Reserve Militia

In early September of Imperial Year 779, answering the Commanders' Office's call for enlistment, the first batch of 200,000 reserve troops recruited from the family's fifty-six provinces assembled in the imperial capital, preparing to head for the Far East battlefield.

The reserve officers and soldiers came from different provinces and regions, speaking strange accents and dialects, sporting frighteningly huge beards, and dressed in every conceivable fashion: poor city soldiers wore tattered clothes and looked exactly like beggars; young gentlemen wore elegant tailcoats, looking as though they had come to attend a banquet; country bumpkin nobles wore rusty suits of armor—so ancient one suspected they had been stolen from museum collections—and their warhorses were old enough to qualify for a retirement home. Zichuan Xiu had even once seen an old man struggling along, gasping with every step beneath a fifty-kilogram broadsword. With malicious delight, he guessed, "What's he planning to do with that sword? Even if he wanted to kill himself with it, his spirit would be willing but his strength wouldn't."

They marched in formation for inspection beneath all sorts of terrifying banners: "Death Squad," "Skull Revenge Army"—and one force from Locksinwei Province had even named itself the "Slay All Righteous Army." Judging by appearance alone, they looked a hundred thousand times fiercer than the soldiers at the front, while their confidence was a million times greater. All day long, they waved their canes and said disdainfully, "Those lowly Far East rabble aren't worth us noblemen drawing our blades for—we only need to wiggle our canes and nail every last one of them to death!"

President Commander Luobo Minghai had always considered himself a cultivated man with great patience. His main task every day was to inspect batch after batch of recruited troops arriving from every corner of the land. After each crooked infantry square marched past the reviewing stand in goose-step, the bare parade ground would invariably be littered with shoes—the soldiers in the rear ranks had trampled the shoes right off the feet of those in front during formation drills.

The other members of the Commanders' Office all wore strange expressions—they wanted to laugh but dared not, holding it in until their faces turned blue and their hearts nearly burst. Only President Commander Luobo Minghai could remain utterly impassive as he addressed the former owners of the shoes, praising their "diligence in training and constant devotion to the great cause of national defense," thanking them for their "red-hearted loyalty and their courage in stepping forth during the family's darkest hour," and exhorting them to "bravely slay the enemy and win glory through merit." The soldiers saluted in return and shouted, "Long live the family!" "Long live the President Commander!"—as though the shoes baking in the sun on the bare concrete did not exist at all. Luobo Minghai truly felt that his self-cultivation was saintly!

But on September 10th, when the militia from Jixin Province strolled past the reviewing stand in casual clothes, cigars dangling from their mouths, moving in twos and threes with the slovenly air of people out for a walk, even the "saint" could endure no longer! Their banner had been daubed into something like a ghost-catching talisman; only by examining it carefully with a magnifying glass could one vaguely make out what seemed to be the character "Xiu" written upon it...

"Who's that old man up there with the blue face? Why does he look so familiar?"

"You're so stupid! Don't you ever watch the television news? That's President Commander Luobo Minghai—a big shot!"

"Oh dear, I had no idea our Xiu Battalion tour group had an event like this planned—if I'd known, I'd have brought my camera for a photo together."

"President Commander, smile! Good! OK!"

"Oh my, everyone look! The President Commander can smile! And when he smiles, his nose twitches too! How fascinating!"

"Look, look, he can talk too! His lips open and close like a fish dying of thirst! Hey, where are you going?"

"Such a rare opportunity—I'm going to ask the President Commander for an autograph!"

Suppressing his rage, Luobo Minghai asked Zichuan Xiu as calmly as possible, "Could you tell me, sir, what those things down there are?!" One hand pointed at the militia below, in precisely the manner one might point at a pile of dog shit on the pavement.

Zichuan Xiu rose solemnly to his feet and gave the President Commander a highly concise and absolutely correct answer: "People!" Then he promptly fled through the back door.

The deep and composed Luobo Minghai did not explode on the spot. He merely cast a sidelong glance of contempt at Chief Inspector Di Lin, who was attending the inspection nearby, then raised his head to the sky and spoke—as though conversing with God rather than Chief Inspector Di Lin: "What measures will the Inspectorate take regarding Deputy Commander Zichuan Xiu's obvious dereliction of duty in recruiting the militia?"

Di Lin smiled, took a sip of strong tea, and said lightly, "He's got character. I like him." Then he rose and left the parade ground, deliberately ignoring the fact that Luobo Minghai's face had turned the color of pig liver.

Zichuan Xiu fled home in a wretched state and let out a long breath. "That was close! Luobo Minghai nearly screwed me to death right there!"

Zichuan Ning brought him a cup of hot tea. "The television news said our President Commander Luobo Minghai suddenly suffered a high blood pressure attack and collapsed on the parade ground—this has nothing to do with you, does it, Big Brother?"

"The weather's so hot. The President Commander has high blood pressure, and he works so hard—he really ought to take better care of himself!" Zichuan Xiu looked deeply pained, while inwardly praying to every god he knew, whether he believed in them or not: Bless me, bless me—may the President Commander stay bedridden from this illness and just kick the bucket!

Shirakawa hurried in. "Sir, bad news! Our soldiers are mutinying again!"

"Are they ever going to stop? Last Monday, they complained the food was bad. On Wednesday, they said there were no erotic dances to watch—they've already mutinied twice! Now they eat and drink like kings and can watch strip shows every night, and they still want to mutiny?"

"Oh, sir, they say the dancers don't have good figures—not sexy enough... Those bastards actually said they wanted me to perform that kind of dance! They deserve to be killed!"

Shirakawa was fuming, then suddenly grew a little bashful. "But I have to admit, those bastards do have good taste..."

"Pah! What good taste? Honestly—after less than three days in the army, even a sow becomes a fairy maiden!" Ignoring Shirakawa's expression, Zichuan Xiu went on, "Still, as an officer, one should care for one's subordinates. Otherwise, who will fight to the death for you in the future? Shirakawa, why not make a tiny sacrifice—this is entirely for the family's great cause, for the Far East to regain peace sooner, for the people's hopes..."

"Sir, could you please stop drooling when you say such lofty and righteous words in the future? It completely ruins their persuasiveness!"

"Oh, thinking of the family's great cause of peace has made me too emotional—anyway, I'll do my utmost to meet the demands of these warriors who are about to head to the battlefield and fight for the nation. What else do they want?"

"They also say they want Miss Zichuan Ning to perform an erotic dance..."

"..."

"Sir, are you all right?"

"Inform my elder brother Di Lin: have the Inspectorate's military police suppress those filthy hooligans—might as well kill them all!"

In the second week after the Battle of Walun, following Sterling, family commander Ming Hui led the powerful Black Flag Army from the family's western border through Valen Fortress and into the Far East to suppress the rebellion. Fang Jin had originally been slated to command it, but a sudden illness left him unable to lead the army, so Ming Hui had to take command of the Black Flag Army instead.

Ever since Ming Hui's corps entered the Far East, the family's Commanders' Office had faced two entirely opposite frustrations. On one side, Sterling's Central Army raced wildly onward along the northern route, impossible to restrain. On the other, Ming Hui's Black Flag Army on the southern route moved like an old ox dragging a broken cart—two weeks had passed, yet the 120,000 Black Flag soldiers were still dawdling back and forth in Fumingke, the first province outside Valen City, fighting small rebel bands, stopping and starting, taking one step forward and two steps back. Zichuan Xiu described Ming Hui's speed thus: "Even a healthy snail could outrun him!"

President Commander Luobo Minghai dearly wished he could fly over and lay a few lashes across Ming Hui's backside.

Yet Ming Hui himself spoke with perfect righteousness: "If we greedily rush forward for merit and repeat the defeat at Chishuitan, who will bear that responsibility?"

No one could bear such responsibility, so Ming Hui dawdled with even greater justification. When fighting the terrifying Liufeng Shuang, his caution and swift retreat had allowed him to remain "undefeated." Now he seemed determined to carry that spirit of caution to its utmost extreme: every hill might be a rebel nest, every forest might conceal an ambush, every road might contain a laid trap—even if you casually lifted a stone by the roadside, two or three elusive rebel soldiers might leap out and flash you a strange, wide grin.

But one absolutely could not say Ming Hui was doing nothing. When he encountered a dozen or so lost stragglers retreating from beneath Valen City, he would sweep his brush and write: "Encountered 200,000 rebel main-force troops!" When a sentry was bitten by a snake in the grass, Ming Hui would dare report to the Commanders' Office the next day: "The Snake Clan has launched a large-scale assault! Our army has suffered grievous casualties! We must halt our advance and rest!"

Eventually, the Commanders' Office could only laugh and cry as it read Ming Hui's battle reports: "On the first day, our army killed one million Snake Clan warriors; on the second day, two million Beastmen; on the third day, three million..." Compared with that, Sterling's great victory at Walun was hardly worth mentioning. Even if every race in the entire Far East were added together and then doubled, it would not equal the number Ming Hui had killed in two weeks! Yet somehow there were still "five million rebels stubbornly obstructing" his advance ahead!

By comparison, Sterling's battle reports appeared far more credible; all who heard them were moved to tears...