Chapter 94: The Open Strategy

“Great Khan, although their short staves are formidable, if we believe their only strength lies in those staves, we are gravely mistaken. Great Khan, do not forget that the twelve thousand soldiers who fought today were still their enemies just a month ago.”

“What does this prove? It proves they won over their enemies and turned them into warriors willing to die for them in only one month. After just one month, a single order from them could move an entire tribe—men, women, children, livestock—all the way behind the Great Wall. What immense organizational power this is! Even without those terrifying short staves today, a hundred thousand allied troops would still not be their match.” Muqali declared with solemn conviction.

Temujin nodded and said: “Facing such a formidable opponent, what reason do we have to be arrogant? What right do we have to be arrogant? If they could win the hearts of the Tatara people within a mere month after killing their leader, then they can surely win over every other tribe on the steppe.”

“Muqali, where do you think the Tatara people will strike next?”

Muqali mused: “After this great battle, every tribe on the steppe except us has been severely crippled—but the degree of damage varies. The Onggirat were hit first and hardest: they fell into a Tatara ambush, and their leader Jamukha died on the battlefield. Now the Onggirat are shattered.”

“After destroying the Onggirat, they will turn to the Taidchiut—weak and already struck first.”

“Oh? Why?” Temujin asked, puzzled. “Why don’t they come destroy us? We are now the only tribe on the steppe still intact. If they eliminate us, nothing stands in their way to unify the steppe—especially since we were the ones who initiated the alliance.”

“No, they won’t,” Muqali said firmly. “Their strategic intent is clear: in battle, they continuously recruit comrades and establish revolutionary bases, bringing benefits to countless people, until their enemies drown in the ocean of people’s war.”

After Muqali spoke, the men in the tent scratched their heads, baffled. Chila’un stepped forward and shouted: “Muqali, can you speak plainly? Don’t use words we don’t understand!”

“Fine, I’ll say it plainly: the Tatara people divided the nobles’ pastures and livestock among the herders and slaves. After we defeat the Tatara, won’t we seize those pastures and livestock for ourselves? Won’t the slaves and herders then have to fight us? And if the Tatara promise our own slaves and herders: ‘Kill your masters, and we’ll give you our livestock and pastures,’ won’t some of our people start thinking differently? Won’t they rise up against us?”

“When all our herders and slaves rise up against us, that’s when we drown in the ocean of people’s war. Do you understand now?” Muqali finished. The tent fell silent. Every man inside broke out in cold sweat.

Unconsciously, they pictured a scene: the slaves, who had always bowed before them, and the herders, who had always fled at their sight, now stood together, staring at them with eyes burning with vengeful fury, each grabbing weapons and charging at them without regard for life, drowning them in a sea of hatred.

As steppe people who always preferred to solve problems with blades, they despised treachery and deceit—because such tricks always left them at a disadvantage.

Yet today, they would rather face treachery and deceit, because once you know about it, you won’t fall for it. But this strategy—even when plainly explained to them—still could not be undone.

Compared to this open, righteous use of the tide of history, their old tricks of deceit were utterly insignificant.

Once the tide had formed, no matter how hard they struggled, it would be useless.

They were terrified. Many of them had lived the miserable life of slaves; to reach their noble positions, they had paid untold costs. So they feared more than anything falling from the clouds.

“Great Khan, their intent goes beyond merely destroying the steppe. After wiping out all the nobles on the steppe, they will turn to the nobles of the Jin state—the emperor, the landlords—of Western Xia, of Great Song. None will be spared. The Tatara leader said: once class war begins, it must be carried to total victory.”

“I think we should inform the Jin high command of this. After we obtain their rifles, we should send them to the Jin, declaring these are Tatara weapons. They will surely demand the Tatara surrender their arms—then both sides will be forced into a fierce battle.” Muqali laid out his plan after painstaking analysis.

“But what if the Jin people don’t believe us?” Borokh asked.

“They will,” Muqali countered. “If we had such weapons, we would have already destroyed the Tatara. Moreover, the Tatara have defeated over a hundred thousand steppe allies and now hold unstoppable momentum. The Jin will certainly seek any means to weaken them.”

“Good. Then let us infiltrate the Onggirat as prisoners, undergo reorganization, and join the Tatara forces. That way, we can secretly steal their rifles.” Temujin immediately made his decision.

Upon hearing Temujin’s proposal, the generals immediately knelt and begged him to rescind his order.

“No, Great Khan! You bear the entire tribe’s fate. If anything happens to you, the consequences are unimaginable!” they all cried in unison.

Temujin waved his hand dismissively. “Since I was nine, when my father was poisoned by the Tatara and our own people cast out my mother and me, I’ve faced pursuit not only from enemy tribes but from my own uncle. Yet I survived—and built the Kiyat tribe we have today. My life is hard as iron.”

“Of course, if we only needed to steal a few weapons, I wouldn’t risk myself. But we face a problem: our enemy is unlike any steppe tribe before. This enemy is unprecedentedly powerful, and we know nothing about them. If we continue like this, we will only fall further behind.”

“To defeat this formidable enemy, we must understand him. We must understand why he is strong—only then can we become strong ourselves.”

Temujin’s expression was utterly resolute. His father had named him Temujin, hoping he would be as unyielding as steel.

The men in the tent were moved by his determination.

Boorchu knelt first and said: “Great Khan, since I was a child and saw you draw your bow and drive off our enemies, I swore to stand with you in life and death. If you go, take me with you.”

“Great Khan, your Batyr will always charge ahead for you, cutting down every enemy before you, blocking every arrow aimed at you,” Subutai said gravely.

“Great Khan, Qubilai follows your footsteps and never lags behind.”

“Great Khan, Muqali will...”

“Great Khan, Jelme is willing...”

One after another, the generals pleaded to join. Temujin sighed. “If all of you leave, who will lead the tribe? Can we really rely on Jochi and those boys?”

“Then it’s settled: Muqali, you’ve already been there—you stay behind to assist Jochi and the others. Subutai, Qubilai, Chila’un, Boorchu, Jelme—you come with me.”