Chapter 3: The Worthless General

For the question raised by Liu Xianglian, Wu Tiande had long given it considerable thought.

If it were simply the world of Dream of the Red Chamber, Wu Tiande wouldn’t have to worry too much. First donate to become a surveillance student, then pass the imperial exams, enjoy a loving wife and concubines, pursue officialdom and business—drawing lessons from the extraordinary book Rebirth at the End of Dream of the Red Chamber, the rise of the down-and-out scholar Zhou Jin would merely be repeated.

But this realm was a crossroad where the illusions of Dream of the Red Chamber met the tumult of the martial world. Wu Tiande could not help but devise a careful plan.

Leaving other matters aside, he first needed to elevate his martial skills.

Otherwise, like Liu Zhengfeng of Mount Heng Sect—who had joined the officialdom and was granted the rank of Deputy General, a third-rank official—he was still easily subdued by the Mount Song Sect and suffered the calamity of his entire family’s massacre.

No matter how high one’s official rank or how vast one’s wealth, without martial prowess to protect oneself, it was like a child carrying gold through a bustling market, only courting disaster.

In the original Smiling Proud Wanderer, both General Liu Zhengfeng’s family and Lin Zhennan’s family, the chief escort of the Fuwei Escort Agency, met such fates.

“Wait, Deputy General?” Wu Tiande suddenly realized a crucial point and was greatly astonished.

He thought to himself, “Could it be that I am that useless general in the original Smiling Proud Wanderer, who rose from a guerrilla officer in Cangzhou, Hebei, to become Deputy General of Quanzhou Prefecture in Fujian?”

This discovery left Wu Tiande both hopeful and troubled.

Hopeful because he bore the label of the noble lineage of the Four Princes and Eight Dukes. He had the discreet protection of Prince Wang Zhiteng, who had served as commander of the capital garrison, overseer of nine provinces, and deputy prime minister; he had political allies like Jia Lian and Feng Ziying; and his uncle Wu Xindeng, leveraging the Jia family’s influence, helped him manage affairs both up and down. He was indeed doing well in the military camp and even had a day when he might be promoted to third-rank Deputy General—a rank comparable to a brigade commander or a mid-level government official in another world.

It must be noted that in his previous life, though Wu Tiande’s family was flourishing and influential, very few among his elders held positions above third-rank Deputy General.

His worry lay in the fact that in the original Smiling Proud Wanderer, when Wu Tiande appeared, he was a burly man with a full beard and protruding belly, looking formidable but unable to land a single blow against Linghu Chong. Linghu Chong had plundered his three gold ingots and hundreds of taels of silver, and Wu Tiande even lost the appointment letter personally signed by the Minister of War.

So incompetent—what use was he?

Additionally, he needed to manage his physique and image.

Thinking of this, Wu Tiande touched his cheeks and belly.

“Not bad, not bad—the beard hasn’t fully grown yet, and the belly hasn’t protruded much. I’m still a handsome young man with good looks.”

Wu Tiande also considered that the noble lineage of the Four Princes and Eight Dukes was under the emperor’s covert suppression, destined to become sacrifices in the court’s power struggles. It was only a matter of time.

When that time came, where would he go?

Having been reborn, Wu Tiande would never be content with a mere third-rank Deputy General title.

He dreamed of commanding the world sober and resting drunk beside beauties, seeing those gorgeous women of the imperial palaces grovel at his feet, singing in unison: “Amidst thousands you stand, basking in boundless glory.”

But all this required one indispensable prerequisite: sufficient self-defense ability.

Naturally, Wu Tiande resolved to find every means to first improve his martial cultivation.

Three days passed in negligence.

Soon, Feng Ziying sent someone to retrieve the Sword Manual of Mount Heng; Liu Xianglian, feeling embarrassed, continued to freeload food and drink at Wu Tiande’s place.

Moreover, his personal servant, Xing Nu, had come several times, tearfully begging Liu Xianglian, his master, to return home soon.

Such flirtatious posturing and coquettish tones—what would the neighbors think?

Besides, with Wen’s weakness and Wu’s strength, the material consumption during their sparring was enormous.

Tens of catties of beef and mutton, several pairs of chicken, duck, and goose, over two bushels of white rice, five jars of yellow wine, seasonal vegetables and fruits—a tally amounting to several taels of silver spent once again.

Although Wu Tiande had just received a hundred taels of silver from Jia Lian as a gratuity, he could not withstand such lavish feasting.

Fortunately, Liu Xianglian’s admirers, like Mrs. Bao from next door, volunteered to help in the kitchen, saving Wu Tiande a sum in labor costs.

After Liu Xianglian left, Wu Tiande sighed deeply.

“Hey, you little rascal, why are you sighing?” Before he could close the courtyard gate, his uncle Wu Xindeng appeared uninvited, scolding him sternly.

“Your father and two brothers earned hundreds of taels in compensations with their lives, and you’ve squandered it all. I saw your life was unsettled, so I spent a fortune and called in many favors to secure you a position in the camp. You’ll officially take office early next month. Yet you’re complacent and even brought an entertainer to live with you, indulging yourself. If your elder brother and sister-in-law in the afterlife knew of your reckless deeds, even their coffin lids wouldn’t stay shut.”

“I’m not, I’m not...” Wu Tiande smiled and explained.

From the original owner’s memories, though his uncle was strict, he often provided food and drink, and now had found him a position within the system. Considering this, Wu Tiande paid little mind to his uncle’s reprimands.

But his indifferent attitude only infuriated Wu Xindeng further.

“You still have the nerve to deny it? Do you dare say it’s not true?” Wu Xindeng growled. “The whole neighborhood is talking—you coaxed that entertainer Liu Xianglian to stay at home, spending money like water, feasting well, dining at the same table, sharing the same bed. Admit it or not?”

“Yes, yes,” Wu Tiande confessed.

“You, you...” Wu Xindeng’s eyes widened in fury, nearly speechless.

Looking at this promising nephew, he was filled with a mixture of frustration and helplessness, and he punched Wu Tiande.

With a sharp “smack,” Wu Xindeng staggered back several steps, only stopping when his back hit the pomegranate tree in the courtyard.

Startled, Wu Tiande called out, “Uncle, be careful—”

“Heh heh heh, it’s nothing. You have inner energy now?” Wu Xindeng, instead of being angry, was delighted.

When the Wu brothers were young, practicing martial arts incessantly, Wu Xindeng had once been slapped by his elder brother into a tree branch.

He knew very well that the force that repelled his blow was due to inner energy.

Having inner energy marked the threshold of martial arts, the essential step toward becoming a martial arts master; countless aspiring martial artists were blocked at this gate.

“My good nephew, relying mainly on self-study, has cultivated inner energy. He must be a person of exceptional innate talent,” Wu Xindeng silently admired.

Although he was shaken by the recoil of Wu Tiande’s inner force, first, Wu Tiande’s formal martial training was brief, so his inner energy was weak and the damage limited.

Second, with comparable skill, the intensity of inner energy recoil is proportional to the strength of the opponent’s strike.

Wu Xindeng never intended to harm Wu Tiande and controlled his strength well, so the recoil he suffered was minimal; his poor defense alone made him appear so vulnerable.

“I have some inner energy, but not much yet,” Wu Tiande happily replied.

“Then prepare yourself,” Wu Xindeng transformed his palm into a blade and struck toward Wu Tiande.

At first, Wu Tiande was awkward and passive, but as he grew familiar with his uncle’s martial techniques, he responded with ease.

“Not bad, you still have some of my old flair,” Wu Xindeng, unable to gain the advantage after prolonged attack, stopped and panted, uttering a face-saving phrase.

“Still, Uncle, your skills are more seasoned; please instruct me more in the future,” Wu Tiande flattered.

Seeing the topic was unsuitable for prolonged discussion, Wu Xindeng swiftly changed the subject.

“I heard Second Master Lian invited you to attend his precious daughter’s hundred-day banquet?”

“Yes, yes. He asked me to come to the Rongguo Mansion for a feast today,” Wu Tiande slapped his forehead.

If not for his uncle’s timely reminder, he might have forgotten and offended them gravely.

“I knew you’d forget,” Wu Xindeng scolded. “You’re about to join the Divine Machine Camp; how can you be so unreliable? How will you survive in officialdom? Remember, good martial skills are only one aspect; social graces are another. Even if one day you become a top martial artist or a formidable camp general, you must know when to toast and when to kowtow.”

After the lecture, Wu Xindeng led him toward Rongguo Mansion.

“There’s Rongguo Mansion ahead,” Wu Xindeng lowered his voice reverently, pointing to the imposing red wall not far away.

Wu Tiande followed his gaze and caught his breath sharply.

This was no ordinary wealthy household but a true state duke’s residence. Two majestic white marble lions flanked the gate, manes flowing, eyes stern as if piercing the soul.

The vermilion wooden gate was studded with rows of copper nails, arranged meticulously, radiating the grandeur of imperial protocol. Above the lintel hung a black plaque with golden characters reading “Imperially Constructed Rongguo Mansion,” the calligraphy bold and dignified, hinting at a long-standing noble status.

Servants came and went in fine silk garments, walking briskly but without a sound. Occasionally, carriages would enter; glimpses of exquisite embroidery inside were visible through the curtains, and the sound of horses’ hooves on the bluestone slabs was steady and orderly.

“Don’t stare. Only officials of third rank or above may enter through the main gate. We must use the side entrance,” Wu Xindeng reminded him.

Wu Tiande smiled slightly, unconcerned.

He understood early on that without the proper rank, one should not seek special treatment.

But precisely because of his low status, Wu Tiande need not offer lavish gifts. Following his uncle’s advice, he would present a modest bribe—just a token—to keep up appearances.

Wu Xindeng, as the steward of Rongguo Mansion’s treasury, dealt frequently with Jia Lian and Wang Xifeng, and his gift was more substantial—two taels of silver.

The banquet was held in the Pear Fragrance Courtyard at the northeast corner of Rongguo Mansion, once the quiet retreat of the late Duke Rong. It was quaint, with just over ten rooms.

The ladies were seated inside the rooms for the feast, while the male guests gathered under a colorful canopy outside.

Wu Tiande noticed several old pear trees stood proudly despite the winter chill, their bare branches defiantly stretching into the gray sky, tracing a sparse silhouette.

Though Wang Xifeng wished to host a grand event, the birthday girl was a low-ranking child, so few distinguished guests attended.

Among the noble families, only a handful appeared: Madam Han Zhien, granddaughter-in-law of the Duke of Xianguo and wife of the Pingding Prefecture Guard Shi Guangzhu; Madam Li Suyan, granddaughter-in-law of the Duke of Zhiguo and wife of hereditary third-rank General Ma Shangzhi—just a few.

They merely showed their faces, greeted Jia Lian and Wang Xifeng, glanced at the child, and hastily took their leave without even partaking in the meal.

The heirs of the Jinxiang and Xuancheng princely houses, Feng Ziying—the heir of the General of Divine Might—and Chen Yejun, direct grandson of the late Princess Rongchang, along with Wang Ren of the capital garrison commander’s mansion, stayed at Jia Lian’s invitation, seating themselves at the main table, personally accompanied by Jia Zhen and Jia Lian.

Originally a servant of the Wang family of Jinling, even after emancipation, Wu Tiande had yet to rise and could not afford arrogance before his former masters.

He obediently followed the usher’s guidance and took a seat at the outermost table under the colorful canopy.

Seated with him were Hu Yong, a scholar at the Imperial Academy; Lai Shangrong, son of Rong Mansion’s steward Lai Da; and Jia family collateral relatives Jia Rui, Jia Yun, Jia Qin, Jia Zhi, and Jia Jun.

Perhaps because of his uncle Wu Xindeng’s influence, or because of his impending appointment in the camp, everyone treated Wu Tiande with polite respect, without fault.

Hu Yong and Lai Shangrong even inquired about the cost and connections needed to become a junior flag officer in the Divine Machine Camp.

Such confidential matters were beyond Wu Tiande’s willingness to disclose. Even if he knew, he wouldn’t reveal that his uncle was the true mastermind behind the scenes.

Instead, at the banquet, he displayed a skillful trick—using two chopsticks, he picked up more than a dozen pigeon eggs at once, earning continuous praise.

They said Wu Tiande’s ability to become a junior flag officer was due to genuine skill.

As the atmosphere grew lively, even Feng Ziying at the main table glanced sideways, crediting Wu Tiande’s handsome martial arts to his own assistance.

Considering the pigeon eggs, worth a tael each, were now licked by chopsticks, the others could only watch as Wu Tiande stuffed them all into his mouth.

Pigeon eggs were the most expensive dish at the feast.

Seeing Wu Tiande indulge so heartily, the others hurried to snatch the remaining eggs into their own bowls.