Dream of the Red Chamber: Madam, please have some self-respect!

"If you ask me, what's so difficult about Liaodong? It's just a matter of insufficient provisions and soldiers not fighting to the death! If the court could allocate five million, no, three million taels of silver for provisions, and select one hundred thousand elite troops, led by our fathers, to sweep away the Jianzhou Jurchen chieftain's lair, it would be a piece of cake!" A proud son of a military family said arrogantly, waving his arms.

"Exactly! Those Jurchen bandits and chieftains are nothing but a minor ailment. As long as provisions are sufficient and local officials are not corrupt, they will be reduced to dust the moment the army arrives!"

"In the end, it's all because of those old misers in the Ministry of Revenue, always complaining about being poor! Where does all that silver from the Southeast Maritime Trade Office go every year?"

Jia Yun, listening from the side, shook his head inwardly, feeling speechless.

The problem lies with money.

But... isn't the crux of the problem the lack of money? These pampered young men seem to think that the gleaming silver is like pebbles in a garden, something they can grab and use at will.

Throughout history, the success or failure of wars, in the end, can all be separated from the two words "money and provisions".

They talked at length, spitting as they spoke, but no one delved into why the national treasury was empty, why the additional "Liaodong tax" forced more people to become bandits, or why this vast empire resembled a leaky, dilapidated ship that could not be repaired.

A sense of absurdity, like the question "Why don't they eat meat porridge?", suddenly welled up in Jia Yun's mind.

After a short while, Feng Ziying finished exchanging pleasantries with several familiar young men, then strolled back to Jia Yun's side, pursed his lips, and whispered, "Brother Yun, have you seen that young lady over there?"

Jia Yun followed his gaze and saw a slender figure leaning against the railing—a plump young woman standing by the water, gazing blankly at the gently rippling lake.

That profile, those eyes and brows… Jia Yun’s heart skipped a beat. It was her!

It was the stunningly beautiful young woman he had rescued in the restaurant that day!

"Is it her?"

"She is Liu Zhenniang, the only daughter of General Liu Ting, whom you rescued that day."

Jia Yun suddenly realized that she was not an ordinary woman, but the orphan of the late General Liu Ting!

"Yun-ge'er, I later had someone investigate what happened that day." Feng Ziying leaned closer and lowered his voice even further as he wrote, "It was a servant boy who had been in the Liu household for ten years. He was heartless and betrayed his master by taking money from that scoundrel Yang Shen. He tricked the Liu family's wife by saying that a wealthy merchant was eager to sell a storefront on the street at a low price, which led her to that Drunken Immortal Pavilion."

Upon hearing this, Jia Yun frowned slightly.

Feng Ziying continued, "Yang Shen knew he was in the wrong. This matter was already sordid, so how could he dare to openly report it to the authorities? Without an official warrant, he merely relied on his father's power and randomly instructed a few familiar Jinyiwei officers to investigate privately, which naturally came to nothing. He's trying to cover this up, so it's unlikely to cause much of a stir."

A mocking smile curled at the corner of his lips: "But I also heard that when that guy went back, his father still gave him a good beating. He deserved it!"

Jia Yun's heart skipped a beat, and he casually asked, "I heard... he's impotent?"

A lewd smile, the kind only men would understand, immediately appeared on Feng Ziying's face. He chuckled and whispered, "That's the rumor going around, that his thing has been just for show ever since that day... but..."

He abruptly changed the subject, nudging Jia Yun with his elbow and winking, "Shouldn't you be the one who knows the most about this? Those two kicks you gave me..."

Jia Yun remained outwardly calm, but inwardly she wondered, "I didn't use much force, did I?"

For some reason, Feng Ziying suddenly stopped his jesting, and his tone became serious: "What a pity for General Liu Ting, a valiant general of his generation. Back in Liaodong, he was a figure who struck fear into the hearts of the enemy, possessing both martial prowess and strict discipline. If it weren't for the incompetent command from above during the Battle of Sarhu, and the poor coordination between the various armies, which led him to be isolated and surrounded, he wouldn't have fought so bravely to the death, meeting such an end... It's truly lamentable!"

Feng Ziying's sigh was filled with regret for the hero's downfall and helplessness at the corrupt government.

As Jia Yun sighed, he looked again—the plump widow was actually a descendant of a loyal martyr.

She stood there alone, her slightly loose hair highlighting the fullness of a mature woman, while her waist remained slender, making her hips appear even fuller, exuding an inescapable sense of sorrow and desolation.

Just then, Liu Zhenniang seemed to sense something and glanced in Jia Yun's direction.

But her eyes were filled with distant disgust and wariness. Then she lifted her skirt and quietly turned away.

She clearly did not recognize that the handsome young man in front of her was the "benefactor" who had saved her from danger that day and had caught a glimpse of her disheveled and miserable appearance.

As the two were talking, a man who looked like a steward hurriedly walked up to Feng Ziying and whispered a few words in his ear.

Feng Ziying's expression turned serious, and he clasped his hands in a fist salute to Jia Yun, saying, "Brother Yun, I'm sorry, my father needs me for some business, so I must go ahead. Please make yourself at home and make some friends."

After saying that, he hurriedly followed the steward away.

With Feng Ziying gone, Jia Yun felt even more out of place in the bustling garden.

None of the once-proud young men approached him to speak. He was like a spectator who had stumbled into a grand banquet, coldly observing these future pillars of the empire, lost in their hedonistic pursuits, talking about how to use their imagined endless wealth to fill the gaps in this massive, riddled ship.

Jia Yun silently finished the remaining wine in his cup, feeling listless, and prepared to get up and leave.

Suddenly, he saw Wu Sangui, the young man who had been sitting alone by the window, walking towards him.

Wu Sangui sat down opposite him, glanced at him briefly, and clasped his hands in greeting, saying, "Brother Jia? I am Wu Sangui. I just heard Brother Feng mention that you are exceptionally skilled. May I ask who your teacher is?"

His tone was straightforward and frank, typical of children of soldiers, unlike the hypocrisy and pretense of those from noble families.

When Jia Yun saw that he had taken the initiative to start a conversation, although he was slightly wary of his "future," he did not show it on his face and returned the greeting, saying, "Brother Wu, you are too kind. My master's surname is Zhou and his given name is Kui. He is not a famous martial arts master, but just an ordinary martial arts master who lives in seclusion in the capital."

"Zhou Kui?" Wu Sangui frowned slightly, pondered for a moment, then shook his head and said frankly, "I have never heard of him. However, judging from Brother Jia's gait and bearing, his foundation is quite solid. Your master must be no ordinary person."

Although he was somewhat aloof, his eyes revealed an extraordinary fervor when he talked about martial arts.

"The land beyond the Great Wall is bitterly cold, and the people are fierce. I have been learning some martial arts since childhood. It is rare to meet a fellow practitioner. I wonder if Brother Jia would be willing to lend a hand and give me some pointers?" The "lending hand" he mentioned is a common way for martial artists to spar, which is more elegant than a competition and focuses on sensing the depth of the other's strength.

Seeing that he didn't seem to be faking it, but was simply excited by the prospect, Jia Yun thought to himself that he had been practicing for some time and wanted to test his progress. So he nodded and agreed: "I dare not offer guidance, and I beg Brother Wu to go easy on me."

The two immediately stood up and stood in the open space in the corner of the warm pavilion.

Several young men nearby, seeing that there was something to watch, also gathered around, their faces showing interest in seeing a good show.

"please!"

"please!"

Before the words were even finished, Wu Sangui moved slightly, his footwork swift as lightning, and he was already close behind. His right hand formed a palm, seemingly lightly pressing down on Jia Yun's Jianjing acupoint, but in reality, it contained hidden force, moving as fast as a shooting star.

Jia Yun instinctively twisted his body to block, using the "Entangling" technique from Bajiquan to try and grab the opponent's wrist.

However, Wu Sangui's combat experience far surpassed Jia Yun's usual aerial practice. With a flick of his wrist, he slipped away like a fish, and at the same time, with a seemingly simple bump, his shoulder was already pressed against Jia Yun's chest.

Jia Yun felt a steady, powerful force surge towards her, causing her to lose her footing. She stumbled back three steps before finally stopping when her back hit a pillar. A surge of blood rushed through her chest.

Three moves! Just three moves!

Several suppressed snickers immediately rose from the surrounding area.

The richly dressed young man who had asked the question earlier shook his head and whispered to the person next to him, "As expected, it's all just for show."

Wu Sangui withdrew his attack, seemingly feeling that the victory had been too easy. This contradicted what Feng Ziying had said. He frowned slightly, clasped his hands in a fist and said, "Brother Jia, you flatter me."

Jia Yun's face flushed red and then turned pale, not from embarrassment, but from the stirring of his indomitable spirit.

He knew he lost because of his experience and reaction time, not because of the power of his moves.

Suppressing his surging anger, Jia Yun looked intently at Wu Sangui: "Brother Wu, your skill is truly superb! I lost in hand-to-hand combat. Would you... allow me to exchange a few more moves with weapons?"

Jia Yun then thought of the marksmanship he had been practicing diligently these past few days; that was the skill he had truly honed through hard work.

A hint of surprise flashed in Wu Sangui's eyes, which quickly turned into appreciation.

Undeterred by defeat, and even daring to challenge others—that's quite admirable. So he readily nodded, "Of course!"

"What kind of weapon does Brother Jia usually use?"

"gun."

A flash of surprise crossed Wu Sangui's eyes, then a smile appeared on his lips: "Coincidentally, I also use a gun."

He then turned to the servant standing beside him and ordered, "Bring two white wax spears."

Soon, two long spears made of smooth, straight white ash wood, each over ten feet long, were brought up.

This training rifle also has a wooden muzzle to prevent accidental injury, but its length and center of gravity are modeled after standard rifles. It's already quite good if ordinary young men can get used to using it.

Wu Sangui casually took the pole, flicked his wrist, and the tip of the white wax spear trembled in the air, creating several afterimages, revealing his superb skill.

He handed the other pole to Jia Yun.

Jia Yun said "thank you," took the spear, and habitually weighed it in his hand before frowning slightly.

This spear shaft was much lighter than the rusty fire poker he used when he practiced hard with Master Zhou. It felt light and flimsy in his hand, as if it would break if he exerted any force. It lacked the solid feel of a spear that could be used as an extension of an arm.

Jia Yun looked up at Wu Sangui: "Brother Wu, this spear... is too light. Do you have a heavier one?"