Chapter Thirty-Three: Encounter in the Night

"Everyone has their own way of training soldiers. My method is like this. Do any of you have questions?" Early in the morning, Yang Lian surveyed his nineteen subordinates, his gaze lingering especially on Long Yun. Chen Tie was absent today, making Long Yun the de facto leader.

Usually, Long Yun was disciplined harshly by Chen Tie, but now that Chen Tie had yielded, Long Yun had not the slightest objection to Yang Lian's decision.

"The sandbags you are carrying weigh twenty catties; mine weigh thirty. Yours on your legs are five catties; mine are seven. I trust no one minds. We are soldiers of the Divine Might Army, not destined to stay in Jinling forever—we will go to war. If you do not sweat during training, you will bleed on the battlefield. More training is only to your benefit." Yang Lian spoke again, glancing at the group before stepping forward and jogging off.

Long Yun hurriedly stretched his legs to follow, and the other eighteen trailed after in a clamor. The soldiers broke into a disorderly run, some even surging ahead of Yang Lian. He smiled at this, unconcerned—relying on a burst of strength would not last. He paced himself, adjusting his breath as he ran; the extra weight was considerable, and even Yang Lian found it taxing.

"Well, what are you all up to?" In the distance, Zhou Hongzuo watched, a mocking smile on his lips. To him, warfare depended on courage, not running.

"Reporting to Commander Zhou, I am leading them in a run," Yang Lian slowed to reply.

"I can see that, but is there any use in it?" Zhou Hongzuo sneered.

Yang Lian did not argue, merely smiled and said, "If you have no further business, sir, I will continue."

"Go, go!" Zhou Hongzuo’s eyes crinkled with laughter. His father and brothers were renowned military men, yet none had ever practiced this sort of training. There was nothing like it in the army; if not for Yang Lian’s introduction by Prince Qi and the Supreme Commander, he would have stopped it at once.

Yang Lian spared his words, saving his energy for the run. He paced himself, adjusting his breath as he went. After two miles, his breathing grew labored—the added weight was no small matter. If Yang Lian struggled, Long Yun and the others fared even worse. Some, eager to show off, sprinted ahead, only to be bent double and gasping for air soon after, clutching at walls for support.

As Yang Lian jogged past unhurriedly, the rest looked on with admiration.

"Follow my pace, don't rush," Yang Lian called to them. Sweat beaded thickly on his forehead; he took out a handkerchief to wipe it, but after three hundred more steps, the sweat returned.

The group alternated running and resting. Yang Lian paused often to wait for them. Ten miles took a full hour; by the time they returned to the Divine Might Army’s quarters, the sun was high. Yang Lian had Long Yun lead the others in drills, while he fetched a spear and joined the practice.

Lin Renzhao, knowing Yang Lian was new to the military, would come over to instruct him after his own exercises. Yang Lian was eager to learn, and Lin Renzhao was generous with his knowledge. One taught with care, the other learned with diligence, and the day slipped away unnoticed.

At dusk, Yang Lian changed into clean clothes, about to step out when Lin Renzhao called to him.

"General Yang’s method of training is rather unique. May I ask who taught you?" Lin Renzhao inquired curiously.

Yang Lian smiled. "It’s nothing mysterious. Sun Tzu once said, 'Speed is the essence of war; take advantage of the enemy’s unpreparedness, attack where they are unguarded.' Have you forgotten, brother Lin?"

Lin Renzhao pondered and said, "I believe there is such a saying." He clasped his hands. "Thank you, brother Yang. From today, I will study the military classics with greater diligence."

Yang Lian nodded. "Take your time. We are still young; there are many days ahead for us to prove ourselves."

The two left the Divine Might Army together, and Yang Lian treated Lin Renzhao to a meal at a tavern. When Yang Lian returned, Huang Qi prepared several specialty dishes, which greatly satisfied Lin Renzhao. Yet Yang Lian was less pleased; in these times, the lack of an iron wok left the food missing something. Still, compared to others, Huang Qi’s cooking was quite good.

After dinner, Lin Renzhao said, "Brother Yang, there are some matters I do not understand. Might I trouble you for an explanation?"

"Come, let's stroll along the Qinhuai River and talk as we go," Yang Lian suggested. Having just eaten, a walk would help digestion.

Night had fallen. The river was lined with countless boats, their candles aglow, and the sound of strings and flutes drifted through the air. Lin Renzhao could not help but frown.

Yang Lian, oblivious to Lin Renzhao's discomfort, reflected on the Southern Dynasties’ fondness for pleasure. During the era of North-South confrontation, most southern states fell to the north, with the exception of Zhu Ming, as far as Yang Lian knew. But that had not yet occurred. The north was turbulent but its people were hardy, and its armies formidable. In the south, rulers like Chen Shubao and later Li Yu were either indulgent or inept, so the splendid land fell into northern hands. Especially Li Yu, who was imprisoned in Kaifeng and whose wife, Lady Xiao Zhou, suffered humiliation at the hands of Zhao Guangyi. Yang Lian had little regard for Li Yu, but since he was now in Jinling, he wondered when he might meet Li Yu himself.

Thinking of Li Yu, Yang Lian recalled several of his famous poems. Though a poor student in his previous life, he remembered a few and could not help but recite,

"The carved balustrades and jade steps remain,
Only the rosy faces have changed.
How much sorrow can one have?
As much as a river of spring water flowing eastward."

Lin Renzhao was taken aback. Yang Lian’s words were full of meaning. He was originally from the former Min kingdom, overrun by Southern Tang, its emperor sent to Jinling. The carved balustrades and jade steps of Min still stood, yet no longer belonged to Min—they were now Southern Tang's. The faces had changed, the faces had changed! Regret filled his heart.

Li Yu’s verses were truly exquisite. Lin Renzhao could not help but recite them again, and as he did, felt his emotions deepen. The nation had fallen, but the mountains and rivers remained; that scene was forever imprinted in his mind.

As Lin Renzhao muttered the lines, a youth approached from the distance, about fifteen years old and dressed in silk—clearly a child of a wealthy family. Behind him followed a servant, equally young.

"Sir, I am Li Congjia. May I ask if that poem is your own?" Li Congjia introduced himself and inquired.

Yang Lian smiled without revealing the truth, glancing at Lin Renzhao.

This “Song of the Beautiful Lady” was composed by Li Yu in his later years, a reflection on his nation’s ruin. Though Li Yu stood before him now, he was too young to have written such poetry.

Lin Renzhao looked at Yang Lian, who gave a subtle shake of the head, making it clear he did not wish to claim credit. Left with no choice, Lin Renzhao stepped forward.

"That ‘Song of the Beautiful Lady’ is indeed mine, sir. Forgive my impertinence." He spoke without a hint of embarrassment.

"Is there an earlier stanza?" Li Congjia asked. Clearly, he understood poetry.

"Of course, there is," Yang Lian interjected, fearing Lin Renzhao might falter.

"Would you be willing to share it?" Li Congjia asked eagerly.

Yang Lian hesitated briefly, then said, "Brother Lin once recited it in my presence. I recall the full poem goes:

'When will the spring flowers and autumn moon end?
How much of the past do we know?
Last night the east wind visited the small tower again,
I dare not look back at the old country in the moonlight.

The carved balustrades and jade steps remain,
Only the rosy faces have changed.
How much sorrow can one have?
As much as a river of spring water flowing eastward.'"

He recited slowly, then looked at Lin Renzhao with a smile. "Brother Lin, is that right?"

Lin Renzhao nodded helplessly, thinking, What exactly is Yang Lian up to?

Li Congjia had a prodigious memory; after hearing it once, he recited it perfectly and, seeing Lin Renzhao nod, asked, "How should I address you, sir?"

"I am Lin Renzhao," Lin Renzhao replied.

Yang Lian smiled and said deliberately, "I am Yang Lian, from Guanzhong, newly arrived in Jinling. It’s my honor to meet you, brother Li."

Li Congjia had intended to befriend Lin Renzhao, but upon hearing Yang Lian’s name, he turned pale, stepping back in shock. "You’re Yang Lian? The former crown prince?!"

Yang Lian smiled and replied, "I am indeed Yang Lian, but not the former crown prince. I hope, sir, you will be discreet."

Li Congjia quickly recovered, clasped his hands, and said, "Indeed. I saw him interred with my own eyes years ago." Realizing he had said too much, he hurriedly covered his mouth.

Yang Lian sighed. "This name has followed me for so many years. I did not expect, upon arriving in Jinling, to be so often asked if I am the former crown prince. If I were, I would have hidden myself far away, not dared appear in Jinling."

Lin Renzhao laughed. "Brother Yang is right. The Tang dynasty has been established for years, the country is peaceful and prosperous, the people well-off—who would rally behind the former crown prince to rebel?"

Yang Lian scratched his head. "Pity this name was given by my late father and cannot be changed."

Lin Renzhao waved a hand. "There are countless people in the world with the same name. You need not take it to heart."

Yang Lian squinted and grinned. "Truly, I fear someone might think I’m the former crown prince and drag me off to prison."

Li Congjia joined in, laughing. "Young Master Yang, you need not worry. I knew that Yang Lian; though you share his name, you look nothing alike, and he died years ago—I saw him placed in his coffin myself."

Yang Lian breathed a sigh of relief. "Then all is well."

As they spoke, two more figures strolled over. The leader was clad in azure robes, scholarly in bearing, though short and with a youthful face. His eyes were large and sparkling, as if about to spill over with water. The boy behind him was similar.

Yang Lian could not help but think to himself, Whose son is this? Prettier than any woman—how are women to compete?

Seeing the newcomers, Li Congjia’s face blossomed into a smile. He stepped forward. "Brother Zhou, you’ve come at last! You kept us waiting so long."

The youth held a paper fan, nodded at Li Congjia, and glanced at Yang Lian, a flicker of surprise in his eyes. "And these two are?"

Li Congjia introduced them. "These are new friends. This is Yang Lian, and this is Lin Renzhao. Brother Lin is a man of great talent and has just composed a superb poem." With that, he recited "Song of the Beautiful Lady" once more.

The young master of the Zhou family could not help but praise, "A truly excellent poem!"

Yang Lian eyed the Zhou youth curiously, thinking, This one is almost a maiden—such a delicate voice.

The Zhou youth, noticing Yang Lian's gaze, hastily opened the fan to shield his face.