The Most Powerful Young Master of the Northern Song Dynasty

Chapter 42: Yang Wenguang Gets Grilled, Too

With that, the celebratory mood vanished, and the banquet ended hastily after half an hour. Once everyone else had left, Yang Wenguang finally spoke up: “I don’t know what they’re thinking. General Xuan led us to victory in the war and wiped out Nong Zhigao—how could that possibly be wrong? That Yu Jing used to be more reasonable; he’d even give General Xuan some face. But after Wang Anshi came here and beat up Chen Shu, he angered Yu Jing. Yu Jing thought you, General Xuan, had instigated Wang Anshi to do it. I won’t go into that now, but I’ve heard that Chen Shu has been treated terribly in the capital. Yu Jing couldn’t stand by and watch, so he started targeting you, blaming everything on you. That’s not fair.” Di Qing remained silent for a long time, then smiled bitterly. “There was never any fairness to begin with.” With that, he raised a finger to point at the branded mark on his face, which looked particularly jarring. Such was the way of the Great Song: those who had served time in prison would have a gold seal branded on their faces, indicating they were “criminal conscripts.” As for those whose crimes weren’t particularly heinous, the standard practice in the Great Song was to exile them to serve in the military, where they could atone for their sins through meritorious service. This had its pros and cons. The upside was that it provided sleazy officers with cannon fodder; during charges and sieges, these “thief conscripts” were the first to be sent in, used to wear down the enemy’s arrows. The Zhong Family Army, for instance, was particularly fond of this tactic. At this time, it was Zong E; later, his nephew Zhong Shidao would take this practice to its peak. However, though the Zhong family was unscrupulous, they had their nemeses: Zong E would eventually be brought to his knees by Sima Guang, while Zhong Shidao would be thoroughly crushed by Cai Jing. At the same time, although they were all low-ranking soldiers, the military hierarchy was rigid: those from military families were, of course, entirely different from generals who came from the lowest strata of society—or even from criminal backgrounds. The emperor’s greatest mistake in this matter lay in his political immaturity: by trying to go head-to-head with figures like Ouyang Xiu, he chose to appoint Di Qing—who came from the very lowest ranks—precisely to stir up animosity. This impulsive move led to unintended consequences: while no one would dare challenge the emperor directly, they would certainly take their grievances out on Di Qing. Had the emperor instead appointed Yang Wenguang, who came from a military family, there would not have been so many complications. After a brief Shao Qing, Yang Wenguang looked at the brand on his face and said sadly, “At the time, Your Majesty also thought the ‘Xuan Shuai’ brand was unsightly and specially granted you permission to have it removed. Why did you refuse?” “I simply had to refuse,” Di Qing replied. “I wanted this tattoo to serve as a reminder that I am a guilty man—and that even a guilty man can still fight for his country.” Yang Wenguang could not help but smile wryly at this, thinking to himself: Perhaps, General Xuan, your greatest flaw lies precisely here—or perhaps this is simply your true nature. But refusing after the Emperor had granted special permission—in the eyes of those literati, that comes across as affectation, like taking a favor and then acting ungrateful. Before the two could say another word, an officer under their command hurried in, flustered, and said, “A special envoy has arrived and ordered us to prepare to open the city gates…” Yang Wenguang immediately kicked the officer aside and roared, “Are you drunk? It’s the middle of the night, and the situation in Yongzhou remains unstable. We’re not opening the city gates. Even if he’s the Son of Heaven himself, tell him to get lost! Let him find a place to live like a wild man. He can come back after his identity is verified at daybreak!” “That’s exactly what I was thinking,” Di Qing said with a chuckle, twirling his mustache. “However, it’s Minister Zhang Fangping who’s coming—he’ll be here very soon,” the young officer said awkwardly. Di Qing and Yang Wenguang couldn’t help but jump to their feet in alarm. After exchanging a glance, Yang Wenguang slapped the officer on the back of the head and barked, “The Chancellor Zhang is arriving—what are you standing there for? Hurry up and open the city gates! We’ll form a procession to go out and greet him.” The young officer was a junior member of the Yang family, so he dared to tease Yang Wenguang, saying deliberately, “Didn’t the General say even the Heavenly King himself would have to get lost?” “!” Yang Wenguang raised his leg to kick him, but the young officer had already taken his orders and gone to make the arrangements. As they made their preparations, just before heading out, Di Qing muttered, “I wonder what he’s here for?” People from military families tend to be a bit more shrewd and worldly. Yang Wenguang sneered, “I suspect he’s here for the interests of the Yongzhou region. This area is rich in gold, but in the past, outsiders found it hard to get a foothold here. After Nong Zhigao’s rebellion, the region was effectively reshuffled—everyone who was to be plundered or killed has already been wiped out. That left a vacuum, and now the battleground is the gold mines of Yongzhou.” As Di Qing walked out, he said, “You’re overthinking it.” Yang Wenguang sneered, “We’ll see when the time comes.” Once the gates of Yongzhou were thrown open, a large contingent of soldiers carrying torches, resembling a fiery dragon, formed a “red carpet” stretching five li. Zhang Fangping, a man in his forties with three long strands of beard that gave him an scholarly air—and roughly the same age as Di Qing—arrived. Upon his arrival, Di Qing and Yang Wenguang both dismounted and, performing a military salute, knelt on one knee: “We, your humble servants, pay our respects to Minister Zhang Fangping.” Zhang Fangping watched the two conspirators for Shao Qing. Their faces were flushed, and they appeared somewhat exhilarated as if from drinking, which displeased him. After dismounting and approaching them, he turned, took a torch from a soldier’s hand, and held it close to illuminate the scene: “Have you two been drinking?” Yang Wenguang stubbornly denied it, turning his head away and remaining silent. Di Qing, however, replied awkwardly, “Your Excellency, we held a victory banquet. To reward the soldiers, we needed to create a festive atmosphere, so we did have a few drinks.” Zhang Fangping said coldly, “What merit is there to celebrate?” The renowned general Yang Wenguang couldn’t help but fly into a rage. He thought to himself: We’ve risked our lives in battle, charging into the thick of the fray, and successfully quelled the rebellion with lightning speed—if that isn’t a merit, then what is? The more he thought about it, the angrier he became. Just as Yang Wenguang was about to speak, Zhang Fangping pointed at his nose and said, “Talk less, do more. Now come with me; we’ll discuss this once we’re inside the city.” “There are some things stuck in my heart—it’s simply unbearable not to speak my mind…” Yang Wenguang still couldn’t help but blurt it out, so Zhang Fangping slapped him hard on the back of the head—knocking his helmet to the ground—and walked off ahead with his hands behind his back. “Uh, all right. Let’s go hear what he has to say.” Old General Yang Wenguang wasn’t tired of holding office; no matter how unfair it might be, having a position was still better than having none. So he bent down, picked up his helmet, put it on, and followed Di Qing from behind. However, General Yang couldn’t help but grumble under his breath: “Commander Xuan, you’re the Deputy Secretary of the Privy Council and the Commissioner of Lingnan—why do you have to lower yourself like this? That Chancellor Zhang—who knows where he gets his sense of superiority—treats us like we’re his underlings.” “Shut up. Don’t say another word,” Di Qing whispered impatiently. That was just the kind of person Di Qing was. Though he held the prestigious position of Deputy Secretary of the Council of State—a post personally appointed by Emperor Zhao Zhen—he kept a very low profile in the capital. He would even step aside to let a lowly seventh-rank civil official pass, and no one ever paid attention to what he said in the Council of State; if he made a mistake, Pang Ji would rebuke him with, “You don’t understand politics.” In fact, Pang Ji had already been quite lenient with him. If it were anyone else, they wouldn’t have been so gentle. So this campaign—being sent out to the front lines, returning to the battlefield, and actually winning—was Di Qing’s happiest moment. Unfortunately, the joy didn’t last long; the “demon” was back again. There were truly too many “demons” in the Song Dynasty, and none of them were pushovers. Zhang Fangping, as it happened, was the one with the biggest head among them. Yang Wenguang, acting like a woman going through menopause, spoke in a soft yet firm tone: “I just can’t figure out why they treat us this way…” Zhang Fangping, annoyed by their unsteady gait, stopped in his tracks and turned back, asking, “Are you two drunk?” “No, no—with our drinking capacity, this mere drop…” Yang Wenguang didn’t get to finish before Di Qing cut him off with a kick. Di Qing hurriedly clasped his fists and said, “Let Minister Fangping know that, as members of the army, we will remain sober at all times.” “That’s good to hear. Otherwise, I would’ve thought your legs were giving out. Just look at you—your legs are as thick as this old man’s waist, yet you can’t even walk straight.” After delivering this sarcastic remark, Zhang Fangping turned and quickened his pace… Back at the Xuanfu Commissioner’s headquarters, all the officers and guards had been dismissed, and Old Zhang’s personal bodyguards had taken control of the command tent. After sitting down, Zhang Fangping slammed his fist on the table and said, “I was in such a hurry on the road that I didn’t have time for dinner. Hurry up and serve this old man his meal.” A short while later, the meal was brought in, but the soldier serving it was kicked to the ground. Zhang Fangping slammed his chopsticks down on the table, stood up, and shouted, “Is this the best you can offer—plain, meager fare? Where’s the meat? How am I supposed to eat without meat!” The soldier looked at Yang Wenguang with a look of innocence, for it was Yang Wenguang who had given the order. Yang Wenguang, in turn, feigned utter despair—he never imagined Zhang Fangping could be so detestable and hateful. Di Qing hurriedly clasped his fists to smooth things over, saying, “It is simply because meat supplies are relatively scarce in this war-torn region, and having long heard of Your Excellency’s frugal lifestyle, this humble servant feared it might tarnish your reputation…” Zhang Fangping said grumpily, “Does eating a little meat really tarnish his reputation? I refuse to believe that Kou Zhun’s reputation will be ruined by something like this. You guys are drinking, so why shouldn’t I eat meat? What are you standing there for? Bring me that beef.” Yang Wenguang retorted defiantly, “In our Great Song Dynasty, slaughtering cattle is forbidden, so…” “Shut up!” Zhang Fangping snapped. “Do you think I’ve never led troops or held office? In war-torn regions, are there ever few dead horses, cows, or sheep? If you keep nagging, I’ll dig out the beef you’re hiding. I’ll treat it as if you’d slaughtered draft cattle in a war zone.” So Yang Wenguang dared not argue any further. He had no choice but to go out personally to make the arrangements and obediently hand over the beef.