Chapter 106: Western Xia

“Where is Temujin of the Kiyat tribe?” Guo Jing could hardly wait to ask after defeating the Naiman tribe and capturing Tayang Khan.

“We didn’t see Temujin—he never came this way. We only saw Sangkun leading his defeated troops past us, but they didn’t stay long before moving on.” Tayang Khan’s voice trembled; he was truly terrified.

Guo Jing frowned inwardly. If Temujin hadn’t fled west, he must have gone south or east. As for Sangkun, Guo Jing paid him no mind—this man was doomed to cause no great trouble.

“Take him away. The Naiman nobles must be closely guarded. In time, we will gather evidence of their crimes and make them pay for their deeds.” Guo Jing spoke with iron resolve, his tone leaving no room for doubt.

With the nomadic warlords just crushed, this was a time of great turmoil—no room for the slightest carelessness.

Meanwhile, in the region spanning Ningxia, Gansu, northeastern Qinghai, western Inner Mongolia, and northwestern Shaanxi—a territory over twenty thousand li wide—the Western Xia welcomed a group of visitors from the Mongolian steppe. They had traveled great distances, their faces caked with dust, utterly exhausted, their spirits drained. Their bodies bore wounds, light or heavy, their appearance ragged, like a pack of stray dogs fleeing for their lives.

Though they now looked like broken dogs, their sturdy warhorses and the sharp bows clutched in their hands still inspired awe in the Western Xia soldiers on guard, who dared not show the slightest contempt. These soldiers knew well that even a fallen warrior was no easy foe. They immediately acted, firing arrows ahead of the newcomers as a warning.

“Don’t shoot! Don’t shoot! I am Temujin, Khan of the Mongols, come here to seek refuge with your king—we have urgent matters to discuss!” The leader raised his hands and dismounted, walking toward the Western Xia lines.

“Father Khan.”

“Great Khan.”

Seeing Temujin’s move, Jochi, Ögedei, and the other generals called out to stop him.

“Be silent. We are like wolves hunted relentlessly by hunters. Without the courage to face death, without the resolve to gamble everything, we will only let the hunters close in until we are beaten to death.”

“We must fight like wolves—with all our strength—to break free and find hope, or we will not survive the hunter’s pursuit.”

With that, Temujin strode forward toward the Western Xia camp. Seeing only Temujin approaching, the Western Xia troops held their arrows.

Arriving at the Western Xia camp, Temujin sighed and said, “I must see your general. We have vital news to deliver to your king.”

Seeing Temujin’s grim expression, the officer in charge of inspection dared not slacken. He immediately hurried off. Soon after, a Western Xia general arrived, clad in heavy armor, mounted on a towering steed, radiating authority. His eyes were sharp as a hawk’s, brimming with power. When he caught sight of Temujin’s ragged state, a sneer curled his lips.

“Oh? Isn’t this the northern Mongol barbarian? What happened? One short while ago you were mighty—now you’re this pitiful? Do you think this ragged state will please our great king? What, no reply?”

For some reason, as the Western Xia general met Temujin’s gaze, an inexplicable unease surged within him. His eyes involuntarily sought to look away.

He forced himself to steady his nerves, trying to meet the barbarian’s stare with firmness. But each time their eyes met, a chill crept over him—as if every pretense and defense had been stripped bare.

Finally, the barbarian spoke: “General, I admit the Great White State is powerful—its population and soldiers far exceed ours. Our men can’t even equip every soldier with a saber, yet you armor yours. But if you are so strong, why have you been powerless against our barbarian raids?”

“Your expression reminds me of my foster father, Wang Han, and of Jamukha of the Onggirat. Do you know what happened to them? They’re gone. My Kiyat tribe, my foster father’s Kerait tribe, my foster brother Jamukha’s Onggirat tribe—all gone. Now only the Naiman remain on the steppe. But how long can the Naiman last?”

Upon hearing Temujin’s words, the Western Xia general—who moments before had been arrogant and dismissive—felt as if struck by a tidal wave. His shock was overwhelming. His face turned pale, his eyes wide with disbelief.

“Impossible! The Kerait tribe—even our Great White State, mobilizing all our strength, could not destroy them. No force on the steppe could wipe them out in a year—not even the Jin, with a million troops!”

The general shouted, voice hoarse.

“Why would I lie to you? I wish it weren’t true more than you do. Just send someone to the steppe to ask—there’s only one power now: the Chinese Democratic Republic.”

Temujin forced a bitter smile, his voice heavy with resignation. As he spoke, a shadow of desolation settled over his face.

“Your men will stay here. I’ll take you to meet our sovereign.” The Western Xia general immediately ordered a swift horse brought for Temujin.

The general, accompanied by his personal guard, rode day and night without rest, racing toward the Western Xia capital. Along the way, they dared not slacken or delay—as if the hourglass in their hands had sped up, every moment thick with urgency and tension.

Alas, Western Xia’s geography was painfully awkward. Since its founding, it had been trapped in a circle of enemies, as if surrounded by wolves. To the south lay the populous, culturally rich Song Dynasty. To the north stood the mighty Liao Empire, its cavalry sweeping across the land like an unstoppable flood.

Western Xia was but a grain of sand caught between these two titans—forced to watch the Song’s watchful eyes and guard against the Liao’s covetous gaze. Survival in this gap was arduous, every step a struggle.

Just as the Song and Liao weakened, a fiercer power emerged: the Jin. It struck swiftly, annihilating the once-mighty Liao, then turned south and crushed the Northern Song, capturing both Song emperors and dragging them to Wuguo City. With such a ferocious neighbor so close, Western Xia dared not even breathe loudly.

Now, not only the south and east had powerful enemies—the north had one too. Could heaven not grant the Great White State even a sliver of mercy? How could new enemies keep appearing, each more terrifying than the last?