36. Old men were everywhere.

This is simply pushing an old man to his breaking point.

Zhang Xun’s uncle is already sixty years old, with teeth so loose they barely hold in his gums. Expecting him to go to Chongqing, Sichuan, to recruit soldiers and train a militia to coordinate with the imperial military operations in the Jing-Hu region—how much of his youthful vigor could he possibly have left?

Even Zhang’s mother found it preposterous; surely the imperial court had not reached such a state of desperation. If her brother were in his forties, she would be the first to urge him to defend the nation. But now, with his hair already turned gray, she feared that before he even reached Chongqing, he would lose his life somewhere along the way.

Yet, since the imperial decree had been issued, Li Zhu decided to accept the mandate. What more could be said? Li Rang hurried back to Wuxi to assist his father in organizing troops. While there were naturally some forces in Chongqing, the court was now demanding a massive expansion of the army, making it necessary to bring a group of trusted officers and soldiers from Wuxi.

Fortunately, Li Zhu had accumulated significant resources during his time in Tongzhou and had many retainers and servants at home. Finding a leader like Li Da, a capable emissary, was relatively easy. With such efforts, in just two or three days, Li Zhu had assembled over three hundred men and prepared for the journey to Chongqing.

Li Rang and Li Da were left behind, and the reasoning was sound: if the old man were to die without a proper burial, his son would need to remain at home to inter his clothes and hat as a symbolic grave.

That sentiment was... heavy.

Logically, Li Zhu should have gone to Hangzhou first to brief Emperor Zhao Qi on how he planned to defend Chongqing, recruit troops, and support the Jing-Hu front. But the military situation was as urgent as a wildfire; the imperial decree exempted him from an audience, commanding him to depart immediately upon receipt of the order.

The court provided neither funds nor soldiers; weapons and armor had to be procured and prepared at his own expense. It was no wonder Li Zhu had insisted that Li Rang stay in Changzhou.

As his own maternal uncle, Zhang Xun felt a pang of sympathy watching his mother bid a tearful farewell to her brother. Taking advantage of the ships lingering in Changzhou, he sought out Li Zhu.

The Li family was a prominent clan in Wuxi, having migrated from Fujian seven generations prior and produced two prime ministers; they were certainly not lacking in money or grain. However, other supplies might be difficult to procure on short notice.

Finding a moment when no one was around, Zhang Xun grew bolder. "I will provide you with five hundred thousand arrow shafts, ten thousand catties of iron, and one thousand suits of white armor. I have no goose feathers for now, but you can manage to procure those once you reach Sichuan by hunting wild geese."

"Xun, you..." Li Zhu was, in truth, quite unfamiliar with his nephew.

"My uncle is traveling a thousand miles to serve the country; surely I can make some preparations of my own?" Zhang Xun replied with an air of righteous justification.

"I have heard much of you lately, and your cousin has praised you repeatedly. It seems that the one who will preserve our family in the future is you." At such a juncture, Li Zhu naturally did not ask why these supplies had been prepared so far in advance.

Li Zhu needed them, and Zhang Xun had them—that was all that mattered.

"My uncle’s home is my home. Please set your mind at ease." Zhang Xun felt a sense of relief when he saw that Li Zhu did not press for an explanation.

In any case, there was no fighting in Changzhou yet, and there would be about a year of preparation time; giving a portion to Li Zhu was well within his means.

Li Zhu looked at this very unfamiliar nephew and nodded slightly. He then exhorted Zhang Xun not to rely on brute strength, not to harbor arrogance, and never to forget the favor the imperial house had shown the Zhang family for thirteen generations.

The Zhao family is already in such a sorry state, why bother with this?

Yet, since Li Zhu had said it, Zhang Xun could only nod in agreement. Even if he did not aspire to be a loyal official or a virtuous general, it did not stop him from admiring and praising those who were. Integrity is always worth honoring; without those men of unyielding spirit standing at the front, where would people like him, who were merely trying to survive, find a place to exist?

The common folk of the prefecture clattered and drummed as they sent Li Zhu off to his new post. It was a maddeningly relaxed atmosphere; they actually felt it was an honor that their prefecture had produced another official of the "Daizhi" rank. After all, a Daizhi was considered half a candidate for prime minister. The students and officials of the prefecture all wished Li Zhu success, hoping he would one day lead the court.

Only Li Rang remained by the Fei-Zhou Pavilion, shedding tears; whether they would ever meet again was a mystery.

Zhang Xun patted his older cousin on the shoulder. What else could he say? Life had to go on. From then on, imperial edicts were continuously sent across the land, and the court even sought counsel from the former prime minister Jiang Wanli, who was nearly eighty and living in retirement in Jiangxi.

It must be said that having an adult emperor at such a time was a blessing; at least there was some reaction when crises arose. If a five-year-old child were sitting on the throne, who knows what would have happened.

The Imperial Censor Xiao Wenfu repeatedly urged the restoration of Jiang Wanli, proposing to appoint him as the Pacification Commissioner of Jiangxi to hold Jiujiang and Hukou in preparation for the court’s subsequent counterattack on Xiangyang. Regrettably, Jia Sidao blocked the appointment, instead naming Lü Shikui as the Pacification Commissioner along the Yangtze to oversee operations in Jiangzhou (Jiujiang).

Lü Shikui was the nephew of Lü Wenhuan. Perhaps even now, Jia Sidao still harbored hopes of relying on the connections of Lü Wenhuan—who was already in the Yuan camp—to submit and sue for peace with the Yuan court.

There are no words for it.

By April, Lu Xiufu rushed back to Changzhou from the temporary capital in Hangzhou. The court’s public discourse was becoming increasingly chaotic. Although everyone from Emperor Zhao Qi to the ministers, officials, and students knew that they had to urgently reinforce the defense of Ezhou and organize troops to preserve the dynasty, no one had a viable strategy.

On the front lines of the Jing-Hu region, there was no one capable of unifying the various armies. In desperation, Zhao Qi appointed the seventy-five-year-old Wang Lixin as the Pacification Commissioner for the Jing-Hu circuits, bestowing upon him the rank of Minister of War and Governor of Jiangling to oversee the defense of the region.

Lu Xiufu had returned to Changzhou for two reasons. The first was what he had mentioned in his previous letters: to mobilize the summer grain from the various prefectures in Jiangdong and Zhexi, and store it in Runzhou and Jiankang to sustain the imperial armies.

This matter finally had a solution that could be called a solution: the court issued a decree ordering the six prefectures of Jiangdong to divert one-third of their summer grain to the Ministry of Agriculture’s granaries in Runzhou.

Whether this would actually be realized depended on the capability of Lu Xiufu in his role as Assistant Minister of Agriculture. He could not compel other regions, so he had to focus on Changzhou and Runzhou, his home region. Every little bit filled the gap; it was at least something to show for their efforts.

The second matter was a catastrophe of monumental proportions, and it was still highly confidential. If Zhang Cheng had not been at the imperial side, it would likely have remained unknown. They dared not put it in writing, leaving it to Lu Xiufu to convey orally.

Zhao Qi is vomiting blood.

What does this mean? It means the current Emperor, Zhao Qi, had recently begun to suffer from severe abdominal pain after meals. At first, they thought it was food poisoning or foul play, but after a thorough investigation, the food was found to be perfectly safe.

After lingering for a month or two, the condition took a turn for the worse. Zhao Qi began to suffer from intermittent episodes of vomiting blood—black, dark blood.

The matter was kept extremely secret; it must not leak out. If rumors of the "collapse of the mountain tomb" were to spread now, the entire nation would be shaken.

What? Zhang Xun was shocked. Zhao Qi, who was able to consume an entire tiger-spirit tonic just last year, how had he suddenly become like this? Could it be that long-term alcoholism had led to a gastric ulcer that had now deteriorated into stomach cancer?