Xu Qinghuan took the token of the Commander-in-Chief's Mansion from Li Sheng and looked at it twice.
It was made of bronze, heavy in the hand, with the word "Zhenbei" engraved on the back. The corners were covered with patina, revealing the sense of time of being rubbed all year round.
She didn't say much, tucked the token into her sleeve, folded the few sheepskin drawings and stuffed them into the inner pocket.
"Second Brother."
Xu Zhan looked up at her.
"I'm going to meet Tie Lanshan, you stay at the posthouse, don't go anywhere."
Xu Zhan was about to speak, but was pressed back into his stomach by Xu Qinghuan's look.
"There are thirty heavy-armored personal guards in the posthouse, and Jenny has three boxes of guys over there who can overturn half a street. The most important thing for you right now is not to worry about me, but to recuperate."
Xu Zhan was silent and nodded silently.
Xu Qinghuan turned around and walked out of the west wing room. The door closed behind her, and the morning light hit her side face.
Li Sheng waited under the corridor early, followed by four personal guards in plain clothes.
"Let's go."
The carriage stopped outside the main gate of the posthouse, and Zhao Hu was waiting on horseback.
Seeing Xu Qinghuan come out, he dismounted and gave a military salute. He was polite, but his eyes were restlessly glancing around the courtyard.
Xu Qinghuan got into the carriage and lowered the curtain.
Li Sheng sat on the shaft of the carriage, his hand on the hilt of his sword, never leaving her side.
The wheels crushed the bluestone slabs, and the gate of the posthouse slowly closed behind.
Thirty heavy-armored personal guards were divided into three shifts, sealing off the front and back yards and the side doors on both sides, so that not even a mouse could get in.
...
The sound of wheels faded away.
In the west wing room, Xu Zhan leaned against the pillow, staring straight at the ceiling in a daze.
He propped up the bedboard with his left hand.
He moved his legs out of the quilt. When his soles touched the ground, his knees couldn't help but sway.
Xu Zhan gritted his back teeth and stood up abruptly.
A dull pain came from the broken right shoulder, oozing from the bone seams, endless.
He pulled a single piece of clothing from the wooden rack with his left hand and randomly wrapped it around himself.
Pushing open the door, the sunlight outside stung his eyes so much that he narrowed them.
The early morning in Zhenbei City was dry and cold, and the wind was mixed with the astringent taste of yellow sand, scraping against the face like sandpaper.
After staying for a few days, the skin automatically becomes rough.
Xu Zhan took a breath of cold air, his lungs were stimulated, and he became much more sober.
He slowly walked across the courtyard. When passing the well platform, a guard on duty recognized him and was about to shout out, but was stopped by Xu Zhan raising his hand.
There was a row of side rooms on the east side of the posthouse, originally for the postmen to live in, which had been vacated last night as a temporary hospital for the wounded.
Xu Zhan pushed open the door.
The light in the room was dim, and the oil-paper window only let in a layer of grayish light.
More than a dozen wooden beds were crowded together, and those lying on them were all brothers from the outpost camp who were carried out of the death row last night.
Some were missing fingers, some had their calves wrapped in bloody cloth, and some had their faces swollen out of shape, with only two slits for eyes.
The room was filled with the smell of Jinchuang medicine, strong enough to choke people.
On the outermost wooden bed, Goudan was lying on his stomach.
The whip wound on his back was still oozing blood, and the coarse cloth bandage was dyed dark brown.
Hearing the sound of the door, Goudan turned his head, saw the person clearly, and his eyes suddenly turned red.
"Brother... Brother Zhan!"
Goudan propped up the bed with both hands and was about to climb up. As soon as his arms exerted force, he pulled the wound on his back, grinning in pain, and sweat immediately fell down.
Xu Zhan took two or three steps forward, pressed Goudan's shoulder with his left hand, and pushed him back to the bunk.
"Lie down."
Just two words, the tone was not heavy, but Goudan immediately became honest.
The other people in the room were also awakened.
Everyone turned their heads and fixed their eyes on Xu Zhan.
First look at the face, then move down, and freeze on the empty right sleeve.
The room was completely silent.
More than a dozen men swallowed their words back into their stomachs at the same time, and some buried their faces in the pillows, their shoulders twitching.
No one spoke.
I really don't know where to start.
Say "The Centurion has suffered"? These words are too light, no different from farting.
Say "Brothers will avenge you"? A room full of crippled soldiers with missing arms and legs, what to use to avenge?
Xu Zhan stood in the room, taking in everyone's expressions.
He never mentioned his broken arm.
"Are you all awake? Then listen to me say a few words."
"Zhenbei City currently has three factions. He Minghu holds an army of 3,000 from the Ministry of War, which is his private army."
"Ma Jin'an controls the scheduling and registration, and rations and military merits all depend on his mouth."
"Tie Lanshan is the Commander-in-Chief, but in reality, he is a figurehead, playing dead and watching the show."
He paused for a moment.
"The supplies of the outpost camp were cut off by He Minghu himself. This grandson relies on three commercial firms in the city to raise his army: Demao Firm, Wantong Firm, and Jufeng Zhuang."
"On the surface, they do business in fur and medicinal materials, but secretly they send salt, iron, and tea to the grassland, and pull back horses, cattle, and sheep from the grassland. He Minghu takes thirty percent of the profit from it. This sum of silver is fatter than the military pay allocated by the Ministry of War."
"Soldiers like us in the outpost camp, block the front and take knives for him, and he turns around and deducts our rations."
Someone in the room cursed his ancestors in a low voice.
"Last night, the Imperial Envoy broke into the death row, Wang Biao's head was chopped off, and his confession was exposed in public."
His gaze swept across the whole room.
"There is no way back in this matter. Wang Biao is He Minghu's dog, and when the dog dies, the master will definitely be anxious."
"We were snatched out by the Imperial Envoy. In He Minghu's eyes, we are already tied to the same boat as the Imperial Envoy."
"He will definitely eliminate us quickly."
Goudan lay on the bed, his face pressed against the coarse cloth pillow, his voice muffled: "Brother Zhan, then what should we do?"
Xu Zhan looked at him.
"Do you still recognize me as this Centurion?"
Goudan did not hesitate at all: "Brother Zhan points east, I will never go west. My rotten life was given by you, I will fight wherever you point!"
An old soldier wrapped in bandages in the corner followed suit: "Me too."
"Count me in."
"Centurion, just give the word."
Echoes sounded one after another, either rough or with a crying tone, but the meaning was surprisingly consistent.
Xu Zhan nodded heavily.
He walked to Goudan's bed, bent down, propped his left hand on the bed, and got close to Goudan's ear.
His voice was lowered, only allowing the two of them to hear.
No one else could know what he said.
Only Goudan's eyes grew wider and wider, and finally, his whole body stiffened on the bed.
Xu Zhan straightened up, stepped back two steps, and faced everyone in the room again.
"Brothers, let's put the matter of swords and swords aside for now."
His tone suddenly changed, fading its dullness, adding a bit of indescribable fanaticism.
"He Minghu's three thousand elites, wearing three layers of chainmail over leather armor. With our small number of people, a head-on clash would be like bashing our heads against a brick wall."
He paused, making an expression of whispering.
"But our little sister, this time, has brought us a batch of good goods."
His five fingers slowly closed, forming a fist-sized spherical shape in the air.
"That thing, a farmer can learn it in half a day, and then blow those three-layer iron turtle shells into the sky from fifty paces away."
A soldier asked blankly:
"Brother Zhan... then, what exactly is that immortal thing?"
