WNST - 133

Chapter 133: Turmoil Arises

In the camp, a group of soldiers huddled together whispering. Ying Huai strode past, glaring at them. They quickly dispersed, though their faces betrayed hints of unease. 

Once inside Song Muchuan’s tent, Ying Huai cautiously closed the flap and glanced around to ensure no one was eavesdropping outside. Only then did he approach Song Muchuan’s desk and whisper something into his ear. 

Song Muchuan was startled. “Who recognized him?” 

Ying Huai let out a heavy sigh. “During the battle, Xie San’s helmet was knocked off by an enemy spear. Though it was quickly retrieved, the nearby soldiers caught a glimpse of his face.” 

“But not many people know him personally. How could they have recognized him? Could it be that Qi spies are deliberately spreading rumors?” 

“Isn’t this just our bad luck?” Ying Huai slapped his thigh in frustration. “It turns out one of the soldiers used to work as a gatekeeper at the magistrate’s office and had seen Xie San before. But even he wasn’t entirely sure, so he mentioned it half-doubtingly to his comrades. And what do you know? In no time, the story spread like wildfire—now everyone’s saying he’s a fickle opportunist who switched sides when he saw the Qi forces faltering, surrendering to the Yu dynasty instead.” 

Song Muchuan pondered for a moment, his expression troubled. “He doesn’t know about this yet, does he?” 

Ying Huai scratched his head. “He hasn’t been seen in the camp… Do you think he might’ve heard something and gone off to brood alone?” 

“He’s not that kind of person,” Song Muchuan mused thoughtfully, offering Ying Huai a reassuring smile. “He’s probably gone to see someone he wants to see.” 

“So what should we do about this? Should I issue an order forbidding the troops from spreading these rumors?” 

Song Muchuan hesitated, then sighed with resignation. “You can’t stop idle gossip—it’s impossible.” 

“Then what do we do?” 

“If we intervene too much, it’ll only make things worse. People will accuse us of being blind to betrayal, claiming we’re protecting a disloyal minister who has served multiple masters. If we try to cover for him now, it’ll look like we’re hiding something…” 

“Master Song!” Ying Huai interrupted sharply, exasperated. “This isn’t the time for doubts! Am I really someone who can’t handle a little questioning?” 

“General Ying hasn’t experienced how terrifying rumors can be… If morale crumbles and the soldiers lose faith, can you bear the consequences? Xie Queshan chose to conceal his identity precisely because he considered all this. He’s already weighed the risks—he can shoulder whatever comes next.” 

Ying Huai fell silent, though traces of reluctance lingered on his face. “That he can bear the burden is one thing—but how can I feel at ease? Xie San is a hero who endured humiliation to infiltrate the enemy ranks. If he continues to be slandered, where is justice? Everyone here has witnessed his contributions. Without him, today’s victory would never have been so decisive.” 

“Those who know the truth understand his sacrifices. But there are far more people who don’t. When three men claim there’s a tiger, others start believing it. Words can destroy reputations…” 

“Then why not reveal his plight publicly?” 

“We risk making things worse—it might come across as trying too hard to justify ourselves.” Song Muchuan unusually displayed a passive attitude. 

“What’s gotten into you today, Master Song? Why so hesitant?” Ying Huai blurted out impatiently. But upon reflection, he realized Song Muchuan had a point—the situation was delicate, and rash actions could backfire. 

Still, Ying Huai couldn’t tolerate injustice. His mind raced, and suddenly his eyes lit up. “If overt measures won’t work, then covert ones will! Since everyone’s already talking, I’ll have the Yucheng army spread their own version of events. They’ll say they heard that Xie San was a spy all along—that he never betrayed us, that he helped Lidu Prefecture escape the Qi forces’ control and risked his life delivering crucial intelligence. It’s all hearsay anyway—even if not everyone believes it, some will listen and trust it.” 

Finally hearing the words he wanted, Song Muchuan allowed himself a rare moment of cunning. 

It wasn’t that he doubted Ying Huai—but given their lack of deep ties and the tense state of the war, Ying Huai could easily have avoided getting involved. Song Muchuan feared his strong desire to protect Xie Queshan might go unsupported, leaving him powerless in the end. 

Thus, he feigned reluctance while subtly guiding Ying Huai to recognize Xie Queshan’s struggles and propose a solution himself. As the leader of the Yucheng army, Ying Huai commanded widespread respect. With his cooperation, matters would proceed much more smoothly. 

For a fleeting moment, Song Muchuan felt ashamed of his manipulative tactics. Ying Huai, however, remained straightforward, showing no sign of evasion. Song Muchuan quickly agreed, “General, your plan is brilliant—I think it’s feasible.” 

Flushed with determination, Ying Huai clenched his fist. “I’ll issue the orders immediately and have the Yucheng army start spreading the word.” 

Song Muchuan added a cautious reminder: “Don’t make it too obvious.” 

“Don’t worry—it’s in my hands.” 

Song Muchuan saw Ying Huai off. While Xie Queshan’s situation now seemed under control, Song Muchuan still felt uneasy, unable to calm his restless heart. 

—Why now? Why did this issue arise just when morale had finally lifted after a hard-won victory? Hopefully, this is just a minor disturbance. 

—But how long can this victory hold? Will it provoke the Qi forces into launching an even fiercer counterattack?

— The plea for reinforcements sent several days ago—why had the court still not responded by now? 

… 

Jinling. Taiji Hall. 

The morning court session had unexpectedly dragged on for two hours and had only just concluded. 

The question of whether to send reinforcements to Lidu Prefecture sparked heated debates among the ministers, with rounds of sharp exchanges. At one point, the situation in the hall nearly spiraled out of control. 

If the nation were strong and its troops abundant, defending every inch of territory would be an unquestionable duty. But the new dynasty in Jinling had only just been established, and its military strength was limited. The new capital itself was unstable, and dividing the land along the river had become an inevitable trend. Lidu Prefecture, located north of the river, would require even greater sacrifices to defend. 

These were the difficulties everyone tacitly acknowledged. 

However, those in favor of sending reinforcements argued that this battle was crucial for morale and public confidence. A victory would demonstrate that the Yu dynasty still had the ability to fight the Qi forces, offering hope for a return to the north. 

Many people’s homes were in the north, but they had been forced to flee to the south. When an elderly minister spoke of returning home, tears soaked his robes, moving everyone to sigh in sympathy. 

Yet, as heartfelt as these sentiments were, the opposition remained resolute. 

They presented an even stronger argument—the siege of Lidu Prefecture might be a trap. 

This statement came from Hu Ruhai, the Vice Minister of War. After Shen Zhizhong’s death, he had taken over military affairs. He was a blunt and straightforward official, often at odds with others, but everyone in the court knew him to be upright and fiercely loyal to the dynasty—a true hero. 

Hu Ruhai declared, “Yesterday, a group of about seven or eight soldiers, after narrowly escaping with their lives, arrived in Jinling and informed me of the true situation in Lidu Prefecture. Lidu Prefecture is now under the control of the traitor Xie Queshan. He has colluded with the Qi forces, forcing Governor Song to submit and issue a plea for reinforcements. This is all a ruse to create the illusion of defending the city, intending to lure our main forces into a trap. This is a classic ‘besiege the point, attack the reinforcements’ strategy. Your Majesty, you must not fall for it!” 

His words caused an uproar in the hall. 

Xu Zhou grew anxious: “Lidu Prefecture is currently engaged in battle. Why are those men not holding the front lines but instead fleeing to Jinling? Are they deserters? How can we trust the words of just a few individuals? I trust Governor Song implicitly—his plea for reinforcements cannot be false.” 

“The world knows that Governor Song and Xie Queshan were once close friends. Before the Jingchun Incident, Governor Song knelt outside the Wendian Hall, pleading with the Retired Emperor to send reinforcements to Youdu Prefecture for Xie Queshan’s sake. But what happened afterward? Xie Queshan defected to the Qi forces, and Governor Song exiled himself, refusing to enter the court ever again. This clearly shows the depth of their bond! Though Governor Song has rendered great service in aiding Your Majesty’s southern crossing, his loyalty to his former friend may have left him vulnerable to manipulation. His words on this matter cannot be fully trusted!” 

Hu Ruhai’s impassioned speech, backed by undeniable facts, earned nods of agreement from many ministers. 

Xu Zhou wanted to defend Xie Queshan. He knew Xie Queshan’s true identity, but at this moment, he had no concrete evidence to present. As he tried to argue further, another minister interjected in anguish: “Your Majesty has been deceived by treacherous men!” 

“If Your Majesty insists on this course of action, then this old minister can only prove my resolve with my life!” With that, the man removed his hat and attempted to smash his head against a pillar to demonstrate his unwavering stance against sending troops. 

Xu Zhou was horrified and nearly leapt off the dragon throne to stop him, but the other ministers managed to intervene just in time, barely restraining the man. 

The hall descended into complete chaos. Xu Zhou sat back down on the throne, gazing at the faces of his ministers—some panicked, some tense, some sorrowful. 

He wanted to save Lidu Prefecture, but in the eyes of his ministers, he was not yet a fully trustworthy ruler. Lacking significant political achievements or a strong track record, every decision he made required meticulous scrutiny. His position on the throne relied entirely on the support of these ministers—he couldn’t ignore their opinions. 

He could insist on sending troops, but doing so might alienate the hearts of his officials. The new dynasty was still fragile, and unity between the emperor and his court was essential. 

In the end, this prolonged and exhausting debate concluded with Xu Zhou’s weary declaration: “Let us discuss this further.” 

After the morning court session ended, Xu Zhou asked Xie Zhu to stay behind. 

Among the new dynasty’s ministers, Xie Zhu commanded the highest respect. Before Shen Zhizhong’s death, Xie Zhu was the person he trusted most. Many of Shen Zhizhong’s supporters continued to place their trust in Xie Zhu, almost viewing him as the next Chancellor. Moreover, Xie Zhu had played a key role in aiding the new emperor’s southern crossing. 

For Xu Zhou, he naturally trusted members of the Xie family, and Xie Zhu was also Xie Queshan and Xiao Liu’s uncle. He often heard Xiao Liu speak of her father, who had fled worldly affairs and entered monastic life, calling him a coward. In contrast, she praised her third uncle, Xie Zhu, for maintaining his integrity and upholding the cultural spirit of Lidu Prefecture despite immense challenges. 

“According to your judgment, Lord Xie, should I send troops to Lidu Prefecture?” 

Xu Zhou’s question was sincere. Throughout the day’s proceedings, Xie Zhu had remained silent, and Xu Zhou desperately hoped this venerable elder could provide him with some answers—or at least some guidance. 

“I believe Your Majesty already has a decision in mind. I dare not say more.” 

Xu Zhou grew impatient. Even now, was Xie Zhu still evading the issue? He wished he could make his intentions clearer. 

“Lord Xie, surely you do not believe your nephew is such a person, do you? He is clearly an undercover operative who infiltrated the enemy ranks. Without his covert assistance, how could I have safely reached Jinling? The situation in Lidu Prefecture cannot be false—it must be the work of malicious individuals spreading misleading information to sow confusion.” 

Xu Zhou understood well that those opposing the deployment of troops were not necessarily corrupt officials. Their decisions were made with the dynasty’s best interests in mind. Even Hu Ruhai likely harbored no ill intent; he was simply obligated to offer advice based on the intelligence he had received. 

This was the duty of a loyal minister. However, the danger lay in the possibility that someone was exploiting the ministers’ loyalty. Communication between Jinling and Lidu Prefecture was delayed, and unless Xu Zhou personally went to investigate, everything was hearsay. 

Xu Zhou hoped Xie Zhu would take a stand. Surely, he understood Xie Queshan’s character and could use his influence to sway the ministers’ decisions. 

Unexpectedly, Xie Zhu immediately lifted his robes and knelt, humbly declaring, “Precisely because Xie Queshan is my nephew, I harbor personal feelings toward him. But at this high level of governance, every decision affects the lives of countless people. How can I bring personal bias into the court? Your Majesty, whether for the public good or private concerns, I cannot say more. Whatever decision you make, I will fully support it.”

Xu Zhou was somewhat taken aback—Xie Zhu was actually avoiding any appearance of impropriety. There was nothing wrong with this; it was the principle of not adjusting one’s shoes in a melon patch or straightening one’s hat under a plum tree. 

No one was at fault, so why couldn’t he save Lidu Prefecture? 

He gazed at Xie Zhu bowing deeply, his long-winged hat lying on the ground. The Taizu Emperor had disliked ministers standing too close to one another to prevent them from whispering conspiratorially, so he designed these long-winged hats. The iron wings ensured no one could get too near. Proper and upright, clean and self-disciplined. But Xu Zhou suddenly felt that it was all too cold, too distant—he couldn’t reach the hearts of his ministers. That suffocating feeling of seeing ministers ready to die in protest returned. In truth, Xie Zhu wasn’t any different from the others—they were all pressuring him.