Chapter 225: The Envoy

Cao Bianjiao leveled his horse lance, turned his mount's head in a diagonal arc to slow its pace, and only after the cavalrymen following closely behind had all completed their turn did he gradually rein in his warhorse.

Looking out across the vast grassland before him, only a handful of warhorses stood alone in place, their Tartar riders gone from their backs. The withered yellow grass was strewn with corpses lying every which way, and occasionally the cries of the severely wounded who had not yet died rang out.

It was already the ninth month of the ninth year of Chongzhen. Temperatures in the north had dropped below freezing, yet since winter began no heavy snow had fallen, leaving the vast grassland extremely dry. Cao Bianjiao planned to lead his men back to Lintao after this battle, lest they be trapped by a sudden heavy snowfall.

"Gather the horses, search for the wounded, clean up the battlefield! Send scouts out fifty li! Find a water source, then rest and eat!"

Cao Bianjiao tucked his horse lance into the saddlebag on his warhorse and swung himself down from the mount.

Several cavalry squadrons acknowledged the order and, led by their respective squad leaders, galloped off in different directions; the remaining cavalrymen dismounted, set aside their brow-swords, long spears, and other weapons, drew the ring-pommel sabers from their waists, and headed toward the nearby battlefield.

After Cao Wenzhao and Cao Bianjiao led their forces to Lintao Prefecture, following Sun Chuanting's instructions, Cao Wenzhao drilled and reformed the captured roving bandits on one hand while cultivating military farmland on the other, while Cao Bianjiao led a thousand cavalry westward to search for traces of Mongol tribes, seeking opportunities to strike them.

Over the course of several months, Cao Bianjiao's men raided and destroyed several small Mongol tribes, killing several hundred Mongol fighting men and seizing countless cattle, sheep, and horses. The Mongol tribes large and small near Lintao Prefecture were terrified at the mere mention of them and were forced to continue migrating westward, farther away from the Great Ming.

In confrontations with Ming cavalry, the Mongols' weakness in lacking military equipment was exposed completely.

Lacking iron weapons and armor, most Mongols wore leather robes, their weapons were mostly curved sabers, and the arrows they used were basically made from animal bone. Against Ming troops who used horn bows with long arrows, long-handled brow-swords, long spears, and wolf-teeth maces, wore buttoned iron mail on the outside and cotton armor within, their own bows could not shoot through the mail armor that had extremely strong defense against arrows, and their weapons were not as long as the Ming army's great sabers. Ranged attacks posed no threat, and in close combat they were easily hacked, chopped, thrust, and smashed by the enemy's longer weapons. Add to that Cao Bianjiao always leading his men to attack with superior numbers, and soon several Mongol tribes were completely wiped out, while Ming casualties numbered only a few dozen.

Not all Mongols were fearless warriors unafraid of death. In clashes with the Ming army, out of an innate reverence for the strong, many Mongol fighting men, seeing they could not win, would voluntarily surrender in order to preserve their own lives and those of their families.

For these surrendered Mongols, Cao Bianjiao would send men after each battle to deliver them to Lintao Prefecture for his uncle Cao Wenzhao to handle.

According to Sun Chuanting's instructions, Cao Wenzhao would move the surrendered Mongol women, children, and elderly into the interior to cultivate military farmland, while the able-bodied men would herd cattle and sheep along the border regions.

With their families held as hostages, there was no fear of these able-bodied men causing any trouble.

Cao Bianjiao had once released a Mongol tribe and had them carry a message to the royal tent of the Tumed tribe: Surrender to the Great Ming quickly, and the Great Ming would provide the Tumed tribe with grain, iron, salt, and medicine. If not, what awaited them would be the heavenly army descending to exterminate their entire tribe.

"The Tartars released last time should have reached the Tumed royal tent long ago. Why is there still no reply? Could the Tartars truly intend to resist to the end? Judging from the several Mongol tribes we slaughtered, the Tartars should be extremely short of grain and salt. Even if you're some khan or great king, without these supplies who would still listen to your orders?"

Cao Bianjiao sat on a mound of earth, thinking to himself.

According to the plan he and his uncle Cao Wenzhao had formulated, he would first lead his men to raid and kill Mongols to establish his might, then send messengers with letters to show goodwill, the goal being to force the Tumed tribe in the Qinghai region to submit to the court, so that he could select men from among the Mongol fighting men to build a large-scale cavalry force.

Leading thousands upon thousands of horsemen in a charge against the enemy—this scene had appeared in Cao Bianjiao's dreams countless times. What he most wanted to hear now was news that the Tumed tribe had surrendered as a whole.

Mongols were born warriors on horseback. As long as one selected the elite and equipped them properly, they would become a fearsome force.

As for whether they might harbor thoughts of rebellion, that was not a concern.

Because since the founding of the Great Ming, countless Mongols had served the Great Ming, and Mongols did not resist joining the Ming army. Add to that holding their women and children as hostages and providing them with supplies sufficient to improve their lives—there was no fear they would not be loyal.

Whether Mongol or Ming subjects, whoever made their lives better was the one worth serving loyally. The concept of ethnic righteousness did not exist in this era.

After the battlefield was cleaned up, several Ming scouts came to report that a spring with a considerable water flow had been found more than ten li ahead, and there were traces of a tribe having relocated nearby. It seemed the Mongol cavalry that had just fought the Ming army had deliberately sought out the searching Ming troops in order to cover their clansmen's retreat.

"The whole army assembles and heads to the water source! Scouts, investigate further west—if you encounter the enemy, report back immediately!"

Clear spring water gushed forth, extending into a winding stream. Ming soldiers spread out along both banks, washing the warhorses they had unburdened of their gear. In a hundred or so iron cauldrons filled with boiling water, cooked mutton emanated waves of enticing aroma.

Stabbing a large chunk of thick mutton from the boiling iron cauldron with a short knife, Cao Bianjiao waited for it to cool slightly, then pulled out the short knife and set it aside, gripping the meat with both hands and tearing into it with big bites. The Ming soldiers who had washed and fed their warhorses came over in turns to eat.

This mutton had been seized from the Mongols some time ago. After slaughter, it was cut into large pieces, coated evenly with large amounts of salt, and air-dried for several days, allowing it to be preserved for a long time. When eating, one simply threw it into a pot, added water, and boiled it until cooked.

For Ming soldiers who had long lacked meat in their diet, at least for a short while they would not tire of eating it.

Of course, the main reason was that the cold northern climate served as a natural refrigerator, so the mutton would not spoil. If it were in hot, humid Jiangnan, no amount of salt would help—within a few days the mutton would go rancid.

"General, it seems those Tartars are dead set on opposing us. When we go back and sit out the winter, and spring comes next year, let's charge all the way to the Tartars' royal tent and slaughter that stinking bunch of Tartars clean!"

Chen Gang, the Mobile Corps Commander sitting nearby, said while chewing on mutton.

"Killing is only to establish authority; recruiting more Mongol cavalry is the real foundation. This officer and the Governor-General have deduced that since His Majesty has ordered us to recruit Tartar cavalry, his intent must surely lie with the Jianzhou barbarians in Liaodong! The Liaodong plains are most suited for large cavalry forces to gallop freely, and that is precisely where men of our generation can build merit! Destroying the Jianzhou barbarians, recovering lost territory, and earning titles that ennoble one's wife and children—that is what this officer aspires to!"

Imagining himself leading ten thousand cavalry in face-to-face combat with the Jianzhou barbarians, a flash of fanatical fervor appeared in Cao Bianjiao's eyes.

Chen Gang grinned and laughed: "The general is brave and invincible—becoming a marquis or earl in the future is well within reach! If I could manage to become an Assistant Regional Commander, I'd be satisfied! If the general becomes a marquis or earl in the future, don't forget to promote your old subordinate! Hehehe!"

"Look at your lack of ambition! Satisfied with Assistant Regional Commander? As long as you follow me in fighting bravely, even Regional Commander is within easy reach!"

"Regional Commander? My goodness! Wouldn't that be an official as big as Governor-General Cao? I wouldn't even dare to think of it! The general has built countless achievements and is still only a Vice Regional Commander—for me, it won't be easy in this lifetime!"

Chen Gang muttered dejectedly.

Cao Bianjiao was about to open his mouth to rebuke him when suddenly the sound of hoofbeats came from far to near. Judging by the sound, there seemed to be several dozen riders—could there be enemy contact ahead?

Chen Gang swallowed his last mouthful of mutton and stood up: "There must be enemy contact. General, rest a moment—I'll go take a look!"

"Xiao Wu! Roast a flatbread for me to eat!"

Cao Bianjiao ordered casually.

Xiao Wu, the personal guard beside him, quickly poured the new-style military ration from his ration bag into an iron helmet, added boiling water, stirred it into a large dough ball, stabbed it with a short knife, and roasted it over the fire.

Before long, Chen Gang hurried back, followed by more than ten Mongols dressed in leather robes.

"General, this bunch of stinking Tartars claims to be envoys sent by some khan of the Tumed royal tent. Under their Great Khan's orders, they have come especially to discuss submitting to our Great Ming!"

Cao Bianjiao sat on his saddle stool without rising, looking up at the dozen or so filthy Mongols before him. A gust of wind blew past, and the stench emanating from the Mongols made one want to vomit.

Damn it! No wonder Chen Gang called them stinking Tartars—the smell really was rank!

Cao Bianjiao swept his contemptuous gaze over this group of Tartars, as if looking for where to strike to sever their heads. The group of Mongols involuntarily shrank their necks.

A burst of appetizing aroma temporarily masked the Tartars' body odor—it was the flatbread Xiao Wu was roasting. This fragrance, mixing oil, salt, and sugar, was mouthwatering.

A thunderous rumbling sound came—it was the sound of hunger from the Mongols' bellies.

"Esteemed general, would you be willing to bestow some of this fine food for us to taste?"

In perfectly accented Ming official speech, a middle-aged Mongol standing at the front saluted with one hand on his chest.

"Hey! Come eat!"