Chapter 104: The Rising Winds (Part I)

In Shanyang City, amid the late autumn days, a tranquil and leisurely atmosphere prevailed.

From last summer to autumn, the region had endured the ravages of war. Yet the Turkic Zhibi troops only advanced as far as the northern edge of the Sanggan River valley. Though Shanyang City suffered from conscription demands and the strains of military logistics, it was spared the devastation wrought by the Turkic wolf cavalry, and its vitality endured.

This year, although Governor Wang intensified conscription efforts, pushing the countryside to the brink of collapse and nearly exhausting all grain and fodder within Mayi Commandery’s control, Shanyang was garrisoned by the Mayi Yingyang troops. Even if unrest arose in the countryside, the turmoil would not spread into Shanyang City.

The obstinate Governor Wang stood at odds with the stable and firm Yingyang Prefecture under his jurisdiction, and relations with the Southern Duke of Tang were tense. Yet with winter approaching—a season unsuitable for warfare—this year promised to pass peacefully.

In a chaotic era when the Sui Empire teetered on the brink of collapse, a year of relative stability was considered a gain. The common folk, weary and resigned, scarcely dared to ponder what the next year might bring.

As the seat of Mayi Commandery, Shanyang City still held some prosperity amid widespread rural decline. Even village leaders like Xu Gan had to send their grandsons out to earn exemption fees. Most townsfolk had some tenuous connection to the commandery officials or the Yingyang soldiers, sharing in the wealth that flowed into the commandery seat. With autumn waning and no threat of war, Shanyang was filled with an air of celebration and peace.

Compared to the rough and monotonous frontier town of Yunzhong, Shanyang, as the commandery seat, exuded a certain grandeur.

Since the turmoil of the Southern and Northern Dynasties, ethnic integration had greatly deepened. Customs flourished, and after centuries of development, the southern regions beyond the Yangtze River now continuously funneled wealth into the Central Plains.

The Sui Empire’s reach extended from the yellow deserts of the frontier to the verdant lands of Jiangnan. Centuries of brutal warfare forged an invincible army, and wealth far surpassed that of the Han and Jin eras. Coupled with cultural diversity born from ethnic collisions and assimilation, this should have marked the dawn of a new powerful empire—one destined to blaze the brightest fireworks of medieval history.

Though this empire was inexplicably hastening toward collapse and a new era of chaos, its legacy had yet to fade.

Even in frontier commandery seats, one could see foreign women from the steppe, merchants of diverse ethnicities dressed in various styles, and a myriad of foods. Government officials and noble retainers, swords at their sides, feasted joyfully in taverns, discussing the latest poetic forms from Chang’an and Luoyang. Vigorous young men led horses through the markets, ready to prove their worth and seek a place under any patron.

Unlike the hopeless and dark days at the end of the Jin dynasty—when despair gripped all from nobles to commoners, and the entire society descended into frantic abandonment before ruin—the final days of the Sui still brimmed with robust spirit, striving upward, and hoping for rebirth from the ashes.

Unless, for some reason, this chaotic era dragged on so long and cruelly that it destroyed all those hopes.

For example, during the Eastern Jin, countless chances to restore the Central Plains and revive Han culture were lost due to internecine strife among noble clans, which buried all hope and nearly plunged Han civilization into darkness.

In Shanyang City, officials and commoners harbored no such grand illusions; instead, they relaxed fully during these rare peaceful days, lending the commandery seat a lively and distinctive charm.

At this moment, several riders hurried through Shanyang’s north gate. After inspection by the Mayi Yingyang garrison on duty, they were waved through without hesitation.

Dust-covered and weary, their horses slick with sweat, it was clear they had ridden day and night to reach Shanyang.

The leader, not yet forty, wore a face of sharp competence and determination—he was the very man sent by Liu Wenjing that night.

After such hardship, seeing Shanyang’s bustling scene felt almost surreal. Though all had spent considerable time in Jinyang City and were worldly, now they gawked like country bumpkins, unable to tear their eyes away from the thriving market, noses filled with the scent of meat and wine from nearby alleys, their throats dry with hunger, longing for a hearty meal.

Yunzhong was a cursed place—winds biting like knives, frost like swords, with nomadic tribes nearby—truly no place for civilization. They were fortunate to have left early.

The leader, seeing their distracted expressions, snorted: “Don’t think about revelry. We have serious matters to attend! Each of you find old acquaintances here in the city with wide connections, spread the word!”

The men nodded, though their spirits were low. After the arduous journey, being told to work now felt like a lack of consideration by their leader.

The leader’s face darkened with anger. In a low voice he scolded: “Brothers, we’ve endured all these days to find a patron. If not now, then when? Look at Liu Wuzhou—without noble backing, even with the strong Heng’an Yingyang troops, he still struggles! The Liu we serve stands behind the Duke of Tang! If anyone dares to waste time, I’ll be the first to strike!”

His outburst silenced them. He took several pouches from his chest and tossed them to his men.

The men weighed them in their hands, clinking with at least a hundred copper coins inside. Their faces brightened instantly.

The leader planned to stay in Shanyang for three or four days, spread the news, then move on. Those hundred coins would be enough to revel each night, finding a Tartar concubine every evening.

One subordinate couldn’t help but ask: “We understand Liu wants to provoke conflict between Heng’an Prefecture and Mayi Prefecture. But why spread the news that the young hero Le Langjun is the vanguard for Heng’an? He’s a rare talent—if Governor Wang destroys his family, it would be a pity.”

The leader’s face grew cold. “Why do you ask so many questions? Liu ordered it—just do it! Stop overthinking.”

The men bowed their heads in silence. The leader then scanned them grimly: “Hero? When I began in Mayi, this Le Langjun didn’t even know where to pee! I struggled to survive in Jinyang. Now, all these Le Langjuns and Yuchi Gongs have popped up. I’ll show them who’s really formidable!”

The men dared not speak further. Exchanging glances, they dispersed to spread the word. The leader dusted off his clothes and rode toward the busiest part of Shanyang.

With his old connections, it wouldn’t take a day to spread the news. This Le Langjun, who had recently made waves in Yunzhong, was about to see his rear catch fire.

Why was it that every country hero in Mayi rose to fame quickly, cheered by the young and the bold? Yet he, having wandered the martial world for years, only now found a patron?

And this patron valued Le Langjun so highly!

Why?

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