Chapter 17: Punching a Hole in the Sky
The city gates of Datong Prefecture stood wide open.
The early morning light cast a faint golden glow over a seemingly endless caravan. At the forefront rode Fan Tong and his twenty silent black-armored demon warriors. Behind them, heavy carts left deep ruts in the earth, their wheels groaning under the weight. Covered with oilcloth, the occasional gust of wind lifted a corner, revealing not weapons, but dazzling flashes of gold and silver that could blind onlookers.
Mountains of gold and seas of silver were loaded onto these carts, forming a moving spectacle that would drive anyone mad with desire.
Following behind was an even longer line of supply wagons, piled high with grain emitting a scent so comforting it seemed to soothe the very bones.
Along both sides of the street, the citizens of Datong Prefecture had gathered spontaneously to see them off.
They offered no cheers, only silent gazes, many with eyes reddened by emotion.
As Fan Tong passed by on horseback, an elderly woman with graying hair trembled forward from the crowd and pressed a still-warm boiled egg into his hand.
“Master Fan... a good man you are...”
That single egg seemed to ignite something within the throng.
“Safe travels, Master Fan!”
“Please take care of yourself, Master Fan!”
Countless people surged forward, desperately thrusting their meager offerings—cakes, newly made shoe insoles, bamboo tubes filled with clean water—into the caravan. They had little of value to give, but these were all they could offer.
Fan Tong looked down at the warm egg in his hand, then at the honest faces surrounding him, and felt as if something deep inside had been struck hard.
He was just a cook who had crossed over, only wanting to eat his fill.
But now, with a burning-hot egg in his palm, he sensed that something far greater than mere sustenance was at stake.
This was the “Egg of the People,” more precious than even a dragon’s egg.
He responded to the crowd with a deep, heartfelt salute from his horse.
Commander Zhang He of the garrison watched Fan Tong’s retreating figure with eyes no longer filled with doubt, but with utter reverence and fervor.
He knew he was witnessing the birth of a legend.
...
Qingyang, the Ming army camp.
Inside the central command tent, Xu Da stared intently at the battle map, his brow furrowed into a deep knot.
The northern campaign had entered its most grueling phase. Although the main forces of Kuotebatur had been shattered, they still lurked beyond the northern desert. The troops under Li Siqi were restless, and Zhang Liangchen, a cunning and stubborn commander within Qingyang city, was holding the isolated fortress tight, draining the army’s morale and supplies.
The army had been stuck here for nearly a month, and hunger was slowly eroding the soldiers’ spirit.
“Brother,” Deputy General Feng Sheng entered, his face grim, “Zhang Liangchen in the city is a coward. If this drags on, we’ll run out of provisions before he surrenders. The rations handed out today were already mixed with sand.”
With a heavy fist, Xu Da slammed the map table, causing the small flag representing Qingyang city to tremble.
“Wait three more days. If that brat Fan Tong isn’t back by then... we’ll have no choice but to use lives to fill the gap!”
No sooner had he spoken than a messenger burst into the tent, tumbling and scrambling, his hat askew, his voice trembling with near-mad excitement.
“Commander! Commander! Fan... Fan Tong has returned!”
“Returned?” Xu Da’s spirit lifted. “Where is he? How did it go? Did those Shanxi merchants give an explanation?”
“Explanation? Yes! Yes, there is!” The messenger’s tongue stumbled as he gestured wildly. “He... he’s just outside the camp! Commander, you... you should see it yourself! The explanation is... overwhelming!”
Xu Da’s heart skipped a beat, a bad premonition rising.
Could it be that the boy had bungled the mission, bringing back nothing but worthless trinkets and begging for help?
He wore a solemn expression as he led Feng Sheng and his guards swiftly out of the camp.
But when he climbed the watchtower and saw, stretching for miles, the vast and imposing caravan approaching, his entire body froze.
His eyes, accustomed to countless scenes of carnage, now widened like copper bells.
“What... what is that?” he stammered, pointing to the distance.
“Commander, that is... the ‘explanation’ Fan Tong brought back,” one guard said in a daze, rubbing his eyes as if afraid he was hallucinating.
As the caravan slowly rolled into the camp, the entire garrison erupted.
Soldiers, whether drilling or groaning in the infirmary, poured out, crowding the roads until there was no space to move.
When the oilcloth on the first cart was lifted, revealing rows of silver ingots gleaming sharply under the sun, the world seemed to fall silent.
Only the heavy breathing of the soldiers echoed, rising and falling.
“My goodness... did he just empty the Dragon King’s treasury?” an old soldier murmured, dropping his black bread without noticing.
“Silver... a whole cart of silver...”
“You’re blind! Look behind! That cart is full of gold! Oh my!”
One after another, the second, third carts followed—no fewer than a hundred in total—heavy with gold and silver, rolling by slowly.
The blazing gold and shining silver stabbed deeply into every soldier’s heart.
When the last carts appeared, piled high with grain, every soldier’s eyes turned red.
Gold and silver were dreams, but grain was life itself!
“Long live Master Fan!”
Someone was the first to roar.
“Long live Master Fan!!!”
“Long live Master Fan!!!”
The cheers rose like an earthquake from every corner of the camp, shaking the heavens, almost scattering the clouds above!
They no longer called him “Commander Fan Tong,” but from their hearts shouted “Master Fan.”
At that moment, Fan Tong’s prestige in the army reached an unprecedented peak, surpassing even some seasoned generals.
Standing atop the watchtower, Xu Da looked down at the flushed, excited faces below and heard the deafening cheers, but no joy touched his own expression.
“Brother, that boy... truly is a lucky star!” Feng Sheng’s face flushed with excitement. “Now we won’t have to worry! Tomorrow, the troops will eat their fill and take Qingyang in one swift strike!”
But Xu Da’s gaze was heavier than ever.
“Lucky? I think he’s a troublemaker.”
He knew Fan Tong had brought back more than gold, silver, and grain—he had delivered a monumental headache that could drag countless people down.
“This trip, he raided the Shanxi merchants, but whose face did he really slap? The faces of those ministers in the court!” Xu Da’s voice was low, yet it sank Feng Sheng into icy dread. “That boy just punched a hole in the heavens...”
His gaze shifted to Fan Tong, who was now surrounded by soldiers, looking somewhat bewildered as he rubbed his belly.
“But... he also brought me a knife sharp enough to pierce the sky.”
Turning away from the watchtower, his voice regained the calmness and decisiveness of a commander.
“Order the entire army to be rewarded! Tonight, all the meat they want!”
“And summon Fan Tong to my tent.”
“This victory banquet may not be so easy to swallow after all.”