Luo San had not attended the victory banquet. He had never liked such extravagant affairs; beneath the clinking cups and raised goblets, everyone was locked in a struggle driven by greed. How dreadfully dull. When he heard from his former subordinate that the victory banquet had turned into a Court Session, and had left several men so exhausted they'd collapsed into sleep the moment they returned to camp, he fell silent. His former subordinate said, "You made the right call by staying away. It was enough to make anyone's head spin."
There had been no singing, dancing, or wine at the victory banquet—only tedious trivialities that could send one's soul soaring out of one's body. Worse, they had to listen with every ounce of concentration they could muster. By the middle of it, several of his former subordinates had all but wished they could prop their eyelids open with toothpicks. They simply couldn't take it anymore.
Luo San looked at his former subordinate, whose face was ashen.
Even military drills had never left him pale-lipped with exhaustion.
Had that victory banquet been a Hongmen Banquet?
His former subordinate shook his head, scooped up a handful of water, and splashed it on his face to clear his mind. Still shaken, he said, "In my life, I've hated nothing more than people saying martial folk are reckless. But today, I almost wished I had no brains! We who swing blades and brandish staves have no place at gatherings like that."
Just attending once had left him with lingering dread.
Luo San said, "That's just prejudice against martial folk. Anyone capable of commanding three armies is both learned and martial. If one day martial folk really lose the right to take part in government, and those Scholars start telling us how to fight