Chapter 28: Mourning the Ancient Battlefield

Quance and his men made their way to the county seat of Ruyang, where they collected the bodies of the Thousand Ox Guard who had fallen in battle, and then returned from Caizhou to Bianzhou.

On their journey, they passed through Luyi, the site of the ancient Battle of Ningping. Three centuries ago, here, Xiongnu’s Shi Le pursued the coffin of Sima Yue, Grand Preceptor of the Western Jin. A mass of lightly armed cavalry charged; the Western Jin was utterly routed. One hundred thousand soldiers were surrounded, trampling each other in chaos, nearly all perishing. This battle not only snuffed out the last breath of the Western Jin but also ushered in the sorrowful era of the Five Barbarians’ invasion.

Quance raised his hand, signaling the party to halt. Looking around, he declared, “Here is where we shall cremate our fallen brothers.”

“This place will suffice. General, do not hurry—I will gather the county officials and gentry from Luyi and the surrounding areas,” Zheng Zhong replied, eager to make the ceremony grander. “We must not let our brothers depart in silence and desolation.”

Quance nodded in approval, and Zheng Zhong, along with several riders, sped off in different directions.

Laborers busied themselves, erecting wooden scaffolds, surrounding them with pine branches and mugwort. Inside, they piled dry grass and leaves. With torches in hand, they lit the pyres, and the flames leapt skyward. Quance and the remaining fifty-eight soldiers, in full uniform, dismounted and stood solemnly in neat formation beside the pyres.

The reputation of the Eastern Capital’s Thousand Ox Guard was known to every household. Hearing of the upcoming funeral rites and cremation for the fallen, many gathered to pay their respects—some bringing jars of wine, others carrying wild chrysanthemums. Di Renjie, attending to local affairs nearby, arrived in person, accompanied by the magistrates and gentry of the three surrounding counties, along with numerous attendants, to set up the spirit hall with incense burners, prayer flags, and white banners.

Quance and the other dignitaries exchanged silent bows, then each took a torch and set the pyres alight in turn. The flames blazed, and the souls of the fallen drifted toward the heavens.

The crowd stood in mournful silence—a dark mass, hushed save for the occasional sobs that escaped from the ranks of the Thousand Ox Guard.

“I have long heard of the general’s literary talent. If you can set aside your grief for a moment, would you speak a few words to honor the departed?” Di Renjie stepped forward, clasping Quance’s hand in solace and inviting him to address the assembly.

Quance’s mind replayed the brutal days of the campaign—the savagery of cold steel, the panic in men’s hearts. Be they commoner or soldier, fate was not their own; each bore hardship.

He raised his raspy voice and called out, “Brothers of the Thousand Ox Guard, elders and villagers, all my comrades have shared a common purpose—serving the nation with valor, sacrificing themselves for righteousness. Though my heart is heavy with sorrow, it is also stirred with pride. The spirits of the departed watch over us; they will shield us from disaster, and our martial fortune will flourish. As for us, who still live, we must ensure that the families left behind are clothed and fed, free from hunger and cold. To be a part of the Thousand Ox Guard is to be closer than kin, to respect and love one another, never arrogant in talent or virtue, never undermining each other for fame or gain. This is the soul of my army—today, tomorrow, as long as I am here, and even when I am gone, may you all remember this.”

“Yes! Yes! Yes!” The soldiers of the Thousand Ox Guard raised their broadswords and shouted in unison, their voices shaking the heavens.

Quance pressed his hand down to calm them and continued, “This very ground is an ancient battlefield. Centuries have passed like drifting clouds, yet the spirits of over a hundred thousand heroes endure. Here, I pay homage to this battlefield, to honor my fallen brothers.”

“Vast and boundless, the flat sands stretch on, no soul in sight. The river winds like a belt, the mountains entangled and conflicted... On this ancient field, armies are often undone. Ghosts wail here, and when the skies darken, their cries can be heard… Among the people, who does not have parents? They cling to and raise their children, all fearing an untimely death. Who does not have siblings? As dear as hands and feet. Who is without a spouse? As guest and friend. Life, what grace; and death, what blame? Heaven and earth grieve, the grass and trees mourn. Without rites, the souls of the dead are lost, and disaster shall follow, scattering people and bringing hardship. Alas! Is it fate, or is it destiny? So it has always been...”

When his recitation ended, Quance took three sticks of incense, bowed thrice to the spirit hall, and the others followed in turn to offer their respects.

Di Renjie stepped forward again, grasping his hand. “I have long heard of your renown, General, but only in fragments, your image always indistinct. I doubted that one so young could possess such ability. Now, having witnessed your great deeds, your care for your comrades, your forging of the Thousand Ox spirit, and your honoring of the ancient battlefield, I see that true ambition knows no age. General, you are truly a man of virtue and purpose.”

Quance shook his head humbly, returning Di Renjie’s grasp. “You praise me too highly, Prefect. All I have are empty words; it is you, who safeguard the people, who are the true pillar of the nation.”

At this, Di Renjie’s face darkened, and he muttered repeatedly, “It offends Heaven’s will, it offends Heaven’s will…”

Zhang Guangfu stubbornly refused to return to the capital, growing ever more ruthless as he suppressed the rebellion. The purges widened, his officers blinded by bloodlust, slaughtering prisoners and innocents alike, claiming unearned merits, resorting to every means. The region of Henan fell under a reign of red terror.

Quance was powerless to stop it. Compared to the bloodshed before his eyes, he was even more troubled by the letters in Zhang Guangfu’s possession. Once they reached Chang’an, they would surely unleash a new storm of blood.

Unable to dispel his unease, Quance drowned his worries in wine. Lai Chong and Zheng Zhong, both connoisseurs of drink, accompanied him until day and night blurred together. Even Lu Jiong, who had never cared for wine, was drawn into their drunken revels.

Outside, Zhao Liu, Qu Quongyu, Di Renjie—anyone even slightly acquainted, regardless of their relationship with him, was invited to the feast. Many came, drawn by his growing reputation. He refused no one, trading poems with the scholars, sparring with the warriors, filling the military tent with raucous life.

When there were no guests, he drank with Shazha Fu and Juedi, the leader of the Eight Steeds. The Eight Steeds, so named by Li Zhen after the legendary horses of King Mu’s journey to Kunlun—Juedi, Fanyu, Benxiao, Yueying, Yuhui, Chaoguang, Tengwu, and Xieyi—had come forward to offer their service after Quance’s ceremony honoring the fallen. Skilled in stealth and the use of hidden weapons, they were masters of espionage, wasted as mere bodyguards. Quance kept only Juedi by his side, assigning the other seven to Shazhashu.

A culture of heavy drinking flourished in the central command. Among the remnants of the Feathered Forest Guard was a centurion notorious for his poor drinking habits; after drinking, he would often become deranged. On one occasion, Quance saw him drunkenly assault a superior during an argument, and it took more than a dozen men to restrain him, drawing laughter and derision from all.

Quance joined in the mockery, a sly smile flickering at his lips, a glint in his eye. Always repressing oneself was unhealthy; being too prominent in merit was also dangerous. Why not, for once, indulge freely?

The next day, Quance gathered the men for a drinking bout, inviting the ill-tempered centurion and plying him with several jars of wine, gently provoking him, “Your commander was wronged. He was only here to protect, not to fight. The Prime Minister was truly ruthless.”

“Exactly! The commander… he… he cared for us like family. The Prime Minister brings only harm—quick to kill, but we deserve an explanation!” The centurion, his tongue thick with drink, grew more animated, swaying as he shouted, “We need an explanation!”

“Easy, brother, don’t be hasty,” Quance feigned consolation, helping him up and, sensing his agitation, escorted him straight to central command.

Inside, Zhang Guangfu sat cross-legged behind his desk, tallying his supposed achievements, his fat face wreathed in self-satisfied smiles. Suddenly, his vision went dark—a burly, drunken giant fell upon him, pinning him to the ground.

“We need an explanation, Prime Minister! You must answer for this!” the centurion howled, pummeling and kicking him.

Zhang Guangfu howled in pain, his voice shrill as a duck’s, “Guards! Guards!”

The attendants rushed in, but Quance staggered before them, blocking the way and shouting, “Don’t hurt anyone—let’s be reasonable! He’s the Prime Minister—he doomed your commander, and now he must pay!”

The centurion, further incited, grew even more furious, hoisting Zhang Guangfu and hurling him onto the desk. The table, unable to bear the weight, shattered into pieces.

“Are you all right, Prime Minister?” Quance staggered over, and in a feigned stumble, crashed down, his elbow smashing into Zhang Guangfu’s face.

A sickening crack was heard.

Zhang Guangfu shrieked like a rooster, blood streaming down his face.