General Changning — Chapter 8
At Yanmen’s western mountain pass, November winds swept over withered grass.
It had been more than a month since his daughter left behind those two words and vanished. For Jiang Zuwang, each day had dragged like a year.
Yunluo City lay far to the west, not close to this frontier. Yet no word had come back from Fan Jing. What troubled him even more was that the venerable Prince Xian, whom he had sent to the city on the pretext that the camp could not withstand the night’s cold, had not departed. From time to time, the prince’s men came to ask for news.
Jiang Zuwang had been using the excuse that his daughter had gone to pay respects at her maternal grandfather’s anniversary and had not yet returned. Each time he deflected, saying the journey was long and that messages took time. As for the city where Prince Xian resided, he avoided it altogether, lest the truth be discovered and trouble come knocking.
That day, weighed down with worry, a junior officer came to report: Fan Jing had finally returned. But the news he brought dashed Jiang Zuwang’s hopes.
The Lady General was not in Yunluo City. According to her uncle, she had never even gone there.
Disappointment quickly gave way to heavy concern.
His daughter had spoken late as a child, and even after learning to speak, she remained quiet and reserved. Yet she was always steady, never leaving without word. Though she had left a note this time, how could Jiang Zuwang truly rest easy?
After hearing Fan Jing’s report, he stood in the tent, brows tightly furrowed, silent for a long while.
Fan Jing, guilt-ridden, said: “It is my failure. I could not find the General. But, Grand General, do not worry too much. I will take men and search elsewhere at once!”
He turned to leave, but Jiang Zuwang stopped him.
“Enough. Since childhood, she has been reserved, never speaking of her thoughts. Even as her father, I do not know what lies in her heart. If she is not in Yunluo, the northern lands are vast—where could you search without aim?”
“But—”
Jiang Zuwang waved his hand. “She has always had her own mind. Since she left a note, there is no danger. Let her act as she wills. Whatever her business, when it is done, she will return.”
He looked at Fan Jing. “You have traveled hard these days. Go and rest.”
Just then, a drawn-out cry rang outside: “Grand General! Prince Xian has arrived!”
Before Jiang Zuwang could finish his words, Yang Hu’s booming announcement echoed, warning the tent that an uninvited guest had come.
Fan Jing glanced over. Jiang Zuwang quickly signaled him to withdraw. Fan Jing understood and hurried out.
Jiang Zuwang stepped outside. In the distance, he saw Yang Hu supporting an elderly man, walking slowly toward him. The old man’s beard and hair floated in the wind, his steps unsteady, as if he might stumble at any moment. Jiang Zuwang hastened forward to greet him.
“You are the young seventh son of the Yang family of Anwu Commandery? I recall when you were a boy, you once came with your father to my residence for the Double Ninth Festival. I thought you bright then, asked you to recite poetry, but your voice was so soft I could barely hear. How is it that after a few years, your voice has grown so loud? Softer, softer! You’ll ruin my ears—”
The frowning elder was none other than Prince Xian, Shu Yun.
Yang Hu remembered the old humiliation—failing to recite before the crowd, beaten hard at home afterward—and his temper flared.
“Your Excellency, in the army, we speak loudly. I am already considered refined! Otherwise, in battle, how could comrades hear each other’s shouts? Your Excellency—!”
He deliberately grinned and shouted again.
“Ah! You little rascal, you’re trying to deafen me!”
“Even with a hundred lives, I wouldn’t dare! Your Excellency wrongs me—”
One old, one young, they bickered like sparring partners.
Jiang Zuwang arrived, suppressing his worries, and bowed in apology:
“The camp lies dozens of miles from the city. If there were matters, Your Excellency could have summoned me. I would have gone to you. How could I dare trouble you to come here in person?”
These words were no mere courtesy.
Prince Xian’s rank was exalted. He was the eldest legitimate son of the Founding Emperor and the elder brother of Emperor Shengwu. When the Founding Emperor wished to make him crown prince, Shu Yun declined, saying the realm needed a wise and valiant heir, and he was inferior to his younger brother. Thus, Emperor Shengwu ascended, yet always honored his elder brother. Shu Yun refused grand titles, accepting only the name “Prince of Virtue.” True to his title, he was wise and uncontentious, open-hearted, respected by all officials, known as “Elder Lord.” In Emperor Ming’s reign, he was even granted the rare privilege of a seat in court. Even the powerful Prince Gao, Shu Hui, dared not be rude before him.
All this aside, the problem was his age. He needed support to walk, and the road was rough and uneven. If he stumbled and injured himself, who could bear the blame?
Prince Xian, Shu Yun, smiled warmly: “Grand General, you are busy in the central camp. I have not seen you enter the city for days. I had nothing pressing, so I came myself today. If I have disturbed you, I beg your pardon.”
“I would never dare!” Jiang Zuwang hurried to take him from Yang Hu’s arm, intending to help him into the command tent.
“No, no. I am still strong in age! I can walk myself. No need for you to support me.”
Shu Yun brushed aside Jiang Zuwang’s hand. Jiang Zuwang could only follow carefully behind, and once inside, respectfully invited him to sit at the central seat.
Shu Yun refused. “The commander’s seat in the main tent—how could I sit there? Even if His Majesty himself were present today, he could not take it.”*
So Jiang Zuwang ordered another seat to be prepared. Shu Yun sat, then glanced outside. “When I entered the gate just now, a junior officer told me that General Fan had returned to camp today. As I came in, I glimpsed a bearded, broad-shouldered, imposing man leaving your tent. I wished to see more clearly, but my old eyes failed me. Who was that general, and what post does he hold?”
Jiang Zuwang was startled at Shu Yun’s sharpness—he had noticed even from afar. He answered: “That must have been General Fan.”
Shu Yun’s eyes lit. “Could it be that the Lady General returned with him?”
“General Fan is indeed under my daughter’s command, but this time he was on another mission, unrelated to her. As for my daughter, I reported to Your Excellency a few days ago—she has not yet returned. When she does, I will immediately send word.”
Shu Yun showed disappointment, stroking his beard. “Ah, I thought she had returned.”
Jiang Zuwang apologized, saying the timing was unfortunate.
Shu Yun replied cheerfully: “No matter. I had already heard of the Lady General’s name in the capital. Now that the Regent Prince seeks her hand, I came myself—not only to convey his sincerity, but also with a little selfish wish, to see earlier than others the face of our realm’s only Lady General. Alas, as you say, the timing is poor. Still, in the city, I have heard many tales of her valor. I recall that years ago, the Qingmuyan region was held by the Di tribes. It was she who led troops to reclaim it, built a garrison, and secured the passes east and west. Speaking of her, everyone in the city holds her in respect. This journey, though far, was not in vain!”
Jiang Zuwang, anxious only to send this honored guest away, listened politely, offered humble words on his daughter’s behalf, and glanced toward the door.
“Your Excellency, the day grows late. The frontier is not like the capital—darkness falls quickly, and the nights are bitter cold, no different from deep winter. The tents are drafty and cannot keep warm. Your body is precious. Allow me to escort you back to the city early, lest you catch cold.”
Shu Yun chuckled. “So, I came at the wrong time, disturbing the Grand General. Is this your way of sending me off?”
Jiang Zuwang quickly denied it.
Shu Yun’s tone grew solemn. “Enough. I came today to tell you: I have just received urgent news from the capital.”
He paused, face grave, voice low. “The Grand Marshal, Prince Gao, Shu Hui, died suddenly of illness a few days ago. I must return at once.”
Jiang Zuwang was stunned.
Prince Gao, Shu Hui, though past fifty, was vigorous and strong. Rumor said his palace was filled with hundreds of concubines, nights of endless revelry. Who could have imagined he would suddenly fall ill and die?
As shock struck him, another thought flashed—his heart pounded, cold sweat broke across his back.
He remained silent.
Shu Yun continued: “I had wished to see the Lady General before leaving, but it seems I cannot wait. Yet regarding the Regent Prince’s proposal, Grand General, you seem half-accepting, half-unsure. If I return without a clear answer, how can I reply?”
He looked at Jiang Zuwang. “Well? Have you decided? The Regent Prince sincerely seeks your daughter’s hand. As her elder, I would gladly see it done.”
He clapped his hands. Two attendants entered, one bearing a long chest, the other carefully opening it.
Inside lay a short sword, its blade curved like the moon, about a foot long. The hilt was ring-shaped, the scabbard covered in rhinoceros hide, bound with black silk, inlaid with jade. Ancient and austere, yet elegant.
Shu Yun smiled. “This blade was forged by master craftsmen in the ancient style, tempered in pure waters, wrought from refined iron. Its edge shines like stars, sharp enough to cut hair in midair. It was once the Emperor Shengwu’s own weapon, carried through his campaigns, and later gifted to the Prince Anle when he was but fourteen. He has treasured it ever since. Now, to show his sincerity, he offers it as a token.”
“Blades are instruments of blood, not fit for marriage gifts. But the Lady General is no ordinary woman. The Regent Prince believes only such a treasure is worthy of her. If you consent, I will leave this Moon Blade here and carry back your reply.”
Jiang Zuwang hesitated long, then slowly knelt before the sword. “The Regent Prince’s kindness humbles me. But my daughter was raised in the army. She is dull in talent, rough in manner, no different from a man. I fear she cannot bear the role of Regent’s consort…”
Shu Yun’s smile faded. He coughed. “So the Grand General looks down on the Regent Prince?” His words carried hidden pressure.
Cold sweat broke on Jiang Zuwang’s brow. He forced himself to reply: “I dare not, I dare not! Forgive me, Your Excellency! Only…”
Only—he faltered, lost for words. His mind was in turmoil.
Shu Yun’s tone softened. “Enough. Parents must weigh carefully in their children’s marriages. I depart tomorrow. You have one night. Give me your answer in the morning.”
Jiang Zuwang escorted him out.
Night fell. Alone in his tent, he stared at the Moon Blade left behind. Its cold light gleamed.
The autumn wind howled across the frontier plains all night, only easing at dawn. The lamps in the command tent burned through the night.
Jiang Zuwang did not sleep. Shu Yun awaited his reply. He knew he must decide. At last, he rose suddenly, seized the Moon Blade, and strode out.
The early winter sky was still dark. The horns that roused the soldiers had not yet sounded. At the camp gate, he took his horse from a guard, preparing to ride into the city. Then, in the distance, he saw a lone rider approaching. He stopped, turned to look.
As the figure drew near, he recognized her—his daughter, Jiang Hanyuan, long missing. She galloped to the gate, dismounted in one swift motion, and strode to him. Her clothes were travel-worn, her face touched with frost from the night wind. She had clearly ridden hard through the night to return.
Jiang Zuwang’s joy turned quickly to anger. He stared at her, silent.
“The marriage—yes.”
She looked at him and spoke only this brief reply.