“Huh? Folks, what’s wrong with you all? Why are you all vomiting? Vice-General Zhang, why are you vomiting too?”
The officials of Suzhou Prefecture were stunned as they watched everyone spit out their meat pies in a chaotic mess.
“Could the roasted meat have gone bad and upset their stomachs?! That’s impossible! The pork and mutton were freshly slaughtered, and the meat was just roasted not long ago—it couldn’t have spoiled! Besides, the Zhejiang troops ate it too, and they’re fine!”
The officials’ first thought was that the meat was spoiled, causing everyone to get sick.
But they quickly dismissed the idea. To reward everyone for cleaning up the battlefield, Prefect Shang had specifically ordered fresh pigs and sheep slaughtered to ensure the ingredients were top-notch. The roasted meat was fresh off the grill—there was no way it could’ve gone bad.
Plus, the Zhejiang troops had eaten it too. From Lord Zhu Ping’an to the common soldiers, they were all fine—some had already eaten half a pie without a single one vomiting.
“Vice-General Zhang, what’s going on with you? What kind of behavior is this?” Prefect Shang asked, somewhat displeased at the sight of them retching uncontrollably.
“Cough, cough… My lord, it’s truly that we couldn’t handle it mentally. Today, while cleaning the battlefield, thousands of wokou were burned to charcoal in the forest. The scene reeked of a thick, roasted meat smell—seven or eight parts similar to the minced meat in these pies. It felt like we were chewing on wokou corpse flesh. Our stomachs churned uncontrollably, and we couldn’t hold it in. We lost our composure—please forgive us, Your Honor,” Vice-General Zhang explained, his face flushed with shame.
“The villagers I can understand—they’ve never seen a battlefield. But you lot, born and bred in the military, seasoned by blades and blood—how can you be so weak?”
Prefect Shang glanced at Zhang and his men, then at the Zhejiang troops eating and drinking calmly, shaking his head with a sigh.
Truly, comparisons are odious!
You’re all soldiers, yet the Zhejiang troops excel in battle—victorious every time—while you falter at every turn. Even your mental resilience is worlds apart. The same meat pies—they eat with ease, while you vomit your guts out.
Still, the Zhejiang troops are the Zhejiang troops—top-tier in all of Jiangnan. It’s understandable you can’t match them.
It’s normal.
But moving forward, you must feel this shame and strive harder. I don’t expect you to catch up to them—just don’t fall too far behind.
“We’re ashamed, my lord,” Vice-General Zhang and his men muttered, even more embarrassed.
“Forget it, forget it. You rarely see combat, so it’s forgivable you can’t compare to the Zhejiang troops. Train hard from now on. I don’t expect you to match them—just don’t lag too far behind.”
Prefect Shang waved his hand dismissively.
Vice-General Zhang and his men turned red with shame, wishing they could crawl into a rat hole.
“Since they can’t stomach the meat pies, take them away. Bring some plain oil pancakes instead,” Prefect Shang instructed considerately.
“Dear villagers, after vomiting so much, your stomachs must be empty. Have some fish soup to fill them,” the Suzhou officials urged warmly, encouraging the group to drink and soothe their hollow bellies.
“Thank you, my lord.” Grateful, the group picked up the fish soup. After retching so much, their stomachs were indeed empty. Already hungry before, they were now ravenous, their guts twisting in pain.
*Gulp, gulp…*
They downed full bowls in one go.
“Delicious, delicious! This fish soup is so fresh!”
“White as milk, rich and savory, with an endless aftertaste—I nearly swallowed my tongue it’s so good!”
After a big bowl, they couldn’t stop praising it.
“Of course it’s fresh and delicious! Every pot was personally overseen by Master Tang of Suzhou, the top fish chef. And these fish? Prefect Shang ordered us to catch them live from the river ahead. Each one’s at least a foot long—no less than an inch short!” a Suzhou official boasted, subtly flattering Prefect Shang.
But as soon as he finished, he sensed something off. The atmosphere shifted—why had it gone quiet? Why did everyone look like they’d been frozen in place?
“Cough, cough… Where did you catch the fish?” someone asked, coughing.
“Right in the river ahead! Not long after you all set out, the Prefect sent us to catch them,” the official replied, pointing in the direction.
“Urgh…”
The moment he finished, a chorus of retching erupted—those same people, vomiting even harder than before.
“My heavens, what’s wrong with you all now?”
The officials were dumbfounded, staring at the spectacular scene, frozen like statues.
“Vice-General Zhang, what’s this about now?” Prefect Shang asked helplessly as Zhang finished vomiting.
“Cough, cough… My lord, it’s the same as before—psychological. The river we cleaned today is the same one they fished from. Lord Zhu and his men ambushed the wokou there in the first battle. Countless wokou were shot or drowned in that river. When we cleaned it up, their corpses were swollen from soaking, and tons of fish were nibbling at them. Who knows—maybe one of those fish they caught was among them. This pot of soup might even contain bits of wokou flesh. Urgh… I can’t get past that thought. My stomach’s turning inside out… Urgh…” Vice-General Zhang explained, pale and haggard, still retching as he spoke.
“The stretch we fished from is over ten li upstream from where you cleaned the battlefield. The fish couldn’t swim that far…” a Suzhou official explained helplessly.
“Can you completely rule it out?” Zhang asked, still deathly pale.
“Uh…” The officials fell silent. Though it was over ten li apart, they couldn’t guarantee it with absolute certainty.
Who’s to say some bored fish didn’t munch on wokou corpses and then swim upstream ten li?
They weren’t fish—how could they know fish business? Fish don’t follow orders.
“Cough, cough… Lord Zhu, soldiers, how do you drink it down? Don’t you feel queasy?” Vice-General Zhang and his men asked curiously, watching Zhu Ping’an and the Zhejiang troops eat meat and sip soup unfazed.
“Queasy? Why would I feel queasy? Setting aside the ten-plus li distance—upstream, no less, making it unlikely to catch battlefield fish—even if we did, so what? Yue Wumu’s *Man Jiang Hong* says: ‘With ambition, I’d feast on the flesh of the Hu barbarians; laughing, I’d quench my thirst with Hunnic blood.’ If I could feast on wokou flesh and drink their blood, it’d be a delight in life. What’s to feel queasy about?” Zhu Ping’an smiled nonchalantly.
“Lord Zhu, I’m convinced.”
Vice-General Zhang was utterly persuaded, bowing in complete admiration to Zhu Ping’an and the Zhejiang troops.
