CHAPTER 296: CHAPTER 9 KNOWING THE SOLDIERS_1

"Alright, alright, let’s go down," Prince Fu said, his hands clutching his belly as he began to descend the city wall.

Below the city gatehouse, a palanquin awaited, accompanied by dozens of guards. It was said that Prince Fu was accustomed to using a palanquin, even within his own mansion. Generally, high-ranking individuals commonly used sedans within the palace due to its vast size. Prince Fu, however, was simply too fat and disliked walking.

After Prince Fu settled into the palanquin, the newly appointed Prefect of Mianzhou stepped forward and said, "Your Highness, perhaps you would consider staying at my humble villa tonight?"

"No, I will stay at the government office. The Imperial Court’s regulations must not be disregarded."

"Yes, Your Highness."

"There is no need for you esteemed officials to see me off. Please return and rest early."

The newly appointed civil and military officials of Mianzhou City collectively bowed to the palanquin.

The palanquin was lifted. Once clear of the local officials, it proceeded at a steady, smooth pace to the entrance of the government office. The guards at the entrance promptly opened the main gates of the government office, allowing the palanquin to pass directly through.

Although it was night, the government office was brightly lit. Traces of old, blackened bloodstains could still be found in the crevices of the brickwork or the cracks in the pillars. Months earlier, a Yan bastard had suddenly stormed into the city and straight into the government office. The words inscribed on the pillar had since been scrubbed away, but the name of the one who left them was etched into the memories of many. Breaching the city, slaughtering within the government office, and leaving behind words—that Yan Commander named Zheng Fan could be said to have perfectly embodied the characteristic arrogance and tyranny of the Yan people.

The palanquin proceeded directly into the rear courtyard. The stench of blood here was actually heavier. Of course, it couldn’t be smelled now, but the mere thought of how many officials had been decapitated here that night, their headless corpses strewn about, seemed to make the very wind in the courtyard turn somewhat sinister.

Prince Fu finally alighted from the palanquin. Supported by a personal eunuch, he walked into the building. Inside the room, two braziers of charcoal burned. After Prince Fu sat down, the eunuch immediately brought hot water, personally helped him remove his boots, and began to soak his feet. Prince Fu’s ankles were already somewhat bluish and swollen. This was due to his excessive weight and lack of exercise, compounded by the recent days of travel; such swelling was normal. The eunuch very attentively massaged his feet, helping to soothe his muscles and invigorate blood circulation.

Meanwhile, a maidservant presented tea. Prince Fu reached out, took it, and began to drink.

In the main hall, a middle-aged man in leather armor and a scholar in a bulky brocade robe remained standing.

"HUFF..." Prince Fu let out a long breath, set down his teacup, and said, "Don’t you find it laughable? Those scholars are always prattling on about lofty principles and moral fortitude, yet in the end, they’re too scared to even live in this government office."

This government office, though still bearing its official plaque, was not chosen by the newly appointed Prefect and the others for their work. Instead, they leased a private villa elsewhere in the city. The reason was simple: people had died in this government office—many, many people—and those who died were their own kind, their colleagues.

The scholar, however, offered, "Perhaps they are mocking Your Highness for being too cautious, for not daring to overstep the slightest regulation."

When an imperial envoy is dispatched, there are regulations for everything, and where one lodges is an extremely important matter. Of course, other imperial envoys might not be particularly concerned about this, emphasizing adapting to local conditions. But Prince Fu was a Prince of the Blood. The Imperial Court had always kept a very strict watch over the Princes of the Blood, and those civil officials would stare intently at any unconventional actions by them. The Princes of the Blood of Qian were honored because they bore the surname Zhao. But the Princes of the Blood of Qian were also like gleaming, ornate spittoons, into which every scholar with a sense of righteousness would spit. Regardless of the era, criticizing the Princes of the Blood, denouncing these national parasites, was always politically correct in Qian. Consequently, the Princes of the Blood could only live out their days cooped up in their fiefdom’s mansions. Their fiefs were vast, yet they seldom even left their mansions; some wouldn’t venture beyond their city walls for years.

"Let them laugh. Aren’t they also laughing at Old Bastard Yang?" Prince Fu said calmly. His current appearance, it must be said, truly embodied the saying ’a magnanimous heart begets a robust physique’.

"Your Highness, you were also mocking Grand Commandant Yang on the city wall earlier," Man Le pointed out.

"I couldn’t help it, Man Le. The best way to build rapport with a group is to join them in criticizing someone. Lately, the court has been in an uproar. The Memoranda impeaching Old Bastard Yang are said to have already piled high in the Imperial Study."

Saying this, Prince Fu stroked his quadruple chin and continued, "But having traveled this road, let me speak frankly: Old Bastard Yang doesn’t have it easy. Not easy at all."

The scholar named Man Le nodded. "Grand Commandant Yang indeed has it hard."

"I know those eunuchs. They’re missing something, inherently incomplete. Civil officials might go to great lengths for their reputation, even feigning defiance to invite a court flogging. But eunuchs? They crave reputation even more intensely."

Because they are more desperate to prove themselves.

Prince Fu lifted his left foot, signaling the eunuch kneeling before him to dry it, and continued, "But on this journey, seeing the state of our Qian’s border armies... We had some idea before, but witnessing it firsthand this time, I realize just how absurdly rotten it has become.

The Qian border army numbers eight hundred thousand, sustained by the Imperial Court’s annual tax revenue. But the number of those who are actually living beings, not just names on a register, is probably half that, if you’re lucky.

Of the remaining four hundred thousand, many have been relegated to private slaves and laborers. From Old Bastard Yang’s three command garrisons, the number he can truly mobilize is likely around two hundred thousand, perhaps even less."