Chapter Forty-Five: The Expedition Begins

After returning from Sakura Isle, Yang Lian felt a touch of melancholy, but soon recovered. As New Year's Eve approached, lanterns adorned every street and alley of Jinling, creating an atmosphere of lively celebration. Yang Lian was alone, and so were Wang Hu, Zhao Peng, and Xiao Erhei; thus, the four chose to stay at the Yang Inn to spend the New Year together.

Lin Renzhao and Chen Tie also had no family in Jinling. The soldiers of the former Min Kingdom had been scattered, and since both were on good terms with Yang Lian, they too came to the inn. The five of them passed a warm and bustling New Year’s evening together. During the feast, as the owner of the inn, Yang Lian handed out red envelopes to Wang Hu, Zhao Peng, and Xiao Erhei. After all, for the past few months, it had been these three who managed the place; the red envelopes were a reward for their efforts.

The three received their weighty envelopes and broke into broad smiles. Though Yang Lian could be stern at times, he treated them well. Weighing the envelopes in their hands, they estimated each held at least five taels of silver, which was no small sum. Life suddenly felt full of hope.

Yang Lian, however, was unconcerned. With the prestige of Prince Qi and Zeng Yiling, the Yang Restaurant's fame had soared, gaining significant influence in Jinling. Especially after Zeng Yiling played a piece at the restaurant, many scholars and poets became regular patrons. Yang Lian took the opportunity to raise the price of the private room that Zeng Yiling had used by two-tenths—a classic case of profiteering—yet business flourished. There was a line for reservations, and demand far exceeded supply, nearly sparking a bidding war.

The three donned new clothes and wore newly bought hairpins, appearing more spirited than Chen Tie. Although Chen Tie received a salary from the court, he loved to drink and often visited the Xiaoxiang Pavilion to listen to music, where Zeng Yiling’s fees were especially high. As a result, Chen Tie was always strapped for cash, dressed in old clothes, and looked rather shabby.

Lin Renzhao was somewhat better off, but not by much. At least, as a junior officer, he had to maintain his armor, weapons, and longbow—no small expense.

After several rounds of wine and dishes, Yang Lian produced two sheets of paper and said, “We three have known each other for half a year now. What belongs to me, Yang, also belongs to you. This restaurant and inn—you two shall have shares as well.” With that, he handed them the documents.

Lin Renzhao saw that Yang Lian was offering each of them ten percent of the inn and restaurant’s income—a total of twenty percent. He had calculated before that the combined monthly income was at least a hundred strings of cash. Even after miscellaneous expenses, the profit was seventy or eighty strings. If they accepted, each would receive seven or eight strings monthly for nothing.

Lin Renzhao quickly declined. “Brother Yang, this is your hard-earned money. How could we accept it?”

Yang Lian’s face darkened. “Renzhao, we’ve known each other for nearly half a year, haven’t we?”

“Five months and more,” Lin Renzhao replied. Yang Lian had arrived in Jinling in mid-August and soon joined the Divine Martial Army. Time had flown, and half a year had already passed.

“What do you think of me?” Yang Lian asked again.

“Of course, you’re my friend,” Lin Renzhao replied.

“In that case, there’s no need for such formality. If you feel ill at ease, then do me a favor—help me find someone,” Yang Lian said. According to Zhang Qili, she had come to Jinling, but he had looked everywhere and found no trace of her.

“Find someone?” Chen Tie asked curiously.

“A pitiful young woman,” Yang Lian said, retrieving a long box. He opened it, took out a scroll, and handed it to Lin Renzhao. “I drew this. Take a look.”

Lin Renzhao unrolled it to reveal a young girl, full of vitality. Chen Tie leaned over and glanced at it. “She looks familiar,” he remarked.

Yang Lian’s eyes widened. “Chen Tie, where did you see her?!”

Chen Tie scratched his head, thinking hard. “I can’t recall; I’m not sure.”

Lin Renzhao mused, “Where else could it be? Either a brothel or a tavern.”

Chen Tie grinned sheepishly and fell silent.

Yang Lian pondered. “Besides Xiaoxiang Pavilion, where else have you been?”

Chen Tie glanced at Lin Renzhao. “I can’t remember. I’ve probably visited every brothel in Jinling.”

Yang Lian was speechless. So Chen Tie truly had the energy to frequent every brothel in the city. He made a mental note—Chen Tie was usable, but not for important tasks, lest he stumble over women someday. Perhaps he should find him a wife.

“Try to think again,” Yang Lian urged. He wondered how Zhang Qili was faring now.

With Yang Lian’s backing, Chen Tie frequented all the major brothels in Jinling, but no matter how he searched, he never found any trace of Zhang Qili.

Winter passed into spring. Chen Tie still could not find her, and Yang Lian’s own search proved fruitless. He had to set the matter aside for the time being, for news arrived that Wuyue had again reinforced its troops in Fuzhou. This time, the commander was Yu An. Thanks to Yang Lian’s warning, the land routes were blocked by the Tang army, so Yu An took the river.

A vast fleet, over a hundred vessels including supply ships, sailed south in early spring, blotting out the sky. The Southern Tang court was once again in heated debate. Han Xizai submitted another memorial, arguing that Wuyue had gone mad, intent on dragging the Tang into the quagmire of war. Surrounded by enemies—Jin, Wuyue, Chu, Nanping, and Southern Han—if the war in Min could not be resolved, and the enemies struck, the Southern Tang would be in grave danger.

Feng Yansi also memorialized that progress had been made in Fuzhou. Li Renda was besieged within the city, and recently, the East Martial Gate had been seized, almost breaching the inner city. With just a little more time, Li Renda could be captured and the Min campaign ended. Feng Yansi suggested deploying troops from Xuan and Runzhou to threaten Suzhou; a great victory would be ideal, but even if not, it would at least tie down Wuyue’s forces, preventing them from fully reinforcing Li Renda in the south.

Feng Yansi’s proposal was supported by Song Qiqiu, Li Zhenggu, and others, while Han Xizai found backing from Xu Xuan, Sun Sheng, and Chang Mengxi. The court remained deeply divided, with factions at odds. Yang Lian had little interest in these power struggles, but in his heart, he hoped for a campaign—especially one involving the Divine Martial Army, which would give him the opportunity to earn merit and climb the ranks.

One day, as Yang Lian entered the Divine Martial Army camp, he found his colleagues whispering among themselves. Yao Feng, Li Ping, and Lu Mengjun were deep in discussion. When Yang Lian and Lin Renzhao entered, Yao Feng said, “Deputy Yang, why are you still here? Hurry home and pack your things.”

Yang Lian was surprised. “Why?”

“His Majesty has ordered the Deputy Chief of the Privy Council to lead troops south to Suzhou,” Yao Feng replied.

Yang Lian narrowed his eyes. The Emperor had finally ordered a campaign to Suzhou, showing that Feng Yansi’s influence with Li Jing was considerable. Having spent over half a year in Jinling, Yang Lian was no longer ignorant. Although Li Zhenggu was Deputy Chief of the Privy Council, he was a scholar, not a soldier—how could he command troops? What was Li Jing thinking?

As Yang Lian mused, Zhou Hongzuo arrived, his tiger-like gaze sweeping over them. “I suppose you all know by now? The court has appointed Deputy Chief Li as commander. The Divine Martial Army and the Heavenly Brave Army will march south to Suzhou.”

Yao Feng asked, “Commander Zhou, is this campaign actually aiming to take Suzhou?” In previous assaults, Yang Wu and the Southern Tang had always failed. Yao Feng’s question sprang from uncertainty; history suggested this was a doomed endeavor.

Zhou Hongzuo shook his head. “How would I know at this point? It depends on what Deputy Chief Li decides.”

Li Ping could not help but say, “Commander Zhou, Deputy Chief Li may have the title, but he has no military experience. How can His Majesty entrust him with the army?”

Li Zhenggu had passed the imperial examinations in the third year of Shengyuan, soon after Li Bian’s ascension. To suppress the old Yang Wu faction, Li Bian held a special exam, and Li Zhenggu was among that cohort. He was deeply learned and highly trusted by Li Bian, who made him Tutor to the Crown Prince. After Li Bian’s death, the crown prince Li Jing became emperor, and Li Zhenggu rose further, becoming Deputy Chief of the Privy Council and concurrently Minister of Personnel—enjoying considerable imperial favor.

Zhou Hongzuo’s brows shot up. “The Emperor’s decision must be obeyed. There’s no room for idle talk.”

Chastened, Li Ping withdrew and fell silent.

Yang Lian asked, “Commander Zhou, when do we depart?”

“The day after tomorrow, assemble at the parade ground for the send-off ceremony,” Zhou Hongzuo replied.

“Understood,” Yang Lian said, bowing before leaving.

After further instructions from Zhou Hongzuo, everyone departed. Back at the inn, Yang Lian instructed Xiao Erhei, Wang Hu, and Zhao Peng to keep low profiles while he was away and avoid disputes. Any issues were to be left until his return.

With the campaign approaching, Yang Lian took out his newly forged long saber and quietly polished it. Of all weapons, the saber was his favorite, and he had spent a fortune to have this one made. In Southern Tang, following Great Tang’s tradition, every soldier was issued a standard blade—either a horizontal or curved saber. Eighty percent were horizontal, the rest curved.

Yang Lian had modified his long saber: the blade was broader, with a reinforced spine, allowing it to withstand greater stress—combining the strengths of both straight and curved blades. Yet he remained unsatisfied, resolving to acquire a smithy and forge an even finer weapon. This saber was simply too heavy; on the battlefield, conserving energy meant a greater chance of survival.

Besides the saber, the standard equipment included bow, arrows, and spear. Yang Lian polished his saber, then took out his two-stone bow to check its elasticity. With the winter chill, the bowstring was stiff, so when the sun came out, he carried the bow to the rooftop to warm it.

After inspecting his weapons, he turned to his armor—a suit of fine-scale mail, weighing nearly a hundred pounds. For a warrior, it was a heavy burden, but he had no choice. The progress of acquiring a smithy had to be hastened.

In truth, Yang Lian had not expected the Emperor to value Li Zhenggu so highly as to send one of the imperial guard armies on campaign. After oiling his armor and preparing to hang it up, Xiao Erhei arrived. “Master, Prince Qi has summoned you.”

Yang Lian was startled. Prince Qi again? Was this about the coming campaign?