Chapter 78: The General's Dream

Of course, Shen Shi did not force Lady Eight to change, nor did he even have the idea that she should. Not in the slightest. He simply listened quietly as Lady Eight spoke: “The human race is uniquely blessed, favored by fortune. With human luck, one can ascend to immortality. Yet mortals love power all the more. They scramble for a broken chair, one after another.” She could not help but belittle humanity once more.

However...

“You have, in fact, reminded me.” At once, Shen Shi went to see his father and asked him to always carry bows and arrows while patrolling. A sense of foreboding pressed heavily on his heart, as though some enormous beast were about to descend upon them.

“I hope Lady Eight’s words do not come true. Perhaps it is time to pass some skills down to others.”

...

Teaching martial arts takes time, but their adversaries gave them none. Lady Eight’s ominous prediction came true.

“Young master, no one will sell us vegetables.”

That very night, retribution arrived. All of Jinhua refused to sell them produce. Either it was already reserved by others, or, if available, simply not for sale.

Vegetables were less of a problem—they grew some in the village. But meat was another matter. Whether for training the militiamen or for night patrols, how could they do without meat? Yet the marketplace in Jinhua cut off their entire supply.

“This won’t do. We can’t go without meat. Fortunately, Shi’er had me take up the bow and arrow. I’ll take the men hunting right away.”

After finally finding something useful to do, Shen Liang was not about to give up. He gathered his men and set off for the hunt.

As he left, Lady Fourteen turned to Lady Eight and said, “Sister Eight, why don’t you help out too?”

“Me? What can I do?” Lady Eight feigned ignorance.

Lady Fourteen said, “You’re the Dragon King of the Qiantang River, aren’t you? Couldn’t you bring us some seafood...?”

“That won’t do at all. Heaven cherishes all life. How could I indulge in slaughter for a mere craving? Amitabha!”

She was certainly being contrary on purpose. But when Shen Liang and the others returned, Lady Eight regretted her refusal to help.

“Shi’er, look! What luck we had today. We stumbled upon a whole flock of wild ducks. A tremendous harvest!”

When they brought back dozens of ducks, Lady Eight’s face turned stiff. The household busied themselves—some steamed the ducks, others stewed them, some roasted them. Though not one of them uttered the phrase “stubborn as a dead duck,” Lady Eight couldn’t shake the feeling that everyone was talking about her.

“I’m not eating,” she huffed and stormed off.

“What’s wrong with her? Doesn’t she like duck?” Shen Liang was completely at a loss.

“Perhaps not,” Shen Shi replied offhandedly.

After a moment’s thought, Shen Shi added, “Father, tomorrow, bring some nets. If possible, catch a few live ones. I’m afraid their blockade won’t end in just a day or two.”

“All right, but this isn’t a long-term solution,” Shen Liang said, not without worry.

“No! This may actually be a good thing.”

The Song dynasty’s economy was flourishing, but resources were not as plentiful as in later ages. As the saying goes, ‘Do it yourself to be well clothed and well fed.’ Shen Shi had long been considering animal husbandry. If he didn’t raise his own livestock, the pigs would remain scrawny and smelly, their meat tough and unpalatable.

It was a pity for good meat to turn out so badly. With just a little effort, not only would the meat taste better, but the yield would also increase. If the militiamen’s need for meat could be met, Shen Shi had every reason to try.

“Is that really possible?” Shen Liang asked.

He’d eaten pork before, but the pigs barely put on weight—after three years, they yielded only a hundred catties of meat, and it wasn’t even tasty. Now his son was telling him pork could be delicious.

“Don’t worry, Father. Their pork tastes bad only because they don’t know how to raise pigs. I’m already on the path of cultivation and know a thing or two about beast-taming from the Beastmaster Sect.”

To strengthen his argument, Shen Shi invoked his identity as a cultivator—there was no other way. Since Jinhua County had cut off their supplies, they could only go to other counties to buy piglets.

But traveling by land was too dangerous. The Great Song was rife with bandits; if no one had yet set their sights on a batch of warhorses, odds were someone would try. With these warhorses, robbery was all but certain.

Fortunately, Jinhua was a hub of river transport. If not by land, they could go by water.

The only issue was boats weren’t cheap—a ferry cost a hundred strings of cash, and the Shen family needed a cargo ship capable of carrying over a hundred people and ten days’ worth of supplies at once.

Such a vessel would not come cheap—at least two or three thousand strings of cash, if not more.

The family’s finances were now managed by his mother. If Shen Shi went to ask, she would surely give him the money.

But then he could not escape his mother’s nagging. Marriage—she brought it up every time they met. His father, too focused on work, barely came home for days on end... and so on. All of it hints and reminders.

To avoid this trouble, Shen Shi simply went straight to his father and had him request the funds.

Which was, in fact, his mother’s intention all along.

Of course, whatever terms his father had to accept for the money, that was none of Shen Shi’s concern.

“You’re serious? The pigs you raise will be tasty, the men will enjoy them, and it will meet their training needs?”

That was Shen Liang’s main concern. As a general, horses were his second life. Training the troops was the root of any military family’s heritage.

Every military family knew that the more the soldiers drilled, the better they became. But they never could train as much as the manuals prescribed—they had to rely on what was actually possible. Some troops could only drill once every ten days, dictated by the availability of supplies.

For example, the Song’s local militias were made up of refugees. As long as provisions were sufficient, refugees could be turned into elite soldiers, but unfortunately, the Song dynasty could not afford it.

Even the Song’s finest troops drilled only once every three days; with any more, they’d be malnourished and collapse.

This was why generals prized their private troops above all—those men were the true elite.

The one most skilled at maintaining private forces was none other than Zhao Kuangyin, the founding emperor of the Song. What did he raise? Heavily armored cavalry.

No general could forget the battle at Yanmen Pass, where Yang Ye led only three thousand infantrymen to shatter one hundred thousand elite Khitan cavalry at the pass—slaying over ten thousand Liao soldiers, personally shooting dead their commander Xiao Tuoli and capturing his deputy Li Zhonghai along with thousands of others, achieving a glorious victory. In truth, after Yang Ye killed Xiao Tuoli, the Liao army retreated but their main force was not greatly harmed. At that critical moment, the Song’s supreme commander in Shanxi, Pan Mei, arrived with reinforcements. And what did Pan Mei bring? The official histories are clear: fifteen thousand heavy cavalry. It was this cavalry that delivered the final blow, resulting in such devastating losses for the Liao.

That was the highest honor for all military families.

For now, the Shen family possessed only a few dozen horses, but any progress was a dream come true for a general. Shen Liang was determined to follow that dream.

“It’s true. I’m willing to stake a military oath on it,” Shen Shi declared.

“Very well. I’ll go!”

Shen Liang was convinced.

The wind blew cold and fierce—but no matter how great the fear, a man must stand tall...