Two strikes against the invaders

Drawing closer to the crowd, the commands from Captain Baihu on the stage reached the children’s ears.

“...This is a chance to repay the emperor’s grace, so everyone move quickly. Duan Da, you and the others return immediately to bring the bows and arrows. I’m warning you now—take good care of your gear. If you can’t string your bow when it counts, just see how I deal with you. The two lieutenants will distribute weapons and armor; each squad leader should lead their team to collect their equipment promptly...”

Following that came a chorus of grumbling as the squad leaders gathered their teams, receiving gear from the two carts in turn. Meanwhile, seven or eight soldiers, unable to wait for their equipment, scattered from the crowd, heading home swiftly—the archers going to fetch their bows.

Fishhead watched the departing figures, guessing they were cursing their father under their breath.

He knew these few well—they were the archers from Captain Baihu’s unit, who doubled as hunters. Though they lived by the Yangtze River, the captain’s jurisdiction extended ten or more miles east into the mountains, a place called Wulong Mountain or something similar. These men often took advantage of the off-season to hunt there.

In ancient times, bows and arrows were precious. Whether the bow or the bowstring, a lack of proper maintenance would cause problems—especially the bowstring.

The reason these men could take bows and arrows from the armory was because after each hunting trip, they would present a share of their catch to the captain’s household. This was true for the families of the boys around him.

Taking advantage of the moment, Fishhead jogged over to his father cautiously and asked, “Father, where are you all going?”

The captain, clad in padded armor, looked at his youngest son with a restrained smile before speaking gently, “My son, you’d better head home early. Your father will be away for a few days.”

“Are you going to war? Against whom?” Fishhead asked urgently, not only because this man was his biological father but also because he was his steady source of support. From what he could tell, they were indeed preparing for battle.

“Guangde, it’s hard to say for now. You should go home and listen to your mother. I’m not even letting your brother go; he’s staying here to guard the fort.”

“Father, you’re...” At this point, Fishhead sensed trouble brewing. He had only arrived in this time a few days ago—surely it wasn’t about to descend into utter chaos. But something was off; the era name didn’t seem to match his memories.

“Captain Wei, it’s getting late, almost dark. Must we march to the Thousand Household Fort tonight?” one of the lieutenants spoke up.

“Yes, sir. Shouldn’t we leave at dawn tomorrow?” another added.

At that moment, the two lieutenants had finished arranging the order for the gear distribution and gathered around Captain Baihu.

“The military dispatch is clear: immediate mobilization. No mistakes,” Captain Wei said with a helpless smile.

“Send the younger boys home...” Captain Wei told the lieutenants. He didn’t want to mobilize troops at such a time, but orders were orders.

Soon, the children had to leave the small training grounds and return home. Fishhead headed straight to the large mansion at the center of the stone fort—this was both the captain’s office and his home.

“Brother! Brother!” Fishhead burst through the door, ignoring the guards stationed outside, and called loudly inside.

“Fishhead, stop shouting. I’m here,” came the reply from the study on the right, where ledger work usually took place.

Fishhead hurried over. “Brother, father and the others said they’re going to the Thousand Household Fort, but why are they taking the troops and handing out swords and spears at the city gate?”

Inside, his elder brother sat slumped in a chair, clearly downcast and gloomy.

“You can read, so look for yourself,” he said, pointing to a military order lying on the desk.

Fishhead quickly picked it up and, at a glance, understood the situation. Though his brother had told him to read it himself, he continued in a low voice, “It’s because of the border raids by the Tatars two months ago. They’ve already reached the capital. Emperor Jiajing has called for loyal troops from all regions. Our Jiujiang garrison has been requisitioned.”

“They’re ordering us to board ships at the Jiujiang dock and sail up the Grand Canal to reinforce the capital. It’s a direct order from the Supreme Commander’s office. I guess the garrison posts along the canal, including ours, are being mobilized for battle.”

Fishhead read the order again, puzzled. “Brother, didn’t you say the Tatars were defeated at Datong a few days ago? How did they suddenly reach the capital?”

“If I knew, I wouldn’t be sitting here. I’d be in Ying Tian by now, serving as an official,” his brother sighed.

He continued, “The Tatars up north are said to be formidable. Each man rides a mighty horse and moves like the wind. They’re expert archers—probably even our Duan Da back at the fort wouldn’t stand a chance. That’s why father isn’t letting me go on this campaign.”

“By the way, mother is crying in the backyard. Go comfort her, maybe coax her a bit,” he added.

With that, Fishhead was gently pushed out of the room. He walked toward the backyard, mulling over everything. He couldn’t recall the Mongols ever reaching Beijing in his memories—only once during the Tumu Crisis. Other than that, there had been the rebellious Jianzhou tribes, but that was during the late Ming period, much later than the current Jiajing era.

To an ordinary modern person, the Ming dynasty felt like a distant past.

For Fishhead Wei Guangde, who had accidentally traveled to this time, Emperor Jiajing was known mainly for being somewhat unreliable and fond of seeking immortality.

As for his knowledge of this era, he knew of Yan Song and Yan Shifan—the current prime ministers. At first, he thought they were the same person, since Shifan was a courtesy name, but he later learned they were father and son.

Also, there was Qi Jiguang, the famed general who fought the Japanese pirates. He seemed to belong to this era as well.

Strangely, though, Fishhead had heard about pirate troubles in nearby Fujian but never about Qi Jiguang.

These were questions he could only ponder silently, unable to voice.

Wei Guangde was born in the year... well, he wasn’t exactly sure what the current year was in the Gregorian calendar, but he knew the era name. He was born in the eighteenth year of Jiajing; now it was the twenty-ninth year of Jiajing, making him eleven years old.

Why had he crossed over to this time?

It wasn’t as simple as just traveling through time. As someone who had successfully crossed over, Wei Guangde felt he had some insight, even if it wasn’t entirely reliable. It required the right timing, the right place, and the right conditions—none could be missing.