New buds of peace

The blood of the Wei River seemed to have seeped deep into the soil, and even the rising sun could not dispel the heavy, pungent stench of rust and decay that permeated the air. The massive camp had lost its former imposing, disciplined atmosphere, now filled with a weariness and bewilderment of survivors. The soldiers silently cleaned up the battlefield's debris, carrying the cold bodies of their comrades, their movements slow and their eyes vacant. The earth-shattering battle cries of yesterday, and the blinding spray of blood from General Bai Yu's suicide, were branded into everyone's eyes and hearts. The black banner that once symbolized supreme authority and the will of Legalism before the commander's tent now hung low, swaying weakly in the morning breeze, like a banner summoning souls.

Xiao Yuxuan stood outside the tent all night. Dew soaked through his tattered robes, clinging to his body, chilling him to the bone, yet far less so than the icy cold in his heart. He gazed at the riverbank where Bai Yu had fallen, the bronze dagger stuck diagonally into the ground, a blurry, stubborn shadow in the dim morning light. The general's blood had long since dried, seeping into the riverbed's silt, mingling with countless souls, indistinguishable from the rest. Only that sword, stubbornly pointing to the sky, like a silent question, like a lonely boundary marker.

“Yu Xuan.” A deep voice sounded from behind, tinged with a barely perceptible hoarseness. It was Sun Qian. This strategist, renowned for his “deception in warfare,” had lost his usual composure; his eyes were sunken and bloodshot. In his hands he held a heavy camphor wood box, its surface simple and unadorned, exuding a restrained, hardened quality characteristic of Bai Yu. “General… relics. According to regulations, they should be sealed by the military judge and sent to Xianyang.” Sun Qian’s tone was flat, devoid of emotion, but his gaze remained fixed on Xiao Yu Xuan’s face. “But I think there are some things that perhaps you… should take another look at.”

Xiao Yuxuan's body tensed almost imperceptibly. He silently turned and followed Sun Qian into the suddenly empty command tent. The furnishings inside remained the same; even a half-open scroll of the *Book of Lord Shang* lay on the table, as if its owner had only temporarily departed. The familiar scent of iron and ink, mixed with the atmosphere of bloodshed, was gone; only a deathly stillness and a faint lingering smell of blood remained.

Sun Qian placed the wooden box on the cold bronze table with a muffled thud. He didn't open it, but simply gestured for Xiao Yuxuan to do it himself. His fingertips touched the cool bronze clasp, and Xiao Yuxuan took a deep breath, as if gathering the strength to unveil this heavy past. The bronze clasp snapped open, and the wooden box opened silently.

There were no gold, jade, or pearls inside, only a few very simple items, each one as heavy as a thousand pounds.

At the very top was a neatly folded dark blue linen cloth. Xiao Yuxuan recognized it; it was the cloth Bai Yu used to wipe his bronze short sword, which he never parted with. On one corner of the cloth was a dried, blackened bloodstain, like an ominous brand—the mark left by the blood-stained coarse linen amulet he had tied to the scabbard yesterday during their life-or-death moment! Bai Yu had carefully preserved it.

Beneath the cloth lay several neatly bound bamboo scrolls. Xiao Yuxuan picked one up and unfolded it. Familiar, vigorous handwriting, as sharp as if carved by a knife and axe, came into view—Bai Yu's own handwriting. This was not a military report, but rather a somber, private journal, filled with suppressed confusion and struggle between the lines:

"...The forced conscription in Longxi caused widespread resentment. The 'Reclamation Order' was implemented like a steel knife scraping bone. The Xiao family, father and son, died bravely. His son entered the camp, his eyes burning with hatred... Was it the law? Was it the foundation of the nation? The people are the water, the ruler is the boat; when the water dries up, the boat capsizes... When the order to kill those who surrendered was issued, on the banks of the Wei River, how were the faces of the common people any different from those of the elders of Longxi? The military judges enforced the law like iron, saying, 'Weaken the people to strengthen the nation, eliminate punishment'... But to bury them alive would be to lose the will of Heaven and the hearts of the people; to let them go would leave endless troubles... This dilemma was like walking on thin ice... The victory of military strategists lies in strategic planning and tactics, but above strategic planning, have they considered the hearts of the people? Have they considered whether the piles of white bones, the achievements built upon them, are the foundation or the abyss?... " (*Note: This section simulates bamboo slip writing. Each bamboo slip has a limited number of characters, so the writing is concise and uses many rhetorical questions and omissions to reflect the intense inner conflict.*)

Every word struck Xiao Yuxuan's heart like a hammer blow. He realized the general's inner torment was far deeper than he had imagined. The chasm between the cold legal code and the brutal reality of the battlefield nearly tore this commander, who stood by the ironclad principles of Legalism, apart. His pursuit of a "strong army and a prosperous nation" seemed so pale and paradoxical in the face of the mountains of corpses piled up on the Wei River.

The last scroll of bamboo slips is written in extremely messy handwriting, with varying shades of ink, clearly written hastily under extremely turbulent emotions, containing only a few words:

"After this battle, my only wish is... for an end to the war."

The two characters "止戈" (stop the war) were written with such force that the last stroke even pierced the bamboo strip, carrying an almost desperate plea. Xiao Yuxuan's fingers dug tightly into the cold edge of the bamboo strip, his knuckles turning white. Was this the general's last thought? A blood oath written with his life! The sword planted in the earth by the Wei River was no longer a weapon of slaughter, but the embodiment of the oath to "stop the war"!

At the bottom of the wooden box was an even smaller oilcloth bundle. Inside were several half-ounce copper coins (*Qin-style round coins with square holes*) with worn edges and traces of sweat and dirt, as well as a small, smooth, uncarved fragment of green jade. The copper coins were the most common military pay, while the green jade was of unknown origin, perhaps an old relic from his homeland, embodying the soft, unspoken feelings of the general.

Just as Xiao Yuxuan was feeling agitated, holding the bamboo scroll inscribed with "Stop the War" and trying to draw some kind of strength from it to keep going, the heavy felt curtain of the commander's tent was suddenly lifted!

A cold wind, carrying the lingering smell of gunpowder, swept in, followed by the Legalist military judge, his face as hard as cast iron. His dark robes were impeccably tailored, and the bronze seal of "Rules," a symbol of the strictness of the law, gleamed coldly in the dim tent. His gaze, like poisoned icicles, instantly fixed on the bamboo slips in Xiao Yuxuan's hand, then swept over the open wooden box on the table, a smirk of undisguised mockery and coldness playing on his lips.

"Xiao Yuxuan!" The military judge's voice wasn't loud, but each word rang like metal on the ground, carrying an unquestionable air of judgment. "Unauthorized handling of the general's belongings is punishable by eighty strokes of the cane and three days in the cangue, according to military law! This is a grave crime!" He stepped forward, an invisible pressure surging towards Xiao Yuxuan like a cold tide. "General Bai Yu defied national policy, privately releasing surrendered soldiers, causing chaos in the army and nearly leading to disaster, ultimately... taking his own life to atone for his sins! Such actions are not merely the fault of a commander, but a violation of the law, shaking the very foundation of the nation! His belongings, especially these private notes that sowed discord among the troops and recklessly discussed national policy," his gaze sharp as a knife, piercing the bamboo scroll again, "should be handed over to the court's legal officials for examination! How dare you, a mere criminal soldier, lay a finger on them?!"

"Disrupting morale? Making irresponsible remarks about national policy?" Xiao Yuxuan abruptly looked up, the grief and confusion of the night instantly ignited by this cold accusation, transforming into suppressed rage. He gripped the bamboo slips in his hand as if holding the general's last, still-warm soul, meeting the military judge's icy gaze without flinching. "The general's thoughts and concerns are all written in blood! He saw the suffering of the people under the law, he saw the devastating truth of war! 'Stop the war!' Is this disruption?!" His voice hoarse with emotion, he pointed towards the Wei River outside the tent, "Those mountains of corpses! Those Longxi farmers, forcibly conscripted, ultimately dying under the spears of their own compatriots! Is this... the foundation of the nation?!"

"Insolence!" The military judge's face changed drastically, and he shouted angrily, his hand already on the hilt of the sword at his waist, his killing intent palpable. "A mere child dares to speak ill of state affairs! The law is the balance of power in the nation! 'Weakening the people to strengthen the nation,' 'using punishment to eliminate punishment,' these are the teachings of Shang Yang, the foundation of a strong nation! How can the lives of a few ants be compared with the vital instruments of the state! Bai Yu's will was not firm, he was misled by his own womanly compassion, and brought about his own destruction. He has only himself to blame! His belongings, especially these rebellious words, must be sealed and destroyed! Guards!"

Two guards with halberds outside the tent heard the noise and tried to rush in.

"Wait!" Sun Qian, who had been silently observing, suddenly spoke. His voice was not loud, but it carried a strange penetrating power, causing the tense atmosphere in the tent to pause. He stepped forward, standing between Xiao Yuxuan and the military judge, his gaze calmly meeting the other's: "Military Judge, please calm your anger. General Bai has just passed away, and the entire army is grieving, with morale wavering. If a conflict were to erupt again now over a few scrolls of his remains, while strict enforcement of the law would be correct, it would likely further damage morale and be detrimental to the overall situation." His tone was calm, yet subtly sharp. "Moreover, sealing and reporting the relics is the proper course of action. However, these notes are, after all, the General's private property, not military intelligence reports. In my humble opinion, it would be better if I were to first organize and transcribe them, removing any personal sentiments that might cause controversy, retaining only those related to military affairs, before sealing and sending them to Xianyang. In this way, both the law and the morale of the army would be maintained. What do you think, Your Excellency?" (*Note: Sun Qian's strategy embodies the wisdom of military strategists in "strategic maneuvering" and "diplomatic maneuvering," using retreat as a means of advancement to resolve the immediate conflict and preserve crucial evidence.*)

The military judge's eyes swept coldly back and forth between Sun Qian and Xiao Yuxuan, his hand on the hilt of his sword tightening and loosening. Sun Qian's proposal, seemingly a concession, actually seized the initiative. "Eliminate sentimentality"? Who knew what he would eliminate? What would he keep? But Sun Qian's statement about "unstable morale" was undeniable. Bai Yu's death had already created a huge ideological rift in this army, bound together by the strict discipline of Legalism. If he were to forcibly suppress it now, inciting a mutiny... he couldn't bear the consequences.

"Hmph!" The military judge finally let out a heavy snort, tacitly approving this compromise, but his gaze was locked on Xiao Yuxuan like a venomous snake. "This boy has repeatedly violated military regulations, offended his superiors, and is even involved in the old case of privately releasing enemy prisoners! His crimes are intolerable! After the matter of sealing up the remains is completed, I will definitely punish him severely according to the law, as a warning to others!" After saying that, he coldly glanced at the wooden box on the table, turned around and strode away, leaving behind a heavy pressure that lingered for a long time.

Inside the command tent, only Sun Qian and Xiao Yuxuan remained, along with the lingering scent of blood and desolation.

"Thank you, sir." Xiao Yuxuan's voice was hoarse.

Sun Qian waved his hand, sighed wearily, and his gaze fell on the bamboo scroll in Xiao Yuxuan's hand, inscribed with the word "Stop the War." His eyes were filled with complex emotions. "No need to thank me. The general... died tragically. His last thoughts, perhaps... weren't entirely without reason. This chaotic world is too heavy with killing." He walked to the table, carefully arranging the belongings, re-binding the bamboo scroll, and placing it in the wooden box. "Yuxuan, the two words 'Stop the War' weigh a thousand pounds. It cannot be accomplished by one person or one sword. It requires strength, it requires opportunity, and even more so... truly understanding the root of this vortex of war." He closed the wooden box, the soft sound of the copper clasp closing being particularly clear in the silence. "Live on. Live on, carrying the general's questions, and carrying your own hatred. See this world clearly, and then talk about 'Stop the War.'"

Xiao Yuxuan remained silent. He looked down at his hands, calloused and bloodstained. Revenge? For Longxi, for General Bai? To whom should he take revenge? Was it the cruel officials who enforced the "Reclamation Order"? Was it the Di Rong who wielded the butcher's knife? Or... the cold-blooded laws and greedy ambitions that drove everything behind the scenes, treating human life as worthless? General Bai's blood and the words "Stop the War" collided violently in his heart like two surging torrents, tearing apart his originally simple belief in revenge.

Stumbling out of the command tent in a daze, Xiao Yuxuan wandered aimlessly through the camp. Mourning soldiers, silent busywork, and an inescapable aura of death hung in the air. Unconsciously, he reached a relatively secluded corner at the edge of the camp, where several large, makeshift thatched huts had been erected, filled with the pungent stench of herbs and blood. Painful groans and suppressed sobs drifted intermittently from within. This was the wounded soldiers' camp.

At the entrance of the thatched hut, Xiao Yuxuan saw a familiar figure: Ji Zhai of the Mo family. He was squatting beside a young, wounded soldier who was barely breathing, his movements swift and steady. The burlap wrapped around the soldier's abdomen was soaked with dark red blood and yellowish pus, emitting a foul stench. Ji Zhai frowned, carefully untying the blood-stained bandage to reveal a gruesome, gaping wound with blackened, necrotic flesh at the edges.

“If the rotten flesh isn’t removed, the pus will seep into the blood, and even a god couldn’t save you.” Ji Zhai’s voice was low and hoarse, carrying a weariness born from years of witnessing death. He took out a small, unusually sharp, and strangely shaped bronze blade (*similar to a willow-leaf dagger*) from his leather pouch; the blade gleamed coldly in the dim light. “Bear with it,” he said to the wounded soldier, his tone devoid of comfort, carrying only an unquestionable resolve.

Before the words were even finished, a flash of light appeared! The movement was so fast that only a blur remained. A piece of rotting, black flesh was precisely ripped away! The wounded soldier let out a bloodcurdling scream, his body convulsing violently. Ji Zhai ignored it, his wrist as steady as a rock, the blade swiftly and precisely scraping away the necrotic tissue and pus from the wound. Sweat streamed down his blood- and soot-stained forehead. A young Mohist beside him, acting as his assistant, immediately handed him a clean linen cloth that had been boiled and was soaked in some kind of dark green medicinal mud.

After treating this one, Ji Zhai didn't even have time to wipe the blood from the blade before turning to the next groaning wounded soldier. It was an old soldier with a broken leg, whose wound had also worsened. Ji Zhai carefully examined the makeshift splint, his brow furrowing even more: "Dislocated bone, twisted tendons, even if it heals properly, he'll be crippled." He decisively ordered: "Remove it! Reset it!" His tone left no room for argument, carrying the Mohist's unique, rigorous obsession with technical precision.

His busy figure moved among the wounded soldiers, his movements efficient to the point of being cold-blooded, offering no words of comfort. He occasionally murmured, as if speaking to his assistant, or perhaps to himself: "...'Non-aggression,' 'universal love'... The weapons of defense can protect a city, but they cannot protect these flesh and blood... Is saving one person 'universal love'? Yet beyond the battlefield, countless ordinary people are displaced by this war, dying of hunger and cold... Are defensive techniques a shield to stop war, or... encouraging the hands that wield weapons?" His words were filled with immense confusion and helplessness, yet his hands never ceased moving. The thin bronze blade used to save lives, and the spears and halberds used to reap lives on the battlefield, seemed essentially no different, both imbued with the cruelty of this chaotic world.

Xiao Yuxuan stood outside the thatched hut, watching silently. He watched Ji Zhai fight against death with his superb skills, and listened to his contradictory whispers. The Mohist ideal of "non-aggression" seemed so fragile and tragic in the face of this bloody reality. Wasn't Ji Zhai's confusion the same as General Bai's? Wasn't it also his own confusion?

Just then, Ji Zhai finished treating a wounded soldier, straightened up, and wiped the sweat from his forehead with his arm. His gaze inadvertently swept across the outside of the shed, meeting Xiao Yuxuan's empty and pained eyes. Ji Zhai paused. He silently looked at Xiao Yuxuan for a moment, and in those eyes that always shone with rationality and vigilance, a complex emotion was revealed—regret for Bai Yu's death, scrutiny of the young man before him burdened with deep hatred, and perhaps… a touch of shared sorrow.

He said nothing, only shook his head very slightly, almost imperceptibly, at Xiao Yuxuan. His eyes seemed to say: Child, the hatred you see may not be the whole story. The true enemy hides in a deeper, darker place. It is a being far larger, colder, and more unshakeable than the swordplay on the battlefield.

Xiao Yuxuan understood the profound meaning in those eyes, and his heart felt as if it were being clenched tightly by an invisible hand. The blood of the Wei River, General Bai's sword, Ji Zhai's thin blade, the cold bronze seal of the military judge... countless fragments spun and collided in his chaotic mind. He needed a fulcrum, a fulcrum that could materialize General Bai's desperate plea for "cessation of hostilities."

He turned around abruptly and strode towards the banks of the Wei River.

The setting sun once again dyed the river a poignant orange-red. Most of the corpses from yesterday's battlefield had been moved and buried, but the bronze dagger, driven diagonally into the ground, still stood stubbornly upright. Its blade was covered in dried, dark red blood and mud, reflecting a mournful light in the fading sunlight. Around the hilt, the blood-soaked ground, trampled by countless footsteps, took on a chilling dark purple hue.

Xiao Yuxuan knelt beside the sword. He stretched out his hands, and having no tools, frantically dug into the soil around the hilt with his ten fingers! Hard clods of earth, gravel, and a mixture of partially decomposed scabs and bone fragments pierced his fingertips, his blood mingling with the blood-soaked mud beneath his feet. He seemed oblivious to the pain, digging relentlessly, as if performing a silent sacrifice. He wanted this sword to truly take root here! To become a witness to General Bai's oath to "stop the war"!

The soil was dug away, creating a shallow pit. He drew his short sword, its blade icy cold. Carefully, he inserted the tip downwards back into the pit, then used his hands to fill the pit with the excavated soil, mixed with blood and bone, tamping it down firmly. When the last handful of soil covered the hilt, leaving only a small section of the blood-stained blade and hilt exposed to the air, his hands were covered in blood, the soil embedded in his wounds, causing excruciating pain.

He slumped down beside the sword, leaning against the newly "planted" sword monument, breathing heavily. His gaze swept blankly across this land steeped in countless lives. Right there in the cracks of the soil beside his sword hilt, a faint, vibrant green, so different from the surrounding deathly dark red, suddenly caught his bloodshot eyes!

It was a seedling.

Just two inches tall, so slender it seemed a breath could snap it in two. Two small, round, tender leaves, stained with mud and tiny specks of blood, stubbornly stretched upwards, radiating a heart-wrenching, fragile yet tenacious vitality in the crimson sunset. It was unknown when or how it sprouted in this blood-soaked battlefield; perhaps a seed carried by the wind, perhaps a fallen bird. It was so small, almost negligible, yet so striking, like a firefly in boundless darkness.

Locust tree saplings!

Xiao Yuxuan's pupils suddenly contracted. He recognized the shape of the young leaves! There was a tall, ancient locust tree outside the wall of his old home in Longxi! His mother had said that locust trees possessed a spirit, capable of providing shade to a region. And here it was, in the place where General Bai's blood was stained, in the resting place of countless souls, taking root and sprouting!

An indescribable surge of emotion, a mixture of immense grief and a faint yet unmistakably clear tremor, rushed into Xiao Yuxuan's heart, instantly shattering his carefully constructed defenses. Tears welled up without warning, mingling with the sweat and blood on his face, splashing hot onto the blood-soaked mud beneath him. Trembling, he reached out, his fingertips carefully and gently touching the tender leaf stained with blood. Beneath the cool touch, he felt the vibrant pulse of life.

He clutched the blood-stained, coarse hemp talisman tightly in his arms, his knuckles turning white from the force. His gaze passed over the blood-red Wei River, over the vast battlefield, and landed on the unknown, dark horizon to the south, a place where more war and conspiracy were brewing.

The flames of revenge were not extinguished by the tears; instead, they burned even more intensely and coldly. But deep within these flames, beside the words "Stop the War" written in blood by General Bai, on the locust sapling that stubbornly sprouted from the blood-soaked mud, something new, heavier, and clearer, like the nascent greenery on the banks of the Wei River, quietly took root.

No longer just about revenge. He wanted to live. To live like this locust sapling, to live through blood and fire. He wanted to see the root of this vortex, to see the true face hidden behind the military judges, behind the cold laws and the greed of the feudal lords. He wanted to gather strength, until one day, he could truly question this vast earth, question this blood-red sky:

Where exactly does the path to ending war lie?

As dusk settled, it enveloped the silent sword monument and the faint greenery beside it. Xiao Yuxuan leaned against the cold blade, like a frozen sculpture. Blood and mud spread beneath him, while the small locust sapling swayed gently in the night breeze, silently absorbing the nourishment of blood and tears.