Chapter 710: Atop the Great Qing Mountains

The fifteenth year of Chongzhen, the ninth day of the ninth month, atop the Great Qing Mountains.

About forty or fifty li north from Guihua City lies a section of the Baidaoling Great Wall built during the Qin and Han periods. After millennia of wind and sand erosion, the beacon towers have been worn into sharp points or steamed-bun shapes. There are also rumors that this section of the wall may well have been built during the reign of King Wuling of Zhao.

Following these various ruins and beacon towers — whether the Qin Shi Huang Great Wall, the Han-dynasty Great Wall, or relics left by the Jurchens of the Jin Kingdom — further toward the northern foothills of the Great Qing Mountains, one reaches the Qin-Han Great Wall at the Shierdeng Pass. This is an essential north-south route, controlling the vital communication artery between the Tumochuan Plain before the mountains and the grasslands beyond.

Here two mountains face each other, the terrain strategically critical. After successive dynasties of Han armies gained control of the Great Qing Mountains, they all built fortresses here and garrisoned troops. Yet like the Great Walls of every era, these fortresses eventually fell into ruin, leaving only a stretch of debris and a few broken sections of wall.

It was the ninth day of the ninth month, the Double Ninth Festival — a fine time for autumn outings and climbing high to gaze into the distance. But north of the frontier, the cold was already biting, and remnants of snow lingered on the mountain paths. Suddenly, a chaotic clatter of hooves sounded as a dozen or so riders fled for their lives. These riders were all dressed in Mongol fashion, and some kept bending their bows and nocking arrows, shooting behind them.

Pursuing them relentlessly from behind were over a hundred men dressed in Ming army attire, though among them were some in grassland herdsmen's garb as well. They carried only heavy crossbows drawn by foot, firing continuously forward. These foot-drawn heavy crossbows somewhat resembled the Divine Arm bows of the Song dynasty. Though difficult to string, their power was formidable, and Mongol riders ahead were constantly being shot off their horses.

Among the pursuing Ming troops were also some Mongol cavalry warriors wielding sulde lances. These men were far more skilled in horsemanship. Seeing that the Mongol scout riders ahead were about to break out of the Shierdeng Pass, some suddenly leaped onto the empty horses beside them, switching mounts in the blink of an eye. Then they spurred their speed, slanting up the slopes on both sides, and in that way overtook the fleeing Mongol riders ahead.

In an instant, the sound of bowstrings thrummed without cease. The Ming Mongol cavalry who had charged up both slopes loosed a flurry of arrows like a string of beads, shooting the Mongol scout riders on the path into a tumbling chaos of men and horses. Then the Ming troops behind caught up, and with a flurry of blade chops and arrow shots, not one of the dozen or so fleeing Mongol riders escaped. Every one of them died there.

A short, stocky Ming Mongol soldier jumped off his horse, drew his curved blade in one motion, and without regard for the Mongol rider before him who was still struggling, hacked off his head and hung it, dripping blood, at his waist.

"Tabunang, you've earned merit again."

A Ming Mongol rider caught up from behind and shouted with delight.

The man lifted his face, flushed with two patches of high-plateau red, and said: "Gald, yes, becoming registered as frontier subjects is no problem now, but that's not enough. I want merit — in the future I'll exchange it for a big estate, become a grand master, and bring Awa and Eji to live there! I also want to exchange for a small estate to give to Adu as a dowry. Even though I've already chopped the heads of a few Tumed savages, it's still not enough. I want more military merit, more savage heads!"

Gald called out: "Don't worry about Uranjurig. I already have merit — exchanging for a small estate in the future won't be a problem. When she marries me, she'll surely enjoy the prosperous life of a young mistress..."

The two Mongol soldiers chatted joyfully. Having followed the army for many days, they were now thoroughly familiar with the merit-value system prevalent in the Jingbian Army.

Just hearing about it, they felt this merit system was truly a fine thing. It could be exchanged for money and grain, for weapons, for horses, for land — even ready-made estates could be exchanged, with no need to build them yourself. Once you moved in, there was a steady income, and the annual profit rate was reassuring enough. Truly an essential tool for the lazy.

Of course, exchanging for a ready-made estate required even more merit value, but many soldiers, impatient with managing things themselves, still chose ready-made estates one after another. Once exchanged and in hand, there was a steady income — far better than taking a vast stretch of wasteland.

Was merit really that good? The Mongol soldiers of the New Auxiliary Battalion were not without doubts in their hearts, but seeing every member of the Marquis of Yongning's core troops speak this way, their doubts naturally dissolved. People are like that — they all have a herd-following, sheep-like mentality.

Moreover, these were all tangible, solid rewards, unlike in their original tribes. Even if they followed the army to plunder the Central Plains and seized some good things, once they returned to the grasslands, the tribal chieftains had countless ways to keep you destitute. So in this campaign beyond the frontier, the New Auxiliary troops all vied eagerly, fighting as if they had no regard for their lives. Tabunang and Gald were representative of this.

Word had it that the two had already caught the attention of Battalion Commander Zeng Jiuyi, and it was possible that after the campaign they would be received by the Grand General Wang Dou as model representatives.

Like Gald and Tabunang, a great wave of naturalized Mongol soldiers were all gleefully stroking the heads hanging at their waists. The faces of the Loyalty Battalion Ming soldiers among this group, however, were not so pleasant. Since the campaign beyond the frontier began, the merits they had earned were far inferior to those of these Mongols who had grown up on horseback.

Among those who had joined the Loyalty Battalion was Xiong Xianbin, formerly the personal general of Xiong Tingrui, the Assistant Regional Commander of the Southern Route of the Border Defense Circuit. He roared at his subordinates: "A disgrace! We've been out fighting the Tartars for some time now, but to this day, the heads you've chopped aren't even half of what the New Auxiliary Battalion has taken... When you set out, every one of your family elders placed earnest hopes on you. But think of it now — you can't even match some naturalized Tartar soldiers. Old Xiong here has lost all face. It pains me to the core..."

Listening to his roar, the subordinates around him turned pale and then flushed by turns, every one of them speechless.

After the campaign beyond the frontier began, as follow-up support for the Azure Dragon Battalion, after Han Chao reached Guihua City, a portion of the Loyalty Battalion — about a thousand cavalry — likewise arrived at the city of Guihua. But given the characteristics of Mongol cavalry, they were not the main force on the battlefield, mostly appearing as flank skirmishers, or as scout riders, search teams, and kill squads.

In this type of warfare, they often could not match the New Auxiliary Battalion Mongols. Take this small engagement coordinating with the Night Scouts of the Sharp Scout Battalion — those among them who participated had once again come off second best. How could any of them hold their heads high?

Watching his subordinates dejected and speechless while the Mongol soldiers beside them were all swaggering with pride, Xiong Xianbin shook his head helplessly, only hoping that when they eventually fought the main force of the Tartar caitiffs, his subordinates could put on a good showing.

Fortunately, this battle had its gains. After the Night Scouts urgently relayed intelligence, he and Lemuge and other subordinates who were searching ahead immediately struck in coordination. He personally led over fifty household retainers as cavalry, and in the end they annihilated every one of these spying Mongol riders, preventing them from passing intelligence to the main Tartar force over by the Little Yellow River. This counted as a major merit.

After carefully tidying up once more, Xiong Xianbin said to a subordinate: "Go. Deliver the field report to the Senior Commandant. Our force has completely wiped out the Tartar caitiff scout riders. The main force's movements remain secret!"

The subordinate gave a loud shout and immediately wheeled his horse back. He rode along the mountain path, passing through mottled, grassy hills, through towering, snow-covered high ridges, through bleak maple woods. Along the way he encountered scout riders constantly, and with their guidance, he charged up a lush, green peak.

He looked down. On the mountain path, fine horses surged like a tide, the cold gleam of weapons flashing densely, and layer upon layer of Sun-Moon Wave-Tossed Banners and Wang-character great banners swaying rhythmically. At the same time, wave after wave of New Auxiliary Battalion Mongol cavalry followed behind.

The cavalry column — its head invisible ahead, its tail unseen behind — a dense mass of Great Ming horsemen, was speeding swiftly toward the northern foothills of the Great Qing Mountains, their dense forest of lances pointing straight into the vault of the sky.

Gazing at this Han cavalry force, a surge of hot emotion welled up in this subordinate's heart. He gave a great shout and spurred his horse straight down.

"Senior Commandant, Regional Commander Wang, here is the battle report from the front!"

"Mm."

Han Chao returned the salute and said flatly: "You've worked hard. Fall in with the column."

"Your humble subordinate obeys!"

The rider gave a loud shout and rode back to his own Company Commander's unit.

Beside him, Wang Pu stroked his small mustache and gave a cold snort: "The Tartars want to run — absolutely impossible!"

He gazed at the military force before him and exclaimed in admiration: "Magnificent — our Han army cavalry, magnificent — we... we... we will surely catch all the Tartars by the Little Yellow River in one net, and raise our army's might and keen spirit. Of course, to be safe, it's best to delay until the Marquis of Yongning's main force arrives."

Han Chao beside him said: "Commander Wang's words are most correct."

Watching the dense stream of cavalry passing beside him, his heart surged with emotion as well. As early as when "Actor" and the others had relayed intelligence back, he had resolved to dispatch troops. On the march, after receiving the Grand General's orders, he pressed on without the slightest pause, determined to pin all the north-migrating Tartars on the southern side of the desert — not letting a single one escape.

Listening to the dense drumbeat sound of horse hooves striking the ground, he shouted again: "Increase speed!"

By the Little Yellow River.

This place lay at the outer edge of the northern foothills of the Great Qing Mountains. Within its bounds, water and grass were lush and abundant, and lakes were numerous. All the way down to the Sanbuchi Plain, it could be described as: the sky is vast and blue, the wilds boundless, the wind blows the grass low and reveals the cattle and sheep.

Looking back at the Great Qing Mountains, a scene of beautiful mountain and river scenery unfolded — from the flat grasslands to the vast coniferous forests on the mountains, the forests extending all the way up to the snow-capped peaks above. Under the sunlight's glow, they radiated layer upon layer of different enchanting colors.

"Alas, we are about to lose this beautiful pearl. Losing my Qilian Mountains made my six kinds of livestock cease to breed; losing my Yanzhi Mountains made my married women lose their beauty. The Xiongnu lamented so in those days. Must my Tumed tribe likewise lose our homeland now?"

Amid the dense procession of cattle and sheep ahead, watching the grief-stricken expressions of the tribespeople, Guluge suddenly let out a mournful sigh. Those beside him wore similarly dejected, downcast looks.

Guluge, Hanggou, and the others had long since returned to the tribe's hiding place, but after several days, they had not traveled more than a few dozen li. The multitude of cattle, sheep, carts, and horses made movement slow — that was one reason. After all, men and horses could run swiftly, but cattle and sheep, even whipped, could not go much faster. Their reluctance to part, their unwillingness to leave Monan, was an even more important reason for the main body's sluggish movement.

As Guluge lamented, Hanggou remained silent. He seemed to have aged much compared to before. In the past, he and Guluge had not gotten along, but seeing Guluge like this, he could not help feeling the sorrow of the fox when the hare dies. He turned and consoled Guluge: "Let's go. Don't grieve. For now we are leaving temporarily, but the affairs of the world are hard to predict. Who knows when we might fight our way back?"

Guluge looked at him: "We can return?"

Hanggou's expression was dark and cold: "Who can say clearly about the affairs of the grasslands? The Central Plains always waxes and wanes. When it flourishes, its military edge stretches across the grasslands. But when it declines, it can only retreat to the heartland within the Great Wall. For thousands of years, hasn't it always been this way?"

He said: "If the Central Plains remained strong forever, there would be nothing more to say. But has there ever been a China that remained strong forever? When they are strong, we simply avoid them. If Monan cannot be stayed in, we go to Mobei. If Mobei cannot be stayed in, we roam westward. If the tribe nomadizes westward for a hundred years, then nomadizes eastward for another hundred years and returns, the Central Plains will often have already declined, and it will once again be the world of us grassland warriors. We Tumed will return. Even if we grow old and do not live to see that day, our descendants will surely have that day!"

Guluge sighed, fearing only that once the Tumed tribe left, a later rising tribe would seize the land and grasslands when the Central Plains declined.

The Central Plains waxed and waned — was the grassland any different? Had there ever been a tribe that ruled forever? After the Xiongnu came the Xianbei, after the Xianbei the Rouran, after the Rouran the Turks, after the Turks the Khitans, then the Jurchens, then the Mongols — who could remain the strong master forever?

Thinking it all over, it all came down to the Manchus making them send troops, which ultimately brought Wang Dou's retaliation. He said bitterly: "It's all the fault of that damned Huang Taiji. It doesn't matter that he died, but he dragged down the descendants of Genghis Khan. I've seen through these fellows now... And also, Jirgalang and Dudu have kept their troops still all along, sitting by and watching our Tumed perish without a care. Have the descendants of Nurhaci lost their gall as well?"

Hanggou looked at him and shook his head wordlessly. Earlier, he himself had wanted to surrender and submit, but it was Guluge who had been adamant about making an enemy of Wang Dou. Now, however, regardless of the fact that Yoto was his nephew, he was cursing the Great Qing state furiously and shifting all the blame onto their heads.

He said: "We cannot blame the Great Qing entirely. Wang Dou's main force is massed at Xinghe Post and other places. If they came to support us, Jirgalang and the others would be trapped in a heavy encirclement. They are a guest army — after coming all this way, how many riders could make it back to Liaodong? Besides, they have also come to the edge of the desert to receive us and can surely escort our tribe safely to Mobei. Perhaps afterward they will allocate a piece of land for us in Liaodong..."

Guluge snorted, still full of bitter resentment and dissatisfaction: "Receive us... receive us my ass!"

Just as he was full of complaints, scout riders came rolling in, bringing news that scared the souls out of Guluge and the others.

A few days later, the disheveled Guluoge, full of unwillingness, faced the allied forces led by the Jingbian Army once again arrayed in formation. Although they had only ten thousand cavalry and his own side had nearly twenty thousand able-bodied horsemen, every tribal chief looked ashen and dared not form up for battle.

Han Chao's feathered cavalry were simply too terrifying. Over three thousand riders pressed forward like wall after towering wall; among the heroes of the grasslands, who could withstand their edge?

Moreover, with Wang Pu's main-battalion cavalry and the newly attached Mongol auxiliaries guarding both flanks, every weakness of the feathered cavalry had been shored up. How could one fight against that?

Hang Gao was frantic with anxiety. Over these days, he had finally discerned Han Chao's strategy. He did not intend to annihilate them now, but like a hyena, he clung tightly to their heels, while his scout riders spread thickly, constantly prowling the perimeter and cutting down their scouts. He was waiting for the main force to arrive — Wang Dou was almost here!

They must immediately abandon all the tribes, abandon all the cattle and sheep, and flee with light cavalry. No matter how reluctant Guluoge was to part with these possessions, he had to give them up!

Furthermore, after Han Chao caught up with them, word had come that Jirgalang had already fled with several thousand elite Manchu cavalry, running straight back toward Liaodong.

Perhaps they had never come to rescue them at all, but only to scavenge after the fact — they might even have had thoughts of looting a burning house. After Wang Dou's rise, they had abandoned the Tumed tribe a thousand li away. The painstaking semicircular encirclement of the Great Ming that Huang Taiji had built, stretching from Liaodong to Qinghai, had been casually discarded by the Shunzhi Emperor Dorgon.

What was more, the Ordos Mongols had long since fled, no longer paying any heed to the lavish rewards and guarantees offered by their own side. And the Outer Vassal Mongols of the three Khalkha tribes were now showing hesitant expressions. Perhaps they too were stirring with thoughts of withdrawal, wanting to turn their forces around and retreat.

Seeing Guluoge's frenzied state, still unwilling to part with the tribal population, the cattle, sheep, and baggage, Hang Gao gritted his teeth. He resolved to make one final attempt at persuasion. If Guluoge still refused to leave, he would take the Tumed Right Banner and leave on his own.

And just at that moment, on the eastern horizon, the thunder of hooves rolled like startling thunder. Masses of dark, layer upon layer of cavalry surged like locusts. Sheet after sheet of sun-and-moon wave banners spread across the edge of the sky. Wang Dou had indeed arrived with the main force.

Hang Gao's face turned the color of dead ashes. He murmured, "It is over!" (To be continued...)