Gradually, the retreating figures of the Japanese pirates faded into the southern horizon, no longer visible from the city walls.
“It’s time,” Zhu Ping’an said, shifting his gaze from the vanishing pirates and turning to Liu Dadao. “Beat the drums to assemble the troops. Prepare to move out.”
The sound of drums echoed, mules brayed, and armor clinked. In no time, the eight hundred-plus Zhejiang troops were fully armed and ready to depart.
The defenders on the wall couldn’t help but feel inferior. If it were them, managing to gather even a fifth of their forces this quickly would’ve been an exceptional feat.
Prefect Shang and the other officials marveled at Zhu Ping’an’s ability to train and command troops. This Zhejiang army, formed less than half a year ago, had been drilled by Zhu Ping’an into a force that moved like an extension of his will— disciplined and responsive. It was truly awe-inspiring.
“Open the gates! All troops, move out!” Zhu Ping’an commanded, one hand gripping the reins, the other raised high.
With a creaking groan, the city gates swung open. The eight hundred-plus Zhejiang troops, mounted on mules, filed out in orderly ranks, their movements precise and unhurried.
“Zihou, brave soldiers, take care on your journey. I’ll prepare a victory banquet for you back in the city,” Prefect Shang called out, leading a group of officials to see them off at the gate.
“Thank you, Lord Shang. With your auspicious words, I hope this expedition delivers a gift the pirates will never forget,” Zhu Ping’an replied from horseback, cupping his hands in gratitude with a smile.
“No matter the outcome, Zihou, you and your men deserve the grandest victory feast,” Prefect Shang said earnestly. He meant every word—Zhu Ping’an and his Zhejiang army were the saviors of Suzhou.
Without them, Suzhou would’ve fallen. Thanks to Zhu Ping’an’s decisive leadership, the city was saved, and over ten thousand pirates had been cut down—the greatest triumph against the Jiangnan pirate scourge to date.
They deserved the most lavish celebration imaginable.
“Thank you, Lord Shang. Gentlemen, please stay here—we’re setting out now,” Zhu Ping’an said, cupping his hands in farewell.
“Safe travels, Zihou/Zhu大人!” Prefect Shang and the officials returned the gesture.
“Move out!”
Zhu Ping’an tugged the reins, leading the charge. Liu Dadao and the others flanked him, and the eight hundred-plus Zhejiang troops followed closely behind.
As the officials watched Zhu Ping’an lead the army away, one of them scratched his head in confusion and muttered to Prefect Shang, “Sir, the pirates retreated south. Why is Zhu大人 heading northeast to chase them? Did he get the direction wrong?”
“Yeah, Sir, is the direction off?” The other officials echoed the same puzzlement.
Hearing their confusion, Prefect Shang privately shared their doubts—he too wondered why Zhu Ping’an was going northeast. But to maintain his authority, he feigned understanding, replying calmly, “Zihou’s heading northeast for a reason. If you could guess his plans so easily, you’d all be Zihou. Back to the city—close the gates tight, step up patrols, and guard against the pirates doubling back. Also, summon the master chefs from the city’s top restaurants, prepare the finest ingredients, and ensure plenty of wine and meat for Zihou and the Zhejiang army’s victory feast.”
“Yes, sir,” the officials replied in unison, dispersing to carry out his orders.
As Zhu Ping’an led the Zhejiang army northeast, Liu Dadao shared the same confusion as Prefect Shang. Riding alongside to protect Zhu Ping’an, he asked, “Young Master, the pirates retreated south and will sail southeast. Why are we heading northeast? Won’t we miss them?”
Liu Mu harbored the same question.
“Heh, why chase after the pirates? We’re going to get ahead of them,” Zhu Ping’an said with a smile.
“Get ahead of them? Us?” Liu Dadao’s face was a picture of disbelief.
“Exactly. The pirates came by ship, and they’ll leave by ship, taking the same major river they used to get here—through the Taicang estuary to the sea. It’s the only river deep enough for their vessels. The river generally flows southeast, but at Kunshan, it makes a sharp northward bend for a few miles before turning southeast again toward the Taicang estuary.”
“Our destination is Kunshan! Between two points, a straight line is shortest. Riding northeast straight to Kunshan is about sixty-odd miles—a good twenty miles shorter than the pirates’ river route.”
Zhu Ping’an explained with a smile.
“But they’ve been gone for a while. Can we really get ahead of them?” Liu Dadao pressed.
“Of course we can,” Zhu Ping’an replied with unshakable confidence.
“Young Master, I may not have studied much, but even I know rivers flow to the sea. The pirates are going downstream—won’t they be fast? Can we really beat them?” Liu Dadao asked, still worried despite his trust in Zhu Ping’an. The pirates had a head start and the current on their side.
“Heh, don’t worry. First, it’s the dead of winter—rainfall’s scarce, the river’s flow is low, and the current’s slow. Plus, an east wind picked up today, which is headwind for pirates retreating to their Tuolin base. That’ll drastically slow their ships. We’re on mules, much faster than them. Second, the pirates will surely set ambushes along the way to trap pursuers. To make that work, they’ll deliberately dawdle, waiting for anyone chasing them. Between the weather and their own tactics, their retreat will be sluggish. If we ride full speed to Kunshan, we’ll get there first.”
Zhu Ping’an chuckled, galloping at full speed while offering a concise explanation.
He was certain the pirates would set ambushes—it was a hallmark of their strategy, one they wouldn’t abandon.
Choosing to head northeast to Kunshan instead of tailing the pirates wasn’t just about the shortest route—it was also to avoid their traps.
The river path offered too many ambush spots: hills, dried reed marshes, overgrown fields, dense woods, even villages. Zhu Ping’an couldn’t predict exactly where they’d strike.
But one thing was clear—they’d set their traps along their retreat route.
Avoiding them was simple: take a different path.
You take your road, I’ll take mine.
Let them set their ambushes—let their momentum peak, wane, and exhaust itself waiting for a pursuer who never comes. Meanwhile, he’d be ahead, preparing a grand gift on their inevitable path.
As long as they sailed back to Tuolin, they’d have to accept his present—whether they liked it or not.
