, or family background.
Shao Xun might lack in those areas, but his skills were enough for Yu Liang to treat him with more friendliness and warmth.
People are just that pragmatic.
Shao Xun didn’t dwell on such thoughts.
When he woke up, it was already the latter half of the night.
He got up from his bed and listened to Chen Yougen’s quiet report, learning that the night had passed without major incidents.
He then sent Chen off to rest.
“Goals,” Shao Xun muttered to himself.
After Chen left, he took out a dagger and scratched the word into the dirt floor.
His periodic self-reflection had begun again.
Through his recent interactions with the scions of wealthy families, he had gained some new insights.
All his current assets were accumulated within the system.
If he were to leave this system, how many people would be willing to follow him? This was a difficult question, and Shao Xun didn’t want to be overly optimistic.
He was still in the early stages of making a name for himself.
His battlefield exploits had earned him some goodwill and admiration, but would that goodwill be enough for people to break through various obstacles and follow him? Perhaps there were such people, but they were certainly few.
He needed more time to build his influence, wait for changes in the broader environment, and seize opportunities to gain official positions—major shifts in the environment often prompted many to change their minds.
Having figured this out, the next step was—
Shao Xun wrote the word “measures” in the dirt.
There was nothing particularly special about it.
Climbing the ranks within the system required two key elements: merit and connections.
Since he wasn’t from a prominent family, these two factors were even more indispensable.
At present, it seemed highly likely that he would become a battalion commander, as Mi Huang had no desire for the position and preferred to climb within the bureaucratic system, which was his forte.
But what about beyond battalion commander? For instance, becoming a general, commanding a thousand or even several thousand troops, and rising to become a mid-level military officer in the Jin Dynasty—how easy would that be? What hard criteria would he need to meet?
After much thought, Shao Xun concluded that he still needed to focus on merit and connections.
He could afford to be more intimate with the Yu family.
As for the Xu family, he could try to break the ice.
At critical moments, a single word from a scion of a powerful family could outweigh countless efforts.
Finally, there was the matter of “difficulties.” Shao Xun carefully wrote the word and pondered for a long while.
The oppressive nature of the unjust social system was always present and remained his greatest challenge.
Next were the overt enemies: the armies of Sima Ying and Sima Yong.
Overt enemies were easier to deal with—relatively speaking—compared to the deeply entrenched, covert enemies of aristocratic politics, which were far more challenging.
He could only take it one step at a time.
Shao Xun wiped away the words with his foot, drew the ring-pommeled sword from his waist, and began to clean it meticulously with a cloth.
The flickering firelight cast shadows on his almost frozen expression, eerily reminiscent of the wrathful guardian deities in temples.
Yes, in the eyes of many, he was now such a figure—fearless, daring, skilled in martial arts, capable of winning battles, and ruthless in killing.
His brutality made many of the aristocratic youths, accustomed to indulging in alchemical elixirs, uncomfortable.
But he had also protected many, saving them from plunder, slaughter, and even being eaten.
The scions of wealthy families needed to understand this world more deeply.
Times were changing.
For Meng Chao, the commander of the attacking forces, this night was equally torturous.
His elder brother, Meng Jiu, had long served by the side of the Prince of Chengdu, earning deep trust and recommending many talents, such as Gongshi Fan.
It could be said that it was due to his brother’s efforts that the Meng family’s influence in Hebei had grown stronger, and Meng Chao himself had become more at ease in the military.
The surface reason for targeting Lu Ji was that Lu had arrested his men, but the deeper reason? Perhaps it was the resentment of northern officers towards the southern scholars.
In short, because the Prince of Chengdu had heavily favored southern scholars in recent years, such as the Sun, Lu, and Gu families, the northern scholars had grown increasingly dissatisfied.
Over time, the conflict had deepened.
Regional biases and prejudices always existed, especially towards the remnants of the conquered Eastern Wu, who were looked down upon even more.
Why should they hold high positions? This was a question not only Meng Chao wanted to ask but also the northern scholars.
Could Lu Ji really be a commander? He didn’t have the capability, did he?
But then again, Lu Ji was still the commander.
You could look down on him and challenge his authority, but until he was removed from his position, you still had to follow his orders on the surface.
Meng Chao had been excluded by Lu Ji from the “easy-to-earn-merit” main battlefield at Jianchun Gate and was instead sent to the south of the city to lead a feint attack, not even as the main commander.
Although dissatisfied, Meng Chao had accepted the assignment.
He had thought this would be an easy battle, planning to slaughter the surrendered soldiers after capturing the Piyong Academy to vent his anger.
But who would have thought that after a full day and night of fighting, with six to seven hundred casualties, he had gained nothing?
He had approached the battle with the principle of using full force even against a weak enemy, sending in what he considered his best troops in the initial waves.
Yet, without exception, they had all been repelled, suffering heavy losses.
Now, as dawn approached, Meng Chao, who had not slept all night, was filled with anxiety.
He stared at the shadowy figures on the walls, wishing he could charge over and slaughter them all.
But he knew it would be futile.
The enemy was not some weak, easily crushed force.
In fact, they were quite capable, even slightly superior in overall quality.
The troops Meng Chao had brought from Hebei included regular soldiers, private troops, and conscripted laborers.
They weren’t without combat experience, having suppressed several uprisings in Hebei and undergone intensive training before the campaign.
Who were the defenders? He had heard they were a mix of soldiers from the Donghai Kingdom, regular troops from the Xuzhou command, scattered soldiers recruited from around Luoyang, and servants and retainers from wealthy families.
Despite their diverse origins, they had been effectively unified and, under the leadership of capable officers, had fought tenaciously to hold their ground.
To be honest, Meng Chao couldn’t help but admire the defending commander, Shao Xun.
His archery was divine, his close combat skills were fierce, and he knew how to lead troops.
How could such a person be content with just being a battalion commander?
“There are hidden talents among the common folk,” Meng Chao muttered bitterly, flicking his horsewhip. “Continue the attack today. No mistakes.”
“Yes, sir,” his subordinate replied, though his expression was troubled.
“Don’t give me that look like you’ve lost your parents,” Meng Chao snapped, striking the man with his whip. “I’ve been fighting for years; I know what I’m doing. Yes, we suffered heavy losses yesterday, but if we don’t take Piyong, I’ll have no face to show to those southern dogs. Attack! If we fail, bring me your head.”
“Yes, sir,” the subordinate replied dejectedly, while others looked on with sympathy.
Before long, the sound of war drums echoed from the Mingtang on the west side of Kaiyang Gate Street.
Squad after squad of soldiers emerged, forming up on the open street.
Officers wielded whips and scabbards, striking and shouting to get the men into formation.
“Whoosh! Whoosh!” Arrows flew through the air, landing amidst the densely packed troops.
Screams erupted as the newly formed ranks quickly fell into disarray.
The officers, hardened, drew their swords and began cutting down those who faltered.
Archers moved forward in an orderly manner, trying to suppress the defenders on the walls.
The first wave of the attack on the morning of the ninth day of the tenth month began in this chaotic manner.
Meng Chao had intended to return and rest, but he couldn’t bring himself to leave the battlefield.
He remained at the front, observing the situation.
He could see that, having lost too many elite troops the previous day, the efficiency of today’s assault would not be high.
The soldiers’ morale was low, and under the pressure of the officers and the executioners’ blades, they were barely mustering the courage to fight.
Their combat effectiveness was predictably poor.
But he also knew that the defenders of Piyong had suffered significant casualties—at least two hundred, perhaps three hundred.
In such a situation, it was a matter of who could endure the longest.
“That dog Sima Yue,” Meng Chao cursed under his breath. “Once we take Luoyang, I’ll have you punished and then have my way with your wife and daughter to vent my hatred.”
As he cursed and watched the bloodshed on the walls, Meng Chao’s eyes gradually turned red.
The casualties were indeed heavy.
If this continued, he would lose all his capital…
(End of Chapter)