Chapter 285: Hello Chang'an
Chapter 285: Why Not Be a Bit More Magnanimous?
With a loud voice calling out, a tall figure suddenly lunged toward Cui Jing, wrapping him in a solid embrace and giving his back a few hearty pats with thick, calloused palms.
Prefect Hu and the others nearly turned pale from fright — if it had been someone thinner, those pats alone might have drawn blood.
Ah Dian soon released him, eyes sparkling with joy.
“Xiao Jing! How are you here? Did you come to find me and Xiao Ah Li?”
Cui Jing glanced toward Chang Suining’s direction and nodded softly.
“Yes.”
“You’re late then! Xiao Ah Li just led us through a great victory!” Ah Dian said, his eyes gleaming with pride, voice carrying an air of boastful triumph.
“I’ve heard,” Cui Jing replied earnestly, “You did well, Senior.”
Ah Dian’s chest puffed out even further at the praise — but he, being ever considerate, made sure not to sound too proud. “Xiao Jing, you’re amazing too!”
He looked at him with an expression that seemed to say ‘Don’t be discouraged — we’ll let you shine next time.’
“If there’s a next battle, we’ll bring you along!”
His tone was all sincerity, as if saying ‘Next time something glorious happens, we’ll all be glorious together!’
Cui Jing smiled faintly. “Very well. Thank you, Senior.”
Xiao Min and the others couldn’t help but chuckle.
Chang Suining spoke then, asking, “How is Deputy Commander Jin faring now?”
“The bleeding’s stopped!” Ah Dian said, face turning solemn. “The military physician said the blade almost pierced his heart — luckily, the ship rocked at that moment, so the stab went a bit off!”
Thinking of the traitor responsible, he clenched his fist angrily.
“The ship helped — the man was bad, but the ship was good!”
As Ah Dian’s speech was a bit unclear, Prefect Hu stepped in to explain, “General Ningyuan, please be at ease. Deputy Commander Jin’s life is presently out of danger.”
Hu Lin then added a suggestion: once Deputy Commander Jin regained consciousness, he could be taken to the Prefectural Office of Bianzhou for treatment, where skilled physicians and better medicines were available.
Of course, this wasn’t meant solely for Deputy Commander Jin — the implication was that all wounded soldiers should go to Bianzhou for recovery.
Prefect Hu added humbly, “Our city may lack in many things, but we do have silver.”
After all, Bianzhou was a major grain hub — they lacked neither food nor funds.
Hearing this, Xiao Min, who had long suffered from the court’s stinginess and endless delays in military pay, nearly wept tears of envy.
But though tempted, the chief commander still turned instinctively to look at Chang Suining, waiting for her decision.
Chang Suining, ever courteous, asked, “Would it not trouble Bianzhou too much?”
Hu Lin waved his hands repeatedly. Only then did she nod with a smile and thank him sincerely several times.
Having food and medicine managed for them was indeed something to be glad about.
Xiao Min joined her in offering thanks.
Hu Lin sighed softly.
“It is I, Hu Lin, who should thank you, Generals — and all your soldiers. It is because of you that Bianzhou has been spared from ruin.”
Before leaving the city, he had ordered his remaining men to hold fast within Bianzhou and told the townsfolk to prepare to flee through the rear gates if the walls fell.
The Xu Army knew no discipline — if they entered, they would burn, plunder, and kill. Soldiers were bound by duty to defend the city, but the civilians were innocent.
Now, however, the people of Bianzhou no longer needed to flee their homes or become wandering refugees.
Hu Lin could even return to his own home — to hold his young daughter, so pure and sweet.
He was fortunate.
But those who had not survived would never again see their families. Their souls would remain here, above the waters of the Bian River.
Bodies were gradually fished out and carried ashore, laid side by side along the riverbank — a sight both tragic and harrowing.
The weather was warming, and with so many corpses, they had to be buried nearby.
Cui Jing personally helped direct the digging, while He Wuhu and his men stepped forward to assist, allowing the exhausted soldiers to rest.
As He Wuhu worked, sweat pouring down his face, Jiang Cai approached politely.
“Our General sent me to ask — do you have any wine? Might we borrow some for her?”
Alcohol was forbidden during campaigns, so none was officially stocked.
“We do!” He Wuhu immediately called to his men to fetch all their flasks. With a slightly fawning but earnest smile, he said, “All the wine we brothers brought — we offer it all to our General Ningyuan!”
Hearing his overly eager tone and the phrase “our General Ningyuan,” Jiang Cai gave him a look up and down before taking two flasks.
“These will do. You may keep the rest.”
She carried the wine to the riverside.
Chang Suining uncorked the flasks and slowly poured the wine upon the banks of the Bian River.
She gazed at the dark river swallowed by night, listening to its steady flow beneath the soft wind, holding the now-empty flask in hand as she stood quietly for a long time.
Not far away, Cui Jing stood watching as well — his gaze deep, calm, and reverent.
The slaughter of war was fierce and cruel — yet what truly dragged one into the abyss of sorrow was not the battle itself, but what came after it.
For a general, grief came intertwined with guilt — guilt that could never be reasoned away.
For a long while after, Chang Suining spoke little.
Cui Jing, Xiao Min, and Hu Lin managed all the post-battle affairs — tending the wounded, counting spoils, recording supplies, arranging for repairs of damaged ships — every detail handled meticulously.
Knowing Cui Jing’s experience equaled her own, Chang Suining allowed herself a rare moment of rest, sitting before the fire in silence, letting her weary mind drift.
Night deepened. The stars and moon shone high.
The soldiers, too, were exhausted — they sat in small groups, resting quietly.
Ah Dian sat beside Chang Suining, poking at the fire as he talked endlessly about this and that.
She drew her knees up, hands clasped before them, chin resting on her fingers, eyes fixed on the flames, listening in stillness.
After a long while, a soft melody reached her ears.
Chang Suining turned slightly toward the sound — and saw Cui Jing sitting cross-legged not far away, holding a green leaf between his slender fingers, pressed gently against his lips.
The young man sat still, blowing upon the leaf. The tune that came forth was clear and ethereal, echoing far and wide through the night air.
It was a melody as if from beyond the mortal world — drawn from snow-clad peaks and vast lakes, pure and boundless.
It drifted beneath the moonlight, washing away the lingering scent of blood, soothing the weary and sorrowful, and guiding the souls of the fallen — who no longer needed to stand divided — toward home.
All around, the soldiers listened silently.
Some gazed toward the direction of their hometowns.
Some looked toward the burial mounds of their comrades.
And on their scarred faces, tears silently fell.
Chang Suining, too, listened in stillness — her gaze resting on Cui Jing.
Under the moonlight, the cold sharpness that usually marked his features softened into serenity — a calm that carried both the unspoken compassion of a warrior and his steadfast pursuit of peace.
Ah Dian’s eyes welled up as well.
He didn’t know much of music, nor that the sons of the Cui clan of Qinghe were taught its art from childhood — but he understood what the song was saying.
To the living, it said: Do not grieve. Move forward. It will be all right.
To the dead, it said: Your suffering is over. Go on — it’s time to go home.
When Cui Jing finally set down the leaf, he rose and walked toward Chang Suining — only to see that she had fallen asleep, head resting lightly on Ah Dian’s shoulder.
In the flickering firelight, her sleeping face seemed gentle and innocent — nothing like the battle-hardened general she had been by day.
Cui Jing made no move to disturb her.
Just as he was about to have Yuan Xiang fetch a cloak, Yao Ran approached quietly and laid a blanket over her shoulders.
Seeing her sleep so deeply, Ah Dian grew a bit worried. He touched her forehead — no fever.
Relieved, he pressed his lips together and held his breath, carefully guiding her head down so she lay upon his lap.
Her Highness is a girl now — smaller, thinner… I must protect her well, he thought solemnly.
And being fair-minded, Ah Dian turned to Cui Jing, patting his free thigh softly, wordlessly inviting him to lie down too.
Cui Jing did not. He only sat beside the fire.
“Rest, Senior,” he said quietly. “I’ll keep watch.”
Ah Dian, half-asleep already, yawned and nodded, leaning against a tree to drift into slumber.
Cui Jing stayed seated, occasionally adding branches to the fire — keeping it warm for both of them.
The army rested there for two days, completing every matter of the aftermath.
Meanwhile, news of the victory had already reached Bianzhou City.
In the Prefect’s residence, the Prefect’s Madam could scarcely believe it.
When the household servant rushed in, face alight with mad joy, she stared wide-eyed and exclaimed,
“...Have you lost your mind, or have I?”
“Madam—it’s true! A great victory!”
The Prefect’s Maram blinked in disbelief.
“How could that be?”
Even one of Hu Lin’s concubines muttered in wonder,
“Indeed... since when did our Lord gain such skill?”
When she finished speaking, she immediately covered her mouth, hurriedly adding to make amends,
“I mean… how could ten thousand men possibly defeat Xu Zhengye’s hundred-thousand-strong army?”
At that moment, the soldier who had come to report entered the tent and gave a full account:
“...This time, it was General Ningyuan and Commander Xiao who had set an ambush in advance along the Bian River!”
“General Ningyuan?”
“Commander Xiao…”
General Ningyuan and Commander Xiao—how could they suddenly appear at the Bian River? Had it not been said that they were still in the rear, in pursuit of the enemy, yet had been unable to catch up?
“How could this be?”
The news soon reached Luoyang. In Li Xian’s command tent, his strategist, upon hearing the report, was utterly stunned and his expression changed drastically.
The Xuanzhe Army stationed outside Luoyang City had already begun celebrating the great victory at the Bian River. Even though the credit for the triumph was not theirs, they did not hold back their admiration and praise for the generals and soldiers who had won the battle.
Victory was always a good thing. So long as Bianzhou remained safe and unscathed, that alone was the greatest comfort to those who had been forbidden to march to its aid.
They cared little for the merits of reward—or rather, as members of the Xuanzhe Army, when had they ever lacked merit?
Indeed, they had never lacked it—
but someone else had.
Li Xian sat within his tent for a long time. After confirming again and again that the report was accurate, his eyes gradually darkened.
He had been waiting for word that Bianzhou could no longer hold out, waiting for a plea for him to lead his troops into battle. Yet what came instead was the “victory report” of Xu’s complete defeat.
Xiao Min and that young lady of the Chang family had, it seemed, already set their ambush at the Bian River in advance, simply waiting for Xu Zhengye to walk straight into the trap...
And this crucial plan—he had known nothing of it. From beginning to end, he had been kept entirely in the dark.
“Your subordinate has confirmed it…” the strategist returned to the tent and said softly, “The Xu army was not merely repelled—they have all surrendered.”
“What of Xu Zhengye?” Li Xian lifted his gaze to the strategist.
“Xu Zhengye was slain,” the strategist replied, lowering his eyes. “It is said that he was personally beheaded by General Ningyuan. The news has already spread far and wide.”
Li Xian narrowed his eyes slightly and let out a quiet laugh, its tone impossible to read—half mirth, half bitterness.
“Well, well… General Ningyuan indeed lives up to her name—a hero born of youth.” He spoke slowly. “That battle proclamation—once scorned by every minister as nothing but arrogant nonsense on paper—has actually come true.”
Words once dismissed as wild boasts had now become reality.
This time, she would undoubtedly be hailed by the people as a true star of war.
With such a feat—utterly wiping out the traitor Xu’s forces—none in the court would dare laugh at her again, nor would anyone still have the right to censure her past mistakes.
And he—
he was now destined to become a laughingstock.
Xu Zhengye had not merely been forced into retreat, but annihilated entirely.
Thus, he had not even the chance to pursue. From start to finish, he had sat idly by in Luoyang, holding his troops still—
making himself the perfect subject of ridicule.
Li Xian sat motionless, his expression betraying little.
The jubilant shouts of celebration outside his tent sounded especially harsh to his ears, like mockery—taunting him for gaining nothing from this campaign.
Sensing the mood, the strategist spoke at the right moment:
“…General, you were commanded to guard Luoyang. Now that Luoyang remains secure, your duty has been fulfilled. If, in due time, you are granted command of the Xuanzhe Army, there will be plenty of opportunities for great achievement ahead. You need not trouble yourself over a fleeting victory or loss.”
Li Xian’s gaze refocused. He smiled faintly.
“The strategist speaks wisely.”
Indeed—there was no need to brood over the merit of a single battle.
He merely did not understand why fortune always seemed to favor others, while his own ambitions remained forever confined, never once given the chance to be seen by the world.
He had waited so many years, finally catching a glimpse of opportunity—only for his plans to collapse once again. One could hardly blame him for feeling as though fate itself was toying with him.
But the strategist was right: so long as he could take command of the Xuanzhe Army and become its new Grand General, there would be no shortage of chances to display his talent.
Rumors of Cui Jing’s misfortune had already begun spreading quietly throughout the capital. Soon, the Holy Emperor would surely issue an edict to appoint a new commander of the Xuanzhe Army. And among all candidates, he was the only one whom His Majesty truly trusted.
Thinking thus, Li Xian’s mind steadied.
He smiled and said, “Prepare the wine. I shall drink with the soldiers and celebrate our great victory at the Bian River.”
The strategist bowed and accepted the order with a smile.
Beside Li Xian, a woman in blue robes knelt to grind the ink. Li Xian personally penned a letter of congratulations, intending to send it to Xiao Min and Chang Suining.
But just as the letter was sealed and placed into its envelope, news came that Deputy Commander Yu had returned to camp and was waiting outside, requesting an audience.
Li Xian’s eyes flickered, though his smile remained unchanged.
“Quickly—invite him in.”
Deputy Commander Yu had previously led a thousand light cavalry on patrol and had been gone from camp for several days.
Li Xian, however, was not inclined to reprimand him—not now. A mere brief explanation would suffice. After all, as the future commander of the Xuanzhe Army, why not be a bit more magnanimous at such a time?
Soon, Deputy Commander Yu entered the tent, saluted, and indeed offered an explanation—
But that explanation was something Li Xian had never anticipated.
(End of Chapter)
(“Good night, sweet dreams.” — tonight’s lullaby by little Cui blowing leaves.)
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