Chapter 84 Seizing Command Alone (Part 2)

“What does it mean to say that the benevolent are invincible?”

With these words from Zhang Chi, even the spectral soldiers of the Five Pecks of Rice Sect standing nearby were visibly moved. Since the sect’s rebellion, no means had been too ruthless—so many wounded or young kin of the sect’s own ghosts had been abandoned over the years, that words like “benevolence” or “righteousness” seemed hollow indeed.

All this time, they had obeyed their master’s teachings, believing that a world of great harmony could only be built through necessary sacrifice.

The Five Pecks of Rice Sect regularly held sacrificial rites, and the congregation intermarried freely; most children knew only their mothers, not their fathers. How many young women, finding it hard to travel with infants, simply cast their babies into wells? The sect worshipped the water god, and while those mothers prayed earnestly after the deed, who could say if such infants would ascend to become deities? Who could know, or make sense of it all?

If they could treat their own flesh and blood so coldly, how could they not feel ashamed when seeing Zhang Chi willing to face an army of hundreds of thousands alone, all to save a few unfamiliar women?

The woman beside Santong, seeing Zhang Chi’s resolve, was filled with admiration. She stepped forward to stand before his horse, addressing him as Santong did: “Brother Zhang, you need not worry. I am a libationer of the Celestial Masters’ Sect, and I will watch over these innocent women with all my heart.”

She sighed deeply. “But Brother Zhang, you must be careful on this journey.”

In her mind, regardless of success or failure, Zhang Chi’s chances of survival were slim at best. Her sigh was thus inevitable.

Zhang Chi nodded. In truth, seeing the solemn look on everyone’s faces, he almost felt like laughing. Did they all truly think he was riding to his death? While he wished to save these women, he had never been one to throw his life away. His plan relied half on his magnificent horse and half on Daoxuan’s martial prowess.

Even if he could not kill the enemy commander, the opposing army was still some distance from the mountain, with only the vaguest beginnings of an encirclement. There must be gaps, and with just the two of them on one horse—White Snow—their escape was far from impossible.

Yet Zhang Chi understood that no one else knew this. Two riders on a single horse, facing an army of hundreds of thousands—that was more than a mere mismatch of strength.

At that moment, the rescued women, seeing Zhang Chi mount his horse, ceased their weeping and knelt before him. The one at the front was the woman who, until recently, had only a wine-seller’s cloak to cover her nakedness. She knelt straight-backed in the dust, gazing up at Zhang Chi as if she wished to speak.

Until now, Zhang Chi had been too preoccupied to truly look at their faces. Now, with a moment to spare, he noticed that the woman before him was indeed quite beautiful. Seeing her snow-white legs, bare beneath the cloak, kneeling in the dust, he felt a pang of pity. “What are you doing? Please, get up.”

But the women would not rise. The wine-seller, tears falling, spoke softly: “Great hero, I have nothing with which to repay your noble kindness. My wretched life means nothing, but please do not risk yours for me. If you die, how could I face life in this world? Better to let them kill me now. If there’s another life, I’d gladly repay your kindness as a beast of burden or a blade of grass tied around your grave.”

Her words had a certain dignity; though born of hardship, her upbringing must have been good. Such a woman—if she had lived in the twenty-first century, how happy she might have been. Perhaps she would now be at university, surrounded by suitors hoping for a single smile, their every effort bent on winning her favor. Instead, she could only kneel here, naked in the dust.

Zhang Chi’s nose tingled; he felt tears threatening to fall.

This was the common people—their lives at the mercy of warlords, aristocrats, bandits—anyone, really, who wished to oppress them. And yet they were the most lovable of all: treat them with a little kindness, and they would remember it with gratitude for life, even dying for you without complaint. All they longed for was a benevolent leader.

He hadn’t been in this world long—just over a month—but these few weeks had moved him more than any other time in his life, enough to change his very temperament.

At first, he only wanted to muddle through as a scholar, never dreaming of touching politics or building a power base. It was only because of Miss Wang that he was forced into the role of “Heaven’s Mechanism”—and even then, he did so reluctantly. But today, for the first time, a wholly new idea blossomed in his mind.

Zhang Chi looked up at the sky. Since fate had sent him here, since he was to be Heaven’s Mechanism, the lord of chaos—very well, he would play the part. He would be Heaven’s Mechanism, and the lord of this troubled world.

With this resolve, he roared: “Nonsense! Get up, all of you! Stop talking about dying. I will not throw my life away—I have important things to do, and so do you. Keep yourselves alive, and do something worthwhile!”

No sooner had he finished speaking than he turned and saw Yan Yicao had his troops ready. Yan now rode up to Sun En, pointed his whip ahead, and said, “The slope ahead is steep. I will lead three thousand strong ghost soldiers eastward, creating a diversion. Even if it costs my life, I’ll open a breach. You and the Master must use the terrain to slip beyond the encirclement.”

Sun En nodded. “If we all break out, do not meet us on the central isle of the eastern sea. We have ships ready—head straight for the sea.”

Yan Yicao smiled faintly. In truth, this would be a fight to the death; he himself had no confidence in surviving. The rest was pointless to consider.

He glanced back at Zhang Chi and said coldly, “I wish you luck.”

Though Yan Yicao’s words sounded harsh, he was sincere. He admired Zhang Chi’s courage to ride alone against the enemy’s commander. But his nature was cold and venomous, so his well-wishes sounded more like sarcasm.

With that, he led his troops eastward down the mountain.

For all his ruthlessness, Yan Yicao had some spirit. As for the sect master, Sun Tai, he was still weeping over corpses, utterly exhausted and dazed—not at all the image of a leader, more like a woman in distress. Zhang Chi felt some contempt—how had such a person become Grand Master of the Five Pecks of Rice Sect? It was hard to imagine.

At this moment, Daoxuan had found Zhang Chi a long lance and took up a single saber for himself.

Daoxuan was not skilled at mounted combat, but his martial arts were peerless. The plan was clear: Zhang Chi could not fight, but he and White Snow shared an understanding, and with the horse’s speed and a long weapon, charging into enemy lines would be most effective. The length of the lance, coupled with the horse’s momentum, could do real damage, while Daoxuan behind him, wielding the saber, could fend off attacks and defend them both—even arrows would pose little threat.

Once, on the banks of the Yangtze, they had used this very method to unseat the Northern Army’s Gao Yashi.

Now, with both men mounted at the summit, Zhang Chi did not immediately lead the charge. He was not afraid, but rather, he was carefully observing the movements of the imperial army in the distance.

The Five Pecks of Rice Sect was camped atop the mountain, commanding a wide view. Though the imperial army was forming an encirclement, they were still at a distance—the ring was only just forming, not yet drawn tight. The farther away, the larger the ring and the looser its density. If Sima Yuanxian’s army of hundreds of thousands truly surrounded this hill, even the Grand Libationer’s desperate charges would not suffice to open a breach.

Zhang Chi had been a general; he knew the value of speed in warfare. Still, the central command, where the top general sat, was better off moving slowly, with the most urgent advances usually coming from the flanking troops. He had learned from his cousin Ding Yizhi how to read the dust of marching columns; now, atop the mountain, he scanned the horizon and saw that the thickest clouds of dust were to the east, where Yan Yicao had charged. That must be where the imperial army’s strongest forces lay.

Zhang Chi could not help but shake his head.

Of course he would. The Five Pecks of Rice Sect was fleeing east, and the imperial army, aiming to trap and annihilate them, would surely mass its forces there to cut off their retreat. The thickest dust was to the east, and Yan Yicao had charged straight into it—how futile.

Yan Yicao, for all his venom, had little talent for warfare. Compared to the likes of Du Ximing or Ding Yizhi, who had once served at Zhang Chi’s side, he was sorely lacking.

Surveying the field, Zhang Chi saw thick dust to the east, west, and north—masses of troops on the move. Only to the south was the dust thin. He took this in, drew a deep breath, and called to Santong, “The imperial army is pursuing from the south—the top general must be in the rear. I’ll ride there at once to strike at him. Watch over everyone in my absence.”

He pointed at the wine-seller. “And be sure she is treated well.”

Santong choked back a sob—may this parting not be one of life and death. She quickly spat twice for good luck; surely Brother Zhang would be safe—he was Heaven’s Mechanism, he would not die.

The wine-seller’s eyes brimmed with tears. “You must come back safely, sir. If you do not return, I will follow you in death.”

“Nonsense.” Zhang Chi smiled gently and, in the wine-seller’s tender gaze, spurred White Snow down the mountain, heading for the south.

The rescued women still knelt on the ground, bowing in the direction he had gone, while the ghost soldiers of the Five Pecks of Rice Sect all watched Zhang Chi’s lone figure streak down the slope. A solemn hush fell over the entire mountain.