Chapter 49: The Security Captain

As expected, just as Wei Wujie had anticipated, the command from the main camp arrived in his hands early the next morning.

According to the instructions from Lord Wei, Wei Wujie was to lead his remaining two thousand men northward, to the rear of the army, to assist with the transportation of provisions.

The order also specified that he was to depart the day after receiving it.

That meant Wei Wujie had one day to prepare.

After careful planning, Wei Wujie ultimately decided to let his soldiers arrange their day as they pleased. Whether they slept or practiced their martial arts, as long as they didn’t leave the camp, anything was permitted.

The soldiers cheered at such an arrangement. Since the war against the State of Chen began, their days had been hard and few had enjoyed any respite.

Now, encountering Wei Wujie, this living Buddha, they were eager to cherish the moment.

Thus, the training grounds were nearly deserted, with everyone hiding away in their tents—sleeping, playing games, joking around...

As for the upcoming deployment, they felt no pressure at all. Escorting provisions was, after all, a relatively safe task.

Inside his tent, Wei Wujie began planning the route with Wang Xiu and others.

According to the military order, they were to first reach a place called Iron Forest Town, where they would camp. Unless something unexpected happened, they wouldn’t leave until the war ended.

The current location of the Wei camp was nearly a hundred li from Iron Forest Town; the daily march of the army needed meticulous planning.

After more than an hour of careful calculations, Wei Wujie finally settled all major arrangements.

With official matters concluded, Wang Xiu and the others left Wei Wujie's tent.

At that moment, Zheng Dali entered, his face troubled.

“What’s the matter?” Wei Wujie asked, puzzled. It was rare to see such an expression on Zheng Dali’s face.

Once he approached, Zheng Dali spoke, “Master, Chen Qian is dead!”

The news struck like a thunderbolt. At first, Wei Wujie wondered if he’d heard wrong.

“You mean Chen Qian from the supply office?” Wei Wujie asked, incredulous.

A man, alive one moment, dead the next? Wei Wujie was shaken.

“How did he die?” Wei Wujie pressed.

Zheng Dali replied, “Chen Qian was beaten to death.”

Wei Wujie’s frustration flared. “Can’t you explain clearly?”

Zheng Dali continued, “The word outside is that Chen Qian showed disrespect to you, slighted the authority, and was sentenced to forty strokes with the military rod.”

Forty strokes—one should be able to survive that. Wei Wujie had some experience; he’d witnessed Wang Xian being beaten before.

But Zheng Dali said, “Master, he only made it to thirty strokes before he passed away.”

What! Wei Wujie looked incredulous—was this some kind of joke? Thirty strokes, and a man killed?

But seeing Zheng Dali’s earnest expression, Wei Wujie chose to believe him.

The supply office’s overseer—a fairly high-ranking official. Dead, just like that?

Thinking deeper, who in the camp could wield such power?

The answer was obvious.

The realization sent chills down Wei Wujie’s spine. The fleeting affection he’d felt for his father was replaced by fear.

Zheng Dali wasn’t finished. “After Chen Qian died, the remaining ten strokes were still dealt to his corpse. The scene was unbearable.”

Wei Wujie was left speechless. His father truly was ruthless, cold-hearted.

But why? Why do such a thing?

Wei Wujie found no answer. He felt that this camp was more dangerous than facing the Chen army.

“Fortunately, tomorrow I’ll be able to leave this place of trouble,” Wei Wujie murmured.

He stopped dwelling on the matter, focusing only on getting a good night’s sleep before departing in the morning.

“All right, you should rest as well.”

Wei Wujie’s words left Zheng Dali baffled. Rest? Where? Wasn’t he meant to be here?

...

The next day, all of Wei Wujie’s men were assembled, and the provisions and supplies from the supply office were handed over without issue.

Yet Wei Wujie found it odd—Chen Qian was dead, but had the entire supply staff perished? None of the faces were familiar.

“Did the supply office change all its staff?” Wei Wujie asked Zheng Dali.

Zheng Dali looked at him strangely, staring for a moment before replying, “Master, our camp has more than one supply office.”

Hearing this concise answer, Wei Wujie was momentarily speechless.

If not for him, Chen Qian might not have died. Wei Wujie reflected silently, recalling Chen Qian’s face.

“Master, the soldiers are ready to depart at any time,” Wang Xiu reported after overseeing the troop movements.

“All the wounded brothers are settled?” Wei Wujie asked, not quite at ease.

“Master, they’ve been taken by the main camp and will soon be sent back to River County,” Wang Xiu replied.

Knowing the wounded would return home brought Wei Wujie peace.

Zheng Dali also reminded him, “Master, should we set out now?”

Gazing at the distant horizon and the sky above the Wei camp, Wei Wujie felt a surge of longing—he was, after all, a man who loved freedom.

“March!”

With that command, his force began to move.

Thanks to previous victories, Wei Wujie already had over two hundred warhorses, and after the defeat of Wang Gushan, gained another batch.

Now, nearly three hundred warhorses were at his disposal—a formidable force.

But to his surprise, the main camp sent an additional two hundred horses, rounding his cavalry to five hundred.

With these five hundred riders guarding his flanks, Wei Wujie felt invigorated.

Though these cavalrymen were not true horsemen, they were better than none.

A force of over two thousand was not significant for the whole Wei camp, and thus, Wei Wujie made his way to the place where he had first entered the camp.

The same side gate, the same lack of a send-off.

“Let’s go.”

Without looking back, Wei Wujie strode out.

The post of security chief awaited him ahead.

In truth, Wei Wujie was mistaken—there were those who saw him off, though he failed to notice.

At a certain watchtower in the camp, a somewhat aged figure silently observed their departure.

Only after Wei Wujie left did that figure sigh deeply.

From below, another man slowly ascended.

Had Wei Wujie been there, he would have recognized him—it was Wang Xian.

“General Wu!” Wang Xian forced himself upright, bowing respectfully.

The one addressed as General Wu was naturally Wu Mingyan. He asked, “You’re here! Is your wound better?”

Wang Xian’s face showed hatred. “Better,” he replied.

Wu Mingyan turned, looking Wang Xian in the eyes. “Do you hate? Hate the Fifth Young Master, hate Xu Anhong, and that Liu Xuanba?”

Wang Xian did not answer, but his gaze spoke volumes.

Wu Mingyan sighed. “You must not hate the Fifth Young Master, nor Old Xu, and as for Liu Xuanba, there’s no need.”

“Why?” Wang Xian forced down his anger.

Wu Mingyan replied calmly, “If you continue to hate, you’ll be the next Chen Qian.”

Those words struck like a blast of cold wind, extinguishing Wang Xian’s rage.

He was perplexed by Chen Qian’s death, sensing something was off. Now, Wu Mingyan’s words offered him a glimmer of understanding.

Still, Wang Xian asked, “General, why did Chen Qian have to die?”

Wu Mingyan looked into the distance, as Wei Wujie’s group faded from sight.

He spoke gravely, “Because he meddled where he shouldn’t have.”

“His Highness is killing the chicken to warn the monkey,” Wu Mingyan murmured.

Wang Xian’s ears caught the words “His Highness,” and his heart grew even more uneasy.

If even His Highness favored Wei Wujie, he dared not act recklessly.

Wu Mingyan slightly turned his head. “You must behave yourself—do not flaunt or bully. Though our families are acquainted, I cannot always protect you.”

“Yes,” Wang Xian replied earnestly.

“Go on now,” Wu Mingyan said.

“Yes.”

Looking into the distance, Wu Mingyan gently shook his head. He too needed to reflect.