005. Joy Turns to Sorrow

Only at this moment did Liu Motong finally let out a long breath, unable to restrain himself from raising his head and letting forth a resounding howl toward the sky.

His howl had scarcely faded when suddenly he heard Shi Xiong release a heart-rending wail. Liu Motong glanced over in alarm, only to be struck with horror: their sworn brother Yang Zan now lay in Shi Xiong’s arms, blood bubbling from his mouth, struggling in the throes of death!

Yang Zan was dead. In the heat of direct combat against the Shatuo cavalry, a blade had struck him, severing his heart and lungs. Strangely, after sustaining such a mortal wound, he felt nothing and continued to fight on. When he finally realized the severity of his injury, it was too late; blood gushed from his mouth, and within moments his life had slipped away.

His three sworn brothers—Liu Motong, Shi Xiong, and Cui Yudong—knelt in silence before his corpse. Death on the battlefield was inevitable; even nobles were not exempt. This was a truth the departed Yang Zan of Pingshan understood well, as did his three sworn brothers.

“Everyone, say something—what should we do?” After a long silence, Liu Motong finally spoke. At seventeen, he was the eldest of the four brothers, and Yang Zan’s death struck him hardest. It had been Liu Motong, two years ago, who persuaded his foster mother, Lady Yang Ge of Liangzhou, to allow the fourteen-year-old Yang Zan to serve at the front.

Yang Zan had lost his father as a child, raised solely by his grandmother, Yang Ge. As the only surviving bloodline of the late Marquis of Jingbian, Yang Ge cherished him as her very life—afraid to let him fall, afraid he might melt. At fourteen, he still shared a room with his grandmother. Every meal, every bedtime, every reading, every visitor, even every trip to the privy and every night-time awakening were arranged meticulously by his grandmother, who kept him under her watchful care.

The Liu and Yang families had been close for generations, and Liu Motong had played with Yang Zan since childhood. In their younger years, it didn’t matter, but by age seven or eight, Liu Motong grew reluctant to associate with Yang Zan, finding him too effeminate—like a girl rather than a boy. Secretly, Liu Motong bestowed upon him the nickname “Miss Yang.”

The moniker “Miss Yang” spread like wildfire. From then on, among their circle, no one called Yang Zan by his proper name; instead, he was simply referred to as “Miss Yang.”

Because of this, Yang Zan declared a break with Liu Motong, sending a formal letter of severance. Liu Motong, seeing an opportunity to gracefully step back, accepted the break. The two brothers parted ways, not to reconnect until the late summer two years ago.

At that time, Liu Zhen had already been stationed in the northwest for a year, yet the conflict persisted, the Shatuo bandits growing ever bolder in defiance. As the saying goes, fathers and sons fight side by side, brothers hunt tigers together; the fate of the Liu clan was at stake. After convening a grand council in the ancestral hall, the patriarch decreed: every male of the Liu family aged fifteen and above must don armor and serve the sovereign, honoring the state.

Liu Motong had just turned fifteen that year. Stirred with passion, he began preparing bow, horse, weapons, and provisions that very night, ready to depart for the northwest the next day. It was then that Yang Zan came to seek him. Liu Motong, unwilling to meet, sent the old steward to escort him to the guest hall, leaving him there alone. Yang Zan drank four bowls of tea in the guest hall, remaining seated until midnight, with no intention of leaving.

Later, Liu Motong’s eldest sister—unable to bear it—stormed into his room wielding a laundry stick, yanked off his bedding, and drove him to meet Yang Zan with a mix of blows and threats.

Not only that, the formidable sister carried a stool to the hallway outside the guest room, wedged the laundry stick between her knees, leisurely drank tea, and waited for the brothers to reconcile.

Liu Motong, who had lost his mother young and was raised almost entirely by his sister, both revered and feared her. Left with no choice, he exchanged a few words with his former friend, only to find the conversation surprisingly congenial.

He realized that in the years apart, Yang Zan had changed completely. Though he still occasionally showed traces of his old delicacy, at his core he was now a true man. Most astonishing was his purpose: he earnestly implored Liu Motong to intercede so that his mother, Yang Ge, would permit him to join the army in the northwest. This request astonished and impressed Liu Motong deeply. The two brothers talked through the night, reconciled, and by dawn, they emerged hand in hand from the guest hall—closer than ever.

True brothers share blessings and hardships alike, and any adventure must be undertaken together. Seeing their sister dozing in her chair, the two boys each grabbed a corner, gave it a sudden shake, and startled her so she leapt up with a scream, landing inadvertently on her backside.

The brothers burst out laughing and vanished before she could react.

Two years in the army, Liu Motong had grown into a commander—not just because his uncle was the great marshal of the northwest, but through his own merit, diligence, and ability. As for Yang Zan—the nickname “Miss Yang” was long forgotten, replaced by the reputation of a steadfast and fearless man.

“Say something, will you?”

Seeing both Shi Xiong and Cui Yudong remain silent, Liu Motong grew impatient. His temper was never good.

“We should find an opportunity to report the truth to the old lady,” Cui Yudong said after much hesitation. Liu Motong shot him a glare, itching to punch him; after all that dithering, this was the best he could offer.

Under the pressure of his elder brother’s gaze, Cui Yudong shrunk back silently. He and Liu Motong, along with Shi Xiong, had sworn brotherhood six years prior, while Yang Zan had only joined in the past year, brought in by Liu Motong. Though sworn brothers, his connection with Yang, the fourth, was not deep. While Yang’s death brought genuine grief, it could never compare to Liu Motong’s. He had not considered how to inform Yang’s mother or how to comfort the old lady.

Seeing Cui Yudong bow his head in shame, Liu Motong turned to Shi Xiong.

“I—I have no solution. The dead cannot return; what can I do?” Shi Xiong stammered under Liu Motong’s piercing gaze. Though reputed as talented in both civil and military affairs, even if Zhuge Liang or Sima Yi were resurrected, there might be no better answer to this predicament.

“Delay—it’s the only way. We must keep the news from the old lady for now and gradually reveal it when the time is right. For now, we must seal the news of our fourth brother’s death; the fewer who know, the better. Otherwise, someone might relay the message to Chang’an, and the old lady would hear of it.”

“But what then? Paper can’t wrap fire forever,” Liu Motong sighed. You can hide the truth for a while, but not forever. With the northwest campaign nearing its end, when the troops return and the old lady’s foster grandson fails to appear, won’t she come after him for answers? Whether beaten or scolded, he could endure it. Yet the old lady’s health was frail; if she suddenly learned her son was gone, who could foresee what calamity might follow? How could a lonely, elderly widow go on living?

Thus, Liu Motong considered Shi Xiong’s plan the last resort, to be used only if absolutely necessary.

At that moment, Li the Third, who had been pondering silently nearby, suddenly brightened. He dismissed several soldiers, approached quietly, and said, “Third Brother, I have something to say, though I’m not sure if I should.”

Liu Motong, the third son at home, was known as Third Brother. Hearing Li the Third’s words, he quickly replied, “If you have a good idea, let’s hear it.”

He nudged Cui Yudong aside, signaling for Li the Third to come forward. Li the Third grinned, bowed deeply to Cui Yudong—almost as though he owed him some great favor.