Chapter 40: Honoring the Noble Spirits of Our Fallen Warriors

Zhang Cheng sent Chen Zhong to summon the four patrol commanders, while he proceeded alone to the tent of Zhang Yan.

"Cheng-er, how do you intend to settle these many refugees?" Zhang Yan asked as soon as he saw Zhang Cheng enter.

Zhang Cheng answered without hesitation, "My intention, Uncle, is to escort them out of the pass to avoid the Tatars. Once the Tatars retreat, we shall let them go their own way."

"While that is a benevolent plan, the Juyong Pass gates are already sealed due to the Tatar incursion. How do you intend to pass through?" Zhang Yan’s face showed signs of concern, and he suddenly gasped, adding, "Could it be that you want to..."

Zhang Yan did not continue. He felt the notion was somewhat abrupt and risky, and he couldn't help but look at Zhang Cheng with a side-glance.

"That is exactly my intent. Only with an official order from the Commander-in-Chief can we open the gates, especially since we must also bring nearly a thousand civilians with us," Zhang Cheng replied, looking at his uncle with a firm gaze.

"Do you think the Commander-in-Chief will agree?" Zhang Yan asked.

"The Commander-in-Chief is loyal to the state, dedicated to serving the country, and deeply protective of the people. Furthermore, with the joy of our recent great victory, he will surely consent to this proposal," Zhang Cheng answered with confidence.

He dared not tell Zhang Yan the truth: he had no intention of letting these thousand people return to the capital region.

Why return? To wait for the next Tatar raid and be captured again?

Moreover, he needed the manpower. These were hardworking, resilient people. To his future ambitions, they were like the soldiers under Han Xin—the more, the better. He kept this from Zhang Yan for fear that his uncle’s cautious nature and deep loyalty to the imperial court would lead him to refuse or, worse, misunderstand his intentions. It was better to keep him in the dark for now.

Just as they were speaking, Lin Zhiyi lifted the tent flap to report that the four patrol commanders were ready. A personal guard from General Yang’s camp had also come to urge them to hurry.

***

Following his uncle, Zhang Cheng led Lin Zhiyi and the other four patrol commanders to the main tent of General Yang Guozhu, the Regional Commander of Xuanfu. The tent was already packed with armored officers.

Yang Guozhu sat prominently at the head of the tent, a low table before him laden with plates of meat and a large flagon of wine. The various officers of the Xuanfu garrison who had come to defend the capital sat in rows below him, each with their own small table set with food and rice wine. Behind the already seated guerrilla generals were their respective battalion commanders and mid-level officers, all invited to join the feast, sitting in order behind their superiors.

As Zhang Yan lifted the tent flap and stepped inside, all eyes turned toward them.

Yang Guozhu rose from his seat and said warmly, "Brother Zhang, come, please, take your seat."

Guo Yingxian and the other guerrilla generals hurriedly stood up, followed by the battalion commanders, creating a slightly chaotic scene.

Zhang Cheng scanned the tent. As before, the three guerrilla generals—Guo Yingxian, Li Jianming, and Wen Hui—were seated to Yang Guozhu’s right. To the left of Yang Guozhu, two small tables were set, clearly meant for him and his uncle. As a battalion commander under the Assistant Regional Commander Zhang Yan, he should have sat behind his uncle; however, as the protagonist and hero of the Mafang victory, and because Yang Guozhu regarded him as a future guerrilla general, his seat was arranged beside Zhang Yan rather than behind him.

Behind them were six small tables. Lin Zhiyi, as a deputy battalion commander and commander of Zhang Yan's personal guard patrol, was naturally invited. As for Zhang Cheng’s patrol commanders, they held the ranks of centurions or probationary centurions, which would typically be too low for such a banquet. But General Yang had specifically insisted that they were the brave warriors of today’s victory, survivors of a hundred battles, and must be invited to celebrate.

They followed Zhang Yan and took their seats. Once everyone was settled, Yang Guozhu began the toasts. He raised his bowl and said to Zhang Yan and the officers, "Today, General Zhang’s troops dealt a crushing blow to the Tatars at Mafang, upholding the military prestige of our Xuanfu garrison and the glory of our Great Ming. Let us toast to General Zhang!"

Zhang Yan quickly stood and said loudly, "It is entirely due to the Commander-in-Chief’s brilliant strategy. Let us toast to General Yang!"

Everyone raised their bowls and drained them in one gulp.

Zhang Cheng found the wine sweet and mellow, similar to the rice wine of his original world but with a better flavor. For someone accustomed to high-proof spirits, this was easy to drink.

As the feast began, the tent grew lively.

First came the loud, hearty voice of Guo Yingxian: "Come, Brother Zhang, Cheng-er, I, old Guo, toast you both!"

Zhang Yan, his face stiffening, reluctantly lifted his bowl, gestured toward Guo, and took only a small sip. *This old Guo is always so boisterous,* he thought. *Who toasts an uncle and nephew at the same time? It ruins the hierarchy.*

Zhang Cheng, on the other hand, raised his bowl and drained it. The second bowl made him feel comfortable; the wine wasn't as strong as the spirits he was used to, but it was warmer than beer. Two bowls in, his stomach began to glow with heat.

Li Jianming and Wen Hui also came to toast. Zhang Yan continued to barely touch his lips to the bowl, but Zhang Cheng accepted every toast, drinking heartily. People began to call him a "bottomless pit," worthy of the title "The Wine-Gall of Xuanfu." Zhang Yan glared at him repeatedly, but Zhang Cheng just grinned and kept drinking.

The nephew did not know that Zhang Cheng was finally finding his rhythm, feeling like he was back in his previous world, drinking and singing. Amidst the clinking of cups, he actually felt more and more clear-headed.

After the guerrilla generals finished their toasts, the battalion commanders and other officers swarmed in. They wouldn't dare toast Zhang Yan, but Zhang Cheng was fair game. In the Xuanfu garrison, they often drank together. Being the youngest, Zhang Cheng was a bit of a troublemaker who often addressed the other centurions by their names. Today, they conspired to overwhelm him with drink.

Guo Yingxian, seeing this, stepped in with a large bowl and a flagon: "Cheng-er, for such a great victory, I must toast you three bowls!"

Seeing Guo approach, the other battalion commanders retreated to toast Chen Zhong and the others. Zhang Cheng stood up and said, "It is I who should be toasting you, Uncle Guo."

The two drained three bowls in a row. With more than a dozen bowls of rice wine now in his system, Zhang Cheng felt a slight tipsiness, but it was incredibly refreshing. Guo Yingxian gave him a thumbs-up: "Cheng-er, you are bold! I love drinking with you most of all."

As Guo left to toast others, Zhang Cheng turned to see Chen Zhong and the others engaging in drinking contests with the officers. The original owner of this body was a heavy drinker, and his subordinates were well-trained in the art of the tavern. Though they were only centurions, the wine gave them the courage to mingle with higher-ranking officers.

The tent was filled with the aroma of boiling mutton. Yang Guozhu’s personal guards bustled about, adding meat and wine.

"I hear Centurion Zhang made quite a haul this time!" Li Jianming asked, eyes narrowed, pretending to be casual.

Zhang Cheng, who had been about to toast Yang Guozhu, sat back down. Holding his bowl, he faced Yang Guozhu: "Commander-in-Chief, my men bled at Mafang today. Forty-six were killed or wounded. I myself took an arrow to the chest, saved only by my heart-guard mirror. I ask your permission, Commander, to use this wine to toast the heroic souls of my fallen soldiers."

The tent fell silent. Even Li Jianming looked surprised, then felt a flicker of resentment: *The little brat, thinking that just because his uncle is an Assistant Regional Commander, he can ignore me!*

Just as Li Jianming’s anger simmered, Yang Guozhu’s hearty voice boomed: "It is only right."

He stood up, bowl in hand, and everyone followed. Yang Guozhu declared, "Today, the soldiers of the right-wing camp of the Garrison Guard fought heroically and slaughtered the Tatars. Though they sacrificed their lives for the country, they died for a noble cause. They are our models. Let us use this wine to toast these heroes. From now on, we shall fight even harder to kill the slaves, to comfort their spirits, and to repay the Emperor’s vast benevolence!"

Yang Guozhu poured his wine onto the ground. The officers followed suit. No one spoke, and the atmosphere grew heavy. Zhang Yan glared at Li Jianming, who looked incredibly awkward, his lips moving as if he wanted to break the tension but unable to find the words. Guo Yingxian, annoyed, downed a bowl of wine and slammed it onto the table with a loud *thud*.

Finally, Yang Guozhu raised his bowl again: "Brothers, let us toast the heroic soldiers of the right-wing camp. Bottoms up!"

Zhang Yan stood up: "To the Commander-in-Chief! Bottoms up!"

The tension vanished. The officers returned to eating meat and toasting one another. As soldiers, they had few formalities; many abandoned their chopsticks and ate the mutton with their hands, their faces gleaming with grease. These soldiers were the backbone of the Ming army—rough, accustomed to the hardships of military life, yet professional and combat-hardened when well-fed.

Zhang Cheng stood to toast Yang Guozhu, then the guerrilla generals. By the time he finished toasting the battalion commanders, he had consumed over twenty bowls of rice wine. He felt a pleasant, floating sensation. The tent returned to a state of harmony, filled with the sounds of clinking cups and boisterous laughter.