Chapter 89

"First, we exploited our conflict with the Jin to plunge the entire Tatar people into panic, then sent letters to the nobles of each tribe, deliberately revealing our movements to stir up mutual suspicion—yes, though the leader of the Buluhui tribe is young, his cunning runs deep; if he grows stronger, he may well become our greatest enemy."

During this time, Temujin had been constantly sending scouts to investigate the Tatars’ situation and Nie Huaishang’s movements; for some reason, Nie Huaishang gave him a sense of grave danger—the kind of threat that would strike him down the moment he let his guard down.

Hearing this, Jochi stepped forward and said: "Father, I’ve inquired: the Buluhui tribe was previously the weakest of the Six Tatar Tribes. Though their leadership changed and their strength grew, their troops only increased from five hundred to three thousand. The remaining Tatar tribes still number over twenty thousand—Buluhui stands little chance of victory."

Temujin nodded and said: "Jochi, to investigate an enemy’s strength before engaging them shows you have the makings of a commander of ten thousand troops. My years of teaching have not been in vain."

Delighted by his father’s praise, Jochi quickly replied: "Father, I’ve already sent men to scout the Tatars. If anything new arises, they’ll ride hard to bring us word immediately."

"Is that so? Then our thoughts are perfectly aligned—ha ha ha!" Temujin burst into laughter. Jochi, embarrassed, scratched his head and joined in.

In that moment, an endless warmth and joy flowed between father and son, as if the entire world had been touched by their laughter, filled with harmony and peace.

"Report!" At that moment, a scout galloped back at full speed.

"Ah, Shilie, I sent you out yesterday to gather intelligence—how quickly you’ve returned! Do you have fresh battle reports?" Jochi helped the scout up, his tone gentle.

"Your Highness, Great Khan, last night the Tatar nobles launched a coup. The Tatar leader dispatched troops to suppress them—when suddenly, another leader of the Buluhui tribe arrived with his forces." The scout’s voice trembled, his lips and legs shaking as if recalling a scene of unspeakable horror.

"The Tatars were crushed. In a single night, every tribe fell before Buluhui. All submitted beneath their feet."

"Impossible!" Jochi grabbed Shilie by the collar, furious: "The Tatars had over twenty thousand troops—how could they be defeated in one night by a tribe of only three thousand?"

"Because a god descended that night—the leader of the Buluhui tribe is a divine being." Shilie’s tone left Jochi and Temujin stunned.

"What madness are you spouting? That the Buluhui leader is a god? If you speak such nonsense again, I’ll beat you senseless!" Jochi moved to drag Shilie out.

Shilie had always been a capable servant, so Jochi wanted to spare his life. As he pulled him out, he called to his father: "Father, I’ll punish him properly when I return—he won’t dare speak such foolishness again."

"I’m not lying! You don’t know what I saw—I saw the Buluhui leader commanding lightning! No—no, that night, the god himself led his army to punish those who defied him. He pointed to the sky, and thunder roared down from the heavens, striking the rebels dead in an instant, reducing them to ash!" Shilie spoke with utter devotion.

Watching the mad scout, Temujin waved his hand: "Go."

Temujin and Jochi said nothing, silently waiting for the scout Temujin had sent. The man’s account and demeanor matched Shilie’s exactly.

They were both baffled—what was going on? Buluhui had swallowed the entire Tatar tribe overnight, and every scout returned half-mad.

On the other side, every Tatar stared in awe at Guo Jing mounted on his horse. The battle the night before had shaken them to their core. Beyond the apocalyptic thunder, the weapons used by Guo Jing’s troops were utterly alien—enemy chieftains’ armies had collapsed at four to five hundred paces. This battle had utterly shattered every noble’s hidden ambition.

A force wielding such divine power was beyond the reach of ordinary mortals.

Watching their expressions, Guo Jing thought to himself: "With them this awestruck, they won’t oppose my plan to seize the rich and redistribute the land."

Back at the tribe, Guo Jing immediately called Nie Huaishang to a meeting; his mother, Li Ping, was also present. Since settling in Buluhui, he had brought her to live with him.

"Jing’er, tell me—why did you accept the Jin’s investiture?" Li Ping fixed him with a piercing gaze.

"Mother, honestly, I didn’t want to—but our strength is too weak. We have no power to overturn the table. Fighting the Jin might feel satisfying, but wouldn’t we Song people still become slaves of a conquered nation?" Guo Jing looked at his mother with sincerity. It was hard to keep the Song people from becoming slaves; harder still to build a new world of equality. He had to learn to bow.

"Mother, though we bow to the Jin now, one day we will destroy them. Zhang Chu’an has already established a base in Jin territory—he’s making great strides..."

"Enough," Li Ping cut him off. "Huaishang already told me. I only wanted to hear it from your own lips. I’m just a woman—better I don’t know these secrets. If I spoke them out, it would bring endless trouble." She turned and hurried out.

If she stayed, she feared she would burst into tears. In her eyes, her son was the child who left home at four, returned burdened with a responsibility heavier than Yue Fei’s charge to crush the Yellow Dragon. He had grown capable, mature, now constantly straining his mind to avoid mistakes.

She had not witnessed this growth. She did not know how much effort it took to learn such skills, nor how many trials had turned a naive boy into a cautious, thoughtful man.

How exhausted must her son be?

Watching his mother’s retreating figure, Guo Jing said nothing, turning to discuss matters with Nie Huaishang.

"While eliminating the remaining Tatar tribes, I sensed several observers watching us from afar. I had no time to deal with them during battle—but now Temujin knows what weapons we wield."

"Ah, if that’s the case, they won’t dare face us head-on and give us targets to shoot at. But it doesn’t matter much—even if Temujin knows our weapons, he can’t replicate them. Not even the Type 56, a 1950s weapon—he can’t even make Ming-era matchlocks. No iron, no skilled craftsmen—he can’t even muster enough armor."

The only way Temujin could get a Type 56 would be to steal one from us. But stealing one would cost dearly—and how many shots could he fire? He can’t make bullets. A gun without bullets is just a firestick.

Hmm, if we reorganize and train the Tatars, we’ll have roughly fifteen thousand troops. Though fewer than Temujin’s, we still hold a significant advantage.

Even if he’s a once-in-a-generation genius, he’ll need at least four archers to trade for one rifleman.