Chapter Thirty-One: Forging the Soul of the Army

Chen Yingjun's once handsome face, on its own, held little real intimidation for these rough soldiers. But the sight of Chen Ying ruthlessly and frenziedly beating Duan Zhigan to a pulp made a far greater impression on the gathered officers and men.

Chen Ying’s expression was calm, but his tone brooked no argument. “All of you, listen up! I don’t care how you used to get by. Your days of idleness are over. From now on, there will be drills morning and evening. Anyone who dares turn up late, I’ll make sure you know exactly what it means to die!”

The men glanced at Duan Zhigan, barely clinging to life on the ground. Despite the chill of late autumn, cold sweat streamed down their backs.

“Did you hear me?”

“Yes, sir!” they chorused.

“Are you all starving?” he barked.

Truth be told, most of them hadn’t eaten yet, but none dared admit it—who knew what Chen Ying might do? Three hundred soldiers bellowed at the top of their lungs, “We heard you, we heard you!”

Chen Ying declared, “I’m setting new rules for all of you! Every last one! Run three laps around the parade ground!”

The men of the Second Meritorious Battalion nearly collapsed from shock.

The parade ground was enormous, each lap over two thousand four hundred paces. Three laps meant more than seventy-two hundred paces. In the Tang dynasty, a pace was six chi—about one and a half meters—so three laps was close to thirty li. Running that distance would exhaust them even without armor, but now most were fully armored—leather alone weighed over thirteen jin, plus a saber of nine jin, a dagger, a helmet… Each man bore at least thirty jin. The officers had it even worse.

All Tang army sergeants and above wore iron armor. Even the lightest iron armor was eighteen jin or more; heavier suits could be twenty or thirty jin, and some officers wore two layers, carrying over fifty jin. Forget running thirty li; even walking it would make them cough blood.

But at the sight of Duan Zhigan, still sprawled half-dead on the ground, all the men felt a sudden urge to relieve themselves in terror.

“March!” Chen Ying commanded.

The soldiers began jogging around the grounds.

Yet a dozen officers, including Captain Yin Yuan, stood rooted, refusing to move.

A faint smile touched Chen Ying’s lips.

To Yin Yuan, that smile was more terrifying than death itself. He fancied himself the heir to the Duke of Chen Commandery, a future young lord. But recalling Chen Ying’s cruelty, he began to tremble. He stammered, “General… General Chen… I… I am the heir of the Duke of Chen Commandery…”

“Oh?” Chen Ying roared, “Deputy Captain Wei, what’s the penalty for defying orders?”

Wei Wenzhong braced himself and replied, “At minimum, ten strokes with the rod; at worst, execution.”

Chen Ying said, “As this is your first offense, I’ll be lenient. Three days in solitary confinement!”

“Solitary confinement?” murmured the others, puzzled.

Only later would they realize the true horror of solitary, and wish they’d taken the rod instead.

Near the stables by the Second Meritorious Battalion’s cavalry barracks, several fodder sheds stood empty. Chen Ying had them partitioned with planks—each cell two meters long, one meter wide, barely five feet high, with only a one-foot-square opening at the top for air.

He locked Yin Yuan and the others inside, draping black cloth over the entrances.

At first, Yin Yuan laughed at the others for choosing to run, but his laughter soon faded.

As Chen Ying’s retainer, Liang Zan naturally became captain of his personal guard. When the troops dispersed, Liang Zan grinned, “General, this move of yours—making an example of Duan—has established your authority in the Second Meritorious Battalion. No one will dare defy you…”

“Have I?” Chen Ying said coolly. “It’s not enough. You underestimate these old soldiers. There’s nothing they can’t think of, and nothing they won’t do.”

“You think they’ll mutiny?”

“Just wait and see.”

Chen Ying expected many soldiers would falter at their first taste of such intense training. But to his surprise, the men’s stamina far exceeded his expectations. Though it took nearly ninety minutes, all three hundred soldiers finished the run in full armor.

When the sweat-drenched, gasping men returned, Chen Ying was still standing on the field, straight as a javelin.

He addressed them, “I am deeply disappointed. Thirty li, and it took you an hour and a half. Even pigs run faster! Worse, before even half a lap, your formations were in chaos—battalions, companies, squads all mixed up. Do you know what that means on the battlefield? You’d be slaughtered like sheep… This time, I’ll let it go. But next time, the assessment will be by squad. If even one man straggles, the whole squad spends a day in solitary. Of the four battalions, the top two get extra rations, the bottom two lose half their food.”

And so, amid a chorus of groans, the Second Meritorious Battalion completed its first day of training.

Back in the command tent, Chen Ying told Deputy Captain Wei Wenzhong, “Wei, compile a register: when our Eastern Palace Right Guard’s Second Meritorious Battalion was founded, every commander and captain since, every campaign, every deed of merit, every casualty, every capture.”

Wei Wenzhong asked, puzzled, “Sir, what’s the use of such a record?”

Chen Ying replied, “Our current roster only notes origins and ages. I want to know their stories—why they enlisted, what they did before, their deeds, good or bad. You’re now the battalion’s number two. Your name will be recorded, too. One day, this register will be kept for the historians, and perhaps, years from now, your deeds will make it into the chronicles and pass down through generations!”

Wei Wenzhong was astonished. “Small fry like me, from the sticks, written into the history books?”

Chen Ying smiled and nodded. “If we write it down, one day it will be written into a book.”

“…But, sir, such things don’t fill our bellies or keep us warm. What’s the point?” Wei Wenzhong seemed uninterested in immortal glory.

Chen Ying’s expression grew solemn. “An army without a history is an army without a soul…”

The Second Meritorious Battalion was now Chen Ying’s foundation. He not only had to strengthen its fighting power, but also infuse it with new spirit.

He knew well that Li Jiancheng would one day die tragically at Xuanwu Gate. Now that he belonged to Li Jiancheng, he had no desire to end up sidelined when Li Shimin seized the throne.

Thus, during these years of Wude, he had to prove his worth to Li Shimin.

In any organization, outstanding employees are never cast aside. Chen Ying had no wish to be one of the discarded.

For now, the battalion was seriously understrength, but Chen Ying was certain that, when the time came, Li Jiancheng would spare no effort to expand the Eastern Palace’s six guards to full strength.

As Chen Ying racked his brains to improve his battalion’s combat power, the magistrate of Wannian County, Su Hu, was discussing with his trusted aide Huangfu Jingyuan how best to deal with Chen Ying.