Chapter 166: Do You Know Who Your Ancestor Is?

Guangcheng looked up in shock. Only now did he realize that more than twenty mounted strangers had barged into the wedding grounds outside Guangcheng Fort.

The several clansmen he had sent out as lookouts had not only been captured, but had their mouths gagged and were laid sideways across the horses' backs.

These men wore uniform black leather armor. Guangcheng could tell it was the finest cowhide armor, reinforced with iron plates and hard wooden boards at the vital points.

It was relatively light yet offered good protection, and in their hands they carried long lances best suited for mounted combat — very much like the cavalry lances his family treasured, the ones his ancestors had used.

Chi Tian, equally startled, was even more nervous, sweat pouring down from his head.

These men's warhorses and equipment were too good. Chi Tian suddenly realized that if he dared draw his blade or run, that brawny man in fine leather armor, with a javelin quiver slung across his back and two fine iron short spears in his hands, would hurl every javelin from his back at him within a few breaths.

Chi Tian secretly calculated it — no matter what, he could not possibly dodge all four, let alone the fact that on his left, another immensely powerful man was glaring at him.

This brawny man was taller than his warhorse, with short hair and a short beard. His exposed arms, neck, and hands were covered with scars, and his bell-like eyes radiated killing intent.

Chi Tian had no doubt that such a man could easily flip his horse to the ground with his bare hands.

At the same time, it was not only Chi Tian — the young men of Guangcheng Fort gathered around had all noticed something was wrong.

The dozen or so of them had been squeezed into the center by the twenty-odd men opposite, their retreat completely cut off. None of them dared move or shout, afraid of provoking the other side into sudden violence.

But none of that mattered. Guangcheng stared fixedly at the imposing-looking leader opposite — a very young general. What this young general had just spoken was not Uyghur, but Chinese, the clear and precise Chang'an court accent.

"You can understand it — you really can understand it!" Zhang Zhao pointed at Guangcheng and shouted excitedly. "Whose son are you? Do you dare give your surname?

I have heard that in Anxi there is a white-haired prince of a commandery, born of a famous house, utterly loyal, who has held Anxi alone for the court for decades. Does such a great hero, such a great loyal subject, have no descendant with any courage left?"

He is speaking of my ancestor! He is speaking of my ancestor!

Although Guangcheng often doubted whether that heroic, invincible ancestor his elders spoke of truly existed, and had rarely felt any pride in those dry descriptions,

at this very moment, he suddenly felt an unprecedented glory, like the floating sensation of drunkenness, surging from his belly straight to his head, even bringing two red clouds to his face.

Guangcheng was just about to loudly admit that he was the descendant of this hero when the young leader, eyes gleaming, suddenly raised a hand to stop him.

"No! You need not admit it now, because the descendant of that old hero would not fail to protect even his own woman!"

Guangcheng was instantly choked up, so much so that his whole body felt wretched. An unprecedented humiliation violently replaced the glory that had just risen, and the contrast nearly made him roar in agony.

"Look! Someone is coming. I think they are coming to tell you to return to the fort, but I suggest that right now, we should go take your woman back.

After you have washed away your shame, then we can talk about your heroic ancestor — how about it?

Because he is not only your heroic ancestor, but the hero of all of us, of all the sons of Tang!

Do you dare come with us?"

Zhang Zhao had thought this speech through carefully. How much identification with the Tang identity did the Guo family still have now?

Especially after holding out for over a hundred years and being ambushed by Uyghurs pretending to be the court — would they turn love into hate? Would they resent the court for abandoning them?

These things had to be taken into account.

So Zhang Zhao decided to first open a breach through the young people, and the quickest way to build closeness was, of course, to go do something great together.

Guangcheng turned back to look at his father's anxious face on the wall, then at Chi Tian, whose guilty expression had not yet fully faded, and thought again of Aluoluo's flower-like smiling face and slightly swelling belly.

"Chi Tian, are you willing to lead the way for me? Are you still willing to be my brother?" Guangcheng asked.

"I... I am willing!" Chi Tian nodded heavily. "I know where Father and Aluoluo are. I will take you there!"

"Young lord, I will go with you!" The impulsiveness of youth and his concern for face made Guangcheng decide quickly.

Hei Mao was the chief of the Black Wolf Tribe. He was called Hei Mao because a tuft of thick, long black hair grew at the corner of his mouth.

The so-called Black Wolf Tribe was no proper tribe either. Perhaps they should rather be called a band of thieves — a filthy lot somewhere between horse bandits and ordinary herders.

But until two months ago, this Black Wolf Tribe of Hei Mao's had actually been an existence the herding tribes around had to look up to.

Because they had converted to the Tianfang faith. After Saktu recovered Balasagun, although the old nobles of Balasagun refused to elect Saktu as Arslan Khan, Saktu could still give some benefits to the tribes of Balasagun that had already converted to the Tianfang faith.

It was at that time that Hei Mao was appointed by Saktu as a centurion, and received a batch of leather armor and iron swords from Shule. From then on, they had swaggered about.

But after Saktu hastily withdrew from Balasagun a few months ago, the Black Wolf Tribe's status began to plummet.

Had he not, by a stroke of inspiration, avoided joining Saktu's siege, and had Balasagun not been threatened by the Persians, leaving the city no leisure to clean him out, this little Black Wolf Tribe would long since have ceased to exist.

"Chief Hechi, I, Hei Mao, never deceive people. The Bek lord of the Persian Samanid state has sent men to contact me.

Let me put it this way: the Persian army will soon enter Balasagun. Think about it — Bughra Khan has left, so who else is qualified to become the master of Balasagun?

It must be His Majesty the Emir, the Emperor of the Samanid state!"

At the banquet, Hei Mao was still boasting wildly to a herder chief he called Hechi.

In truth, no Bek from Persia had ever contacted him. A small role like him was not worth the Persians' attention.

But Hei Mao was clever. Having learned of Balasagun's great defeat at Julan City, he quickly connected it to the Persians soon returning.

He then used this news to blow his own trumpet, frightening the closed-off, ignorant little tribal chiefs around into losing their wits, and they hurriedly enshrined him as a big figure.

Moreover, Hei Mao had his eye on Hechi's daughter Aluoluo, and he did not care even though Aluoluo was already pregnant.

Aside from the fact that steppe people do not much mind raising another man's cub, and that Aluoluo was very beautiful,

the biggest scheme Hei Mao had was that Aluoluo was to marry the son of the Nestorian Prudent Virtue of Helie City — the young master of Guangcheng Fort.

This was the most famous power around Helie City. If he could slap their face, would that not prove even more how formidable he was? Only then would the surrounding herders truly begin to submit to him.

Besides, these Nestorian big figures were already preparing to withdraw into the mountains, and most likely would not trouble him over such a small matter. One could say it was a brilliant move with enormous gains and minimal risk.

"Aluoluo! Aluoluo! I have come to find you!"

Just as he was about to boast about himself a bit more, a loud shout came from outside the tent, followed by a chaos of weeping and wailing, and the heavy sound of hooves striking the ground.

Hechi, seated in the place of honor above Hei Mao, stiffened. This voice — he knew it all too well. It was the voice of the prospective son-in-law he had once been most proud of, Guangqing, son of the Prudent Virtue.

"The little wolf cub actually dares to come here — truly courting death!" Hei Mao's face darkened. Though a little flustered inside, he still put on an expression of extreme fury.

No need to fear — he had brought fifty riders today, half of them with leather armor and every man with iron swords. They would not be so easy to deal with.

"Heavens! What noble person is this? Hechi, we are finished!"

But as soon as they stepped outside, a disheveled old man threw himself at them. This was Hechi's number-two man.

Only then did the people emerging from the tent look up and realize what the old man meant by "noble person."

The Hechi tribe was gathered in a mountain hollow, with a small river on the left side. But at this moment, except for the side facing the small river, large numbers of horsemen had appeared everywhere else.

They wore uniform black leather armor, and their horses were all tall, large mounts. Every man could draw his bow and shoot while galloping at full speed.

The fifty riders Black Fur had brought were like chicks before eagles in their presence. One after another they were swiftly overtaken, either speared to death or shot dead, and their shrill screams echoed throughout the hollow.

"Black Fur! I'll fuck your ancestors!"

Hechi shuddered violently. From the opposite side charged out a young officer on a white horse, a sharp long spear in his hand, rushing straight at him — no, rather, straight at Black Fur.

Hechi turned his head. Where was Black Fur?

What the hell!

While he stood there dumbfounded, Black Fur had already quietly climbed onto the horse tethered at the tent entrance, preparing to flee.

'Squelch!' The dull sound of an iron spear piercing flesh rang out. In his panic, Black Fur did not even resist. He had just climbed onto the horse's back when he was run clean through.

Before Hechi's terrified eyes, the "big man" who had just been at his banquet, boasting that he would one day meet the Persian governor of Balasagun, fell into the dirt like a dead dog.

"Don't kill me! Aluoluo is in the second tent."

Hechi dropped straight to his knees — kneeling before the son-in-law who had always been gentle and pleasant to him, even a little ingratiating.

Guangcheng snorted coldly. Only after driving his long spear hard into Black Fur's corpse did he turn and walk toward the second tent. Chitian, who had run up behind him, hurriedly helped his father to his feet.

A pair of ill-fated lovers embraced and wept. The sour stench of love began drifting in all directions — though, of course, only Zhang Zhao could smell it.

For brutish simpletons like Man Xiong, Dunzhu, and Ma Shacai, the concept of love simply did not exist.

Liking a woman meant wanting to sleep with her. Really liking a woman meant very much wanting to sleep with her — and at worst, sleeping with her first and then marrying her and bringing her home.

Oh! No, that wasn't quite right. There was one other person who sensed it. Ma Yaozi, his face full of discomfort, watched the still-weeping Guangcheng and Aluoluo. He suddenly thought of that young widow, Mei Niang, back in Shouchang.

He wondered whether the ten strings of cash he had left her would be enough to last until he returned, whether some other man might take advantage of his absence, and whether anyone had bullied her.

"Young lord, from this day forward, you are my great benefactor, Guangcheng's! May I ask your honored name?"

After weeping in each other's arms for a minute or two, Guangcheng raised his head and gave Zhang Zhao a solemn bow with hands clasped.

"Hahahaha!" Zhang Zhao burst into hearty laughter while everyone else looked on in utter confusion.

Because this solemn bow and the phrase "May I ask your honored name?" proved that the Guo family had not forgotten their roots.

Otherwise, this Guangcheng, born in Anxi and raised in Anxi, could not possibly have known how to perform a solemn bow, nor would he speak in such a refined, bookish manner. This was precisely the greatest mark of the sons of Tang.

"I am Zhang Zhao. You may call me Zhang Erlang. I have come from Shazhou in search of sons of Tang like you.

Are you the descendants of Lord Guo Xin, Grand Master of the Great Tang's Censorate, Left Vice Director of the Department of State Affairs, Grand Protector-General of Anxi, Military Governor of the Four Garrisons of Anxi, and Prince of Wuwei Commandery?"

"I am Guo Guangcheng, the seventh-generation descendant of Lord Guo Xin. Has Zhang Erlang come from the Great Tang?

Are you an imperial envoy? Is the Great Tang returning?" Guo Guangcheng trembled all over, then asked through streaming tears.

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