Chapter 192

Clang! A crisp ring rang out. The cavalry leader stared dumbfounded at Ma Yaozi. He had just thrust his spear at Ma Yaozi's chest, yet it had produced a clanging sound. Was this man made of iron?

"Strike!" Ma Yaozi bared his teeth in a savage grin, suddenly drew a hengdao saber from the bottom of the cart, its blade gleaming cold, and with one stroke hacked off the cavalry leader's arm.

At the same moment Ma Yaozi roared, Shan Zhu'er also let out a great shout and, like a raging wild boar, slammed violently into the warhorse of the cavalryman beside him.

The horse, not a tall one, gave a pitiful shriek and was bowled over onto the ground by Shan Zhu'er. Before the rider on its back could scramble up, Shan Zhu'er drove a zhangdao dagger through his neck.

In an instant, a dozen or more men struck at once, crossbows working in coordination with long spears, and the forty-odd cavalrymen were sent wailing in every direction.

None of them wore armor — or rather, could not afford armor — so how could they be any match for Ma Yaozi and his men in their cloth-faced armor?

Seeing the situation turn bad, the cavalry leader, his wrist hacked off, endured the searing pain and tried to flee with a few trusted riders.

At this, Ma Yaozi put his fingers to his mouth and gave a whistle. From behind the hillock immediately ran out five cavalrymen holding long hengdao sabers — they had been placed there long beforehand.

The cavalry leader's face instantly went deathly pale. These were no traveling merchants. How could traveling merchants afford such tall, powerful horses, suited for charging, just to haul goods? These horses looked like warhorses from the Samanid realm of Persia.

The battle ended quickly, because the cavalrymen's horses were short, sturdy steppe horses suited to long marches, utterly incomparable to the five tall horses under Ma Yaozi's men — captured west of Suyab and carrying Ferghana horse bloodlines.

Moreover, the riders on their backs were all elite troops of the Youyi Capital, able to loose arrows in succession even on a heaving, jolting horseback. The enemy simply could not escape.

"Interrogation's done. That dog-slave Yusuf is at war with the infidels in the Buldag Mountains to the north. Word is Yusuf took no small losses the first few times, but now he's sealed off the mountain passes to the north and is preparing to sweep the mountains and storm them."

Not long after, Zheng Tong came running over, his face flushed red. The very word "infidels" already said a great deal.

"There really was a great city near here originally, but it's been destroyed by the endless fighting. The river north of the city still flows, though, all the way into the mountains — exactly as the Yang family's man told me when he came to Shule nine years ago."

"You mean we've come at just the right time — that what that dog-slave Yusuf is besieging is precisely the castle the Yang family and the others built in the mountains?"

Ma Yaozi hesitated somewhat. If Zheng Tong's intelligence was accurate, then those besieged in the mountains were most likely the Zheng, Yang, and Xue families. They need only charge into the mountains now to find them.

But that carried risk too. If Zheng Tong's memory was faulty, or if the people in the mountains were not descendants of the Anxi Army, then this mission of theirs could be declared over.

Because Yusuf's army had already blocked all the roads into the mountains. If they were to enter, they would inevitably expose themselves.

"Everyone, let's discuss this together! Do we risk going in, or keep searching forward?"

In a matter this grave, Ma Yaozi did not dare decide alone, so he gathered everyone to talk it over.

A small piece of coarse-grain flatbread, and a bowl of wine bright red in color, as though mixed with the blood of some animal — that was everyone's lunch.

The coarse-grain flatbread was dry, hard, and rough, hard to swallow — especially when one's lips were cracked and dry, it tasted like dirt in the mouth. Yet if you did not eat it, there was no way to ease the hunger in your belly.

Yang Shouli held the coarse-grain flatbread and worked his mouth desperately for a long while, but alas, not a single drop of saliva came.

Beside him, Xue Shouli quickly brought over the bowl of blood wine. Yang Shouli hesitated a moment, then could not help taking the bowl — he was simply too thirsty.

Summoning every ounce of willpower, Yang Shouli suppressed the urge to drain the entire bowl of blood wine.

He took a small sip. A faint bloody tang and the sweetness of the wine instantly flooded his mouth.

Seizing this moment, Yang Shouli hastily tossed the coarse-grain flatbread in his hand into his mouth. If he waited until the wine's moisture faded, he probably would not be able to get the bread down.

One earthenware bowl of blood wine was passed around among seven or eight people, again and again. After three or four rounds, a small half still remained. Xue Shouli forced a smile.

"Don't stand on ceremony, everyone. Have another sip each. There'll be mutton to eat tonight too!"

"This is our last sheep, isn't it? Once the mutton's gone, what do we do next year?

This morning I heard my father say there's only one jar of wine left in the public storehouse. Soon we won't even have sheep-blood wine to drink. Who knows how much longer we can hold out?" Zheng Shouli, who had grown up with them, looked somewhat despairing.

"What are you saying? At worst, later on we charge down and fetch some water back. Those mixed barbarians have besieged us more than once or twice — which time have they ever succeeded?

If I had a suit of iron armor, I'd go cut a bloody path through their ranks three times in and three times out!"

Yang Shouli was utterly unconcerned on the surface, though inwardly he was not nearly as relaxed as he appeared.

Every year at autumn harvest, the mixed barbarians below the mountain would come and besiege them once. From the beginning, when they could eat mutton, drink millet wine, and don iron armor to send the mixed barbarians fleeing in panic, to now, when they were bottled up on the mountain with no recourse and even their water source cut off.

Anyone could see that even if they survived this time, they certainly would not last the next.

This year, to resist the enemy, they had already slaughtered all the sheep in the city and eaten all the grain in the public storehouse. Next year, even if the mixed barbarians did not come to besiege the city, people would likely starve to death.

Yet Yang Shouli could not understand. New Kucha was built high in the mountains, so well hidden. They were always cautious in their dealings with the mixed barbarians below the mountain, always appearing as a mountain fishing-and-hunting tribe. How had they drawn the attention of the mixed barbarians below?

Infidels? Impossible! One "An-la-ku A-hu-ba," a black headwrap — who couldn't manage that? There was no reason they should have been found out!

"Second Brother, Father wants you!" While Yang Shouli was racking his brains in bewilderment, his younger brother Yang Sili came to fetch him.

Yang Shouli scrambled to his feet at once. His father Yang Tongyi was the clan head. Being summoned at this moment surely meant something important.

New Kucha — that was what the Yang, Zheng, and Xue families called the mountain town they had built.

New Kucha was built halfway up the mountain, reachable only by a single small path from the south. To the east lay a vast expanse of high-mountain pasture; to the north, steep slopes; to the west, cliffs.

The layout of New Kucha was much the same as the original Kucha. Although it occupied only a few hundred mu of land, it too was divided into four districts — east, west, south, and north. The three clans dwelt in the east, west, and south districts respectively, while the north district held the assembly hall and the public storehouse.

In the assembly hall, the clan elders of the Yang, Zheng, and Xue families were all present. After decades of sharing hardships and joys, the three clans had in effect nearly become one — as could be seen from the naming patterns of their descendants.

The descendants of the three clans were named according to the sequence "ren, yi, li, zhi, xin, zhong, xiao, ti, jie, shu, yong, rang."

The only difference was that the character indicating generation was placed at the very end, and children of similar age even shared the same middle character.

Hence the naming pattern that produced Yang Shouli, Zheng Shouli, and Xue Shouli.

The middle character "shou" indicated they were of similar age; the final character "li" indicated they belonged to the same generation.

Thus beside Yang Shouli's father Yang Tongyi sat Xue Tongyi, his hair already grizzled. As for Zheng Tongyi, he had long since passed away.

"No water dug up?" Yang Shouli paid no heed to the disapproving looks of the elders around him.

"I said long ago that New Kucha is hard to defend. Good grass growth does suggest water underground, but we're now almost out of even iron pots — what are we supposed to dig with?"

Yang Tongyi's cheek twitched, and his hand even rose. Had the lack of water not left him too drained to walk, he would surely have charged down and slapped this unfilial son.

Xue Tongyi beside him hurried over to smooth things over, for Yang Shouli was not only someone he had watched grow up — he was also his son-in-law.

"Shouli! Is this the time to anger your father? Among the younger generation, you've always had the quickest mind. Think of something, quickly. If this goes on, we'll all die of thirst."

Yang Shouli let out a long sigh. "Years ago I said we should either go down, abandon our ancestors, and become obedient subjects — whatever the true god, whatever the Allah, believe what you must.

Or join forces with the various peoples in the northern mountains who do not follow the faith of the Heavenly Square and do something big together.

But none of you would agree. Abandoning the ancestors, you were unwilling; uniting the northern mountain peoples, you did not dare. Now that it has come to this, what good options are left?

Later today, I'll lead the li-generation and zhi-generation down the mountain. We'll fetch water back no matter what. If we can survive this year, then let's head for the snow mountains. Living on raw meat and blood, we can still scrape by."

That speech silenced everyone in the council hall. Five years ago they had still possessed several sets of iron armor, a few dozen bows and arrows, and grain enough to eat.

Back then, whether going down the mountain to live as obedient subjects or uniting the tribes on the northern slopes who did not follow the faith of Heaven to resist, they had still possessed the strength to fight.

But now, every year they were hemmed in by the mixed barbarians below the mountain during the autumn harvest and beaten, their weapons and armor could not be replenished, and year after year they ate next year's grain.

Now the mixed barbarians were only waiting to break New Kucha and turn them all into slaves—they would not even be given the right to surrender!

"Don't go fetch water. Take the wine from the public storehouse and share it out for everyone to drink. You young people go—head up into the snow mountains!"

Yang Tongyi closed his eyes and pondered for a moment, and a turbid tear trickled from his eye.

Abandoning the old, the weak, the women, and the children, leaving a road of survival for the young—in his view, this was the only choice left.

Yang Shouli was grieved as well, yet he could not help but sneer inwardly at his father's thinking.

"My lord, you are overthinking it. Why do the mixed barbarians below the mountain come to attack year after year? Is it not because they have their eyes on the fact that we can farm and our women can weave?

What they want is not this New Kucha, nor to kill people, but for us to serve as their oxen and horses.

This year the mountain below has sent out three or four thousand soldiers to surround us layer upon layer. With our few hundred able-bodied men holding wooden spears, how could we possibly escape?"

"So Heaven wills it! So Heaven wills it! To think that from now on we are to fall into slavery to the barbarian whelps for generations—is there truly no way at all?"

Xue Tongyi simply cried out in anguish. Yang Shouli was right: the mixed barbarians who came down the mountain to attack year after year were not unable to tolerate them. This land was vast and sparsely peopled, and unclaimed territory was everywhere.

The reason those mixed barbarians came to attack year after year was truly that, compared to the local herdsmen who knew only how to graze sheep and milk animals, the descendants of the Anxi Army on New Kucha were simply far too capable.

The men were skilled hands at farming. Whether growing wheat and millet, brewing wine, or making pottery, they were far more capable than those mixed barbarians who knew only how to herd sheep.

The women went without saying. Han women were clever and deft, excellent at both farming and weaving.

Though people of this time did not know what productive power was, they did know that these sons of Tang on the mountain did the work of three men each at farming. Once seized, they would be slaves capable of producing great wealth.

Yang Shouli raised his head to the sky and sighed long, tears flowing inward to his heart. He touched the short knife in his sleeve—his wife, Cai Niang, had given it to him.

Cai Niang was fair and lovely. Once she fell into the hands of the mixed barbarians, there was no telling what torments she would suffer.

So the couple had already agreed: once the city fell, Yang Shouli would first kill Cai Niang, then take his own life.

"There is no way. Not a single way—unless the Great Tang our ancestors spoke of can return to save us!"

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