Chapter 21: Victory and Defeat, Unpredictable

Three monks and one layman rode together, dust billowing behind them as they galloped toward Zhangqiu. In less than half an hour, they reached the city walls, slowed their horses, and looked up in silence.

The city stood as it always had—unchanged in the present, just as in the past, and likely in the future. The fortress remains, while the soldiers come and go; such truths endure through the ages. Only the city’s master changes with the tide of power. The strong claim the city, and only the strong can hold it against covetous eyes and marauding hands.

Zhi Shilang’s army of a hundred thousand was strong enough. Lu Lier, a civil official, had always served in peaceful times, never experiencing the clash of arms, and was therefore weak. Yet this was not the true reason for Zhangqiu’s change of masters.

The decisive factor was the betrayal and surrender of Du Fuwei, Fu Gongta, and others.

The greatest sorrow is not defeat at an enemy’s hands, but betrayal by one’s friends. Upon hearing the news, Lu Lier was thrown into confusion; even Li Dong, when he learned of it, was stunned: “Du Fuwei? Did I not personally send him out of the city? How could he collude with Zhi Shilang from within and without?”

While Li Dong was absent from Zhangqiu for a day and a night, Zhi Shilang launched his second assault. Without Li Dong, Zhangqiu’s walls remained, but the battle for their defense was fierce and disastrous—nearly a thousand enemies felled at the cost of eight hundred of their own, a mutual bloodletting.

Had Li Dong remained, with his unfathomable schemes, Zhi Shilang could have stormed the city a hundred times and still found no victory. Yet, Zhi Shilang’s ruse had lured Li Dong out first.

Late last night, as both sides fought until dawn, exhaustion weighed heavily on the soldiers inside and out; their eyelids drooped, and their weapons barely stayed in hand.

Suddenly, the city gates swung open and the drawbridge dropped. A force of ten thousand, previously hidden, surged in, ascended the walls, slaughtered the defending troops, and swiftly captured Zhangqiu.

The county magistrate, vice magistrate, and captain were all thrown into prison. The former inmates were armed and incorporated into Zhi Shilang’s forces. Harboring hatred for the Sui regime, these new recruits quickly executed several officials, while the three highest-ranking county officers were to face public trial on a later date, with the entire city invited to witness.

Their plan: first to humiliate the three chief offenders, then to execute them in the harshest manner.

Du Fuwei and his companions, having rendered great service, were appointed chief judges for this public trial of ten thousand.

When Li Dong arrived at Zhangqiu’s gates, yesterday’s hopes had withered into dust.

Upon learning the news, one thing troubled him more than any other—even more than the fate of Du Fuwei: what had become of Lu Rou?

He felt no worry for his father, Li Hun—not out of a lack of filial piety. For a son not to honor his parents is a great disgrace, not only in ancient times but even before his journey through time. Who would befriend a man who disrespects his own parents?

His confidence in his father’s safety stemmed from the fact that Master Little Bell already knew where he lived, and would know that his father was Li Hun. Since Zhi Shilang wished to win Li Dong over, he would not allow his ruthless soldiers to set foot in the Li household.

Any soldier brazen enough to cross that line would bring upon Zhi Shilang a fate worse than death. As a leader of no mean intelligence, Zhi Shilang surely understood this—and, more importantly, he preferred to live, and to live well.

Lu Rou, however, was in a wholly different situation. She was a woman—so beautiful she inspired envy even in other women, so gentle she softened even the hardest iron-hearted man.

The soldiers, long removed from their homes and families, would be stirred to desire at the sight of a sow; how much more so when faced with Lu Rou’s transcendent beauty? For a weak woman to catch the eye of such men, there could be only one outcome: to fall—either by the sword or by force.

Under the guidance of Master Yuantong and his companions, Li Dong and his party met no resistance en route to the county office’s main hall.

Seated in the center was Zhi Shilang, also known as Wang Bo, with bristling brows, narrow eyes, a wide mouth, and a square jaw—his fierce bearing unmistakable. One glance revealed him as a true tiger general—a tiger may never transform into a dragon, forever destined to roam the mountains and hills rather than soar among the clouds.

Warriors stood ranked below. To the left: Du Fuwei, Fu Gongta, Zhang Junke. To the right: Meng Rang, Little Bell, and the strategist Jia Xing.

Upon seeing the newcomers, Wang Bo was delighted and ordered seats (in truth, kneeling mats) prepared for them.

Master Yuantong stated their purpose and introduced Li Dong: “This is the very youth, Li Dong, whom Chief Wang has so long remembered.”

“Haha! Yesterday we were adversaries; today, we set aside our weapons for peace. We know each other better for having fought,” Wang Bo laughed, his eyes filled with admiration.

“Yes. I was responsible for winning; you for losing,” Li Dong replied calmly, his gaze steady on the wine cup before him.

“Haha! In your eyes, then, who has truly won or lost today?” Wang Bo asked with good humor.

Jia Xing, the strategist, could not contain himself: “Mind your manners! You stand before Chief Wang—know your place. As a defeated foe, how dare you speak so brazenly?”

Li Dong ignored him, addressing Zhi Shilang with a respectful gesture: “The victor sits above in this hall; the vanquished languish below in prison.”

Zhi Shilang caught the layered meaning, but Jia Xing did not—he took it at face value: Wang Bo sat above as the victor, while Lu Lier and the others, the defeated, were in jail.

But Li Dong’s true meaning was that he himself had not lost—he, too, was seated in the hall, thus a victor.

Jia Xing would have spoken further, but Wang Bo waved him silent. Baffled, Jia Xing wondered why his usually compliant chief acted so uncharacteristically today.

Du Fuwei, for his part, understood. Zhi Shilang’s victory and the capture of Zhangqiu were only possible because Li Dong was absent; he had not bested Li Dong on the field of battle.

A lone, former defender of Zhangqiu, speaking so openly before the conquering leader and his mighty host—there was only one implication: you are weak!

Those words bristled with tension.

Gunpowder is dangerous—one spark and it explodes, a single blast and lives are lost.

Zhi Shilang did not wish to die, and Li Dong was even more determined to live. Thus the tension between them.

A thousand cups of wine with a kindred spirit never suffice; half a sentence is too much when minds do not meet.

Wang Bo laughed heartily, “Well said! Our young hero is weary from the year’s labors. Escort him back to the Li residence for rest; we’ll discuss matters further tomorrow.”

Li Dong rose slowly and bowed, “Thank you, Chief, for sparing my life. I take my leave.”

Du Fuwei also got up. “Allow me to see you out.”

Wang Bo offered no objection; he had no reason to—so he simply agreed.

Du Fuwei quickly joined Li Dong, his delight plain. Once out of earshot, he whispered, “I have a great gift for you, General.”

Li Dong sneered, “It seems you insist I must accept this gift?”

“Heh heh, no one else would dare accept it—unless they want to die,” Du Fuwei grinned mischievously. “Would you refuse before you’ve even seen it?”

Li Dong replied, “Your gift must be grand indeed! On behalf of all the people of Zhangqiu, I thank you in advance!”

Du Fuwei paused, realizing Li Dong’s lingering resentment over his betrayal in opening the gates to Zhi Shilang. He forced a smile, “Please, General, come with me.”

Without waiting for a response, he took Li Dong by the arm, twisting and turning through alleys until they reached a secluded house. After checking to ensure no one was about, he knocked softly.

A servant opened the door, and the two entered.

With an air of secrecy, Du Fuwei bolted the door from within, still holding Li Dong’s hand as they walked together into the main house and then into an inner chamber—a woman’s boudoir, by the unmistakable fragrance that wafted from afar.

Li Dong stopped, startled: “This scent… so familiar. Could it really be her…”