Chapter 23: Little Zhu! Have you scrubbed the pots today?

Following the battle of Qingyang, Shaanxi and Gansu were pacified. Xu Da led the main force in a triumphal march back, heading north to regroup before finally stationing outside the city of Beiping.

Endless rows of tents stretched from the main road to the foot of the mountains, radiating a chilling, murderous aura. The Ming army, tempered by the baptism of bloody battle, lay in wait like a tiger that had temporarily retracted its claws.

Fan Tong’s vanguard battalion was settled in a separate camp by a small river. On the surface, this special treatment was attributed to the exhaustion of their siege efforts and the need for proper rest, but anyone could see that Xu Da was intentionally isolating this unit of "monsters" with their explosive combat power from the rest of the troops.

Zhu Di—or rather, Zhu Hu—carried a bundle of damp armor and clothing as he walked back to the camp from the river. Returning from the dust-swept Northwest to the lush greenery of Beiping, he should have felt a sense of home. Yet, over the past month, he felt further away from the Prince of Yan’s mansion than he had even in Qingyang.

Inside the command tent, Fan Tong was spraying saliva as he gestured wildly at Xu Da.

"Commander, I’m not boasting. My brothers can now tear tigers and leopards apart with their bare hands! But this combat prowess doesn't come from thin air—it’s fueled by meat!" He made an exaggerated gesture. "War is about burning money. Rather than wasting it on fragile, shoddy gear, it’s better to burn it in the soldiers’ bellies! Only with fat in their bellies do they have the strength to swing their blades! Don't you agree?"

Xu Da held his teacup, his eyelid twitching. This fat man had just achieved a monumental victory, and before his seat was even warm, he was already demanding the moon. He wanted to triple the food rations of the entire vanguard battalion, insisting on meat at every meal. This wasn't raising soldiers; it was raising a group of ancestors!

"You brat, do you have any idea how tight our military budget is?" Xu Da glared at him.

"I do!" Fan Tong stiffened his neck, righteous and firm. "That’s exactly why we must spend our money where it cuts the sharpest! My vanguard battalion is the sharpest blade in your hand! If you don’t feed it, the blade will go dull!"

Xu Da set down his teacup and fell silent. He remembered the twenty cooks on the walls of Qingyang who had descended like demonic gods. He remembered how Fan Tong had used a meal of dried meat to rekindle the morale of a group of routed soldiers, turning them into men who feared no death. This method was unorthodox, but it worked.

"Fine!" Xu Da slammed the table, his mind made up. "I’ll see just how sharp you can make this blade!" He gritted his teeth, forcing the words out: "Granted! But let me be clear: if you don't produce results, I will have your hide!"

"Understood! Just watch me!" Fan Tong beamed and ran off.

From that day on, the soldiers of the vanguard battalion lived a magical life woven between hell and heaven. Before dawn, Zhu Di would be dragged off his hard wooden cot by Bao Nianfeng like a dead dog, followed by endless, grueling physical training. He carried hundred-pound boulders up mountain paths, wrestled with "ogres" in the mud, and slammed his body against solid wooden stakes. By the end of each day, Zhu Di felt as though every ounce of strength had been squeezed out of him; his very bones ached, and he longed only to lie on the ground and sleep forever.

But he couldn't. An irresistibly overbearing aroma would waft from the kitchen at the designated hour, rudely drilling into his nostrils and waking the gluttonous worm in his stomach. Fan Tong had somehow acquired a massive brick oven and started making "hanging-roast duck" in the camp.

Fat, succulent ducks were cleaned, brushed with a secret sauce, and hung inside the furnace. As the flames licked the oven, the fat beneath the duck skin crackled and hissed, dripping into golden oil that released wave after wave of intense fragrance. That scent was nothing short of a devil’s temptation.

The soldiers of the entire Beiping camp were driven mad by the smell. At every mealtime, countless eyes would fixate on Fan Tong’s camp, Adam’s apples bobbing as they swallowed more saliva than they had sweated during training. Even some of the nobles in Beiping sent men to inquire which new restaurant had opened, possessing such miraculous culinary skills.

But Zhu Di, at the center of this "heaven," felt a different kind of agony.

"Eat! Stuff your faces! Whoever doesn't finish their share will have their training doubled today!" Fan Tong stood with a giant ladle, watching everyone with the ferocity of a taskmaster.

In front of Zhu Di sat half a roast duck—crispy on the outside and tender on the inside—a plate of rich, savory braised meat, and a large bowl of white rice. He was hungry enough to swallow an ox, but his body was so exhausted he could barely lift his chopsticks. He shoved food into his mouth mechanically; his taste buds were celebrating, while his body was wailing. For the first time in his life, he understood the misery of being "too full."

*I, Zhu Di, Prince of Yan of the Great Ming, capable of stabilizing the nation and governing the state, am actually being driven to the brink of death by a meal?*

He looked at the surrounding guards—the kitchen staff—devouring their food, their mouths glistening with oil. He felt even more unsettled. These monsters not only possessed an astonishing appetite but also an absurdly fast recovery rate. Yesterday, Bao Nianfeng had dislocated his arm during a sparring session, and today, he was like a new man, gnawing on an entire duck by himself.

Zhu Di had seen, more than once at night, Fan Tong sneaking extra food to those eighteen personal guards—a pot of meat soup that emitted a strange, medicinal fragrance. After drinking it, the guards would train the next day with even greater strength and fiercer eyes. Their physiques were becoming more robust by the day, their knotted muscles seemingly hiding explosive power.

Monsters! They were all monsters! What kind of black magic was this fat man using?

Zhu Di’s curiosity and competitive spirit burned like a fire doused in oil. Fan Tong’s "high-standard rations" and his "neglect of duty" by roasting ducks soon drew the ire of other battalion commanders.

"Commander Xu! This Fan Tong is acting like a fool! He’s turned the military camp into a chaotic mess, like a common marketplace!"

"Indeed, Commander! He is wasting military funds and ruining discipline. If this continues, morale will surely crumble!"

Several assistant generals and guerrilla generals came to lodge a joint complaint in Xu Da’s tent. Xu Da sat behind his desk, his face as calm as water, listening to their accusations without saying a word. Only when they had exhausted their breath did he speak.

"Are you finished?" His voice was calm, yet the temperature in the tent plummeted. "I only ask one thing: who was the first to scale the walls of Qingyang?"

The generals were instantly silenced.

"Which of you," Xu Da’s gaze swept over them like a blade, "can take a group of cooks and chew through a hard nut like Zhang Liangchen? If you can, I won't just let you eat meat every meal; I’ll serve you dragon liver and phoenix marrow!"

"If you can't, get back to your camps and train your soldiers properly!"

"Yes..." The generals retreated in shame.

As news spread, no one dared to question Fan Tong to his face again. However, the jealousy and resentment behind his back only grew. Fan Tong, however, couldn't care less. He was busy with something more important: recruiting. The aroma of roast duck was the best advertisement.

"Have you heard? The vanguard battalion is recruiting! As long as you pass the training, you get to eat meat every day!"

"Really? Is that true?"

"My great-uncle’s cousin is in the vanguard battalion. He says their food is better than the Lunar New Year feast! Roast duck, braised meat—all you can eat!"

The news spread like wildfire through the camp. The next day, a dense crowd of men knelt outside the vanguard camp. They were all battle-hardened soldiers from other units who had brought their weapons and bedding, eager to join. They gazed at the steaming pots in the camp, inhaling the soul-stirring aroma of meat, their eyes filled with longing for a better life.

Zhu Di was sent to maintain order, and seeing this spectacular scene, he felt completely numb. He thought of the military classics he had studied. Sun Tzu said: "War is a matter of vital importance to the state." Wu Qi said: "In the art of war, instruction and discipline come first."

But the fat man before him had overturned everything he knew with the simplest, crudest method. He didn't need passionate slogans, empty promises of promotion, or even military law to enforce his will. He used only a pot and an oven. He made these proud, battle-hardened soldiers willingly kneel before him, all for the sake of a bite to eat.

What kind of terrifying power was this?

Zhu Di looked at the fat man, who was standing with his hands on his hips, directing his men to scrub the pots. For the first time, a chill crept into his heart.

Fan Tong seemed to sense his gaze, turned around, and grinned, revealing a row of white teeth as he shouted: "Zhu Hu! What are you standing there for? Have you finished scrubbing the pots today!"