Chapter 42: The Past (II)

Le Wuya, who had secretly run away from home, knelt before General Zhaoyi's tent for a full half an hour.

Pei Mingqi, afraid that Le Wuya would be beaten with a military rod, chose to take all the blame himself, making it clear between the lines that it was all his fault, almost said that he had climbed into Le's mansion in the dead of night and stolen Le Wuya, bedding and all.

Pei Ying, General Dingyuan and Pei Mingqi's father, whom he had called in to back him up, was popping the snacks Le Wuya had brought from the capital into his mouth one by one, saying, "Go ahead and hit him. He's not my kid; if you kill him, it's on you. But take it easy on him—I've met your first two sons. Which one do you think should succeed you?"

Le Qianzhang said nothing.

Military households have served in the army for generations; the son of General Zhaoyi would eventually become General Zhaoyi.

But his two sons...

Sigh.

His eldest son, Le Heng, was a stick-in-the-mud.

Le Qianzhang had always been afraid of studying and of the teacher's slap on the hand when he was young.

But when Le Heng was about thirteen or fourteen, and Le Qianzhang returned to the capital to report on duty, he found himself standing before his eldest son, who was calm in demeanor and stern-faced, and found himself recalling the fear he had felt facing his teacher as a child.

As for his second son, Le Jue, his martial skills were outstanding, but he was a simple-minded brute who couldn't even fight properly. When he was young, Le Heng commanded the fights, and later Le Wuya took over; he was basically born for hard labor.

His talent was only enough to be a squad leader in the Guanshan Camp that guarded the capital.

When it all came down to it...

Le Qianzhang looked outside the tent and sighed.

Pei Mingqi, for once, had the good sense to rush out and tip him off.

Soon, a pretty little head peeked into the tent, grinning with fawning delight.

Before Le Qianzhang could react, Pei Ying stepped forward, scooped young Le Wuya into his arms.

Both father and son shared the same fine physique, tall and strong-armed, and they effortlessly sat Le Wuya on Pei Ying's arm: "Whose little crow is this?"

Le Wuya shouted, "It belongs to the Le family!"

Pei Ying coaxed him, "How about taking the surname Pei? Come with Uncle Pei; I want you. Your father has no taste."

Le Qianzhang: "...Put him down."

Pei Ying mouthed to Le Wuya, "He's mad. Go cheer him up."

Le Wuya ran to Le Qianzhang's side, knelt and rested his head on his knee with pleading eyes: "Dad."

Le Qianzhang gazed at the sky and let out a long breath.

"Write to your mother and tell her you've arrived safely at camp," he said. "Then go see Uncle Yu and ask him to give you a job copying documents."

Le Wuya, with feigned innocence, made an outrageous demand: "But Dad, I want my own squad."

Le Qianzhang regretted it.

He had missed the best chance to teach the kid a lesson with a disciplinary beating; now the kid was turning around, rolling up his sleeves, ready to take on the world.

"You're still wet behind the ears, and you're already thinking about being a Centurion or Chiliarch?"

Le Wuya said seriously, "I only want ten men."

Seeing Le Qianzhang's surprise, Pei Mingqi and Le Wuya exchanged a glance and each lowered their heads to smirk.

Le Qianzhang hadn't spent much time with Little Crow, but Pei Mingqi knew that Little Crow had always been extremely resolute. Nothing in the world seemed to bother him, yet everything truly mattered to him.

Anything he set out to do, he accomplished.

Le Wuya held an archery and horsemanship competition in the camp, open to those under twenty, testing archery and horsemanship.

The ten rolls of Shu silk used as prizes were chosen by Le Wuya and Pei Mingqi during a rest stop on the road.

The young men in the camp were in their prime; even if they weren't into fancy clothes, they couldn't resist the chance to show off in front of everyone.

In the end, about a hundred people signed up.

After several rounds of screening, only seventeen caught Le Wuya's eye.

According to Le Qianzhang's intent, all seventeen could have been kept.

But Le Wuya still abided by the agreement with his father, choosing only ten, each rewarded with two rolls of Shu silk.

However, the ten he chose were carefully selected:

Either from humble origins or concubine-born sons of the family.

Some disgruntled people whispered behind his back: Could it be that the young Third Master Le, being a concubine-born son himself, felt a special bond with fellow concubine-born sons and was particularly lenient?

Le Qianzhang pondered and roughly guessed Le Wuya's intentions:

Those from humble origins who had trained their archery to perfection were either exceptionally talented or diligent and hardworking.

Two rolls of Shu silk rewarded to wealthy families would only get a verbal thanks, but to poor families, it was a great boon.

They would surely feel deeply grateful and indebted.

As for the concubine-born sons, it was not about "bond."

Military households were hereditary and unchanging, unlike the civil service examinations; with more years of service, there was hope for promotion.

Unless one achieved merit, a Centurion would always be a Centurion, and a Chiliarch would always be a Chiliarch.

If a concubine-born son could master archery and horsemanship so skillfully, he must be ambitious and eager to rise.

These two types of people were perfect for Le Wuya to take in.

What Le Wuya could offer—money and advancement—was exactly what they wanted.

Thus, they would only follow the Third Master Le diligently and pursue their futures, saving a lot of unnecessary scheming and trouble.

In just a few days, Le Wuya had formed a clean-cut, loyal little team. His clever approach made Le Qianzhang look at him in a new light.

Le Wuya led them in archery and horsemanship training.

His archery was taught by the Regional Commander Kui Zhengqing. Venerable Kui was already renowned for his exceptional archery, compounded by Le Wuya's extraordinary talent, a small display of his skill made these already grateful youths completely loyal to him.

Not only that, but Le Wuya also taught them close combat wrestling, swimming, forging each other's handwriting, and speaking the language of the Jing tribe.

Pei Mingqi knew full well that Le Wuya could hit a target from a hundred paces.

But this was the first time he had heard Le Wuya speak the Jing language.

Pei Mingqi cornered him and asked, "When did you learn?"

Le Wuya proudly clasped his hands behind his back: "I've been learning it since I was a kid—I don't even remember when I started."

Pei Mingqi was a little annoyed: "You kept it from me?"

Le Wuya said softly, "I heard that my mother couldn't speak Dayu. If she comes to me in a dream, we wouldn't know what to say to each other—just staring blankly—how boring would that be?"

Pei Mingqi froze, his heart aching with tenderness, and his tone softened without him meaning it to: "Then... then you could have just told me."

"Can't tell others," Le Wuya said. "If my mother in the capital finds out I'm missing my Jing mother, she'd be sad."

As he spoke, Le Wuya gave a fox-like sniff and reached out to touch Pei Mingqi's chest.

Pei Mingqi then remembered why he'd come to find Le Wuya in the first place. He pulled out something carefully wrapped in kraft paper: "I brought you meat flatbreads—just out of the pan, still hot."

Le Wuya cheered, took them, and started eating.

Pei Mingqi watched how his joys and sorrows were all written on his face, felt calm and settled, and couldn't help smiling himself.

Soon, those who had been muttering behind his back about Le Wuya liking to hang out with concubine-born sons fell silent.

They finally realized that the small squad Le Wuya had assembled was an elite and special force, destined for great things in the future.

Following the Third Young Master—wasn't that a path to promotion?

Some even went through connections to approach Le Qianzhang, cautiously asking whether the Third Young Master was still taking in people.

Le Qianzhang put his hands behind his back and went to find his youngest son.

At that moment, Le Wuya stood at his desk in his military tent, dipping his brush in ink, writing down the characters "Tianlang Camp."

Pei Mingqi, by his side, said, "These characters are good."

Le Wuya smugly shook his head: "Of course."

Pei Mingqi: "Good thing that when we both practice calligraphy in front of the master, with you there, he only hits your knuckles."

Le Wuya picked up the inkstone and was about to splash it in his face.

When he saw Le Qianzhang, he immediately set down the inkstone obediently and bowed respectfully: "Father."

Le Qianzhang walked to the desk, leaned in to look, and saw that Le Wuya's calligraphy was as ugly as his own handwriting—he couldn't help laughing: "Naming your squad?"

"Yes."

"A squad of ten—how can it be called a camp?"

"Father, one gives rise to two, two gives rise to three, and three gives rise to all things. With ten men, I can produce tens of thousands of soldiers."

"...Do you really have such ambition?"

Le Wuya puffed his chest out and raised his head: "Not only such ambition, but also such ability."

Le Qianzhang gazed at his face brimming with youthful aspirations for a long time, a complex expression, as if deep in thought.

After a long while, he raised his hand gently, as if to stroke Le Wuya's head.

But halfway, he lowered his hand, averted his gaze, and only said, "'Gaze northwest, shoot the Heavenly Wolf'... a very fitting name."

Le Wuya had already tilted his head down, waiting for the touch.

He waited for a long time, but only received praise.

Le Wuya straightened his back again, lowered his head for a moment, then once more flashed a bright smile at his father.

Pei Mingqi observed all this and couldn't help feeling worried.

That night, Le Wuya practiced archery under the moonlight, firing over a hundred arrows without stopping.

Finally, Pei Mingqi couldn't stand it any longer. He stepped in front of the target and glared at him.

Le Wuya didn't indulge him—he raised his bow and shot, striking the plume on his helmet.

He announced triumphantly: "Since I shot you, you belong to me!"

Pei Mingqi took off his helmet, tucked it under his arm, walked quickly to him, grabbed his bow, slung it over his shoulder, and took his hand without a word.

...Just as he expected, the knuckles were swollen.

Pei Mingqi pulled Le Wuya to the edge of the training ground, took out ointment he had gotten from the military medic, and applied it to his hands.

Though he was a year younger than Le Wuya, his personality always made him feel like the older brother toward him.

Pei Mingqi said in exasperation, "You just keep pushing yourself! Hasn't Uncle Le already given the order to expand your Tianlang Camp? What's there to be unhappy about?"

Le Wuya placed his injured fingers in his hands: "I'm not unhappy."

Pei Mingqi snorted: "Just because he didn't touch your head, you're so petty!"

With that, he raised his hand—still smelling of ointment—and messily ruffled Le Wuya's hair: "I'll touch you, isn't that enough?"

Le Wuya, who normally never let that slide, didn't fight back.

His hair was dotted with tiny beads of sweat that rolled down in streaks.

"I'm really not unhappy," he said, looking seriously at Pei Mingqi. "I'm actually too happy."

"Father has always been like this with everyone. He treated my eldest and second brothers the same way—never very affectionate. If he agreed to let me expand Tianlang Camp, it means he loves me."

Le Wuya stared fixedly at Pei Mingqi: "With Tianlang Camp, I have capital. I have to improve and bring him honor."

He grew more excited as he spoke, the light in his eyes was so intense that Pei Mingqi couldn't look away: "No matter how Father chose my mother back then—whether it was a passing fancy or a whim—I have to make her proud. When Father sees my excellence, he will remember my biological mother. If I achieve great things, her name will be remembered with mine forever."

That was the day Pei Mingqi suddenly realized that although Le Wuya loved to act spoiled and play tricks, the things he thought about were deeper, further, and more mature than his.

He asked, "Aren't you afraid of war?"

"What's the point of being a soldier if not to fight?"

"I mean... I thought since your mother is from the Jing tribe, you might not want to fight..."

Le Wuya was very decisive: "My father said she died from anxiety over the war and then a hemorrhage during childbirth. She's gone now, and no one knows what she was thinking: maybe she loved the Jing tribe, maybe she hated them, maybe she hoped I would grow up safely and start a family; maybe she wanted me to be a carefree young master and enjoy life; maybe she hoped I would follow my father's path and fight on the battlefield... Who can know what she wanted? If I have to guess everything, I'll never accomplish anything. So I just need to do one thing as well as I can and do the best for her."

He paused, and added, "If I'm successful enough, maybe we can be together..."

He didn't finish his sentence.

Pei Mingqi stared blankly at Le Wuya: "We... what about us? Say it."

Le Wuya shook his head with a smile: "Not telling."

Pei Mingqi was a bit impatient, and reached for his hand: "Hurry up and tell me."

Le Wuya: "Treat me to a whole roasted lamb, and I'll say."

That night, Pei Mingqi discovered that his Little Crow, laughing and joking without any restraint, seemed to treat life as a game, but deep down, he was an intensely passionate person.

If he loved someone, he would cross mountains and seas for them, even move mountains and overturn seas.

He would secretly keep that person in his heart, planning long-term and calculating step by step.

When they first became friends, Pei Mingqi didn't fully understand many of the things Le Wuya said, but later, he understood them one by one.

But that person was no longer with him.

Just like now, it wasn't Le Wuya feasting in front of the steaming, fragrant whole roasted lamb—it was Magistrate Wenren.