Jungle

"Ambush!" The scout's warning turned into a scream the next second as a crude javelin pierced straight through his warm chest. The javelins kept raining down, and screams rang out one after another through the ranks.

The attacked Central Army soldiers swiftly gathered together, forming a circular defensive formation. The shieldmen, swords in one hand and shields in the other, automatically took up positions on the outermost edge. More than a hundred square shields formed a ring, while the crouching archers fired back into the depths of the dense forest over the tops of the shields. Javelins continued to fly without pause, but they could no longer harm the soldiers sheltered behind the shield wall.

The battalion commander, Minor Banner Warrior Dukela, roared, "Fifth Company, move! Drag out those little bastards who've been shooting from the shadows!"

More than thirty soldiers armed with sabers shouted, "Yalimei!" and charged fiercely into the dense brush. They had originally been cavalrymen. Though they could not ride horses in jungle combat, that did nothing to change their fierce fighting style. Three soldiers were struck and fell during the charge, but the rest bravely closed in, surrounding a dozen or so Beastmen and hacking at them.

The Beastmen resisted just as fiercely. They paid no heed to the cries of "Surrender and live!" and fought savagely with crude javelins against sharp sabers. In the muddy jungle after the rain, blood sprayed, screams rose, and men fell on both sides. No one retreated. If an arm was hacked off, they switched the weapon to the other hand; if a shoulder was smashed by a club, they gritted their teeth and lunged forward all the same. One Central Army soldier had his leg broken, yet he rolled through the muck and kept swinging his saber at the enemy's legs.

Seeing that the Beastmen had already suffered more than half their number in casualties, Dukela turned and shouted, "Archers, forward! Finish them! You men, fall back first!"

The archers answered with a roar and began drawing their bows. Just as they were about to advance, a cry of "Waa!" rang out, and hundreds more Beastmen surged from the surrounding forest, raising javelins and clubs as they charged in to slaughter them. The soldiers immediately formed another ring formation to resist, and brutal hand-to-hand combat erupted once more along its perimeter.

Dukela's mind went boom. We've fallen into an ambush! He shouted, "Fifth Company, fall back to the battalion!"

The thirty-odd soldiers of the Fifth Company who had broken away from the main force desperately tried to fight their way back, but more than a hundred Beastmen wielding massive clubs surrounded them with wild roars. Weapons flashed everywhere, and they could not advance even a step. One after another, they were beaten until flesh and blood flew, brains burst out, and screams rose in a dense chorus.

The battalion's soldiers also fought desperately toward them to provide support, but several hundred rebels blocked their way. The two sides clashed violently, with blood spraying and people falling every second. Less than thirty meters separated them from the trapped soldiers; they could see each other and shout to one another, yet could not close the distance by a single step. Before the battalion could reach them, those soldiers who could not form a defensive formation would surely be wiped out!

A clear whistle sounded. A figure flashed, somehow passing through several layers of encirclement and rushing into the trapped soldiers' midst. This short human was astonishingly swift and crisp in his movements. He was barehanded, yet with every gesture, an enemy silently crumpled to the ground. No one could see how he struck. The Beastmen, famed for their enormous strength, were as fragile as clay figurines and paper dolls before him. In an instant, he tore open a gap in the Beastmen's encirclement, and the trapped soldiers seized the chance to rush back to their own formation.

Seeing that the ambush had failed, a tall Beastman commander let out several "Waa! Waa!" cries. In the blink of an eye, the huge mass of Beastmen that had just been so ferocious scattered in headlong flight, diving into the woods and hiding in the grass until they vanished without a trace—as suddenly as they had appeared.

The sounds of battle vanished all at once. The deep-autumn forest returned to silence, so quiet that one could hear the chirping of small birds, the drip-drip of rainwater falling from the trees, and the soft groans of the wounded lying on the ground. Pale afternoon sunlight in late autumn filtered weakly through the leaves, falling in scattered patches upon the green moss, the pools of standing water, and the young, pale faces of the dead.

The soldiers gulped down air, their fingers still clenched tightly around their swords, their muscles taut. Their bloodshot eyes continued scanning in all directions for the next opponent. They still could not believe that the heart-stopping slaughter had ended.

Dukela was the first to come to his senses. He barked, "Why are you standing there like wooden stakes, staring like idiots? Get over there and bandage the wounded brothers! You lot, chop down a few small trees and prepare stretchers!"

As if waking from a dream, the soldiers answered one after another, pulling out medical kits to dress wounds, checking whether those on the ground were still alive, and seeing whether they could capture any prisoners.

Dukela remembered something. "Who was that brave man who charged in and saved our brothers just now?"

Several archers pointed together at a young soldier looking around everywhere. "Him! He saved our brothers! He's earned a great merit!"

"That was me." The young soldier smiled sheepishly, revealing a mouthful of white teeth—the only white thing on his face. His face was splattered with mud. He was not tall, but he gave off an alert, capable air; his gaze was sharp yet steady. His uniform was so filthy its original color could no longer be seen. His head was bare, his cap having fallen off in the fighting, and he was looking around for it.

"Well done, lad, well done! Beautifully done!—You're not from our unit, are you?"

"That's right, I was just passing through here. You're the unit commander, right..."

"Right my ass!" Dukela flew into a rage. "Didn't your officers teach you anything? When speaking to a superior, use an honorific! Be sharp and direct! You say, 'Yes, sir! That's right, sir!'—Again!"

The young man smiled good-naturedly, stood at attention, and said, "Yes, sir!"

"Mm, now that's how a soldier should look! All right, tell me your name, rank, and unit designation. I'll submit a recommendation for your merit!"

"That would be troubling you indeed, sir." The young man's smile was radiant. "Full name: Sterling Zuo Na. Attached to the Family Central Army. Position: Commander-in-Chief of the Central Army, member of the Commanders' Office, member of the Supreme Military Advisory Council—when did you plan to submit that recommendation for me, sir?"

At last, he found his cap. He blew off the dust and wiped away the mud and water, revealing the bright golden eagle insignia.

"Sir, you were disobedient again today!" Deputy Commander Tang Ping, Chief of Staff of the Central Army, complained in the tone of a doctor scolding a child who refused to take medicine. "You were supposed to inspect the troops' defenses. How did you end up charging to the front lines? What if something had happened..."

"Exactly!" Deputy Commander Qin Lu, the corps' deputy commander, chimed in. "The division commanders below have all been protesting: 'We welcome Lord Sterling to inspect our defensive sectors, but could you please tell him not to keep charging to the very front? If anything happens to His Lordship in our sector, we can't bear the responsibility!' Sir, everyone knows you are peerlessly brave, but the duties of a corps commander differ from those of an ordinary soldier. We are responsible for planning strategies, making plans, commanding..."

"All right, all right, I know." Sterling hurriedly changed the subject. "Today I inspected the three divisions on the left flank. Luneng Division's defenses are acceptable, and their trenches have been dug well. Wenhe Division is much worse; from top to bottom, no one seems to know what they're doing. I walked around for half the day and not a single sentry came to question me. Their trenches are like drainage ditches, so shallow they can't hide anyone. There was even some half-wit battalion commander who took over three hundred men and tried to charge into Wisdo Forest to cause trouble for the rebels—I already issued an order forbidding pursuit into the forest, didn't I?" By the end, Sterling's expression and voice had become stern.

Qin Lu quickly explained, "Wenhe Division was originally a cavalry division. They're good at attacking but poor at defending, and their officers are all accustomed to taking the offensive—I'll speak to Wenhe about this at once."

"We cannot attack again. Our casualties are too severe. That damned ghost forest—no matter how many men we throw into it, it will never be enough!" Sterling sighed, then his tone turned severe. "Inadequate supervision. Wenhe must bear responsibility. Tell him he's been demoted, from Red Guard Captain to Banner Captain, though he will remain commander of the Third Division. Tell him that if he dares make the same mistake again, he can report to the Military Law Department himself."

Qin Lu and Tang Ping could not help smiling. This was already the third time Wenhe had been disciplined with a demotion in two weeks. Every time, Sterling was utterly stern and severe, yet within a few days he would find some excuse to restore Wenhe to his former rank. Wenhe was not the only one; nearly every officer knew that Sterling's methods were swift and decisive. Serving under him, it was easy to earn promotion, but just as easy to fall, because Sterling never tolerated laziness or slackness. It had gotten to the point where officers sent people to ask the staff headquarters every morning, "Am I a Banner Captain or a Red Guard Captain today?" "What? I've already been demoted to Minor Banner Warrior? I was still a Deputy Commander the day before yesterday!"

Only then did Tang Ping find the chance to tell Sterling that Ming Hui, acting commander-in-chief of the Black Flag Army, had arrived and was waiting for him at headquarters. Sterling was overjoyed. Ming Hui's arrival meant that the powerful Black Flag Army was nearby. The Central Army officers and soldiers, who had been fighting alone all this time, could finally catch their breath!

Inside the crude headquarters built from planks and branches, the Family's two highest-ranking commanders in the Far East Region met.

Sterling raised his hand in salute. "My respects, sir. I have been ordered to hold this position."

Ming Hui returned the salute. "My respects, sir. I have been ordered to reinforce you."

Ming Hui and his attendants stood in crisp dark-blue uniforms, their snow-white gloves spotless, their military boots polished to a gleaming black, and the golden epaulets on their shoulders shining beneath the sun. They were spirited and full of vigor. By contrast, the Central Army officers wore uniforms that were tattered and filthy, their faces exhausted. Many were wrapped in grimy black bandages; some went barefoot, their ruined boots dangling loosely from their feet. Several officers even attended the meeting bare-chested. Even Sterling, the corps commander, was not much better off—covered in mud and water, bareheaded without even a cap, he looked utterly improper receiving guests.

The Black Flag Army officers exchanged glances, faint smiles curling at the corners of their mouths. This is the bearing of the Family's finest elite force? They're barely better than a pack of beggars.

The meeting of the upper echelons of the two great corps should have been a moment of historic significance, but Ming Hui thoroughly spoiled the atmosphere by shouting, "Sterling, does the Central Army never eat? We've traveled a long way and are exhausted. We've been here so long, and no one has given us anything to eat."

Sterling smiled bitterly and hurried to apologize. "My apologies. The people below are inconsiderate—prepare food for Lord Ming and our distinguished guests at once."

The corps' deputy commander, Qin Lu, looked troubled. He oversaw logistics, and his motto was: "You can have my life, but not my grain!" But seeing Sterling's firm order this time, he hurried out to tell them to "prepare food!"

Steaming rice was soon served. Several Central Army officers turned their faces away, unwilling to let the guests see the hunger in their expressions. The fragrance of rice was simply too great a torment for them.

Ming Hui asked curiously, "Sterling, you aren't eating?"

Sterling explained, "We already ate with the troops below. Lord Ming, please eat at your leisure."

Ming Hui smiled. "Sterling has learned to go down and scrounge meals from the troops too. The food down there really is good—but how is one supposed to swallow rice without a few dishes to go with it? Sterling, you're too stingy, hiding all the good things away. I know life on the front lines is hard, so I'm not asking for fresh chicken, duck, fish, or meat. But surely you have some cured pork?"

The hosts looked at one another. Finally, Sterling could only smile bitterly. "My apologies, we don't have that either. Some other day, when we manage to hunt a rabbit or other game, we'll send it to you, Lord Ming."

Ming Hui truly was hungry. After grumbling a couple of times, he lowered his head and began shoveling down rice in huge mouthfuls, without forgetting to lecture Sterling as he ate. "If soldiers don't eat well, their morale won't rise. So, when an army fights, supply is the key! Sterling, you still have much to learn!"

What he meant was: I've eaten more salt than you've eaten rice. The Commanders' Office is considering candidates for commander of the Far East Theater. You're still wet behind the ears—how can you compete with me?

The Central Army officers nearby all showed outrage. When the military situation had been urgent, the Central Army had gone to the battlefield without even having time to gather supplies. They had also spent all this time deep behind enemy lines, with their supply routes constantly being cut off. Yet Ming Hui's Black Flag Army had not only arrived late, after stripping the grain and fodder from every province along the way, but had also kept hiding from the enemy rather than facing them head-on. And now they were standing there making snide remarks!

Tang Ping, the Central Army's chief of staff, could not help saying, "This subordinate has also read Lord Ming Hui's battle report. Your force killed seven million enemy soldiers in a single week—such divine valor has never been seen before and will never be seen again. Truly, your merits are outstanding!"

The Central Army officers all burst out laughing. Ming Hui's inflated claims of victory made their teeth itch with hatred. Since you had already killed every last rebel, what credit was left for us?

Ming Hui wiped his mouth and said carelessly, "Not at all, not at all. It hardly counts as merit. We are merely serving the family!" He seemed completely unable to hear the sarcasm in their words.

Sterling waved a hand, stopping Tang Ping from continuing his mockery. Back when he had fought Liufeng Shuang in the west, he had learned just how thick this "Lord Ming's" skin was—thicker than Sterling, Zichuan Xiu, and Di Lin's combined. Mocking him was like poking iron armor with a matchstick; it did not itch or hurt in the slightest. Otherwise, he would not have run faster than a rabbit the moment he spotted Liufeng Shuang from afar.

As soon as the meal was over, the meeting began.

Sterling introduced the Central Army's situation to Ming Hui. "When the Central Army left the Imperial Capital, its total strength was 150,000 men: 50,000 cavalry and 100,000 infantry. After hard-fought battles such as the Battle of Valen, the Great Pursuit across the Far East, and the defensive battle in Wisdo Forest of Yun Province, we have lost nearly 50,000 men. The cavalry losses in particular have been severe. Of the original 50,000 cavalry, fewer than 20,000 remain. We no longer have any horses for logistics, and have virtually lost our ability to maneuver quickly. The soldiers are exhausted, and sickness and injuries are widespread." Therefore, he requested that Ming Hui have the Black Flag Army temporarily take over the Central Army's defenses, so the Central Army could have time to recover.

Ming Hui propped his chin on his hand as he listened, smacking his lips. "This matter... is difficult! Lord Sterling, you know that our Black Flag Army was originally a second-line force assigned to defend the Lin Family. Our soldiers have little combat experience, and I fear they cannot shoulder such a heavy responsibility. Besides, our troops have traveled a long way to get here and need time to rest as well! Also, we are not natives of the Far East. The climate and water do not agree with us, and many of our men have diarrhea, seriously affecting our combat strength. And lately, we have not had fresh fruit supplies either. Everyone is very dissatisfied..."

As Ming Hui listed excuse after excuse, anger flared in Sterling's heart. The Black Flag Army was suffering from unfamiliar climate and water—was the Central Army somehow native to the Far East? More than half the army had contracted dysentery! You merely lacked fruit, while we could only eat wild vegetables. You said your men lacked combat experience—were we in the Central Army born knowing how to fight? Besides, that was plainly impossible. Hadn't the Black Flag Army participated in every one of the previous wars against the Liufeng Family?

Sterling suppressed his anger and asked, "But the Commanders' Office ordered Lord Ming Hui's forces to reinforce us. How exactly do you intend to provide that reinforcement?"

"Oh, before I came, the staff department gave me a plan. I think this plan will work! Bring the military map."

Ming Hui gestured over the map. "This is Wisdo Forest, where the rebel main force is located. This blue strip is your army's defensive line. As for ours, we plan to deploy along this red strip, fight shoulder to shoulder with your army, and wipe out the rebels together!"

One look nearly made Sterling curse aloud. The red strip where Ming Hui intended to deploy the Black Flag Army lay almost entirely behind the Central Army's blue defensive line. His words sounded fine—"fight shoulder to shoulder"—but in reality, he intended to hide behind the Central Army and stand by with folded arms, preserving his own strength.

But Sterling immediately regained control of himself. Ming Hui was not his subordinate, and he had no authority to give him orders. He could only have orders sent through his superiors in the Commanders' Office or through Zichuan Canxing. But this place was thousands of miles from the Imperial Capital; for official documents to go back and forth would take at least several weeks. Besides, whether the Commanders' Office and Zichuan Canxing would agree with his proposal was another question. Even if they were willing to issue an order, he had his reasons—and if Ming Hui offered reasons of his own and defied the order? They were both members of the Commanders' Office. He had that right. By then, who knew how long the wrangling through official documents would drag on?

Yet the Central Army desperately needed rest. Every day, hundreds of soldiers were lost to noncombat causes such as wounds, disease, and hunger. Those who could still fight could barely manage to stand, each of them hollow with hunger and thin as skeletons.

Sterling could only negotiate with Ming Hui in a conciliatory tone. But no matter how he appealed to emotion, explained reason, begged, promised, or guaranteed, Ming Hui remained as slippery as a glass marble, meeting a thousand changes with the same answer. "This matter is difficult!"

Sterling had nearly lost hope. He even had such a thought: Once you, Ming Hui, have finished deploying, I'll take my troops and leave on some dark, windy night. Let the rebels deal with you directly. But though he thought it, he knew he would never do such a thing. What if that bastard Ming Hui copied him and ran away too? Who would defend Wisdo Forest then? They had finally pacified several provinces; if the rebels burst out again and spread across the Far East, who would bear the responsibility?

Before they knew it, night had fallen. Ming Hui stood and was about to take his leave. "All right, all right. We'll talk about these matters another day. I should be going."

There was nothing Sterling could do to him. He could hardly detain him by force, could he? The remaining Central Army officers sat there with furrowed brows, staring blankly.

Sterling forced himself to rally and told his subordinates, "It's nothing. The war will go on as it always has, and we still have to eat." The orderlies brought out everyone's "dinner": a huge pot of wild vegetable soup so thin one could see their reflection in it. There should have been some grain in the vegetable soup, but that day's grain ration had long since been eaten up by Ming Hui and his men. Everyone could only eat vegetables.

Sterling ladled himself a bowl of broth. There were barely any wild vegetables in it. With a bitter smile, he thought: The secret to drinking wild vegetable soup is to gulp down the broth until your belly is swollen. Then you count yourself full—until one piss later, when you're hungry again.

Just as everyone was eating with heavy hearts, Ming Hui's cheerful voice came from the doorway. "Well, well! When I came earlier, you wouldn't eat, but now that I'm leaving, you bring out the good stuff. Today, I'd say I came early at just the right time! I'll have a serving too." It had grown dark, and the Black Flag Army officers could no longer find the road they had taken to get there. They had no choice but to return to the Central Army, intending to spend the night and leave the next day.

Before Sterling had time to hide anything, Ming Hui had already poked his head in. "Let me see what little private feast Sterling has prepared."

After one glance, his expression changed. "You're eating this?"

Sterling was so ashamed that he could not bring himself to speak. Tang Ping muttered softly, "What else are we supposed to eat? You ate all today's grain."

Ming Hui fell silent. Only after a long while did he say, "Give me a bowl." He ladled himself a bowl of broth and drank. The moment it entered his mouth, his face showed how hard it was to swallow. He set down the bowl and stared straight at Sterling. "How long has it been like this?"

Seeing that he could no longer hide it, Sterling answered honestly, "Two weeks. Our supplies were cut off long ago."

A sharp light shot from Ming Hui's eyes. It was hard to believe that he and the slick bureaucrat who had been laughing things off just now were the same person. "Why didn't you report it?" Then he quickly changed his words. "Who's behind this? Luobo Minghai? Why didn't you expose him to the Chief?" In his heart, he understood. It had to be Luobo Minghai, jealous of Sterling's outstanding military achievements and afraid Sterling would replace him, who had deliberately done this.

Sterling answered solemnly, "For every matter, great or small, that causes the Chief concern, we subjects are at fault." He did not want to start an official dispute with Luobo Minghai at a time when the nation was in such peril.

Ming Hui was silent for a long time before slowly speaking. "Sterling, you're a good man! But I, Ming Hui, am no less a man! I can't speak for the long term, but holding out for a week or two—we of the Black Flag Army can manage that! You withdraw and rest."

Overjoyed, Sterling bowed deeply. "Lord Ming Hui's righteousness is lofty. On behalf of every officer and soldier of the Central Army, Sterling offers his thanks!"

Three days later, the Black Flag Army entered the positions and took over the Central Army's defenses. The 100,000 Central Army soldiers, who had fought without cease since the outbreak of the Far Eastern war, finally got a chance to catch their breath and withdrew to Deya Province in the Far East to recover.