The guilt of being in a state of chaos
The Wei River, carrying the chill of early winter, murmured and rushed across the desolate plains beyond Hangu Pass. Withered grass stretched to the horizon on both banks, parched and brittle, whipped up by the biting west wind, swirling and lashing against the cold armor and weary horses' faces. A Qin army of about a thousand men, a mixed force of infantry and cavalry, silently marched along the muddy official road. In the center of the column, several heavy supply wagons covered with thick oilcloth and pulled by strong oxen creaked and groaned, rolling over the frozen ruts. The air was thick with the smells of sweat and animal dung, and a lingering, oppressive sense of death and desolation.
Xiao Yuxuan rode a Qin Chuan horse with a mottled coat. Although the wound on his ribs had healed and scabbed over, each jolt pulled at his flesh, sending a sharp, dull pain through his skin, like embers still burning in the embers. His face still bore the pallor of someone recovering from a serious illness, his eyes sunken, but the calmness nurtured by Yun Youzi's "Huai Gen" spirit in his eyes was like a honed sword, sharper yet more restrained. The blood-written bamboo slip from the Black Stone Fortress artisans pressed tightly against his chest; the heavy sense of guilt and the belief in "stopping war" burned more clearly in his soul after the baptism of illness and the warnings of Heaven. At this moment, what hung at his waist was no longer the ordinary copper badge of a sergeant, but a newly awarded, heavy bronze "Centurion" seal, and a bronze belt hook engraved with a number, symbolizing his centurion status.
The origin of this seal of a hundred generals stems from the camp clearing operation a few days prior, which began in despair but brought a glimmer of hope.
After Yun Youzi vanished, leaving behind that seemingly absurd "warning from heaven," a deeper sense of despair and panic permeated the entire camp. It was Xiao Yuxuan, despite his illness, who, with an unquestionable command, forced Sheng Guo and the few trusted men he could mobilize, along with some soldiers driven by the fear of death, to begin the clumsy yet resolute cleanup. Corpses were buried deeply or shallowly, the foul-smelling ditches were dredged, and mountains of filth were dragged upwind and burned. Artemisia, cypress leaves, and Atractylodes, among other herbs painstakingly gathered, were burned throughout the camp; the pungent smoke temporarily dispelled some of the stench and brought a sliver of psychological comfort.
Even more surprisingly, as the first rays of pale dawn pierced the clouds, Sheng Guo led a group of bewildered soldiers facing east, and following Yun Youzi's instructions, they exhaled a long, slow "shh—" sound. A strange, faint sense of calm, like ripples stirred by a pebble thrown into stagnant water, began to quietly spread through the despairing camp. This was not a miracle, but more like a collective psychological suggestion, an instinct to grasp at straws in dire straits, temporarily suppressing the spread of panic.
Several days later, when the captain, who had been ordered to provide support and bring a new batch of medicine and medical officers, stepped into the camp that had been deemed a "plague dead zone," the scene before him shocked him: although the camp was still simple and dilapidated, and most of the soldiers looked sick, the atmosphere of chaos and despair had greatly diminished. The filth had been dealt with, and the air was no longer suffocating and nauseating. More importantly, the expected scene of corpses strewn across the ground and the plague spiraling out of control had not materialized! Although there were still patients, the spread of the epidemic had been clearly contained! When he learned that all of this was due to a seriously wounded sergeant (Xiao Yuxuan at the time) who had defied all opposition and resolutely carried out the "warning" of a mysterious Taoist priest, the captain looked at the still weak Xiao Yuxuan lying in the tent, his eyes filled with disbelief.
"Remaining calm in the face of danger, able to unite people's hearts, and adapting to change by following the law (referring to conforming to the principles of nature)—this is the mark of a capable general!" The captain exclaimed to the military clerk after inquiring in detail about what had happened. He knew all too well the immense willpower, judgment, and cohesion required for a platoon leader to successfully organize such a self-rescue operation despite being seriously wounded and lacking authority, and despite facing enormous suspicion and resistance! Especially in the face of a plague, an enemy more terrifying than swords, this wisdom and sense of responsibility in "following the law" was particularly valuable.
Soon, a document personally signed by the captain and stamped with the military seal was presented to Xiao Yuxuan. It was engraved in standard small seal script: "...Squad Leader Xiao Yuxuan, undaunted by the epidemic, discerning the opportune moment (referring to Yun Youzi's warning), gathered the masses to clear the miasma, established a proper camp, and saved many lives... His meritorious service is outstanding; he is promoted to centurion, commanding his own unit and a garrison of one hundred new recruits, and is to immediately proceed to Hangu Pass to return to his post..."
This is the origin of the Hundred Generals Seal on Xiao Yuxuan's waist. It carries not only the glory of promotion, but also the heavy responsibility of struggling to survive on the edge of hell and finally grasping a sliver of hope. This responsibility now weighs heavily on his shoulders, making him feel the pain more acutely the seemingly clever but actually devastating "schemes of the court" of Gu Yan.
“General, 'Ghost Cry Gorge' is just ahead.” Sheng Guo rode closer, his voice low, carrying the wariness characteristic of a veteran. He pointed to two black cliffs ahead, like giants bowing and facing each other, with a narrow chasm winding deep between them, like a throat leading to the underworld. “Mr. Gu Yan’s ‘Sheep Driving Strategy’… was orchestrated in this gorge.”
Xiao Yuxuan reined in the horse, his gaze fixed on the jagged shadows. Gu Yan, the shrewd and cunning strategist, was currently seated in a relatively comfortable covered oxcart a little behind the procession. Through the swaying curtain, Xiao Yuxuan could see that Gu Yan was still wearing his well-tailored dark purple brocade robe, over which he wore a black fox fur cloak. He was elegantly poised, holding a scroll of bamboo slips, seemingly oblivious to the desolate world outside. However, Xiao Yuxuan keenly noticed that Gu Yan's knuckles, as he held the scroll, had turned slightly white without him noticing.
"The strategy of driving away the sheep..." Xiao Yuxuan repeated softly, the image of Gu Yan speaking eloquently before the military sand table reappearing before his eyes. This strategist, with only his silver tongue and precise court calculations, had shaken the foundations of the enemy court. He bribed a greedy favorite of the enemy, who whispered in the enemy king's ear day and night, framing the Crown Princess's father, who held military power, for "colluding with foreign powers"; he also cleverly spread rumors that the Crown Princess was "a hen crowing at dawn" and "plotting rebellion," stirring up a great uproar in the capital; at the same time, he used the cession of three copper mines on the border as bait to lure the Northern Di tribes, who had a long-standing feud with the enemy, to station troops on the border to exert pressure... With this series of combined moves, the enemy court was shaken, the Crown Princess's father was imprisoned and questioned, the Crown Princess was placed under house arrest in the palace, and the generals at the front were filled with fear, and military orders were in disarray. The Qin army seized the opportunity to counterattack, capturing several cities in succession and pushing the battle line back to the Wei River. This is the "sheep-driving strategy" that Gu Yan was so proud of—driving the enemy away like a flock of sheep without losing a single soldier, causing them to lose their composure.
Tactically, this was undoubtedly a brilliant victory. However…
The group slowly approached the canyon entrance. A more piercing, inhuman wail, mixed with the hoarse cries of children and the desperate sobs of women, was torn from the depths of the canyon by the biting wind and forced into everyone's ears. The pungent, nauseating stench of blood and rotting corpses, like a viscous liquid, instantly enveloped the entire group.
"Be on guard!" the commanding officer shouted sternly. The soldiers instinctively gripped their weapons, and the archers quickly nocked their arrows, pointing warily in the direction of the sound.
However, what came into view was not the ambush that had been expected.
On the steep slopes on both sides of the canyon, like anthills ravaged by a storm, countless makeshift shacks made of rags, branches, and straw were densely packed and crookedly scattered. Underneath these shacks, people were crammed together. No, they could hardly be called people; they were more like a group of living skeletons struggling on the brink of death. Most of them were ragged, their bodies, purple with cold and emaciated, hidden beneath the tattered cloth. Their cloudy eyes, sunken in their sockets, stared blankly at the army marching into the valley, devoid of anger or hatred, only a deathly numbness and an unfathomable despair.
The narrow passage at the bottom of the canyon was almost completely blocked. A massive, seemingly endless caravan of refugees stretched out like a slowly writhing, dying serpent. Gaunt oxen pulled dilapidated carts, their wheels mired in a muddy, frozen sludge. The carts were piled high with broken belongings, but mostly with elderly people and children huddled together, barely breathing. Many more trudged on foot, leaning on wooden canes and carrying equally small children on their backs, each step feeling like walking on knives. Cries, groans, urging voices, and the mournful cries of livestock mingled together, creating a symphony of hell.
Even more horrifying was the sight of corpses lying everywhere on the frozen, hardened ground and among the withered grass, on the edge of this slowly moving refugee tide. Some were curled up like dried shrimp; some lay face up, their empty eye sockets staring at the gray sky; others were trampled unconsciously by the crowd behind them, becoming one with the muddy, frozen earth. A pack of filthy, green-eyed wild dogs were tearing at a body that wasn't completely frozen, making chilling chewing noises.
“They are… refugees who fled from Yongqiu…” An old soldier from near Yongqiu in the group said in a trembling voice with a heavy local accent, “I heard… I heard there was a mutiny in the city… mutinous soldiers and Di people rushed in… burning, killing, and looting… Of those who managed to escape, less than one in ten survived…”
Yongqiu! It was one of the key border towns that Gu Yan used as bait to lure the Northern Di tribes into deploying troops and exerting pressure! It was also a cold place name that Gu Yan casually marked on the map in the "Sheep-Driving Strategy"!
Xiao Yuxuan felt a chill run from his feet to his head, instantly freezing his limbs and bones. The three blood-written words "Hate! Hate! Hate!" on the Black Stone Fortress artisan's blood letter seemed to magnify a thousandfold, carrying a scorching, metallic stench, branded onto his retina, overlapping and burning with the hellish scene before him! This was the price of "palace intrigue"! This was the price of countless ants crushed into dust under the brilliant scheme of "driving the sheep"! The hundred-general's seal at his waist was now burning hot like a red-hot iron!
He turned his head sharply, his gaze shooting like an arrow towards Gu Yan's oxcart.
A hand with distinct knuckles and a jade thumb ring had somehow managed to pry open the carriage curtain. Gu Yan's usually composed and well-maintained face was now deathly pale, devoid of color. His eyes, usually so insightful and gleaming with wisdom, were now fixed on the hellish scene in the canyon, his pupils contracting violently with extreme shock and something indescribable. His fingers gripped the curtain so tightly that his knuckles turned white, trembling slightly. The bamboo scroll he had always regarded as a symbol of wisdom had somehow slipped onto the thick felt-covered carriage floor.
Their eyes met.
Xiao Yuxuan's eyes were filled with undisguised anger, grief, and cold questioning.
Gu Yan's gaze met theirs, and he recoiled as if burned, followed by an unprecedented sense of embarrassment, unease, and... a deep-seated, unexpected fear. He hastily lowered the carriage curtain, isolating himself in the small space constructed of brocade and fox fur, as if trying to shut out the suffocating stench of blood, the stench, and the desperate wails outside.
However, if you can block out sight, how can you block out sound? And how can you block out that heavy, poisonous thorn called "guilt," which is piercing his heart, which he prides himself on being infallible?
The column slowly made its way through Ghost Cry Gorge in deathly silence. The refugees in the gorge numbly and laboriously parted to make way for the fully armed army, like parting stagnant, murky water. The soldiers marched on in silence; no one spoke, only the heavy footsteps, the creaking of the oxcarts, and the dull thud of the baggage train rubbing together. The air was heavy, as if filled with lead. The morale, which had just wavered slightly due to the minor victory at the front, was now completely frozen and crushed by the sight of the tragic refugees. A heavy, bewildered sense of shared fate enveloped everyone's hearts.
As night fell, the Qin army, as ordered, set up camp on a sheltered high slope outside the canyon. The campfire crackled, but could not dispel the heavy gloom that enveloped the camp. The soldiers silently ate their dry, hard cornbread and salty dried meat; the atmosphere was as oppressive as a funeral procession.
Inside Xiao Yuxuan's military tent, only a dim oil lamp flickered. Sheng Guo silently added charcoal to the brazier, the leaping flames illuminating his deeply etched wrinkles and the worry in his eyes. The tent flap was silently pulled open, bringing in a chilling draft.
Gu Yan entered. He was still wearing his magnificent deep purple brocade robe, over which he wore a black fox fur cloak, but the elegance and composure he had displayed during the day were completely gone. His face appeared unusually pale in the dim light, and the shadows under his eyes were heavy, as if he had aged ten years overnight. He wasn't carrying the bamboo scroll in his hand, but rather gripping a delicate bronze wine vessel tightly, his knuckles turning slightly white from the pressure. A strong smell of alcohol wafted into the tent with him.
He didn't look at Xiao Yuxuan, nor at Sheng Guo, but walked straight to the brazier, silently staring at the leaping flames. After a long while, he finally spoke, his voice hoarse and dry, heavy with the effects of alcohol and an unprecedented weariness:
"General Xiao... what I saw today... was not what I intended." He picked up his wine cup and took a large gulp, the pungent liquor seemingly unable to dispel the chill in his heart. "The plans of the court, once made, cannot be undone. To resolve the border troubles, to break the enemy's central government, to throw them into chaos, this is the fastest and most efficient strategy. I calculated the enemy king's suspiciousness, the greed of his favored ministers, and the ambition of the Di people... I thought that ceding Yongqiu was merely a few lines on a map, temporarily given to the Di people, and that when my Great Qin was free, it could be taken back... I..." His voice choked, and he took another gulp of wine, as if trying to numb something with its heat, "The only thing I didn't calculate... or rather, I deliberately didn't calculate... beneath those lines on the map lies a living city, the lives and fortunes of countless people! It is the... hell in Ghost Cry Gorge today!"
He abruptly raised his head, his once bright and intelligent eyes now bloodshot, filled with pain, bewilderment, and a near-collapse of self-reproach: "I, Gu Yan, pride myself on understanding people's hearts, being adept at maneuvering, and calculating all the advantages and disadvantages of the world! But today... today, the scene in that canyon... those starving corpses lying dead, those bones being gnawed on by wild dogs, those frozen infants in the arms of women... their eyes! Those eyes! They were just looking at me! Looking at me!" His voice suddenly rose, trembling with a hysterical intensity, "There was no hatred in them! None! Only a deathly ashes! A deathly ashes more terrifying than hatred! General Xiao! Tell me, did my strategy resolve the border troubles, or... did I personally open the gates of hell?!"
He staggered, nearly dropping the wine cup from his hand, spilling wine onto his expensive fox fur coat, leaving a dark stain, but he didn't notice. He stared intently at Xiao Yuxuan, as if seeking an answer, a redemption, or... a judgment from the eyes of this battle-hardened general who had just been promoted for "living" rather than "killing."
Xiao Yuxuan looked at him silently. The wound on his ribs throbbed faintly from the heat of the charcoal fire, the blood-written letter from Black Stone Fortress burned against his chest, and the heavy seal of the Hundred Generals at his waist dangled. The thick, impenetrable aura of despair from the White Sun Canyon seemed to still linger in his nostrils. He spoke slowly, his voice not loud, but each word heavy, like a cold block of iron striking the ground:
"Mr. Gu, the calculations of the court are about power struggles, the gains and losses of territory and cities, and the face and ambition of kings and generals. But have you considered the trampled millet fields outside Yongqiu City? Have you considered the artisans and farmers who froze to death in the cold night? Have you considered the children who lost their parents and struggled to survive in the jaws of wild dogs?" He stood up, walked to Gu Yan, and his gaze was sharp as a knife. "General Bai Yu once said, 'Weapons are instruments of misfortune; even a sage uses them only as a last resort.'" "Sir, your art of diplomacy is nothing less than a more sophisticated and deadly weapon. It kills without shedding blood, yet destroys hearts and ruins cities, bringing calamity to the common people! A seemingly insignificant 'sheep-driving' tactic in the imperial court, when applied to the common folk, results in mountains of corpses and seas of blood, an eternal damnation! I, a mere warrior, have earned this position of general by following the laws of nature and saving a hundred lives, yet I find it as heavy as a mountain, too heavy to bear. Sir, you manipulate clouds and rain with a flick of your wrist, treating the masses like ants; in your heart… is there even a trace of weight?"
Gu Yan's body jolted violently, his face turning even paler, as if Xiao Yuxuan's words had pierced a vital point. He staggered back half a step, leaning against a cold tent pillar to barely regain his balance. The wine jug in his hand finally slipped from his grasp, falling to the ground with a clatter. The remaining wine spilled onto the felt blanket, quickly seeping in and leaving a dark stain. He stared blankly at the wine stain, then slowly looked up at the flickering, dim light above the tent, his eyes vacant, as if his soul had been ripped away.
"Then... in General's opinion... my art of diplomacy... my ability to manipulate events... is it only meant to aid the wicked and increase bloodshed?" His voice was low and hoarse, filled with unprecedented confusion and self-doubt, each word seemingly squeezed out from the depths of his throat. "Isn't there... a way... for this 'art of diplomacy' to also be used... to stop fighting and quell the scourge of war? To also... weigh the lives of the common people?"
Just then, the tent flap was lifted again, and a travel-worn man in ordinary scout leather armor slipped in, his movements swift and silent. He quickly clasped his hands in greeting to the three people inside, his gaze lingering briefly on Gu Yan's pale, dazed face before turning to Xiao Yuxuan, his voice low and tinged with barely perceptible urgency:
“General, Mr. Gu. I just received a secret report from ‘The Wanderer.’” He quickly pulled a small copper tube sealed with wax from his pocket and presented it with both hands. “‘The Black Bird’ has sent word: The father of the Crown Princess of the enemy state… died suddenly in prison last night. The Crown Princess… has been deposed and banished to the Cold Palace, her fate unknown. In addition… the Northern Di have captured three cities including Yongqiu, and instead of withdrawing their troops, they have sent more wolf cavalry, seemingly intending to move south to graze their horses!”
"What?!" Gu Yan was struck dumb as if by lightning, his body jerking upright, the last trace of color draining from his face. His meticulously planned game, his "sheep-driving" strategy which he thought he had in his grasp, had completely spiraled out of control at the last moment, sliding into the bloodiest and most unpredictable abyss! He had calculated the hearts of men, but ultimately failed to calculate the greed and cruelty of human nature! That secret report, like the last straw, utterly crushed the last bit of hope and pride in his heart.
He stared intently at the copper tube in the scout's hand, then abruptly turned to Xiao Yuxuan, his lips trembling violently, his eyes filled with shock, fear, and a near-desperate realization. The guilt he felt was no longer a vague, piercing pain, but had transformed into cold shackles and dripping blood, heavily binding his neck! He had schemed against the world, only to be driven to the edge of a precipice by the backlash! And Xiao Yuxuan's question about "weight" reverberated in his mind like a thunderous bell!
“Mr. Gu,” Xiao Yuxuan took the copper tube, his knuckles turning slightly white from the force, his voice cold and icy, “your ‘sheep-driving strategy’ has now turned the sheep into ravenous wolves that prey on people! Will this art of diplomacy continue to be a weapon that stirs up storms and brings bloodshed, or…” He paused, his gaze piercing, staring straight into the depths of Gu Yan’s soul, “or can it truly, as you ask, find a path… one that measures the lives of the common people, ‘stops the war,’ and brings peace to the people? This ‘Great Diplomacy,’ do you dare to seek it?”
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