Chapter Fifty-Eight: The Battle Begins

The slanting rays of the setting sun scattered in shimmering fragments upon the tranquil depths of the mountains. Though dusk had fallen, half the crimson sun was still visible on the horizon. Along a secluded, winding ancient path, the summer insects played their restless symphony, betraying the agitation of the season.

Yet soon enough, the chorus of crickets and grasshoppers fell abruptly silent. Strange echoes resounded upon the serpentine road, growing ever nearer, the small stones of the narrow path bouncing in rhythm with the approaching tumult.

A vibrant green cricket burst forth from the undergrowth, landing only to spring away again in panic. It traced a perfect arc through the air—but before it could land, the thunderous vibration of insect wings sounded near its ear, and in a flash, a pair of long limbs clamped it tightly. In its terror-stricken struggle, the last glimmer of light was snuffed out by the mantis’s sharp jaws.

Just as the mantis prepared to savor its evening meal, a vast shadow suddenly loomed overhead, blocking out the last of the sunset.

Bang!

A horse’s hoof, heavy as Mount Tai, stamped down upon the mantis.

With a piercing whinny, a jet-black steed, its coat gleaming in the slanting sunlight, halted, followed by an endless stream of soldiers, their footsteps thundering in unison.

At last, the officer astride the horse could be seen: upon his head gleamed a silver steel helmet, topped with a crimson plume. He wore armor of interlocking iron leaves, secured by a gilded beast-headed belt. Under the warm sun, his martial gear radiated a chilling aura.

Its wearer was equally stern, his gaze sweeping the surrounding peaks before glancing back. Behind him, tens of thousands of armored cavalry marched in tight formation, sabers at their sides, lances pointed toward the heavens.

Another fine horse caught up to him, and an adjutant inquired, “Commander, what has happened? Why have you ordered the army to halt?”

The officer frowned and replied slowly, “We lead the vanguard. We must exercise the greatest caution.”

The adjutant, however, was unconcerned. “The rebels number but forty or fifty thousand, and their weapons are crude compared to ours. Furthermore, the Six Gates has provided us with intelligence and cleared our path. There is nothing for us to do but advance.”

“Even so, relying on the Six Gates’ support and taking shortcuts to hasten our march only to find ourselves in peril—it gives me pause.”

“Commander, you may rest easy. The intelligence comes directly from Lord Azure Dragon. Surely you trust the Azure Dragon’s skill in gathering information?”

Zhao Ming, the vanguard officer, narrowed his eyes as he gazed at the shadowed road ahead. Though the intelligence was solid, he had yet to receive a direct response from the Azure Dragon and dared not wager the lives of his tens of thousands of soldiers on mere hearsay.

“Never mind, perhaps I am being overly cautious. The army shall advance.” He sighed deeply and addressed his adjutant.

“Full advance!” the adjutant commanded. The signal flags waved, and the thunderous marching of tens of thousands of troops echoed between the mountains.

Dozens of miles away, a dense mass of banners fluttered—hundreds, even thousands—marking the location of the main imperial force tasked with quelling the rebellion.

A carriage drawn by three fine horses churned up clouds of dust. Within sat a young man, handsome as carved jade, perusing a scroll with his left hand.

A gentle breeze stirred, and sensing something, he lifted the curtain with his right hand.

“Sir, do you have any orders?”

At his gesture, a man in black armor appeared outside the carriage.

“How far has the army advanced?” the young man asked.

“Sir, we have reached the borders of Shengzhou. Marching south for another five hundred li will bring us to the rebels’ stronghold,” the armored man reported in a deep voice.

“Hm.” The young man let the curtain fall and returned to his reading. Yet, soon he set the scroll aside, restless, and took a deep breath.

Whether to himself or to some absent presence, he muttered, “Young lord, you must never appear before me.”

The army pressed onward, oblivious to the figures already observing them from the mountain heights.

The leader, a bearded man with eyes like cold stars, regarded the imperial army without the slightest hint of fear—instead, he watched them as if they were already dead.

At his side, another man stepped forward and whispered, “All units are prepared. What are your next orders?”

Wenshan Yuan cast a disdainful glance at the surging mass below, then waved his right hand lightly. “Begin.”

“Yes!” The man’s eyes flashed with resolve. He turned, raised his command flag, and signaled toward the valley.

Rumble! Rumble!

The ground trembled and mountains shook. Horses whinnied in terror, bolting madly.

“What’s that sound?” Soldiers looked about in confusion.

Some had already been thrown from their mounts, and as others tried to calm their horses, they saw something even more terrifying: upon the cliffs on either side, hundreds or even thousands of boulders teetered, poised to tumble.

The tremors they felt moments before had been the result of the rear forces already under attack by falling stones.

Now, it was their turn.

“Report, General! The imperial troops are completely trapped within the gorge!”

Wenshan Yuan cast one last glance at the panicked tens of thousands, then turned his back and strode away. “Leave no one alive. Let them all die here.”

“At once!” Li Mi, upon receiving the order, brandished his flag and pointed it straight into the ravine.

“Sir, we’re under attack!”

Zhao Ming instantly grasped the situation—the army had marched into a deadly trap. He shouted, “Vanguard, fall back! Rear guard to the front! Withdraw from the gorge at once! Hurry!”

“General! The way behind is blocked by boulders—we’re trapped!”

Zhao Ming’s heart lurched. Staring at the precipices above, where more boulders threatened to fall, he could only grit his teeth. “All soldiers, follow me! Break through!”

But with five thousand soldiers’ survival instincts surging, order collapsed. Their retreat cut off, chaos reigned. The army pressed and shoved, desperate to escape, like ants on a hot pan.

Hearing the commotion below, the men atop the cliffs quickened their efforts, forcing the boulders forward with crowbars—six or seven strong men to each stone.

Boom!

The first boulder crashed down, growing larger in the terrified eyes of those below.

In an instant, flesh and blood were smashed into a grisly pulp—after the boulder rolled away, it was impossible to distinguish man from horse, all crushed into a bloody mass.

With the first stone, hundreds more followed, thundering into the valley, as if to fill it up entirely.

“Help! Save me!” The valley echoed with thousands of screams and cries. Horses stampeded wildly, trampling soldiers underfoot. In the chaos, it was impossible to say whether more died from panic or from the falling stones.

Zhao Ming, dodging the deadly boulders, witnessed the merciless slaughter of his men.

“Sir, flee quickly!” his adjutant urged, spurring his horse forward.

Zhao Ming had given up hope. “Five thousand men, all lost. As vanguard commander, I cannot shirk responsibility. Even if I returned, I would not escape death.”

“Sir, do not give in to despair! Where there’s life, there’s hope!” the adjutant pleaded.

Even as they spoke, a massive boulder hurtled toward them with unstoppable force.

“Look out!” Zhao Ming shoved his adjutant aside.

Through the adjutant’s shocked gaze, Zhao Ming was swallowed by the stone...

“Sir!”

The valley was a charnel house, the stench of blood rising to the sky, bits of flesh carried together by a river of gore.

When the boulders had done their work, a hail of arrows slaughtered any who remained.

Thus, the entire force of fifty thousand perished in the mountain depths.

...

Gasping for breath, a man clutched his right arm and staggered forward. His vision blurred; a small stone tripped him, revealing the arrow lodged in his back, blood still oozing from the wound.

He was none other than Wang Zhe, the adjutant whom Zhao Ming had saved at the cost of his own life.

He felt his strength ebbing away, powerless to prevent it.

Suddenly, footsteps approached—closer and closer. Hope flared in his heart; perhaps rescue had come.

But a voice dashed his last hope: “So there’s a survivor. If we bring him to the general, we might obtain some valuable intelligence. The general will surely reward us handsomely.”

Wang Zhe longed for death, but his battered body could not move. His eyelids fluttered, trying to open, but finally closed in despair.

Meanwhile, in the rebel camp at Shengzhou...

Wenshan Yuan and Tang Jiuyuan sat together, drinking wine and playing chess—a sight the soldiers would scarcely believe. The two had quarreled bitterly, their feud over the young lord irreconcilable. Though the imperial army attacked, and they should have stood united, the rift between them remained.

Wenshan Yuan placed a piece, drained his cup, then sighed heavily, lost in thought.

Tang Jiuyuan was about to move when he heard the sigh. “Didn’t we win? Why the long face?”

Wenshan Yuan shook his head. “We won the battle, but against our own people. There is no joy in that.”

Growing more agitated, Wenshan Yuan pushed back his chair. “I’m done. I have no heart for chess tonight.”

“Don’t rush off. Let’s relax a bit. We put on such a show for the soldiers—let’s enjoy a moment’s peace with some wine.” Tang Jiuyuan hurried to detain him.

“How goes the matter of the young lord?” he asked, quickly changing the subject.

Wenshan Yuan sat again, complaining, “Don’t mention him. That boy is a sly one—he even fooled the doctor I found for him.”

“Oh? Do tell,” said Tang Jiuyuan, intrigued. The young lord, it seemed, was hardly naive.

“I kidnapped the old physician’s granddaughter to force him to treat the heir, but somehow, that boy swayed him. The physician risked everything, trying to sneak a letter to Yang Tingyu and the others right under my nose.”

Wenshan Yuan’s anger flared. “I arranged for his treatment, and he tries to bite the hand that feeds him.”

Tang Jiuyuan burst out laughing. “Our young lord’s tongue is sharper than the late marshal’s ever was!”

“You can hardly blame him,” Tang Jiuyuan added. “To him, we are villains, and his life is constantly at risk.”

But Wenshan Yuan only sneered. “Do you really think that letter was a plea for help?”

“Oh?” Tang Jiuyuan was puzzled. “What did it say?”

“See for yourself,” said Wenshan Yuan, producing the letter and tossing it onto the board, scattering the pieces.

Tang Jiuyuan glanced at the envelope, then at Wenshan Yuan. “What could a child’s letter possibly contain?”

“Read it and see.”

Tang Jiuyuan opened the letter. The handwriting was crooked, childish—almost laughable—but as he read, his expression changed from amusement to astonishment.

Finishing, he set the letter down heavily. “If I didn’t know the young lord’s true age, I’d suspect this was written by someone our age.”

“Exactly. The young lord knew Zhang Yuan could never deliver the letter, so he wrote of surrendering Yang Tingyu to us, inviting him to join our cause against the court. He meant for the old physician to die, so the letter would fall into my hands. If I truly harbored ambitions of independence, Yang Tingyu’s support would be vital, and this letter would earn my trust.”

“Indeed, the young lord’s cunning far surpasses ours at his age,” Tang Jiuyuan agreed.

“And that’s not all,” Wenshan Yuan continued with a wry smile. “He’s already made contact with the Six Gates.”

“Hm?” Tang Jiuyuan was taken aback. “After the Su household’s destruction, the young lord was cast adrift—how could he cross paths with the Six Gates?”

“Let me explain,” said Wenshan Yuan, recounting the events of that night. “I had men secretly watching the young lord’s quarters. Then, I discovered a Six Gates outsider sneaking into camp. I hurried over and concealed myself outside, listening in.”

“But you weren’t even in camp that night, weren’t you?” Tang Jiuyuan interrupted.

“Ah!” Wenshan Yuan waved a hand. “I knew someone would try to lure me out, so I had others don disguises and go out with Li Mi, while I stayed behind in hiding. If the Six Gates tried anything, I’d catch them myself. It turned out to be just an outsider—hardly worth mentioning.”

He then recounted the conversation between Su Bai and Zhou Ziheng.

Tang Jiuyuan laughed, clapping his hands. “Our young lord’s wit is truly unmatched, even compared to his mother! With such a mind, you need not worry for our future.”

“No, that is precisely what worries me,” Wenshan Yuan said, his brows furrowing.

“Why?” Tang Jiuyuan asked, puzzled.

“Zhang Yuan saved his life, yet he was willing to use that life as a bargaining chip for my trust, to secure a chance at escape. It was self-preservation, but such ruthless cunning is not what I hoped for. A man like that cannot bear the heavy responsibilities entrusted by the marshal—he is destined to walk a lonely path.”

Tang Jiuyuan stared at the disordered chessboard for a long while before replying, “But if he were a paragon of virtue, how could he have survived alone to reach us?”

Their eyes met, and for a long moment, neither spoke.