He wanted to spend some time alone in silence and lick his wounds. Yang Jian's only son, Yang Tao, who was 22 years old, entered the tent.
Yang Tao was born to his wedded wife, who had died of illness shortly after giving birth to him. Over the years, the concubines he kept had birthed him many daughters but no sons, so Yang Jian remained his only son.
He treasured his son deeply in his heart, but he acted like a strict father.
"Is something the matter?" he asked.
His son's expression seemed conflicted. "Father, just now, Liu Xi sent a messenger over asking to borrow a man from us."
Yang Jian asked with suspicion, "Who is it that he wants to borrow?"
Yang Tao said, "The man that Liu Xi wants to borrow is a centurion."
"Why does he want to borrow the man?"