Sun Jianming always felt that his old man was rather inflexible. The reputation of the Sun Family’s Liang County double-headed spear was already renowned during his grandfather’s generation.
His father inherited the legacy of the double-headed spear and joined the army, achieving the rank of an Eighth Rank Martial Cultivator. However, his official rank remained obscure, and he never truly managed to distinguish himself. He served as a Centurion for many years but never even managed to acquire a miscellaneous general’s title.
During the reign of the previous emperor, the Southwestern chieftains rebelled. His father’s division was subsequently transferred to the Southwest to suppress the uprising. Thanks to his exceptional skill, his father earned genuine military merit there. Without it, he probably would have spent his entire life as, at best, a City Patrol Captain.
Oh, and even though he reached old age, he was demoted back to City Patrol Captain in the end.
Still, during his father’s moments of glory, at least I could dream a little.
Sun Jianming disliked hardship and lacked any particular talent for martial arts. Consequently, he always aspired to study music, chess, calligraphy, painting, and poetry, hoping to cultivate a scholarly aura about himself.
He planned to latch onto the coattails of civil officials, build an image as a "scholarly general," and with his father’s backing as security, he was certain his own official career would flourish.
Sun Jianming knew that in Yan State, military generals held high status. Not to mention the Estate of the Earl of North Border; even lower-ranking field commanders were treated with considerable respect by civil officials.
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In Qian, if a military general wanted to climb the ranks and prosper, he had to be a dog to the civil officials.
Even the high-ranking generals of the Qian Border Army, upon entering the imperial capital, had to kneel at the gates of ministers’ residences, announcing themselves as "your humble dogs seeking an audience."
Whether they were granted an audience depended entirely on the ministers’ mood.
Once, a rebellion by the Southwestern chieftains ravaged the Southwest for ten years. The one who finally and completely quelled it was a tattoo-faced general.
Convicted in his early years, he was exiled to the military, his face branded with his crime. He climbed rank by rank through military merit alone. His pivotal role in suppressing that great rebellion eventually earned him a seat in the Privy Council.
At the time, it seemed to military men that the day they could finally hold their heads high was truly dawning. Imagine, one of their own, a military man, actually had a place in the Privy Council among the ministers!
Unfortunately, the good times were short-lived. That inspirational idol for all military men of his era held his position in the Privy Council for less than six months before he was implicated in a plot of treason and his entire lineage, nine generations, was exterminated.
The one who oversaw this case was none other than the current Chief Minister, Minister Han.
That small spark of hope, so painstakingly kindled by Qian’s military men, was snuffed out. To make matters worse, a basin of ice-cold water was poured over the dying embers.
Whenever his father drank too much in the evenings, he would weep while reminiscing about that Tattoo-faced Master.
After all, his father had been among those who followed the Tattoo-faced Master into the Southwest to pacify the rebellion.
Therefore, Sun Jianming was very pragmatic. He didn’t consider himself a person of great ability. Since he couldn’t change the rules, he would adapt to them.
He befriended many scholars and paid visits to numerous civil officials, doing his utmost as a military man to cultivate a scholarly air around himself.
But his father had successfully sabotaged him. His old father, who could usually only be described as taciturn and inept at socializing or currying favor, seemed to have developed some mental issues in his later years.
He antagonized civil officials and military commanders alike. For a hundred years in Qian, there had been a tacit understanding: civil officials made their fortunes, and military commanders exploited their soldiers. It was the way of things.
His father offended both sides and was demoted repeatedly. As a result, Sun Jianming’s own career suffered because of his father. It couldn’t be helped; in this era, it was said that a heroic father sires a worthy son. Conversely, if the father was addled, the son was likely not too bright either.
At this thought, a smirk touched Sun Jianming’s lips.
He’d always thought his father was just being stubborn, that as people aged, they became set in their ways and unyielding. But it turned out his father was right. The Yan people... damn it, they’re really here!
A long time ago, his father had told him something the Tattoo-faced Master once said while they were in the Southwest suppressing the rebellion: "Don’t be fooled by the scale of the Southwestern chieftains’ uprising. Ultimately, it won’t amount to much. Qian’s true threat is the Yan people—the Yan who have single-handedly contended with the barbarians for centuries!"
Therefore, his father paid close attention to news from Yan State every year, especially news from the Earl of North Border’s estate in Beifeng Prefecture, gathering information from friends, the imperial court, and traveling merchant caravans.
Years ago, reports frequently arrived that the Earl of North Border’s forces had defeated another barbarian tribe or annihilated one, and his father would be deeply troubled.
In recent years, such news had become rare, almost non-existent. Yet, his father’s brow furrowed even more deeply.
He had laughingly asked his father, "Isn’t that a good thing?"
But his father had sighed and replied, "In the past, even though the Earl of North Border was constantly winning, those victories at least proved the barbarians still dared to make noise. They still dared to bare their teeth and test our limits. These past few years, we’ve heard almost nothing of battles. That means the barbarians have been thoroughly subdued. Once the barbarians are completely pacified, the Yan people’s hands will be free."
Sun Jianming tilted his head and glanced down.
At the foot of the stairs, barbarian soldiers were already ascending.
He’s right, Father. The Yan people haven’t just freed up their hands. It looks like they’ve already subjugated the barbarians! Those men wearing Yan armor... damn it, they aren’t Yan people at all; they’re clearly barbarians!
Sun Jianming shifted his position, took a deep breath, and raised his crossbow again.
He didn’t quite understand why he hadn’t fled. He had been swept away by the rushing garrison soldiers but had, as if by some strange compulsion, returned.
The small storeroom on the city tower still held a good number of bows and crossbows, some merely for show, but no one was using them.
He grabbed a crossbow and sat down, leaning against the crenellation.