General Changning— Chapter 13
Palace Attendant He Cong arrived at Yanmen with a grand wedding procession. News that General Changning was to be escorted to the capital to marry the Regent had already spread through the Western Xing camp—everyone knew. But for the soldiers stationed hundreds of miles farther north at Qingmu Pass, the news came late. Only that morning, after drills, did word finally reach them. And it was said the general would depart for the capital within days.
The camp erupted like boiling water. Where the mess hall was usually crowded after morning exercises, it was deserted today. Soldiers gathered in knots everywhere, trading rumors, voices buzzing.
From the mess hall came a tall, broad-shouldered man, clutching two steamed buns, another still in his mouth. As he ate and looked around, a lean young soldier sprinted toward him like a leopard. It was Zhang Jun—nicknamed “Monkey”—the scout who was once saved by Yang Hu during a pursuit of Di raiders. He shouted: “Yang Hu! Yang Hu! You’re still eating? Something terrible has happened!”
“What? The sky falling? Even if it does, I can’t starve!” Yang Hu bit into his bun. “What’s wrong with everyone today? No one’s hungry? I dismissed you and rushed here, but usually, you all act like starving ghosts, fighting me for food. Now no one?”
“No, no!” Zhang Jun waved frantically, face pale.
“What is it? Did you see a ghost?”
“The General is getting married!”
“The General? Which general would marry? Your brain’s broken…”
“Our commander! They say she’s marrying the Regent!”
Yang Hu’s buns dropped to the ground. His eyes bulged like copper bells, his body frozen.
“Shocked, aren’t you? Me too! When I first heard, it was like being struck by lightning!” Zhang Jun’s face was stricken.
Orphaned young, he had joined the army for food. Quick and clever, he was chosen by the lady general for special training in tracking. Now he led a scout unit. His skill had allowed them to catch Di raiders swiftly. Yet even facing a thousand enemy horsemen alone had not shaken him as much as this news. It was as if the sky had collapsed, his heart ripped away.
Yang Hu finally stirred. The bun in his mouth fell, rolling at his feet. “Bullshit! Impossible! The General would never marry!” he cried, face green.
“It’s true! A high official has already arrived with the procession! The Western Xing camp knew long ago! Only we were kept in the dark. It’s over—we’ve lost our leader. Who knows where we’ll be sent now…” Zhang Jun muttered anxiously.
Yang Hu stood stunned, then suddenly shoved Zhang Jun aside and strode off.
“Yang Hu, where are you going?” Zhang Jun shouted after him.
“To find the General! I’ll ask her myself!” Yang Hu roared.
Zhang Jun blinked, then ran after him. “Wait! I’m coming too—”
With leaders at the front, more soldiers joined, until a crowd surged out of Qingmu camp. The acting deputy tried to stop them, but their fervor swept him aside. Just then, a mounted party approached on the road. By chance, Jiang Hangyuan had returned.
The soldiers fell silent.
Fan Jing, riding with her, halted and glared at the crowd blocking the gate. “What’s this? Looking for a fight?”
The men shrank back, eyes turning to Yang Hu.
Yang Hu stepped forward. “General! They say you’re marrying. Is it true?” he shouted.
Fan Jing snapped: “Insolent! Yang Hu, have you forgotten discipline? To speak so to your commander!”
“I don’t care! Even if I lose my head today, I’ll say it!” Yang Hu’s face flushed red. He turned to Jiang Hanyuan.
“General! ‘Same robe, same fate, live and die together’—that’s what you said when you formed the Death Battalion three years ago! I was the first to join! Now we’ve become Qingmu Camp, and we’re proud of it. If you order us to charge, even into blades and fire, we won’t blink! But now you turn away—to marry?”
His voice rose to a roar. “I don’t care who it is! Even the Emperor! You said those words, yet now you abandon us to wed? You betray us!”
His words fell, and silence blanketed the gate. Some soldiers looked stricken, others fearful.
Zhang Jun panicked. He hadn’t thought Yang Hu—nicknamed “Mad Seventh”—would truly dare speak so. He signaled to fellow officer Song Shiyun. Together they seized Yang Hu’s arms, forcing him down.
“You’re mad! Beg forgiveness!” Zhang Jun hissed.
But Yang Hu’s eyes burned red. He struggled free.
Zhang Jun kicked him hard, knocking him flat, then grabbed his hair, pressing his face into the dirt to silence him. Yang Hu coughed on dust, choking.
“I won’t yield! General, if you leave us to marry, what are we worth?” he cried hoarsely.
“Just as promised! Same robe, same fate—live and die together!”
Yang Hu coughed, still refusing to yield. He twisted his face aside, shouting hoarsely with all his strength.
The soldiers around heard clearly, but none spoke.
Fan Jing had expected Qingmu Camp’s men to react to the news, but not with such intensity. He was moved, though his face betrayed nothing. Sternly, he ordered: “Bind him! Lock him up! Await military punishment!”
Several guards rushed forward, joining Zhang Jun and Song Jiushan, ready to tie Yang Hu like a pig for slaughter. But then Jiang Hanyuan spoke: “Release him.”
At their commander’s word, they let go at once. Yang Hu lay gasping, his face smeared with dust, looking up as Jiang Hangyuan dismounted and came to stand before him. Zhang Jun nudged him, urging him to apologize, but Yang Hu clenched his jaw, stubbornly silent. The tension grew until suddenly, Jiang Hangyuan bent down and extended her hand.
Yang Hu hesitated, then slowly raised his own. She grasped it firmly and pulled him to his feet.
Confused, he stood, then muttered, eyes red, voice breaking with a trace of tears: “But you promised…”
“Yes,” Jiang Hanyuan answered. “Promised—same robe, same fate, live and die together. You have not forgotten, nor have I.”
Yang Hu froze.
She turned, gazing across the vast hills beyond the camp. “This land, Qingmuyuan, was once held by the Di. Only three years ago did we reclaim it. In that battle, the oldest who fell was twenty-six, the youngest only fourteen. They lie beneath our feet now, bones in the earth. Today, the raiders still plunder our people, our land remains unreturned. How could I dare forget them?”
With that, she drew a dagger from her boot. Before anyone could react, she rolled up her sleeve and slashed her forearm. Blood welled and streamed down.
“General!” the soldiers cried, rushing forward.
But Jiang Hanyuan stood unmoved, raising her bleeding arm, turning slowly so drops fell into the soil. Her eyes lifted. “I, Jiang Hanyuan, swear by my blood: until the Hu riders are driven out, Qingmu Camp will never disband!”
Her gaze swept across their faces. “When the day comes to lay down arms, we will do so together, horses turned to pasture. Though I leave today, I will return. Guard Qingmu Pass for me—wait until I come back, and together we will drink the blood of our enemies!”
Her voice rang like iron, carrying to every soldier. Silence held for a heartbeat, then thunderous cheers erupted. Yang Hu leapt high, wiping his eyes. “You scared me, General! I thought you’d abandoned us, gone to live with the Regent and raise children! But you’ll come back—wonderful! You must return soon!”
She smiled faintly and nodded.
Unable to contain himself, Yang Hu shouted to his comrades: “Zhang Jun! Song Shiyun! Cui Jiu! Brothers! You heard her—she said she’ll return!”
Zhang Jun and Song Shiyun grinned. Cui Jiu, the scarred archer, silent as ever, tugged his mouth in acknowledgment.
Remembering his outburst, Yang Hu grew sheepish. Seeing her arm still bleeding, he called for the medic. The doctor bound her wound as Yang Hu hovered anxiously. “General… if you just said you’d return, we’d believe you. You didn’t need to do this. It’s my fault!”
The cut was nothing to her. She adjusted her sleeve, ignoring him.
“I… I’ll go take my punishment!” Yang Hu blurted, face red.
“Not this time. No flogging. Instead, you’ll run drills longer than the others—an extra quarter hour each morning, until I return.”
Yang Hu sighed in relief. “No! Too short! Make it half an hour!” he cried eagerly.
She glanced at him. “You said it yourself.”
“Half an hour! I won’t break my word!” He straightened, resolute.
She nodded. “Then half an hour. Don’t slack off while I’m gone.”
“Yes! As you command!” he shouted.
Zhang Jun elbowed him, teasing: “Admit it—you cried just now. Lucky the General promised to return, or you’d be rolling on the ground bawling!”
Yang Hu flushed, denying fiercely, kicking back at him. “Bastard! I counted every kick you gave me! I should never have saved you last time!”
Their comrades laughed, egging them on, eager for a fight.
Zhang Jun bolted. “Breakfast! Hurry, or it’ll all be gone!”
The crowd scattered, leaving the gate empty once more.
Fan Jing exhaled quietly.
Jiang Hangyuan watched her soldiers depart, then turned to him. “Uncle Fan, I came back only to bid them farewell. I leave this place to you.”
Fan Jing, once retainer of the Yan clan, had trained her since childhood. To him, she was both master and daughter. This was her first time leaving alone. Though he trusted she would return, he could not help but worry—she was going to the capital, to marry the Regent.
Suppressing his unease, he said firmly: “General, go without concern. I will guard this place faithfully.”
She smiled and nodded.
“General, one more thing.”
She looked at him.
Fan Jing spoke carefully: “The Grand General said that Liu Xiang, commander of the palace guard, was once his subordinate. Though they have not met in years, old ties remain. He asked me to tell you: if you face difficulty in the capital, seek Liu Xiang. He will surely lend his aid.”
Jiang Hanyuan said nothing. She cast one last look at Qingmu Camp—its banners, its earth, its every blade of grass—then mounted her horse and rode away.