Chapter Three: A True Man Does Not Quarrel With Women

Mist grass, my bluff didn’t go to waste—not only was my life spared, but I was also granted a cadre’s order; now I’m a Grade Six military officer, a Capture General. What a turn of events, so dizzying, so utterly overwhelming...

“Your subordinate accepts the order!” Lu Hu nearly burst into laughter, his glee almost bubbling to the surface.

Lord Gao seemed deep in thought, his brows furrowed as he gazed at Lu Hu. “I shall offer you a quick verse... a poem, if you will. Take it to heart.”

He lightly stroked his long beard and spoke slowly:

Heavy snow weighs upon the branches,
Like the surging Dabo stream.
Green pines stand tall and straight,
Perhaps one day you’ll be titled a marquis.

Dabo stream? What on earth is that? No one had heard of it; the crowd was baffled.

Lu Hu mused: Many pine trees resemble the English letter W—could Lord Gao know English? Is he also a traveler from another world? That can’t be; the old man is unfathomable...

As the soldiers stood lost in contemplation, Lord Gao let out a hearty laugh, turned his horse, and departed.

The Protector’s guards thundered out of the camp after him, raising clouds of snow that hadn’t yet settled. The soldiers in the camp surged forward, crowding around Lu Hu, eager to greet him, offering their concern and congratulations.

It was as if, in the blink of an eye, a mother hen transformed into a duck.

Moments ago, he was teetering on the edge of death; now he was a Grade Six martial officer, earning the soldiers’ admiration and respect.

To be a Capture General was something ordinary soldiers dared not even dream of.

A Capture General’s duties: reconnaissance, raids, capturing hostages...

To seize prisoners alive from enemy ranks required not just martial skill and courage, but also the daring to take the head of a general amidst ten thousand troops.

One must also be quick-witted and adaptable.

And fluency in foreign tongues was essential; otherwise, if you infiltrated enemy lines and spoke, you’d only confuse them, earning a beating for your trouble.

Many of the Great Sheng’s famous generals started as Capture Generals.

Lu Hu laughed and handled the flattery around him, yet felt deeply: When I was about to be executed, everyone watched the spectacle; now that I’ve been promoted, they all come to cozy up. Truly, when in distress, no one lends a hand; in glory, friends abound.

Since human nature is so, to thrive in this other world, one must climb higher.

Though the heights are cold, the depths aren’t necessarily any warmer.

Who in all the world isn’t driven by self-interest?

As the conversation went on, Lu Hu was ushered into his tent by the crowd.

The tent once housed three; the two vice-captains had died in battle, leaving only Lu Hu.

The soldiers fetched hot water, tending to the wound on his head.

The bruises on his body were treated with golden ointment.

These were injuries from breaking through enemy lines, and, of course, from being forced drunk by Pei Erbi upon return, then getting beaten for struggling during his binding...

The Great Sheng’s golden ointment had remarkable effects.

They served Lu Hu a large bowl of medicine to invigorate his blood.

Seeing him yawning, weary beyond measure, they took their leave.

Lu Hu steadied his breath, plunged into bed, and fell into a deep sleep.

...

...

The smell—so fragrant, truly irresistible.

The tempting aroma of meat wormed its way into Lu Hu’s nose, rousing him from slumber.

He opened his eyes to a dim tent.

A tung oil lamp hung from the ceiling, its flame no bigger than a fingertip, swaying left and right, flickering, barely illuminating the surroundings.

Night had fallen.

At the center of the floor, on a dirt-built stove, a clay pot simmered with meat.

The old servant squatted by the stove, feeding it wood.

Each fire in the camp had a servant, responsible for the ten men’s daily needs.

A squad leader and two vice-captains shared one servant.

This old servant was deaf and mute, communicating only with sounds and gestures.

He worked diligently, was meticulous, and had always served Lu Hu and his two comrades with care.

After adding wood, the old servant dusted off his hands, stood, lifted the pot lid, observed, scooped a bit of broth, tasted it, smacked his lips in satisfaction, nodded, and replaced the lid.

Turning, he saw Lu Hu awake and sitting up.

His wrinkled face broke into a pleased smile; he quickly fetched a set of dry clothes for Lu Hu to wear.

Lu Hu noticed an improvised clothes rack beside the stove, airing damp clothes.

His garments, soaked by snow and stained with mud and blood, had been stripped off and tossed by the stove during his treatment.

He had meant to burn them, but the old servant had washed them clean, surely at great effort.

The old servant gestured to explain: the pot contained venison from a recent hunt, along with a decades-old wild ginseng, urging Lu Hu to eat and nourish himself.

Lu Hu stood, lifted the wolfskin blanket from his bed, peeled back the thick straw beneath, revealing the bed plank.

He pulled up the heavy plank, retrieved a string of coins from the chest, and handed them to the old servant.

These were Kaiyuan Tongbao copper coins, the hard currency of the Great Sheng.

The old servant’s lips trembled as he received them, his eyes filling with tears.

It was as much as half a year’s wages.

Lu Hu’s sleeping platform—a long wooden chest—contained gold particles, ingots, copper coins, fine silk, all currencies of the Great Sheng.

These were their salaries and spoils of victory.

And, of course, valuables scavenged from dead or captured enemy officers.

These men, with their lives hanging by a thread, only slept peacefully atop their own wealth.

Lu Hu gestured, inviting the old servant to rest on the vice-captain’s bed; he had always cared for his subordinates, never stingy, often rewarding them.

The old servant, accustomed to this, bowed deeply to Lu Hu and climbed onto the bed to rest.

Lu Hu ate his venison, pondering how to recover the unfamiliar saber:

Three hundred soldiers lost in a single battle, yet Lord Gao seemed unmoved.

Instead, the loss of a single unfamiliar saber had provoked his thunderous wrath; something seemed amiss.

Once unleashed, the unfamiliar saber shattered men and horses alike.

It was a weapon unique to the Great Sheng, crafted by specialized departments, its manufacturing process complex and kept secret.

To prevent its secrets from spreading, no matter how noble, no one was permitted to be buried with an unfamiliar saber.

For fear that tomb robbers might dig it up and steal it.

Recovering the saber was imperative—but what about the three hundred dead soldiers? With the Great Sheng’s temperament, such a loss would never go unavenged.

There must be hidden motives, but with his current status, Lu Hu could not fathom them.

He would focus on retrieving the saber first.

The saber was likely in the hands of the Oronte people.

Tomorrow, he would go to Oronte, whether it was a dragon’s den or a tiger’s lair...

After a satisfying meal, Lu Hu heated a large bucket of water, washed himself thoroughly.

The old servant, sensing activity, hurried to assist.

He reapplied medicine to his wounds. Lu Hu then sat cross-legged on his bed, regulated his breathing, and practiced his techniques.

Then lay down and slept again; all else was nonsense—only sleep restored his strength.

When he awoke, daylight had broken.

The clay pot’s meat porridge bubbled and steamed.

On the stove sat a stack of baked meat pies; breakfast was ready.

While Lu Hu ate, the old servant busied himself, wrapping a large bundle of dried meat in palm leaves, and another bundle of meat-filled flatbreads—delicious and filling.

Though deaf, the old man was sharp, guessing Lu Hu would travel far and thus preparing provisions.

After breakfast, Lu Hu contentedly burped, changed into coarse civilian cotton clothes, tied a hemp rope around his waist, and slung a long-handled axe at his back.

He tucked a short knife into each felt boot, slung his precious eagle bow over his shoulder, nine sharp arrows in the quiver—a hunter’s attire.

He loaded his bundle of food and drink onto his shoulder, took the white cloak from the old servant, and opened the tent flap—the dazzling sunlight flooded in.

The snow had stopped, and the ground’s reflection was blinding; Lu Hu took a moment to adjust.

Outside, a pure white mountain horse was ready.

Despite its unimposing stature, the horse was sturdy and intelligent.

The old servant had carefully chosen it; a white horse would blend in on the snowy plain.

Lu Hu patted the old servant’s shoulder, expressing gratitude for all his efforts.

He mounted the horse and sped away.

A Capture General held a unique status in the army; for major matters, he could report directly to the Protectorate of Andong. The minor officer Pei Erbi was nothing now—Lu Hu didn’t even need to acknowledge him.

Without a word, he dashed out of the camp.

That fool, having received a flogging yesterday, was probably still nursing his wounds in bed...

...

This year’s first snow had come a bit early.

Two days ago, the area was lush; despite the annoying autumn winds sweeping leaves, the vegetation was still thriving, and the cold hadn’t set in.

Now, everything was blanketed in white, the temperature plummeting.

“Hyah!” Lu Hu squeezed the horse’s flanks, and the white horse galloped, icy wind slicing his face.

After riding for over an hour, he reached the mountain pass.

Lu Hu eased the reins, letting the horse ascend slowly.

The snow had just fallen, obscuring the mountain path; only animal tracks were visible.

Fortunately, the horse was clever, picking its way steadily upward, making good progress.

After crossing two peaks, he entered the deep forest.

Towering trees covered the mountainside, their dense branches blocking most of the snow, so the ground had only a thin layer, making travel easier.

Emerging from the woods, he found himself on a flat plain.

He had entered Oronte territory. Lu Hu wrapped his cloak around himself, covering his head, leaving only his eyes exposed.

In this way, he was less likely to be spotted on the snowy field.

Suddenly, several pheasants fluttered from the forest ahead, then one after another dropped into the snow.

Lu Hu quickly ordered his horse to lie flat in the snow.

Three figures emerged from the woods, their heads wrapped in fox pelts, clad in deer skin, bows in hand, like three monkeys scrambling for food, leaping toward the fallen pheasants.

Oronte hunters.

Hardened by years in the wild forest, their archery was superb—they never missed.

They found the pheasants, excitedly showed them off, then headed back into the woods.

Lu Hu observed carefully; there was nothing amiss.

He took down his eagle bow, nocked an arrow, and urged his horse forward.

As he approached the forest, a line of snow suddenly sprang up from the ground—a rope was pulled taut.

The white horse stumbled, lost its footing, flipped in midair, and crashed into a pine tree.

Lu Hu reacted swiftly; as the horse struck the tree, he flung away his bow and rolled off the saddle.

Bang—the horse was badly hurt, lying on the ground, crying out.

Lu Hu landed and immediately kicked out—a move like a rabbit kicking an eagle—throwing the first hunter aside like a sack.

He flipped up nimbly.

Seven or eight hunters charged at him like tigers, aiming to capture him alive.

Lu Hu punched, kicked, elbowed, kneed, and slammed his hips, targeting vital spots, striking ruthlessly—soon, seven or eight lay at his feet.

“Hey!” A sharp cry rang out, and a handsome youth swung a club at him.

Lu Hu stepped in swiftly, blocking the club in midair with his left arm, then closed in, grabbed the youth’s chest, tripped him, intending to throw him down.

A girlish cry sounded in his ear, and his hand felt something soft—Lu Hu realized at once and quickly let go.

A busty girl.

So she was a woman!

A true man does not fight with women; throwing her down wouldn’t count as bravery...