Chapter Twenty-One

When Lin Feng arrived at the Fengtai military station, the two cavalry brigades of the First Army were already assembled in formation, awaiting inspection. At the forefront flew the banners of the "First Army Cavalry Third Brigade" and "First Army Cavalry Fourth Brigade," both units once personally trained by Lin Feng. Thousands of iron-clad horsemen stood motionless in the icy wind, presenting an impressive military bearing at first glance.

To establish the legitimacy of succession from the Western and Eastern Han dynasties, the Liu Han dynasty adopted "fire" as its symbolic element among the Five Elements. Thus, when outfitting the troops, they chose bright red as the color of their uniforms. On this radiant spring day, the army appeared particularly striking. The orderliness of their formation revealed the profound influence of Colonel Rick’s exemplary performance during the Tianjin campaign; the Han army’s drill and discipline had become impeccable, and this cavalry unit was especially well-trained—though the sight of their short-legged Mongolian horses left Marshal Lin, accustomed to Western cavalry warfare, slightly disheartened.

In anticipation of their leader’s arrival, the commanders of the Third and Fourth Brigades had clearly invested much effort. As soon as the escort’s banner appeared, the thousands of cavalrymen drew their sabers in unison, pointing them skyward and shouting themselves hoarse with cries like "Long live the Marshal!" and "Victory to our Lord!" After their coordinated shouts, they dismounted swiftly at their officers’ commands and knelt in obeisance, creating a spectacle of remarkable grandeur.

What shocked Lin Feng most was the soldiers’ hats. With regulations forbidding braided hair now in effect, people in Han-controlled territories had naturally reverted to their traditional hairstyles, which were famously elaborate. The most prominent feature was the hair being gathered into a high bun atop the head. As a result, Lin Feng’s original design—a flat-topped cap with a soft brim—had become unsuitable. The current Han military caps were replaced with exaggerated bucket-shaped hats. To show absolute respect for the Marshal, soldiers would remove their hats as he passed. Lin Feng was astonished to see all the Mongolian soldiers wearing their hair in buns, their attire indistinguishable from the other Han troops.

Since this place had become the Marshal’s headquarters, the barracks were unusually quiet. Inside Fengtai’s fortifications, sentries stood every few paces, enforcing strict vigilance. Recently, camp followers and unrelated individuals had been driven away by the guard units, leaving the camp enveloped in tense, grim silence. However, this impression was quickly shattered at the first barrack. When Lin Feng burst in, he found the officers and soldiers huddled around a small table, nervously absorbed in maneuvering a rice bowl. So focused were they that they failed to notice Lin Feng and his entourage entering.

A soft commotion rippled through the room as the dice in the bowl settled. The officers and soldiers around the table muttered curses, while the banker grinned and swept the wagers into his pocket. Suddenly glancing up, he caught sight of his brigade commander glaring at him, his face flushed an angry shade, and hurriedly tossed aside his winnings, springing to his feet and bowing in apology.

Nodding repeatedly, Lin Feng said, “Very good—so you’ve gained much learning. How did Master Gao teach you?”

“He taught us history!” Hanba replied proudly. “Master Gao explained all the books from ancient to modern times, especially about the Xiongnu migration and the Five Barbarian uprisings. Master Gao even said that all us Han people were originally Mongolians; before our ancestors came to the Central Plains, we were all horsemen and shepherds, but now we’ve switched to farming! All of us who came together understood this. Now, we’re the most learned among the Chahar tribe!”

Lin Feng was genuinely impressed—who said people of old were ignorant or rigid? Look at Gao Shiqi, a true genius: his indoctrination was immediately put into practice, even refined and elevated. Lin Feng was deeply admiring and warmly patted Hanba’s shoulder, smiling, “Exactly—the same principle applies. For example, I—the Marshal—along with Master Chen Menglei and Master Li Guangdi, we’re all ‘Mountain Yue people.’ Our ancestors weren’t horsemen or shepherds, but hunters in the mountains and fishermen in the rivers. Yet now, we’re all Han! Look around—‘Han’ is precisely like this. Even though we all speak Han dialects, each region’s customs differ greatly, and that’s why!”

“Yes,” Hanba interjected, now much less nervous after their lengthy conversation. “Master Gao was right. Our tribal chiefs had it wrong in the past. Because people in the Central Plains wouldn’t sell us iron, salt, or cloth, and wouldn’t let us enter, we fought wars. But if we’re all Han now, there’s no issue—we can go wherever we like, farm as we wish, buy whatever we want. What need is there for war?” He paused, his face full of longing, expression solemn. “It’s a good method—first Mongolian, then Han—just like all the Mountain Yue, Ba, and Southern Man people. We’re all one family!”

Lin Feng fell silent, compelled to regard this sincere Mongol with a new perspective. The theory had clearly surpassed mere indoctrination; it had evolved into a philosophy for social harmony. Moreover, it was undeniable that, though simple, this Mongol was no fool. After Gao Shiqi’s teaching, he had formed his own understanding—a unique outlook indeed.

After a long silence, Lin Feng asked, “So why are you still a soldier? Do you know what we’re fighting for?”

“Soldiering is for food. After the Jurchen barbarians scattered us, we became horse bandits, living from hand to mouth. So when General Zhao recruited us, we joined,” Hanba glanced sheepishly at Lin Feng, hurriedly adding, “But now we understand. Master Gao explained it to us. We serve one, to feed and clothe our families, and two, to help the Marshal win the world. Now, the southern Jurchen bullies Han and Mongol alike, so we fight them. The southern Han resent us northerners and Mongols, so we fight them. The Khalkha, Tushetu, and Dzungar mongrel tribes want to oppress us—we fight them too. In short, only the Han and the Marshal stand for justice; all the others are bullies!”

“Excellent!” Lin Feng applauded, turning to the others. “Well said! We risk our lives for glory and fortune, but also to forge a peaceful world. The Jurchen lords rule over us with impunity; we shall crush them. Any who dare bully us, we’ll take their heads. If you trust in me and the Han, follow me and bring justice to the world!”