8. Brothers Part Ways Despite Their Bond

Awakened from his restless sleep, Zhang Xun rose at once, dressed simply, and drew his treasured sword, flicking it with his finger. The blade sang with a clear, resonant tone, as if expressing a joyful spirit.

“Rising at cockcrow to practice swordplay, eager to strike the midstream oar…”

Suddenly, Zhang Xun began to sing aloud in the prescribed grand rhyme scheme. Lu Xiufu applauded loudly, tossed his own sword into the air, leapt up the corridor steps, and caught the sword midair, joining in the chant.

“Pillowed on spear, awaiting dawn’s light, determined to strike down the rebel foe…”

Their swords clashed in unison, shadows flickering wildly. Even the birds on the wall were startled, fluttering up above their heads, chirping incessantly.

The family members in the adjoining chambers rose one after another, only to see Zhang Xun and Lu Xiufu dancing with their swords, spirits high and proud. Many watched in awe until Zhang’s mother was brought over, at which she urged everyone to disperse and attend to their own affairs. Watching her youngest son dance with her son-in-law, she felt deeply gratified and nodded repeatedly.

You bear your ambition to protect the land and its people; I carry my unwavering loyalty to the king’s cause—all understood without a word.

I shall not endorse you; instead, you should settle your hopes in the countryside. Personal choices differ—besides the gleaming silver and shining coins, there is nothing universally cherished or praised. Yet Lu Xiufu’s heart embraces the whole realm, while Zhang Xun’s holds only the prefecture of Changzhou; neither is superior in essence.

As they danced with swords, attendants brought hot water and clean towels for the two to wash. Lu Xiufu mentioned he had official duties and was to travel to Liyang County today, likely staying away for a day or two. He asked Zhang’s mother to prepare wine and food and said they would have breakfast aboard the boat.

Our esteemed elder brother-in-law truly has great ambition—Zhang Xun keenly felt it. He indeed hoped men of “capability” like Zhang Xun would enter official service. For only men like Zhang Xun could afford to serve the Song dynasty out of their own means.

The Song’s army had long been exhausted, its people impoverished, and its national strength depleted. How did Lü Wende fall? Because he lacked sufficient funds to maintain his troops, he agreed to allow the Mongols to set up a trading post outside Xiangyang city. But the Mongols were not there to trade—they were building siege works.

By the time Lü Wende realized the Mongols had begun their siege of Xiangyang, it was too late. He passed away, receiving posthumous honors, closing his eyes to meet the great Zhao.

Li Tingzhi of Huai East often lamented that without the salt profits from the two Huai regions, it would be impossible to sustain their 100,000-strong army. That was only his official claim—there was no real army of that size.

Even if once there was, there certainly was not now. Over the past decade, the Song had fought the Mongols repeatedly, suffering more defeats than victories, with heavy casualties. The Jinghu and two Huai regions were riddled with weaknesses, lacking a mobile defense force like Meng Gong’s corps to swiftly support the two war zones.

Now Li Tingzhi relied mainly on the people of Bianzhou, Songzhou, and other areas unwilling to submit to Yuan rule, as well as refugees from Jin armies and some oppressed Mongol military households, to form the elite Wurui Army.

When tens of thousands fled southward from Bian and Song, Li Tingzhi trained the strongest among them, gathering over 20,000 men and naming the force Wurui Army by imperial decree. This was the most elite unit in the two Huai war zone and the only mobile combat corps.

It bore some resemblance to Yang Xingmi’s Black Cloud Army, formed from dispersed Central Plains soldiers in former times.

The taxes from the two Huai regions sufficed to sustain the Wurui Army, but to support more soldiers, Li Tingzhi had to resort to extortion and even pay out of his own pocket.

An army needs capable generals; this was true not only in the late Southern Song but throughout history.

For men like Zhang Xun, if willing to serve the king, tens of thousands of soldiers could be assembled instantly. The entire prefecture’s archers would rally at his call; elders and gentry would strengthen the core; granaries would supply provisions; even paper armor could be made—a formidable army.

If Zhang Xun took office, he could realistically serve as the deputy commander of Changzhou under the Southeast Fifth Preparedness General, raising 20,000 troops to relieve Xiangyang.

But on what basis?

Indeed, on what basis?

I love the great Song dynasty—who will love me?

Thus, Lu Xiufu found peace of mind. If Zhang Xun could not save the Song dynasty, safeguarding the prefecture of Changzhou was still a worthy cause.

Lu Xiufu no longer spoke of this. Zhang Xun himself was unwilling, and others had no position to argue. Zhang’s mother was a woman after all; she could not recommend her son. Her elder brother had once held office as acting governor of Tongzhou, but that was a decade past. Now, old and toothless, he had no hope of reinstatement.

Two peaceful days passed quietly before Zhang Xun prepared to set out to capture and eliminate the notorious northern harbor dragon. He had promised the county gentry to deal with it; failing would ruin his reputation. The sooner it was done, the better.

His cousin Li Rang, perhaps out of curiosity or idleness, insisted on waiting at Zhang Xun’s home, saying he would watch the dragon be slain before returning to Wuxi.

As the elder cousin, Zhang Xun could not refuse, and Zhang’s mother was delighted to have relatives around daily for company.

No objections there. After all, it was just a Yangtze crocodile, barely over two meters long. Bringing along a scholar like him was no matter. Today, crocodiles are state-protected animals, but under the circumstances—sorry, you caused a death.

However, according to villagers’ descriptions, the dragon was said to be two or three dozen feet long, capable of swallowing a person whole, devouring chickens, ducks, cattle, and sheep in single bites.

From these accounts, it sounded less like a crocodile and more like a giant python. But the environment in southern China would hardly support such a large snake. Moreover, many had little knowledge and exaggerated their tales, so Zhang Xun was uncertain.

In any case, with two or three hundred archers ready to unleash volleys, no matter the creature, it would die.

This time, Zhang Xun had brought Li Da along to clear the way.

On the journey, Zhang Xun was somewhat surprised. Li Da was only in his forties. A few days ago, Zhang saw him bowing before Zhang’s mother with his young son and wondered why his hair was so gray while his boy was just thirteen or fourteen.

Soldiering was indeed harsh, especially for those caught in the grueling campaigns between Sichuan and the Mongols, living daily on the edge of death—it was no wonder they aged prematurely.

With such a seasoned soldier leading ahead, Zhang Xun felt more at ease, even finding time to observe farmers harvesting wheat along the riverbanks.

Some villagers, spotting hundreds of armed men, fled in terror. Others, braver, asked whose troops they were. Upon learning it was Zhang Xun’s band who had just slain a tiger, the fleeing farmers halted.

They watched from a distance but dared not approach too closely.

Local militia leaders saw this and eagerly boarded Zhang Xun’s boat, offering to lead the way to hunt down the dragon.

Welcome indeed—a guide was always beneficial.

They rewarded the guide 500 qian and proceeded to the so-called northern harbor marsh where the dragon had appeared. The water was vast, the reeds dense—finding a crocodile or python here would not be easy.