Chapter 2: The Legacy of the Warriors

The sound of horns signaled assembly, the beating of drums marked the march forward, the waving of flags directed the army’s maneuvers, and the sounding of the war arrow was the order to fight to the death—calling for the troops to lock onto their target and engage in a bloodbath.

In the military tradition of the Dayao Dynasty, a commander leading a charge was a bonus, but the fundamental skill lay in mastering the system of signals: drums, whistles, flags, and war arrows.

Xuan Chong, drawing from his knowledge of his previous life, immediately connected this to the command systems of information-era armies.

From the highest generals to the lowest foot soldiers, the chain of command and communication had always been a technical discipline! The system he now encountered in Dayao—the way troops were organized and orders relayed—was a primitive prototype of modern military command theory. Here, it was simply called “military science.”

Each region of Dayao had its own unique military traditions.

For example, the peasant spear armies of the southern frontier subsisted on rice cakes, not the northern baked wheat pancakes. Differences in provisions subtly altered tactics and formations. Variations in stature and weaponry also meant formations differed.

Dayao’s vast territory faced varied external threats, so each border region was garrisoned by established military families, each with their own centuries-old military codes. These codes, especially those concerning signals and troop movements, were considered core secrets, passed down only to male heirs and exclusively to legitimate sons.

Currently, the army where Wu Fei served was known as the Wu Family Army, an internal military tradition of the Wu clan. Whenever the Dayao court needed to “defend the southern borders,” the Wu family’s fate was inseparable from the nation’s. The warriors of the Wu clan had served the court for generations, unbroken.

…

Under the sweeping wind, flags fluttered noisily in all directions. The fifteen hundred soldiers gathered for drill had fixed their positions.

On the raised platform, as a series of orders were issued, the flags below began to move.

Each unit had a flag bearer. The number of times the flag swung left and right corresponded to the commands relayed from the central army. All soldiers relied on the flag’s direction to maintain their formation and advance. For instance, the peasant spear unit numbered one hundred and twenty men, most of whom were conscripted farmers who only knew to rally behind the flag and charge as the majority did.

Within the strict military law of collective responsibility, these grass-roots troops maintained their own social dynamics beyond the commander’s constant oversight. Control was exerted through appointed officers who bore the flags.

Thus, each flag unit corresponded to the smallest command element on the battlefield, equivalent to a company—the lowest level a general could directly command. If any collusion occurred beneath this level, it depended entirely on the general’s personal charisma to maintain order.

Xuan Chong summed up his previous life’s knowledge: after military modernization, brigade sizes reached seven to eight thousand men, with command chains extending to the platoon level. In the information age, combat groups reached division size, with command chains breaking down to squads. In the intelligent era, commands are precise to each soldier, coordinating tens of thousands across entire theaters of war.

His conclusion: throughout history, armies have grown larger while command has become increasingly refined.

Currently, the Wu Family Army’s largest unit numbered only two thousand five hundred, and the lowest command level was the centurion. This was kindergarten level—though even kindergarten wasn’t easy.

After all, in this era, Wu Fei could only rely on himself to direct troops. Establishing a professional staff through a military academy and forming a command center would be considered overstepping, like harboring political ambitions. The legal scholars would come down hard with strict enforcement.

…

At the troop inspection platform, beneath the large banner, Xuan Chong began issuing orders for the exercise. Bamboo slips inscribed with military commands transformed into symbolic birds and flew to each formation. The soldiers, led by their officers, shifted their weapons and positions like dominoes falling in sequence.

Infantry quickly reformed to set up chevaux de frise protecting the central army. Cavalry on both flanks began to circle, seeking the perfect moment to strike.

Like a master swordsman wielding his blade to sever the enemy’s weak point, the cavalry was the spearhead of the army. When to unleash it fully depended on the general’s signal—the war arrow.

During the formation changes, Xuan Chong cleverly inserted the axe-wielding infantry into the entangled spear units, sowing disorder and creating openings for the cavalry’s charge. With that, the exercise concluded.

Dust swirling, the units bore their flags back to camp. Tonight’s meal would have an extra twenty percent of pickled vegetables added to the rice. Wu Fei returned to his quarters, fully armored, awaiting his uncle’s assessment.

In the central command tent, company leaders sat on either side, a bronze cauldron placed in the center. Each leader took portions of stewed lamb from different parts of the animal, the cuts determined by their merit and seniority.

As sweet rice wine was poured, the banquet commenced.

After a day’s toil, it was customary to treat the captains—the centurions—to a meal.

Wu Fei sat close to the general, a clear sign this banquet was General Wu Hanluan’s way of introducing his young general to the officers.

…

Within the Wu Family Army, task assignments and personnel arrangements were often decided during such banquets. So while eating, most kept a keen mind on future prospects.

Earlier, Wu Hanluan had scolded Wu Fei sternly in private, but now he smiled as he introduced his subordinates to him. Then, as if compelling, he urged the captains and officers to toast Wu Fei one by one.

As the sound of the curfew gong filled the tent, the banquet ended. The units returned to camp, leaving only Wu Fei behind.

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The army’s rice wine was low in alcohol, diluted almost to the strength of rice water, yet after two dozen toasts from various officers, Wu Fei felt the strain. Clearly, these officers had suffered “withdrawal” from hard liquor in recent days; their grudge could not be vented on Wu Hanluan, so they took the chance to press Wu Fei.

Looking at his own reflection in the blade’s sheen, Xuan Chong lamented his poor tolerance. “This is torture!”

…

Wu Hanluan noted Wu Fei’s stoic endurance and taciturn demeanor, raising his evaluation. Previously, Wu Fei’s stubbornness had earned a low initial score, but his composure now added weight.

He had withstood all the flattery without losing himself, slightly tipsy but still clear-headed. Given time, he might become a great general.

The Wu family had guarded Dayao’s southern frontier for four centuries. Their enduring strength was not due to support from the Daoist sects nor imperial favor, but because of their military authority. Without heirs to the Wu military tradition, neither the Dao sect nor the imperial family would grant them favor.

The Dayao emperor stripped titles from vassals who failed to produce. Once mighty clans in the Central Plains, boasting dozens of lords, quickly lost their ranks after regime changes. But the Wu family in the south could substitute “decapitating barbarian leaders” for tribute gold. Excess kills even earned them gold ingots from the imperial family, which Central Plains nobles bought at great cost.

Everyone in the Wu army knew Wu Hanluan felt helpless about his nephew’s obsession with Daoist magic.

The military cultivated ferocity; the immortals nurtured spirit.

City folk avoided clashing with officials; officials did not oppress the powerful underworld figures. In the mortal world, spirit and ferocity do not contend. But in the wilderness, where malevolent energy spreads rapidly, immortal arts were needed to cleave mountains and rivers.

Wu Hanluan had once gently told ten-year-old Wu Fei: “Your fate is too stubborn; you’re meant to live a mortal life! Why chase immortality? Immortal cultivation demands fasting and strict discipline over countless years on the mountain. Can you endure such hardship? You’ve only heard storytellers say immortals roam free.”

There is no such freedom. Over the last millennium, more than fifty sects were eradicated by imperial armies for angering the emperor.

Wu Hanluan was determined to pass on his legacy to Wu Fei and had explained the many hardships of cultivation. However, Wu Hengyu—the son of Wu Hanluan and Wu Fei’s cousin—painted a different picture of the sects.

Three years ago, after returning home, Wu Hengyu demonstrated his Daoist powers, making Wu Fei envious, then boasted of his sect’s life on the mountain.

For example, the Southern Qinghua Sect divided disciples into three generations by cultivation: forming the “golden core” was first generation, consolidating true essence as second generation, and refining qi as third.

That year, his cousin spoke of riding clouds and commanding thunder atop the mountains, stirring Wu Fei’s yearning and resentment toward his elders’ strict control.

The elders then persuaded him, explaining the sect’s difficulties.

Even the highest cultivators with golden cores could perhaps split mountains and stones, but against the army's amassed malevolent energy, no Daoist arts could be employed.

Ten years prior, the Qinghua Sect failed to supply enough “spiritual tea” to the imperial court and had to send over a dozen second-generation disciples to perform alchemy for the emperor.

As for the famed story of Immortal Mu shielding three thousand armored soldiers from pursuers, it was really the city’s collective defense of the earth’s energy lines. The immortal only blocked the chase; when the southeastern frontier generals deployed their “Beacon Flame Pagoda”—a monstrous heavy cavalry—the immortal and all the townsfolk had to retreat to the mountains.

Today, for sects to survive, they must cooperate with the court in times of peace and with noble clans in times of chaos.

Immortal cultivation was a narrow path. Among those entering the sects with spiritual roots, only one in ten reached the stage of refining qi, and golden core cultivators were fewer than two hands’ count worldwide.

The mortal path was the true great way. Besides the emperor, the key powers were Confucianism, Legalism, and Military Science. Saints among these schools outshone golden core cultivators by hundreds of times.

Cultivators claimed to avoid the world, but could not escape it; great spiritual mountains and rivers thrived only under imperial and provincial authority.

Of course, young Wu Fei could not accept this.

…

Xuan Chong wondered when exactly he had swapped places with Wu Fei—the timeline was fuzzy.

Now, reading the “Hundred Schools and Miscellaneous Arts” in the classics, he maintained an objective mindset, concluding:

First, the “mortal path” was part of the heavenly way and the foremost of all paths. Cultivators’ spiritual veins were influenced by mortal kingdoms, and spells only worked within legal constraints.

Thus, cultivators must engage with the world despite their desire to avoid it, relying on nobles to endorse their sects—a complex contradiction.

Within the army were Daoist priests carrying “warding talismans,” moving freely. For them, a year of battlefield experience equaled ten years of worldly training, and they were indispensable mages.

For example, the “Sound of the Gentle Wind” Daoist art could weave the aura of wind and clouds around a unit’s feet or cavalry’s hooves, bolstering their charge.

…

In the camp, Xuan Chong splashed cold water on his face to sober up, then hurried to General Wu Hanluan’s command post.

The general awaited him inside the large tent, handing over the lamp. He unfurled a silk map depicting mountains, rivers, and symbols of ships and horses traveling between cities. To Wu Fei’s eyes, the horse markers moved slowly, as did the ships. The map even seemed to carry the bustling sounds of the cities.

Xuan Chong exclaimed, “Not bad! This map’s practically a ‘magical artifact.’ I saw something like it in that Harry Potter movie, right?”

The binary logic of yin and yang lines wasn’t exclusive to the Dao sect; military science, Confucianism, and Legalism all used corresponding “Book of Changes” texts to support their work.

Before Xuan Chong could fully immerse in the feeling of controlling all via the geomantic map, Wu Hanluan’s finger pressed on a spot. Xuan Chong drew back from the flood of sensory information—grass, birdsong, even the sound of snakeskin rubbing.

The finger pointed to a simple mountain line labeled “Red Serpent Mountains.”

Wu Hanluan brought the lamp closer: “The serpent people have been causing chaos here for five years. Our army guards the passes strictly, ensuring local safety, but the threat persists.”

Xuan Chong saw several newly drawn lines on the map. The general nodded: “These mark our supply routes for the planned campaign into the Red Serpent Mountains. What I’m about to entrust to you relates to this.”

He lingered on the map, having settled on Wu Fei’s mission location.

Wu Fei’s face stiffened. “Must I swear a military oath?”

Wu Hanluan stroked his beard and nodded.

Wu Fei pressed further, “If I fail, will I be executed?”

Wu Hanluan coldly scolded, “You’re already bearing guilt and must redeem yourself.”

Just then, Xuan Chong pondered if he should feign illness to avoid this when his dormant system sprang up.

System: “Please take command of this army. Reward: three credits. Note: Collect fifteen credits to return.”

Xuan Chong angrily dismissed the popup.

The system immediately warned, “Failure to pass the assessment will result in bloodshed.”

Xuan Chong thought furiously, “Damn it, are you threatening me?”

System: “Not a threat, a classroom warning. Your choice. Try it.”

He sighed, muttering, “I never said I wouldn’t accept the task.”

…

The contrast between his inner thoughts and outward demeanor was stark.

Holding the lamp, Wu Fei faced his uncle resolutely, showing a sense of duty.

Wu Hanluan was taken aback; his nephew, always rebellious in the army, seemed suddenly changed.

Xuan Chong refocused on the map, cautious not to lose himself in the sensations, and asked, “Uncle, is this southern campaign the court’s will?”

His logic: since beheading enemies could substitute for tribute gold, the Wu family army could have kept the serpent people as a controllable nuisance, harvesting them periodically. A sudden offensive was unusual.

Wu Hanluan hesitated, sighed: “Yuan Chang, just lead the troops well. Court matters, Yuan Lu—another clan member with lesser status but strong talent—is watching.”

Xuan Chong glanced at his uncle, realizing there were shifts at court.

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[End of text.]