Chapter Twenty-Six: Everlasting Fortress

While Zhao Hengyi, Song Ying'an, and their party were pressing onward through the night toward the frontier town, the capital of Great Yan, Lin'an, remained as bustling as ever, as if the barbarian raids on the border had never occurred.

In this vibrant capital, treasures from all corners of the world converged. As long as one possessed enough silver and status, Lin'an was a paradise in this era.

Inside the imposing imperial palace, even with the moon high in the sky, countless palace maids and eunuchs moved tirelessly like industrious ants, maintaining the smooth operation of this colossal machine.

In the depths of the palace, the young emperor of Great Yan, having just finished his official business, held his most favored consort in a weary embrace, lost in contemplation.

“Your Majesty, my brother has surely been framed this time,” said Consort Chen, her delicate beauty matched only by the gentle cadence of her voice, dreamlike and soft, making the young emperor’s bones melt with pleasure. “Back when Song Ying'an of the Marquis Weiwu’s household commanded the Xuan Battalion, he earned merit after merit and was even awarded the title of Lord of Dangyang. Yet my brother had barely arrived at the frontier when trouble befell him. If you ask me, there’s definitely something suspicious going on. Your Majesty, wise and discerning as you are, surely won’t be deceived by those rough soldiers.”

Immersed in this tender moment, the emperor’s expression tightened, a flicker of displeasure in his heart.

But Consort Chen had anticipated this reaction, showing no concern, and instead wove her words with greater allure, further deepening the emperor’s dislike for the generals of the border army.

Thus, her brother, whose actions had brought heavy losses to the Xuan Battalion, seemed far less culpable—merely a naïve youth set up by others, guilty only of a childish blunder.

Consort Chen, who basked in the emperor’s exclusive favor, knew well that just like his predecessor, the emperor harbored deep suspicion toward military men and disliked seeing noble families in power. Most importantly, he loathed nothing more than being deceived or toyed with.

Watching the emperor’s reaction with careful eyes, Consort Chen knew she had achieved her goal for the night. One must never say too much; it sufficed to plant a seed of doubt in the emperor’s heart. Convinced of his own wisdom and insight, the young emperor would inevitably act as she had foreseen… Her brother’s life was now secured.

Indeed, when the barbarian incursion was resolved, her wayward brother might even reap further benefits.

A hundred miles or so from the border town, Zhao Hengyi and Song Ying'an’s group disembarked from their boat.

The journey ahead required a forced march on horseback—a daunting challenge for Zhao Hengyi and his three attendants.

True, they had practiced riding on the deck of the riverboat, and all four had learned the basics, but riding at a leisurely pace and galloping hard for hours were two entirely different things.

The jarring motion in the saddle made Zhao Hengyi feel as if his organs were being scrambled. Fortunately, he had heeded his guards’ advice and skipped dinner before departure; with an empty stomach, he felt less discomfort.

Not so for Zhang Daniu, who ignored all warnings—he had already vomited thrice halfway through the ride, a perfect object lesson by negative example.

By now, they had entered the territory controlled by the border army. The land stretched wide and sparsely populated, though the fields were not abandoned. After all, farming here meant minimal taxes, and the grain collected for tax was simply delivered straight to the nearby fortress of Yonggu for the border troops.

The only real danger for those who farmed these lands was the threat of barbarian cavalry—who might at any moment break through the border defenses and descend upon them without warning.

Barbarian raids were a long-standing reality in Great Yan, and the local peasants had their ways of coping. Even with the moon high and the stars out, refugees could still be seen along the road—entire families, old and young alike, fleeing under cover of darkness.

As the saying goes, in troubled times, human lives are as cheap as ants. Yet these people gathered around Yonggu Fortress lived lives even more fragile than that.

Halfway through their journey, the party paused to rest at a post station. By then, Song Ying'an was able to read detailed military reports. Each word of these documents stoked his righteous fury, the young lord of the Xuan Battalion’s hair bristling in anger.

“Chen Yongzhong deserves death!”

Chen Yongzhong was none other than the beloved brother of Consort Chen, currently the most infamous scoundrel among the idle sons of the capital. It was his foolishness and recklessness that had brought such grievous losses upon the previously formidable Xuan Battalion.

The Chen family had not been noble long; their recent rise owed everything to Consort Chen’s favor. The emperor was still young, and barring unforeseen events, would rule for decades to come. Though the Chen family’s roots were shallow, they would inevitably become one of Great Yan’s most powerful houses.

But greed knows no bounds. The newly ascendant Chens, eager to consolidate their standing, had recruited many opportunists to their cause. It was through their machinations that the incompetent Chen Yongzhong had managed to oust Song Ying'an from command of the Xuan Battalion.

Yet neither Chen Yongzhong nor his ambitious relatives could have imagined that their quest for easy merit would backfire so disastrously when the barbarians launched their raid ahead of schedule.

Song Ying'an was not halfway through the reports when a messenger galloped up to the post station: the Commander-in-Chief of Yonggu Fortress, Zhang Chaoyang, had ordered him to report to the city at once.

“Yes, sir!”

There was no time for further instructions to Zhao Hengyi. Having stepped back into his role, Song Ying'an took half his personal guards and rode hard for Yonggu Fortress.

Zhao Hengyi and his three attendants, on the other hand, had no need to hurry. They could rest a while longer and, come morning, join the remaining guards to proceed to the Engineering Corps.

Traveling by boat had afforded Zhao Hengyi and his party ample rest, but the jarring horseback ride left them sore and sleepless.

He and his three followers stood outside the post station, silently watching the stream of refugees.

Neither the imperial guards nor the soldiers at the post paid the scene any mind; they were long accustomed to such sights.

Wang Dahu, who had served three years at Yonggu Fortress, lowered his voice to explain the situation to his master and the two other attendants.

The peasants willing to farm around Yonggu Fortress were well aware of the dangers, but the crushing taxes demanded elsewhere left them no choice.

Those who came here did so out of utter desperation, with no other way to survive.

In the heartlands of Yan, one need not face the barbarians directly, but those unable to pay the ever-increasing taxes faced ruin all the same—their families destroyed, the men sent here to serve in the army.

Better, then, to come to Yonggu voluntarily and farm the land. After paying the grain tax, at least one’s family could still eat a few full meals.

But this year was not like previous years.

The crops in the fields had yet to ripen, and the refugees would likely never reap the rewards of their labor.

Fleeing their homes in the dead of night, with barbarian cavalry liable to appear at any moment, and yet still expected to pay taxes on barren fields—these burdens pressed ever more cruelly upon the people.

In the darkness, the endless line of refugees shuffled along the highway like numb, lifeless puppets. The low sound of weeping never ceased.

Standing by the roadside, Zhao Hengyi’s face was masked in frost, his heart filled with suffocating bitterness.