Chapter 21: Honoring the Troops and Brotherhood

Three days after the fall of Qingyang City.

A procession of waving banners and imposing ceremonial guards wound its way into the Ming army camp like a golden dragon.

Crown Prince Zhu Biao had arrived.

The atmosphere of the entire camp shifted instantly. Those fierce, battle-hardened soldiers who had just climbed out of a mountain of corpses and a sea of blood now reined in their murderous auras, becoming as docile as lambs.

Inside the command tent, Xu Da led a group of high-ranking officers in greeting the Crown Prince. Fan Tong, clad in a brand-new battalion commander's armor, stood at the very end of the line, feeling entirely uncomfortable.

This official uniform was much lighter than his custom-made black armor, yet it made him feel restricted, as if he were wearing shackles.

"Damn it! This thing isn't half as comfortable as my black armor. It creaks every time I move, like I’ve got osteoporosis."

Zhu Biao’s gaze quickly swept over the crowd and landed on Fan Tong.

It was unavoidable; he was far too conspicuous.

His two-hundred-and-fifty-pound frame stood out like a crane among a flock of chickens in a group of generals who were mostly known for their beer bellies. Coupled with the giant bone-cleaving knife standing beside him—wider than a door—he was a sight that demanded attention.

A flicker of curiosity crossed Zhu Biao’s eyes.

Was this the fat battalion commander who had been praised to the skies in reports by both the Emperor and General Xu? A man who started as a cook, yet managed to crack major cases and conquer fortified cities?

"Fan Tong, step forward to receive your appointment," Zhu Biao’s gentle voice rang out.

Fan Tong’s heart skipped a beat. He steeled himself, walked to the center of the tent, and knelt on one knee.

Here it comes. It finally arrived. I wonder what kind of death sentence—er, I mean, what kind of reward—Old Zhu has in store for me.

A eunuch unfurled a yellow imperial edict and began to read in a shrill, piercing voice.

"By the grace of the Emperor, it is decreed:"

The edict was long. It began by denouncing the crimes of the Shanxi merchants who had colluded with the enemy, followed by praise for Fan Tong’s merits in the two great campaigns of "Purging the Shanxi Merchants" and "Conquering Qingyang."

"...Possessing both wisdom and courage, having repeatedly rendered extraordinary service, he is truly a pillar of the nation... Fan Tong is hereby promoted to the rank of General Huaiyuan and appointed as the Commander of the Imperial Guard in Yingtian Prefecture. He is awarded one thousand taels of gold and five thousand taels of silver. He shall report to the capital immediately to assume his post. This is the decree!"

General Huaiyuan!

Commander of the Imperial Guard!

The breathing of every officer in the command tent turned ragged.

This was a fourth-rank military position, and a post in the Imperial Guard—right under the nose of the Son of Heaven! It was an overnight rise to glory! A threshold that most men spent their entire lives fighting to reach, yet this fat man had crossed it with ease after only two battles!

In an instant, countless gazes of envy and jealousy converged on Fan Tong’s broad back.

Fan Tong’s mind went blank.

"What the hell! Commander of the Imperial Guard? Isn't that just the head of the secret police? What does Old Zhu want? To make me a chief spy? I’m a cook; this isn't my specialty! Besides, in that den of tigers and wolves that is Yingtian Prefecture, how long would my two hundred pounds of meat last before someone cut it up?"

Zhu Biao closed the edict, a gentle smile on his face. He stepped forward personally, intending to help Fan Tong up. "General Fan, please, rise. My father has spoken of you incessantly. He specifically instructed me to have you return to the capital with me immediately; he wishes to see you in person."

However, Fan Tong remained kneeling on the ground.

He lifted his head, his chubby face twisted into a smile that looked worse than a grimace. "Your Highness, the subordinate... the subordinate... does not wish to be this general."

"What?"

Zhu Biao’s hands, extended to help him up, froze in mid-air.

The entire tent of officers was stunned.

A refusal? He actually refused?

This was a personal conferment from the Emperor! A supreme honor! Had this fat man gone mad?

"I’m just a cook. I’m much more comfortable with a knife for cutting meat than with a pen for writing reports," Fan Tong scratched his head, speaking with a simple, honest air. "A place like Yingtian Prefecture is too big, and there are too many rules. I’m afraid I’ll cause trouble for His Majesty if I go. I’d rather stay with the General, cooking for my brothers at the frontier and chopping off a few enemy heads; that’s much more carefree."

His words were blunt, even a bit crude. But every word struck like a heavy hammer against the hearts of everyone present.

Zhu Biao looked into Fan Tong’s clear eyes. There was no pretense or calculation in them, only an almost naive sincerity. He withdrew his hands, his expression growing complex.

He had seen too many people who would stop at nothing for power, but he had never seen anyone so easily cast aside such immense wealth and status.

"As for this reward..." Fan Tong pointed to the large trunks of gold and silver that had been brought in, his voice dropping. "Your Highness, I have a presumptuous request."

"Speak."

"During the attack on Qingyang, two of my men died, and eighteen were seriously wounded," Fan Tong’s voice was somewhat hoarse. "I want to distribute this gold and silver among them. For the dead, send it to their families so they won't have to worry about food or clothing for the rest of their lives. For the wounded, let them use it to recover well so that they can continue to follow me... and eat meat."

The tent fell into a deathly silence.

The looks of jealousy gradually turned into admiration, and even a hint of shame. They had only seen Fan Tong’s glory, but not the blood and tears behind it.

Standing at the very end of the line of officers, a tall figure dressed in the common garb of a personal guard took it all in.

Prince Yan, Zhu Di, clenched his fists tightly inside his sleeves.

He looked at the fat man kneeling on the ground, his heart churning like a stormy sea.

No desire for power, only loyalty to his brothers.

Could such a person really exist in this world?

Xu Da stepped forward, bowing to Zhu Biao. "Your Highness, Fan Tong is a man of straightforward character and is unversed in the trivialities of officialdom. I ask that Your Highness explain this to His Majesty on his behalf. He is a fine blade; only by keeping him at the frontier can he continue to slay enemies for the nation."

Zhu Biao looked deeply at Fan Tong and finally nodded. "Very well. I will truthfully report General Fan’s loyalty and courage to my father. Your request is granted."

"Thank you, Your Highness!" Fan Tong was overjoyed and knocked his head heavily against the floor.

*Whew*, narrowly escaped with my life.

Is this fat man truly a fool, or is he someone who masks great wisdom with a facade of simplicity? Zhu Biao was filled with doubt.

That night, in Xu Da’s command tent.

"You played your part well today, kid," Xu Da said, watching Fan Tong, who was ferociously gnawing on a roasted chicken, a faint smile on his lips.

Fan Tong’s mouth was stuffed with meat, and he mumbled vaguely, "General, I wasn't acting. I truly don't want to go to the capital. My brain isn't built for those twists and turns; I’m afraid I’d be dead before I even knew why."

"Knowing your own limitations is a good thing," Xu Da nodded, his eyes growing profound. "The Emperor rewarding you is a royal favor. You refusing it is a matter of principle. Distributing the reward to your brothers is a way to win their hearts. This push and pull, this act of giving and taking—it’s ten times more effective than simply accepting the title. You look simple, but you understand more than anyone."

Fan Tong gave a goofy grin and didn't respond.

Understand, my foot. I’m just purely afraid of dying. Being an official under Zhu Yuanzhang, especially in the capital, is no different than having your head tied to your belt. If Old Zhu is in a bad mood one day and I say the wrong thing, that fine head of mine won't stay on my shoulders.

He just wanted to stay safely in the camp, research recipes, eat well and drink well with his brothers, and finish his system tasks along the way. Isn't that better than anything else?

The news that Fan Tong had distributed the rewards spread throughout the army.

The families of the fallen soldiers who received the compensation knocked their heads toward Fan Tong’s tent for three days and three nights.

The seriously wounded soldiers from the kitchen squad hugged the gold and silver and wept like children.

Soldiers from other camps, seeing the joyful scenes in the kitchen squad’s area and then looking at the meager rewards in their own hands, were filled with envy.

"Following Battalion Commander Fan, it’s worth dying for!"

"He really treats his men like brothers! Unlike our lot..."

"From now on, if anyone dares to badmouth Commander Fan, I’ll be the first to cut them down!"

Unknowingly, Fan Tong’s prestige in the army was no longer limited to the vanguard. Many soldiers began to call him "Bodhisattva Fan" in private.

A fat man who killed without blinking being called a Bodhisattva—the whole thing sounded surreal.

Crown Prince Zhu Biao stayed in Qingyang for three days before departing for the capital.

Before leaving, he summoned Xu Da privately and asked again about Fan Tong’s background.

Xu Da merely stroked his beard and said eight words with a mysterious air: "A heaven-sent lucky general; he who gains him finds peace."

Zhu Biao embarked on his journey home filled with doubt.

However, he did not notice that one person was missing from his massive ceremonial procession.

Zhu Di had used the excuse of "inspecting the logistics and accidentally catching a cold, requiring rest in the camp" to cleverly slip away from the team.

At this moment, he had changed into the common attire of a soldier, carrying a long sword on his back. He stood at the edge of the vanguard’s training ground, watching the fat battalion commander who was directing his men to stew meat in a massive iron pot.

The aroma of the meat drifted for miles, making every soldier in the camp salivate.

Zhu Di licked his lips, and the fire of ambition burning in his heart grew even brighter.

He had made up his mind.

He wasn't going back.

He would stay here, and he would carve out his own fame on this land of blood and fire!

And joining that fat man’s command seemed like a pretty good start.

He adjusted his armor, took a deep breath, and walked toward the steaming pot.

"Brother, tell me... are you still recruiting?"