Great Song Dynasty Writer

Chapter 165 Choice
The hall was so quiet you could hear a pin drop. Even the birdsong outside the window seemed to have wisely fallen silent, leaving only Lu Beigu's heart pounding heavily against his ribs like a drum.

The thought that "a wise man does not stand under a crumbling wall" immediately came to his mind.

After all, when he was chatting with Zhu Nanxing and others after the county examination, the bloody rumors of the Yujing Supervisors' Rebellion were still faintly echoing in his ears.

Burning and looting villages, robbing and killing officials, and howling through the mountains and forests—it was an absolutely treacherous place!
He had just survived the provincial examination, and his future seemed to be paving a bright path to becoming a Jinshi (a successful candidate in the highest imperial examinations). Why would he want to wade into these murky waters? One wrong move, and not only would his future be ruined, but he might even lose his life.

Cold sweat seeped silently from his forehead, sliding down his temples, bringing a chilling itch that instantly soaked through the long robe he had hastily put on.

"I can't go!" a voice screamed in my heart.

The safest approach is to sit comfortably in the state school and wait for the results to be announced!
However, another thought, like a red-hot branding iron, burned fiercely into his consciousness.

That essay, "Strategy for Defending Against the Summer," and that "Memorial on the Trial Implementation of Salt and Paper Money Laws in Sichuan and Guanzhong," were the stepping stones he personally handed over!
It was through painstaking efforts that he combined the knowledge he gained from later generations with a framework that this era could understand, and only then did he win this opportunity.

The reason why Fan Xiang was able to travel so quickly to Luzhou and head straight for Yujingjian was precisely because of the blueprint that Lu Beigu had drawn up in front of Zhang Fangping.
If we back down now, it would be tantamount to closing the door that we just pried open a crack in!

In Zhang Xiangong's eyes, he will be thoroughly branded as "armchair strategist," "timid and hesitant," and even "exaggerated"!

In the future, who will still believe in Lu Beigu's "strategy"? Who will give him a second chance? The Song Dynasty court is full of talented people; what it lacks is not ideas, but people who dare to take on responsibilities and are capable of doing so!
Fan Xiang's seemingly casual remark, "If you have nothing to do, come with us," was actually a test.

This is a test of whether Lu Beigu truly has the sense of responsibility and the courage to match his theoretical "strategies"!
If he didn't even have the courage to accompany a high-ranking official on an on-site investigation under the protection of soldiers, what made Zhang Fangping and the sharp-eyed Fan Xiang believe that his salt reform could solve the problems of the Song Dynasty? What made them so eager to recommend and promote him?
Lu Beigu, a time traveler who knows the general trend of history, is he really going to be a coward who only knows how to point fingers in his study and turns pale at the sight of blood? Fan Xiang, an old man over fifty, dared to go, so what face does he have to refuse?
The air inside the hall was so thick it was almost suffocating.

Fan Xiang's fingers continued to tap lightly on the sandalwood armrest, each soft "tap, tap" precisely striking Lu Beigu's taut nerves.

Prefect Liu sat to the side, his gaze subtly shifting between Fan Xiang and Lu Beigu, his face revealing neither joy nor anger.

He was probably also curious about what choice this young student, who had previously stepped forward during the flood, would make.

Time seemed to stretch out several times over, and every moment of silence felt like a heavy hammer blow.

Lu Beigu could clearly hear the roar of his blood rushing through his eardrums, and he could feel the dryness in his throat and the difficulty of swallowing saliva.

He forced himself to raise his eyes to meet Fan Xiang's unfathomable yet sharp gaze.

There was no urging, no impatience in that gaze, only a calm waiting that understood everything.

It was as if he were saying: Make your choice, young man, and let me see what you're made of.

Lu Beigu took a deep breath, stood up, his movements even stiff from the tension in his nerves, and bowed deeply to Fan Xiang, who was in the main seat.

His voice wasn't loud, but it was exceptionally clear, even resolute.

"Student Lu Beigu wishes to accompany Master Fan to Yujing Prison to find out what's going on!"

"Alright." Fan Xiang only gave one word, his gaze lingering for a moment on Lu Beigu's tense face before turning to Liu Yong, "Prefect Liu, please have Commander Liang muster the troops and set off immediately."

"Don't worry, everything is arranged." Liu Yong replied quickly. Then, Liu Yong looked at Lu Beigu and sincerely praised him, "You dared to step forward during the flood. At that time, I thought you were a true young hero. Now you have shown courage again. It seems I was right about you."

Lu Beigu felt a buzzing in his head at this moment, and only managed to give a couple of vague replies. He even forgot what he said as soon as he turned his head away.

Are you scared? Of course I'm scared!
Making this choice doesn't mean he's not afraid.

He wasn't a born adventurer; he was just a bookish man who had never seen blood.

But a gentleman judges by actions, not intentions, just as he did during the previous flood. He could have chosen to stay out of it, but he didn't.

Perhaps, doing something while being afraid is what makes a normal person brave.

The hustle and bustle of the prefectural government office was quickly left behind.

The burly, dark-skinned Liang Dujian, along with five hundred imperial guards stationed in Luzhou, stood ready at the entrance of the military camp outside the East Gate.

These soldiers were not the elite troops with bright armor and high morale that Lu Beigu had imagined, but rather typical local imperial guards stationed in the Song Dynasty. They wore worn-out robes, covered with leather armor, and wore leather hats. The archers carried bows and crossbows and quivers, while the others carried shields, spears, or long axes, and had short weapons such as waist knives or maces hanging from their waists.

The procession included a dozen or so donkey carts loaded with supplies, as well as a few officers riding ponies and wearing lamellar armor.

The entire team exuded a strange aura, a mixture of ruggedness born from long journeys and melancholy from years of guarding the frontier.

They stood silently in the cool morning light of early autumn, with only the occasional snort of the horses and the slight rustling of the officers' armor plates.

"The armor coverage rate is high, but the vast majority are leather armor, and there is very little iron armor. Is this due to insufficient military equipment or because the mountainous combat environment in southern Sichuan is not suitable for iron armor?" Lu Beigu wondered.

He was placed in the same carriage that Fan Xiang rode in; the carriage was simple and had no extravagance whatsoever.

With Liang Dujian leading the way on horseback, the entire procession, like a silent iron torrent, crossed the Yangtze River by boat at the dock and plunged into the vast mountains south of Luzhou.

The scenery changed dramatically as soon as we entered the mountains.

The winding mountain road was as if it had been cleaved by a giant axe, and one could only traverse it with difficulty through the dense, primeval forest.

The ancient trees reach for the sky, their gnarled branches intertwined, their dense canopies almost completely obscuring the sky, allowing only dappled light and shadow to filter through the gaps. Vines entwine like giant pythons in the forest, and huge banyan aerial roots hang down, forming natural gateways.

The air became humid and heavy, filled with the rich scent of humus, the fragrance of grass and trees, and an indescribable primal odor belonging to the deep mountains and old forests.

As the journey lengthened, the path became narrower and more rugged, strewn with gravel and slippery mud.

The wheels creaked and groaned as they bounced, and the horses' hooves pounded on the soft, decaying leaves with a dull thud.

The heavy footsteps of the soldiers, the clanging of shields and armor, and their labored breathing became the only human sounds in this deep, secluded forest, carrying a strong sense of oppression.

(End of this chapter)