Volume One: The Jiedushi of Southern Rivers Chapter Five: Once the Bow is Drawn, There Is No Turning Back

Wei Fufeng and his two companions trudged with great difficulty along the Baoxie Road. Whenever they encountered perilous stretches impassable for Old Feng, Wei Fufeng would carry him on his back. Though their progress was slow and interrupted by frequent rests, at least they could find some peace during those pauses.

When they reached the Bao River, Wei Fufeng, imitating the other refugees, constructed a simple bamboo and wood raft. Old Feng sat on the raft and floated downstream, while Wei Fufeng walked along the bank, pulling it with a rope made of vines. Their pace quickened considerably. Five days later, they arrived at the exit of the Baoxie Road—Bao City—finally emerging from that treacherous passage.

Bao City was a fortress defending Hanzhong, garrisoned by five hundred provincial troops, and belonged to a county under Xingyuan Prefecture. Xingyuan Prefecture governed the counties of Mian, Nanzheng, Xi, Chenggu, and Bao. The region was once called Liangzhou in ancient times, later renamed Hanzhong Commandery under the Han Dynasty. In the first year of Emperor Dezong of Tang’s reign as Xingyuan (784), Zhu Ci rebelled, and the Emperor, frightened, fled Chang’an to seek refuge in Hanzhong. After the rebellion was suppressed and the Emperor returned to Chang’an, he issued an edict renaming Hanzhong as Xingyuan Prefecture, placing it on par with the capital Chang’an.

Upon reaching Bao City, the three of them boarded a merchant vessel, following the Bao River to Nanzheng, the administrative seat of Xingyuan Prefecture. Nanzheng County’s city was the headquarters of the Military Commissioner of Shannan West Circuit, lying south of the Han River. From a distance, the city appeared grand and imposing, with military camps stationed outside its walls.

Upon entering the city, Wei Fufeng and his companions were met with a scene of chaos: the streets were crowded with refugees, even more numerous than in Shangluo County. But Shangluo was much smaller, and could not hold as many people as Nanzheng.

Wei Fufeng and his companions wandered the city, inquiring for news. After thorough investigation, Wei Fufeng’s face darkened, his hopes dashed by the grim tidings he received.

“Old Feng, do you think Wang Jian can truly seize all of Western Sichuan for himself? Or have his feats been exaggerated?” Wei Fufeng whispered.

“It’s likely true,” Old Feng replied. “Wang Jian is as fierce as a wolf or tiger, a cunning bandit who acts with utter disregard for rules. Prime Minister Wei is a civil official; faced with a ruffian like Wang Jian, he’s bound to be at a disadvantage everywhere.”

Wei Fufeng nodded and spoke softly, “Banished from Chang’an’s Imperial Guards, Wang Jian was appointed Prefect of Bizhou, yet he dared to seize Langzhou by force and proclaimed himself Military Governor there. But Langzhou falls under the jurisdiction of the Shannan West Circuit, and yet Governor Yang tolerates his audacity and lets him grow unchecked.”

“Wang Jian is a skilled commander, and with Gu Yanlang of the Eastern Sichuan Circuit, himself a former Imperial Guard, supporting him, it makes sense. Yang has only recently assumed command of Shannan West, and perhaps wishes to avoid depleting his strength through internal strife,” Old Feng observed.

“With only three thousand troops, Wang Jian managed to invade Western Sichuan and take the upper hand. He is indeed brave and formidable,” Wei Fufeng affirmed.

“If these reports are true, Prime Minister Wei’s position in Western Sichuan is little more than titular. The chaos there seems only to have enabled Wang Jian to further strengthen his army,” Old Feng remarked.

Wei Fufeng forced a bitter smile and said quietly, “As the imperial appointee to the governorship of Western Sichuan, he failed to bring the local powers of the various prefectures under his control, focusing solely on a futile struggle for Chengdu.”

“That may not be entirely fair. Beyond Chengdu, Prime Minister Wei simply lacked the strength to take those territories,” Old Feng responded.

“As Governor of Western Sichuan and Imperial Commissioner for both Sichuan circuits, he had every right to act expediently—granting offices, making promises, winning over the local officials and people. In Sichuan, the imperial authority is more recognized than in the Central Plains; otherwise, during the Huang Chao Rebellion, the late emperor would not have fled to Chengdu for refuge,” Wei Fufeng said in a low voice.

“But if he had done so, the court would have been suspicious and critical, sowing seeds of trouble for the future,” Old Feng murmured.

“A piece of meat left lying there—those who follow the rules never get to eat it,” Wei Fufeng said faintly.

Old Feng nodded, then asked, “What do you intend to do, young master?”

Wei Fufeng replied quietly, “My great-uncle’s predicament is far worse than I imagined. If I proceed to Western Sichuan now, I will be of no use.”

“Do you mean to return?” Old Feng asked calmly.

“Let me think,” Wei Fufeng whispered, turning to gaze into the distant sky, lost in contemplation.

Go back? Their outbound journey had been arduous and perilous; there was no telling if the return would be safe. He had little private money left—certainly not enough to buy sufficient provisions. Should he return, his elders would surely scold him. He could not bear to slink home, shamed and defeated.

But if he continued on to Western Sichuan, his great-uncle’s situation was so dire that he would likely be drawn into the siege warfare he so dreaded.

After long deliberation, Wei Fufeng said softly, “Old Feng, I’m going to see Governor Yang.”

“What? You’re going to see Governor Yang?” Old Feng said in surprise, his eyes puzzled.

“Yes. The enemy of my enemy is my friend. Wait here for me.” Wei Fufeng removed his book rack, set it on the ground, and strode away.

Old Feng watched him depart in silence. Once, he had been a squad leader defending Tong Pass; a grievous wound in the fight against Huang Chao’s rebels left him crippled and abandoned by the army, to drift through Shangluo County awaiting death. It was Wei Fufeng who had saved him.

Wei Fufeng walked the streets of Xingyuan Prefecture, his face expressionless, his eyes reflecting a turbulent mind. He felt as if he had lived another life before—a previous existence in a peaceful era, unremarkable but free from want. That supposed former life was like a dream, hazy and indistinct, a beautiful vision of comfort and abundance. Yet in this life, he was lowly, constantly worried about food, and always in fear of war.

After the time it takes for a stick of incense to burn, Wei Fufeng stood at the steps of a grand official residence. The upturned eaves of the gatehouse resembled the gaping maw of a beast, its ten imposing guards like the beast’s sharp teeth.

“Who are you?” one guard barked, glaring at him.

Steeling himself, Wei Fufeng ascended the steps and approached the guard, bowing respectfully. “I am from Chengdu in Western Sichuan, of the Wei clan, and have come by order to request an audience with Governor Yang.”

The guard’s expression shifted slightly as he scrutinized Wei Fufeng. “Come in.”

The guard turned and entered through the main gate. Wei Fufeng followed, ordered to wait inside. Watching the guard stride away, Wei Fufeng appeared calm but was inwardly tense.

From his inquiries in the city, he had learned that Yang Shouliang, Military Commissioner of Shannan West, was the adopted son of Yang Fugong, the influential eunuch in Chang’an. Yang Fugong commanded the Imperial Guards and had installed the current Emperor Zhaozong. The power held by the eunuchs over the army was one of the reasons the Tang Empire was in decline. The same Wang Jian who was now invading Western Sichuan had once been an adopted son of Tian Lingzi, the chief eunuch of the late Emperor Xizong. After Tian Lingzi fell from power, he fled to Western Sichuan as a military observer, only to be betrayed by his adopted son Wang Jian.

With each new emperor, eunuch favorites rose and fell, the tides of power ruthlessly sweeping away the old. As Yang Shouliang was the adopted son of Yang Fugong, he was naturally an ally of the eunuch faction and bitterly opposed to Wang Jian, the former favorite of a now disgraced eunuch.

Furthermore, Emperor Zhaozong had appointed Wei Zhaodu as Military Governor of Western Sichuan, replacing Chen Jingxuan. Chen Jingxuan had defied the imperial edict, prompting the emperor to order a campaign against him and name Wei Zhaodu as the commander of the field army. Wang Jian was appointed commander-in-chief of all forces and carved out the Yongping Army from Qiong, Shu, Li, and Ya prefectures of Western Sichuan, proclaiming himself military governor. Gu Yanlang of Eastern Sichuan served as his chief of staff, and Yang Shouliang of Shannan West as deputy commander—so though Yang resided in Xingyuan Prefecture, he was deeply involved in the affairs of Western Sichuan.

Wei Fufeng sought an audience with Yang Shouliang, driven by his unwillingness to accept defeat. Having already left Shangluo County in defiance of his elders, he could not return in disgrace, unwilling to face their reproach, ridicule, and the looming danger of war.

Before long, the guard returned and beckoned, “Come.”

Wei Fufeng followed, calming his nerves as best he could. He was about to meet a governor—a man who ruled a province—after having gained entry through a ruse. Who could not help but be anxious?

They walked about a hundred paces to a building. Outside the door stood ten armored guards, each exuding a murderous aura, their eyes fixed on Wei Fufeng, who forced himself to remain composed.

“Go in,” the guard said coolly.

Wei Fufeng bowed, then entered. The scene inside gave him pause. It was an elegant study adorned with a zitan wood desk, a huge porcelain vase, and behind the desk sat a middle-aged man in a purple robe with a round collar. The man had a square face, large ears, sword-like brows, and tiger eyes—a dignified presence. Two burly armored guards stood by the desk, both giving Wei Fufeng a sidelong glare.

Wei Fufeng stepped forward, knelt, and respectfully announced, “Wei Zheng, at your command, greets Your Excellency. May you enjoy ten thousand years.”

“Oh? From Western Sichuan?” the man behind the desk intoned coolly.

“I am not from Western Sichuan, but have come from Shangluo County in Shang Prefecture,” Wei Fufeng replied, deliberately concealing his real name.

“Shangluo County?” the man frowned.

“Yes, from Shangluo. At my grandfather’s command, I come to see Your Excellency. My grandfather is the Chief Historian of Shang Prefecture, and the elder brother of my great-uncle Wei Zhaodu.”

“What is your purpose here?” the man asked.

“My grandfather says that Wang Jian is a fierce and skilled commander, now commanding tens of thousands in Western Sichuan. My great-uncle cannot restrain him, and so I come to request troops from you, my lord.”

“Requesting troops? My army has already given its full support, and you still ask for more?” the man said coldly.

“My lord, my great-uncle needs only two hundred elite soldiers to seize an opportunity to strike down Wang Jian,” Wei Fufeng replied respectfully.