Chapter Fifty-Five: The Steed Flies Like Lu (Part 8)

After a brief exchange, the group learned that Di Huaipu was a descendant of the legendary Di Qing, though he seemed somewhat reluctant to elaborate.

Di Huaipu tightened the saber at his waist and smiled self-deprecatingly, "I am making a fool of myself before you all. My ancestors were such towering figures, yet we his descendants can only scrape by on these few patches of barren land."

Chen Laoshan reined in his horse and said warmly, "Brother Di need not belittle himself. The mighty reputation of Lord Di Wuxiang is something we have constantly heard from old veterans since our days in the army."

Because of his great achievements, Di Qing was posthumously granted the title "Lord Wuxiang," which was the most respectful form of address used by his contemporaries.

Ma Xiaowu could not help asking again, "Since you are a descendant of Lord Wuxiang, why do you not join the army? With this family name alone, the government would at the very least appoint you as a commander or general. Why waste your life cooped up in this village?"

Yuan Zhenhai slapped him on the back of the head, "Stop talking nonsense!"

Di Huaipu waved his hand, his expression turning gloomy, "I do not blame this brother for asking. How glorious was my ancestor when he pacified Nong Zhigao and defeated the Western Xia? But in his old age... sigh, his achievements overshadowed the monarch, and the vicious gossip in the imperial court never ceased."

He gazed into the distance at the Fen River, his voice dropping lower, "Before my ancestor passed away, he left these words for his children and grandchildren: 'The fame and glory our Di family earned through bloody battles on the battlefield may also bring disaster due to those very achievements. Henceforth, as long as my descendants can properly maintain the family property and live in peace, there is no need to seek high official positions or military commands.'"

"What kind of reasoning is that?" Sun Shitou clicked his tongue in disbelief. "If you don't become a high official or a general, what should you be? Surely you can't want nothing at all."

"My ancestor was afraid," Di Huaipu smiled bitterly. "During the dim final days of his life, he said that he had spent his whole life fighting for his life against the Western Xia, and the scars on his body could be counted by the dozens, yet they could not withstand a few slanderous words from the imperial court. He wanted his children and grandchildren to remember: 'A tree that stands out above the forest is battered by the wind.' Our Di family does not seek wealth and honor; we only pray for peace from generation to generation."

He pointed to the saber at his waist, "This saber was used by my ancestor. Passed down to my hands, I have only dared to use it for chopping firewood and defending myself. Had the Jurchens not broken through to our doorstep, I would not even have stepped out of the village. I dare not break the rules of our ancestors."

Li Quanwu sighed, "Lord Wuxiang truly cherished his descendants. He had witnessed the flash of swords and the sinister nature of human hearts, which was why he spoke those words."

Yue Fei had remained silent until now, but at this moment he remarked with deep emotion, "Upholding family rules is a form of filial piety, but when the country is facing a crisis, taking up the sword to protect the homeland is also a way to comfort the spirits of one's ancestors."

Di Huaipu's eyes lit up, and he gripped the hilt of his saber tightly, "General Yue is right! Before my father passed away, he also said, 'The words of our ancestors were meant to ensure peace, but when the barbarians truly invade, continuing to follow those rules makes one a coward!' That is why I want to follow you all, even if it means acting as a mere vanguard, so that the Jurchen dogs will not be allowed to trample upon the land of the Di family!"

As they spoke, a village came into view in the distance, its enclosing walls flying several faded banners upon which the character "Di" was vaguely discernible.

Di Huaipu pointed at the village and smiled, "That is the Di family village! There are over a hundred able-bodied men in the village and more than thirty fine horses. Although they cannot compare with military warhorses, they are more than enough for riding and charging!"

Ma Xiaowu patted him on the shoulder, "Now this looks like a descendant of Lord Wuxiang! Let us kowtow at Lord Wuxiang's tomb and tell him that his descendants are no cowards!"

Di Huaipu dismounted and shouted toward the village, "Everyone, come out! I have invited the heroes who slay the Jurchen dogs!"

However, there was no enthusiastic response from the village. After a moment, an elderly man walked out and asked in surprise, "Fifth Master, what is going on here? Who are these brave men?"

Di Huaipu smiled, "Uncle Baoshi, these are heroes I met in the city, every single one of them capable of fighting a hundred and fiercely brave."

Then he asked with a puzzled look, "By the way, where are my uncle and the others?"

The old man's expression turned unsightly as he motioned with his chin toward the mountain behind the village, where the tomb of Di Qing was located.

Thus, he could lead the brave men to pay their respects to his ancestor. Di Qing's tomb was situated in the transition zone between the Fen River Plain and the Lüliang Mountains, backed by mountains and facing the water—a textbook location of exceptional geomantic significance.

Walking toward the northwest mountain, the closer they got to that patch of woodland, the heavier the scent of pine resin and incense drifted through the air.

"We have arrived." Before long, Di Huaipu's voice dropped to a low whisper.

The view suddenly opened up before them.

A spacious cemetery nestled in a mountain recess, backed by dark teal mountains and facing the winding, crouching-tiger-like river. Along the central axis, the burial mound resembled a silent earthen hill covered with a thin layer of snow, while the stone figures lining the spirit path were exquisitely carved.

First came a pair of stone ornamental pillars, their octagonal shafts wrapped in scrolling grass patterns to mark the entrance of the spirit path. Along both sides of the path, stone sculptures symbolizing the majesty of the tomb occupant during his lifetime and the grief of his posthumous honor stood in silent vigil.

The civil officials—the stone figures of Wengzhong—were impeccably attired, wearing jinxian crowns and long robes, holding tablets with both hands. The military general stone figures were clad in stern armor and helmets with chainmail, their left hands resting on swords.

Stone sheep lowered their heads meekly, kneeling in repose with their curled horns pressed against their spines, while stone tigers glared with wide-open eyes, crouching and lifting their heads with bared fangs.

Although nearly seventy years of wind and rain had battered them, the chiseled edges still retained a robust and vigorous aura.

At the very end, the spirit path stele towered over a zhang high. The seven large characters on the stele head, "Stele of Lord Wuxiang of the Song Dynasty," were written in seal script personally by Emperor Renzong of Song, gleaming with a bluish-gray luster in the sunlight.

The text dense upon the stele body had been composed by imperial edict by the former Hanlin Scholar Wang Gui, recording in over three thousand words the illustrious military achievements of Di Qing in pacifying Nong Zhigao and repelling the Western Xia.

The flying eaves of the ancestral hall loomed indistinctly among the pines and cypresses, and the bronze bells at the corners of the eaves were gently chimed by the breeze, making the cemetery appear even more solemn and tranquil.

At this moment, the sacrificial altar before the stele had long been laid with the three sacrificial animals, and the open ground before the burial mound was already crowded with kneeling people. Over a dozen white-haired elders were kneeling on straw mats, the leading ones over fifty years of age who, judging by their seniority, ought to be Di Qing's great-grandsons. All wore dark scholar robes, their expressions as solemn as stone carvings.

They held a black lacquered wooden box containing the Di family's ancestral ghost-and-god mask—one that Di Qing had worn during his early campaigns, its edges worn to a bright sheen.

"On the jiaxu day of the jichou month in the seventh year of Xuanhe, your supreme great-grandson and ancestral worshipper Shouye, leading all the unworthy descendants of the household, respectfully offers a cup of water and cold food, weeping blood to make this sacrificial declaration before the divine seat of our illustrious great-grandfather, the late Chancellor of the Privy Council, Co-manager of Pingzhang Affairs, and Lord Wuxiang, whose personal name is Qing: Barbarian cavalry have breached Yanmen Pass, and beacon fires have reached Fuzhou.

We, your unworthy descendants, are unable to grasp weapons and shield the state; today we propose to send the young and weak southward to preserve the bloodline. Leaving behind these decaying bones, we swear to guard the ancestral tombs. Even if blades and axes fall upon us, we shall not shift an inch; even if barbarian cavalry trample the earth, we shall not leave a foot of our soil.

Humbly we pray that your heroic spirit, not yet faded, will protect the bloodline fleeing south. Should we hear of the barbarians' retreat in days to come, we shall lead the children to return northward, rebuild the ancestral hall, and offer blood sacrifices once more... Alas, may you accept this! All the old and young tomb-keepers of the Di family, prostrate upon the earth, kowtow and weep in repeated bows!"

The other elders echoed in low voices, their voices trembling in the wind: "We are willing to send the women and children southward to escape, leaving our old bones to guard the tombs... We only ask that the bloodline continue..."

When the sacrificial text reached its most poignant parts, some of the elders wiped away tears.

They were discussing sending the children and women of the village to the south, leaving behind these old men with one foot in the grave to guard the ancestral tombs and the land where the Di family had lived for generations.

Di Huaipu walked over on tiptoe and knelt behind the leading elder, "Uncle, your nephew has returned."

Li Xiao took a deep breath, the cold air laden with the scent of earth and pine rushing into his lungs.

Their gazes swept across those weather-beaten yet currently upright white-haired elders guarding their ancestors' inch of soil, swept across the silently standing stone tigers and stone sheep that seemed to still silently recount their master's lifelong achievements and the vicissitudes of later generations,

and swept across that towering spirit path stele inscribed with brilliance and glory, which now appeared exceptionally lonely and proud in the twilight... The life of that legendary renowned general Di Qing—who had risen to the position of Privy Council head through the status of a "face-tattooed general" only to languish and die amidst suspicions—unfolded slowly within this solemn and sorrowful cemetery.

Li Xiao straightened his clothes, which were covered in battlefield dust and bloodstains, walked before the spirit path stele, and made a deep, sweeping bow to the towering stone. The others followed closely behind, neatly folding their fists and bowing toward the burial mound in the most solemn salute of soldiers.

At this moment, as Li Xiao gazed at that stele, his vision grew increasingly dizzy, his mind spinning, until everything went black and the world turned upside down as he was violently shoved into an endless abyss. Stumbling, he tried to grab onto something, but grasped only emptiness, crashing heavily onto the cold bluestone slab. His consciousness immediately plunged into boundless darkness, and Li Xiao found himself floating in mid-air, before him a hazy, smoke-filled study.

Below, several figures in purple and scarlet robes sat clustered around a sandalwood table, the candlelight stretching and distorting their shadows upon the wall like demons waiting to devour people.

The leader, with half-white hair and a refined yet hawk-eyed expression, was none other than Chancellor Wen Yanbo. Seated beside him was that world-renowned leader of the literary world, who was currently twisting his beard with shifting eyes—Ouyang Xiu.

There were also several officials from the Censorate, resembling vultures catching the scent of blood.

"Lord Wen, this Di Qing is truly out of hand!" A shrill voice pierced the ear like an ice pick.

"My lords, Di Hanchen [Di Qing's courtesy name] now holds the post of Privy Council Commissioner, wielding the military tally of the realm and entering and leaving the imperial palace as if walking on flat ground... Do you still remember that yellow robe at Chenqiao Post?"

"Just because of this tattooed infantryman! Relying on climbing up by cutting off human heads, he dares to sit upon the heads of us scholars! Back then, the Founding Emperor released military power with a cup of wine precisely because he feared these military generals would grow too big to control. Now that he commands the Privy Council, where are the court's presented scholars supposed to put their faces? It is utterly lawless!"

The air suddenly froze.

Ouyang Xiu gave a light cough. Although seemingly fair on the surface, every word he spoke cut to the bone, "As for Di Qing himself, he is brave enough, but having risen from the ranks, he is illiterate and only knows military formations and slaughter. How could he possibly understand the Way of the Sages? Governing a country is like cooking small fish; how can it be entrusted to the valor of a mere brute? What is even more worrisome..."

He deliberately paused, swept his gaze across the crowd, and lowered his voice, "The soldiers only know there is a General Di, they do not know there is the Emperor! This is the beginning of the overthrow of the state! In former years, Zhu Wen and An Lushan—which of them did not first win the loyalty of the army before committing treason?"

An imperial censor immediately chimed in, his voice shrill:

"Precisely! This official has already ordered people to keep watch, and there are strange omens at the Di residence! The family dog has grown a horn on its head, which is an 'omen of warfare'! Prophetic texts record that 'when a dog grows a horn, the state has warfare, and the commanding general will face misfortune'! This is a warning from heaven, and it cannot be ignored!"

"Di Hanchen... merely a tattooed soldier, yet he sits high in the Privy Council, discussing state affairs with the likes of us? Is this not turning heaven and earth upside down and insulting polite society?" The shrill voice belonged to Censor-in-Chief Wang Juzheng. Stroking his sparse beard, his gaze was like a needle steeped in poison.

An old man in a scarlet official robe was pounding the table. The memorials spread out before him were covered in freshly inked characters full of malice, "With Di Qing holding the Privy Council, it is like Wang Mang and Dong Zhuo in the Han Dynasty. Disaster for the country is not far off!"

"Indeed."

Sitting nearby, an official in a purple robe with refined features but a sinister look (Jia Changchao) leaned closer to the reigning Chancellor Wen Yanbo, lowering his voice further, yet every word was filled with hatred: "How prestigious is the position of Privy Council Commissioner! Wielding the realm's military tally, dispatching the imperial guards, ranking equal to prime ministers!

This position has always been occupied by successful examination candidates and families passing down scholarship through generations. What is Di Qing? A lowly, tattooed criminal with an imperial brand on his face! His sitting there is an insult to us scholar-officials! The court's salaries and rewards each year are limited, and warfare is a bottomless pit. Di Qing constantly talks of 'training the army and preparing for war,' demanding money, grain, and equipment. Has he ever thought about the expenses of our various departments, the dignity of capital officials, or those rewards and sacrificial ceremonies?"

Wen Yanbo twirled his beard and smiled insidiously, "Why get angry? The Emperor already doubts him; we only need to add fuel to the fire."

"Heavenly omens give warning, and physical evidence exists as well. The great flood in the capital flooded the imperial city. Water belongs to yin; military affairs also belong to yin! How can the one holding military power in the Privy Council absolve himself of blame? This is a heavenly warning—Di Qing's prolonged tenure in the Privy Council has caused the balance of yin to be disturbed, bringing disaster upon the Son of Heaven!"

He stroked his jade belt, "For a military general to win the loyalty of the army is his original sin. Look at how, when he returned from pacifying Nong Zhigao, the people of Bianjing knelt along the streets and even the imperial guards shouted 'Grandpa Di.' With such prestige, should we keep him to celebrate the New Year?"

He pulled a painting from his sleeve, crudely depicting a horned dog, "Last night, a dog at the Di residence grew a horn. This is a military omen, and I have already had it spread throughout Bianjing."

"And the matter of Xiangguo Temple," Ouyang Xiu added, "he actually dared to stay overnight in a Buddhist temple, and the soldiers even shouted 'Long Live.' If this is not usurpation, what is?"

Wang Juzheng lightly waved his folding fan, the surface of which depicted a lone fisherman on an autumn river, inscribed with the words "Military men do not know elegance."

He softly delivered the final blow, "The Imperial University students have already been alerted, and the 'Ballad of the Red Star' will be posted all over the Imperial Street tonight. The nursery rhyme is catchy; once the children sing it, the women will believe it."

Wen Yanbo said righteously, "We are not trying to frame loyal and good men, but rather to 'rid the state of pests'! If Di Qing truly possesses loyalty to the monarch, he should naturally recuse himself and resign to bring peace to the realm! Otherwise..."

His gaze swept across the crowd, cold light bursting forth, "it means he harbors ulterior motives and deserves to be executed! Back then, the release of military power with a cup of wine was precisely to prevent trouble before it happened! Today, we are merely imitating the laws of our ancestors, employing thunderous methods to protect the rivers and mountains of the Great Song!"

"Indeed!" The crowd chimed in unison, their faces wearing the "righteous awe" of ridding the country of evil.