Chapter 874: Western Chu Overlord (Part 1)

Jufeng Town, located south of the Liyang capital region, is a hub on the north-south canal. Originally a remote and obscure village, it transformed in just twenty years into a prosperous and sizable town, fully comparable to the famous towns of Jiangnan.

A scholar in a green robe, carrying a travel pack, entered Jufeng Town, blending in with the diverse crowd. A common saying currently circulated in Jufeng Town was: "Those returning north are cowards; only those heading south are men of value." This was due to the frequent sounds of hooves nearby, as large cavalry units continuously rode south to reinforce Guangling Road. Rumor had it that the overall situation was about to be settled. Influential figures within the court who possessed keen insight, particularly high-ranking military officials, were exerting every effort to send their descendants to join the southern forces. The most exaggerated example was an old general, one of the cornerstones of the Two Liaos border. His eldest grandson had just secured a solid official post as a commandant on the Liaodong frontier, but the general quickly and urgently pulled him from the border army and sent him to the battlefront near Guangling Road. It was said that the grandson swiftly transformed into a military advisor for Lu Shengxiang, the commander of the southern campaign, thereby ensuring a promising future.

Instead of seeking an inn to rest, the scholar headed directly for Jufeng Town's renowned book market. A street stretching three hundred paces was lined on both sides with bookshops of varying sizes. Although Jufeng Town's history barely spanned twenty years, many shops boldly displayed "century-old brand" signs, a claim most buyers were too preoccupied to dispute. The scholar didn't choose any of the prominent, gold-signboard bookshops. Instead, he entered a slightly narrow and dim shop in the latter half of the street. Though small, it was fully equipped. The father and son who ran this shop not only engraved and sold books but also compiled them. They didn't offer any rare, valuable manuscripts for sale, nor could one find the large, famous classics that only the imperial court could print. However, their strength lay in their meticulously curated selection, occasionally featuring editions that had circulated among the populace, such as Southern Imperial Academy versions from Western Chu or regional prints. Whether these appealed to a buyer was purely a matter of personal taste.

Upon seeing the scholar step through the doorway, the middle-aged shopkeeper, who was attending to a group of young customers, immediately put aside his business and hurried forward to greet him. This scholar was an old patron of their shop. Though his visits were infrequent and he didn't purchase many books, for over a decade, he had come almost every two years. Most importantly, he and the shopkeeper's father had always enjoyed deep conversations. This led the father, who rarely drank, to always make an exception during his lifetime, insisting on sitting down to "chat" and drink with the scholar. What started as a "chat" often ended with them consuming nearly two jin of wine.

The scholar smiled and asked, "Where is Old Chu? I've brought him the painted-face edition of 'Insects Chirping Under the Lamp,' which he was looking for last time." The middle-aged shopkeeper replied candidly, "Mr. Cao, my father passed away last year." The scholar paused, a hint of sadness on his face, but still pulled the book from his travel pack. The middle-aged man smiled and said, "He's gone. My father was seventy-one when he left us. Before he passed, he often chuckled, saying 'life at seventy is rare since ancient times,' and that he had truly lived a blessed life. Mr. Cao, my father suffered no illness; he simply went to sleep and never woke up. As his son, I don't need to be overly concerned." He continued, "Before he died, my father often spoke of you, saying that if he could have one last drink with you before passing, his life would truly be complete." The scholar, surnamed Cao, said apologetically, "I had an opportunity to visit last year, but I was in a hurry and felt it wasn't convenient. Had I known, I would have come no matter what. Please take this book. When you pay your respects at Old Chu's grave, you can burn it for him."

The middle-aged shopkeeper chuckled teasingly, "In that case, Mr. Cao, I won't give you any silver!"

The scholar quickly waved his hand, smiling. "After all these years of free drinks, how could I possibly accept money from you? By the way," he added, "if I'm not mistaken, it should be time for your son Yuqiao's capping ceremony, shouldn't it?"

The middle-aged man seemed to get annoyed at the mention of his son, saying helplessly, "Don't even get me started on that scoundrel! Mr. Cao, you wouldn't believe it. Our family isn't known for scholarly traditions, nor can we be called a family of literati, but at least we deal with sages every day, don't we?" He sighed, "Who would have thought that boy would grow increasingly disobedient? Despite his scrawny frame, he's determined to join the army. Just recently, he went with a few close friends from town to the county city, claiming there were connections to pull strings and, with luck, he could go directly to fight in the south. But he returned gloomy and wouldn't say a word when I asked. Now, every morning at cockcrow, he gets up and runs to the riverside canal. If you ask me, that boy is just young; he doesn't understand that there's nothing more comfortable and peaceful than living a tranquil life." The shopkeeper pleaded, "Mr. Cao, as he's gotten older, my words as a father no longer hold sway. But he has always listened to you. If you're not in a hurry to leave, I'll go find him right away. Please, Mr. Cao, you must help talk some sense into him. If you can straighten him out, I'll give you a set of the 'Winter Snow Falling on the Board Collection,' the Chongwen Library edition from Western Chu. That's a treasure my father couldn't even bear to take with him when he passed, instructing me to keep it as a family heirloom and pass it down through generations."

Before the scholar, Mr. Cao, could respond, the middle-aged shopkeeper, abandoning his business, dashed out onto the street to find his increasingly troublesome son.

Inside the small shop, five or six young male and female customers began to idly chat. The hot topic, naturally, was the increasingly one-sided Guangling war, which they all believed had reached its conclusion. These wealthy youths, speaking with capital accents, truly lived up to their upbringing in the imperial capital. Their conversations were expansive and insightful, and though their voices were not loud, their words carried significant weight to those listening nearby. After discussing the military achievements and capabilities of the various imperial generals, and then criticizing the civil and military officials of Western Chu, they quickly turned to Cao Changqing, the true backbone of Western Chu's attempted restoration. However, their opinions diverged. One side claimed that Cao Changqing was merely outstanding in martial arts and Go, but his ability to manage the nation as a chessboard in the endgame was insufficient. The other side countered, arguing that Cao Changqing was like a clever cook without ingredients; his defeat stemmed from Western Chu's lack of opportune timing, favorable geography, and popular support, and certainly not from any weakness in his strategic "chess" skills. Unable to resolve their disagreement, and being close friends, they couldn't resort to fighting. So, inexplicably, the topic shifted to the former empress of Western Chu. Two young women spoke of her with a degree of pity. A young man in brocade robes scoffed, "She was merely a femme fatale who brought disaster upon the nation and its people. After Western Chu's collapse, rumors in the old capital's markets claimed it was precisely that woman who ruined the Great Chu's fate. Otherwise, Western Chu, according to its original destiny, should have had another 160 years of reign." Soon, another young man laughingly added, "Why do people widely say 'nine out of ten sheep are incomplete' these days? Isn't it simply because that Western Chu empress was born in the year of the sheep?"

Not far away, the green-robed scholar with temples touched by frost remained silent.

A young nobleman, continuously toying with an ancient bronze seal, chuckled softly, "Leaving aside whether Cao Changqing lives up to his great reputation, the King of Northern Liang truly made a grave mistake. The imperial court had clearly already eased restrictions on the Guangling canal transport, yet he led ten thousand cavalry south to Guangling Road, ostensibly under the banner of suppressing rebellion. But everyone knows he actually went to relieve certain Western Chu remnants." He continued, "However, as arrogant as Northern Liang is, our court truly has no recourse. After all, they control the northwest gateway and claim to have three hundred thousand iron cavalry. My father, having consulted with colleagues in the Ministry of War, estimates their cavalry forces should be around one hundred twenty to one hundred thirty thousand. Ah, it's truly frustrating for us. If it weren't for Beiman, the Xu family of Northern Liang would have long since had to surrender their military command."

The scholar set down a yellowed ancient book and smiled faintly, "That's precisely why it's said that in worldly affairs, one fears the words 'if only.'"

The group had, in fact, noticed the green-robed scholar earlier, impressed by his distinguished bearing. Although he didn't appear to be an official, the Liyang court and commoners generally treated scholars with respect, and many reclusive gentlemen of the world often presented such an exceptional demeanor. These well-born youths, hailing from influential families in the capital, naturally would not treat him with hostility.

The scholar smiled and asked, "I've always been curious: why does that young King of the Northwest choose to fight so fiercely at the border? Could any of you enlighten me?"

A rather ill-favored young man spoke loudly, "Isn't Xu Fengnian, the martial arts grandmaster, invincible? Since he won't die no matter who else does, why wouldn't he lead the Northern Liang cavalry into battle? If he loses, he merely flees. If he wins, his name will be immortalized in history! If it were me, I'd fight Beiman just the same, and I'd fight them to the death!"

The scholar then asked, "Then why doesn't he ally with Beiman? With three hundred thousand Northern Liang border troops combined with Beiman's million-strong army, wouldn't descending south into the Central Plains offer a greater chance of success than defeating Beiman?"

The young man paused, then confidently asserted, "It's certainly because Xu wouldn't dare to scheme with a tiger! The Beiman barbarians are bloodthirsty by nature, and they would undoubtedly use the Northern Liang cavalry as their vanguard. After they finally conquered the Central Plains, and Northern Liang had lost tens of thousands of men, wouldn't that old woman from Beiman then 'cross the river and demolish the bridge'? In the end, Xu would gain no advantage or benefit; instead, he'd lose his head. Xu isn't a fool; why would he engage in such a losing business? What do you think, sir?"

The scholar nodded and smiled, "That logic makes sense."

Then, as if remembering something, the scholar waved his hand. "I'm not worthy of being called 'sir,' and I have never served as an official in Liyang. My surname is Cao; you can simply call me Old Cao."

The young man playing with the ancient bronze seal tentatively asked, "Judging by your accent, Mr. Cao—oh, I mean, Old Cao—are you from the Guangling region?"

The scholar nodded, self-deprecatingly adding, "That's precisely why I haven't held an official position."

Everyone present understood. They naturally assumed that due to his origins as a scholar from Guangling, he was unable to secure a high-ranking position in the Liyang imperial court. Perhaps possessing both knowledge and scholarly integrity, he was unwilling to accept minor roles, thus finding himself between two stools and simply choosing to be a poor scholar who traveled extensively year-round.

The dust-laden scholar first glanced southward, then seemed to decide to depart. He turned to the group of young men and women and gently said, "I, too, originally had an 'if only' I wished to share with you all. However, I must leave now for an urgent matter, and I fear I cannot wait for the shopkeeper to return. I would trouble you to pass on my regards to him."

A young woman sweetly interjected, trying to persuade him to stay, "It's not too late to leave after you've shared your 'if only.'"

The scholar, whose temples were already frosted with white but who possessed a unique elegance, smiled and replied, "There is something that truly cannot be delayed."

After saying this, the scholar left the bookshop and walked along the street leading out of town.

He had traveled north, deliberately restraining his presence, which was why he didn't walk fast. This was because he had old friends to see, like those at the Jufeng Town bookshop, fearing they might be implicated after his death.

Worldly affairs fear 'if only'; people fear 'what if.'

Thus, his 'if only' was destined to remain unknown to the people of this world.

What if, in the endgame he envisioned, he himself had led the Western Chu forces north for the restoration, while simultaneously Gu Jiantang's Liyang border army from Liangliao marched south towards Tai'an City? What if Wang Sui, while resisting Beiman's advance, had seized the opportunity to also march south, and Xu Fengnian's three hundred thousand Northern Liang iron cavalry remained dormant because of a certain woman named Jiang? Furthermore, what if Chen Zhibao had led the Shu army, stationed at Guangling Road, needing only to contain Wu Zhongxuan and Xu Gong's two armies, and there was no need to even deliberately intercept Prince Yan Chi Zhao Bing's southern border army rushing to reinforce Tai'an City, because they simply wouldn't arrive in time?

In such a scenario, would the world still be ruled by the Zhao family?

He did not believe so.

He, Cao Changqing, did not believe so!

After slowly walking out of Jufeng Town, the man took off his travel pack and pulled out two Go boxes.

"Allow me, Cao Changqing, to play one last game of chess for you."