Chapter Forty-Seven: Stirring Trouble

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In truth, this time it really wasn’t Liu Ji’s doing.

The field training had gone on for many days, and worn-out shoes had become an urgent problem. The leather boots they usually wore were made from stiff hide, and in the absence of rubber or other chemical products, their soles could only be fashioned from the same leather. Once worn through, the boots had to be sent back to the craftsmen for new soles—a task not completed with a single step on a sewing machine, but requiring hours of patient, hand-stitched labor.

So, he first thought of a marching tool used during the Red Army era, one that required no modern materials—just the hay used to feed horses, which was perfect. Of course, at first, only he in the whole unit knew how to weave them, but this technique was easy to learn. It spread quickly—one teaching ten, ten teaching a hundred—until soon the entire unit had adopted it.

Back in later generations, during special training, their leaders had deliberately invited a veteran of the Red Army to teach this skill, ensuring that during survival exercises, if they ever lacked supplies, they could make use of whatever was at hand and wouldn’t have to go barefoot.

The old soldiers in the unit were all crafty as monkeys. The moment they put on these straw sandals, they realized their benefits. Previously, after running thirty miles in those hard leather boots, their feet were not only sore and aching but covered in blisters that throbbed painfully even after a night’s rest.

But ever since they switched to the straw sandals, their backs stopped aching and their legs no longer hurt. They could run dozens of miles without effort—as if climbing five flights of stairs in one breath. The greatest advantage was, of course, that when the sandals wore out, they could simply toss them aside—materials were abundant. Before each training session, every man would tuck several lengths of braided straw rope into his pack, weaving as he marched. Once finished, the sandals could be hung at their waists, adding no noticeable weight. Gradually, even those who had initially scoffed—like Zhang Wuji—came to love this simple thing.

Compared to the stiff leather boots, they were simply too comfortable.

“Your squad had over ten men fall behind again today. Go tell them that if they can’t keep up tomorrow, they needn’t come at all. From now on, they won’t participate in any drills, and naturally, they’ll forfeit all special allowances. My meat is for those who are useful—useless men won’t be fed.”

Zhang Wuji said nothing, only noting the order in his heart. These days, he did whatever was required of him, and his superior never targeted him specifically—everything was handled as official business. Over time, he’d grown accustomed to it.

“And your squad is the same. Don’t think that past achievements count for much here. With me, there’s only one measure: usefulness. If you’re not fit, get out.”

“Commander, if I may, your regimen gets tougher by the day. Not just them—even we are struggling. If you could allow a little more time, I guarantee they’ll catch up. I, Old Xu, will vouch for them.”

Xu Guangjing wore a bitter expression, trying to plead. For a man, to be deemed unworthy and driven out was harder to bear than death. The hundred-plus men here were already the best soldiers in the battalion, yet the commander still wasn’t satisfied.

“Time is exactly what we lack. If not for saving time, would I be spending my own money on meat? You think money grows on trees?”

He couldn’t be blamed for his impatience. Less than three years remained before the coming chaos, and in this era, everything moved at a glacial pace—measured in months. He simply couldn’t afford the delay.

“To speak plainly, I don’t need so many men. Some would only die if they went. Letting them stay behind is for their own good.”

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By now, Liu Ji began to reveal his plan bit by bit to the officers. In his vision, only those who met certain physical standards could be selected. After all, this was a path no one had ever trodden before. Though he himself had walked it countless times, that was more than twelve hundred years ago.

The environment here seemed little changed, but that was only because the standoff between India and Pakistan meant no government dared undertake large-scale construction in a region where conflict could erupt at any moment.

Yet, a millennium of geological change meant many uncertainties remained. The men he led would face unpredictable hardships, so both physical fitness and adaptability had to be held to the strictest standards.

For this, a new range of equipment was being developed. Until preparations were as thorough as possible, he had no choice but to push their training ever higher, accepting the resulting high rate of elimination.

A thirty-mile round-trip march in full gear was just the appetizer; crossing a mountain on foot was merely preparation. The high altitudes of Daboli, with an average elevation exceeding 4,000 meters, were the real test.

The true ordeal would not be about whether they could get mutton, but about life and death. Liu Ji gazed at the distant white line, a deep frown creasing his brow.

The camp’s silence was shattered by a sudden commotion. Several soldiers came staggering in, led by the flagbearer who’d been sent to buy sheep from the locals.

“Commander, Vice Commanders, our sheep were robbed and our men beaten.”

“Who did this?” Liu Ji’s anger flared instantly.

“Li Zhen...”

Li Siyé?

The flagbearer caught his breath and continued, “Commander Li Fei from the camp.”

You could at least finish your sentence in one go, Liu Ji glared at him. Even if it really was Li Siyé, there was no way he’d let that stand!

“Gather the men—come with me!”

“Yes, sir!”

The wounded men dashed out eagerly. Zhang Wuji and Xu Guangjing exchanged glances, putting aside any thought of persuasion. With him leading the way, what was there to fear?

Li Feiyuan himself didn’t see this as a big deal. He hadn’t sent his men to buy sheep for their own sake, but because he wanted to eat. His personal aides were always arrogant, never giving a minor commander a second thought. Though this fellow had backing, so did they.

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Their own commander was a foreigner.

Since Chancellor Li came to power, everyone knew the court had begun to favor non-Han generals. The first prince of this dynasty, An Lushan, already held the post of military governor over three regions, and had lately grown even more arrogant, memorializing the emperor to replace more than thirty Han commanders with non-Han ones—a request to which the emperor immediately agreed. What did that imply?

Though he feigned indifference, Li Feiyuan was secretly pleased. Among the ten thousand troops gathered here, from the chief commander Feng Changqing down to the various defense and garrison officers, all were Han—he alone was a foreign general. Should he distinguish himself, the court might well promote him out of turn.

Wasn’t it just two sheep? It’s not as if more couldn’t be bought.

When Liu Ji stormed in with his men, Li Feiyuan was lounging in his grand tent, drinking wine. Apart from the absence of female attendants, it was almost like a banquet.

“Liu Guoyi, you’re just in time. Bring another table—let’s drink together!”

Though Liu Ji looked anything but friendly, Li Feiyuan still believed he was offering goodwill. If the other would just accept a face-saving way out, the whole affair could be settled.

But Liu Ji walked straight to his table, picked up a bone, and said coldly, “You killed my sheep?”

Li Feiyuan’s face darkened at the rebuff. “So what if I did? Want me to pay for them?”

“No need.” Liu Ji smiled. “I’ll give you a beating and pay you a few coins on top—how about that?”

With those words, he flung the bone at him. While Li Feiyuan was caught off guard, Liu Ji kicked the table, sending cups and a basin of mutton soup flying into Li Feiyuan’s lap.

“Get him!”

He shouted, hurling himself into the fray.