Chapter Thirty-Nine: Truth and Illusion

Li Wenyuan set down the letter in his hand and asked Zhang Juntao, “Juntao, how much truth do you think there is in what this letter describes?”

Zhang Juntao shook his head and replied, “Most of what outlaws say can’t be trusted. They all claim to be righteous bandits acting on heaven’s behalf, but true righteous ones are as rare as phoenix feathers among the countless criminals crossing the river.”

Li Wenyuan frowned. “Zong Luohou—have you ever heard of this man?”

Zhang Juntao shook his head again. “Matters west of the Yellow River have seldom reached the Central Plains since ancient times. I’ve never heard of him.”

Li Wenyuan nodded, motioning for Zhang Juntao to go about his business, and sat alone in his tent, lost in thought. As a graduate student of history, he had always believed in relying on artifacts and recorded chronicles, but since arriving in this era, he found that many people differed greatly from historical accounts.

In the “Book of Sui” compiled under Wei Zheng in the Tang dynasty, Yang Guang was described as “indulgent and debauched, with ever-multiplying laws; his teachings destroyed the four cardinal virtues, his punishments encompassed the five cruelties. He slaughtered his own kin, annihilated loyal men—those rewarded saw no merit, those executed knew not their crime. His armies marched incessantly, construction never ceased. He campaigned repeatedly to the north, journeyed thrice to Liaodong, banners stretched for ten thousand miles, taxes were levied in countless forms. Crafty officials preyed on the people, and none could endure their lives.”

That single “Book of Sui” not only fixed Yang Guang’s posthumous title as “the Tyrant,” but also diminished all his achievements, omitting entirely the Grand Canal’s vital role in supplying grain to the heartland, or the fact that his many foreign campaigns kept the border tribes at bay, unable to invade even when the Central Plains dynasty was weakened. It was these efforts that gave the Tang dynasty time to recuperate and flourish, laying the foundation for its golden age.

When even the characters in history books could no longer be trusted, Li Wenyuan resolved to change the course of this era himself. The golden finger of a time-traveler five centuries ahead had lost its luster; unable to grasp the pulse of the age, he could only rely on his own wits now.

With no other recourse, Li Wenyuan’s gaze happened to fall upon the weapons and armor in the tent: powerful bows, iron arrows. A sense of calm settled in his heart, for he knew the time had come to take a gamble. When uncertain, he might as well risk everything—perhaps this was the chance to finally shed the burdens of time travel.

Having thought this through, Li Wenyuan’s headache dissipated. He extinguished his lamp and lay down to sleep, still in his clothes.

At dawn the next day, he was roused by a clamor. Rubbing sleep from his eyes, he lifted the tent flap to see squads of soldiers drilling with spears.

Zhang Juntao approached, handing him a damp towel. “The men are training just as you ordered, General. You haven’t stayed in the barracks before—still not used to it?”

Li Wenyuan took the towel and wiped his face, feeling more awake. He smiled, “It’s embarrassing, really—bearing the title of general all this time, yet I’ve been away from military life for so long.”

Zhang Juntao replied, “Now that you govern the eight prefectures of the Western Regions, official duties will naturally outweigh military ones. When shall we go to consult the county annals?”

“Not today. First, I’m going to meet this Zong Luohou who sent the letter last night,” Li Wenyuan said.

“Very well. When do you plan to set out? I’ll see that the soldiers prepare,” Zhang Juntao replied.

“No need. I’ll go alone, blade in hand,” Li Wenyuan said, and turned to re-enter the tent.

Zhang Juntao hurried after him, protesting, “General, isn’t this a bit reckless?”

He couldn’t be blamed for his anxiety—he had staked his future by following Li Wenyuan. Their fortunes were now inseparable.

Seeing Zhang Juntao’s worry, Li Wenyuan couldn’t help but laugh. “Juntao, it’s rare to see you so flustered.”

Realizing he’d lost composure, Zhang Juntao blushed. “General, as Grand Commander of the Western Regions, you must be cautious.”

“It’s nothing. Since they dared send a letter, I can’t shrink back. After all, we’ll have to make our way in the Western Regions for the long haul,” Li Wenyuan replied cheerfully.

“Here’s what we’ll do: you go to the county and check the annals. Quietly send people among the refugees who fled the bandits—see if what Zong Luohou wrote holds any truth,” he said as Zhang Juntao helped him into his armor.

Seeing that he could not dissuade Li Wenyuan, Zhang Juntao nodded in agreement.

Fully armed, Li Wenyuan caught up with the soldiers just as they were finishing morning drills and lining up for breakfast. Some soldiers, noticing his armor, asked curiously, “General, are we going into battle? Are there bandits nearby?”

Taking the breakfast offered by one of them, Li Wenyuan laughed, “What, are you all so eager for a fight? War means death, you know.”

The young soldier replied, “There’s no such thing as a bloodless war. The general’s regulations are clear: families of those who die honorably in battle will be cared for. None of us fear fighting—in fact, we’re all hoping to earn merit.”

Li Wenyuan saw that the young man had more on his mind and nudged him. “Why are you so hesitant? Why did you become a soldier? For pay, for promotion and fortune—that’s perfectly natural. No shame in it.”

The young man scratched his head and grinned. “At first, many brothers didn’t think much of your training methods. But once we heard the government would support the families of the fallen and that no one could dock our wages…”

Li Wenyuan smiled. He knew this story well. When the army was first formed, few cared for the rules, and some old hands tried to skim off the soldiers’ pay. But Li Wenyuan’s black-clad military police caught them red-handed. They were executed outside the camp, and their families were reduced to servitude—though only to light work in government offices.

This was Li Wenyuan’s arrangement. Without their menfolk, widows and orphans would never survive the chaos, but as state workers, at least they’d have food. The troops didn’t know the full story; they just thought he’d lessened the punishment, leaving a way out, and respected him all the more for it.

“As long as you’re not afraid to fight, you’ll all have the chance to earn merit. So long as you don’t break the law, you’ll all make at least company commander one day,” Li Wenyuan said, clapping the young man on the shoulder.

After breakfast, Li Wenyuan rode out from camp, heading straight for Azure Dragon Mountain. Yongdeng County sat on a rare stretch of open plain in the mountains west of Long, perfect for riding. Before long, he reached the foot of the Azure Dragon Mountain. Even from a distance, he could see the banner marked “Zong” above the gate.

Galloping up to the gate, Li Wenyuan swept away the previous day’s fatigue. At the gate, he drew his bow and shot an iron arrow, knocking the Zong banner from the pole. He shouted, “Bandits on the mountain, listen well! I am Li Wenyuan, Commander of the Western Regions. Tell Zong Luohou to come out and meet me, or I’ll bring my army and raze this petty hideout to the ground!”

The mountain stronghold’s guards dared not delay. The officer on duty sent men to deliver the iron arrow to Zong Luohou and ordered the gates shut, waiting for the chief to respond.