Chapter 728: Bu'yu'er Po

Hulunbuir — in later times people generally say these two words together, and many assume there is a lake called Hulunbuir Lake.

But in fact these are two lakes, two sister lakes: Hulun Lake and Buir Lake.

At this time, the two lakes were not yet referred to as one; Hulun Lake was called Kaolao Po by the Khitans.

Kaolao roughly means a cylindrical container woven from willow branches; Po here is read "po," the same pronunciation and meaning as the word for a lake.

And south of Hulun Lake, the somewhat smaller Buir Lake was the one called Bu'yu'er Po — most likely the later name of this lake, Buir, derives from the sound of "Bu'yu'er."

And the great lake where Zhang Zhou's cavalry had trapped these tens of thousands of fleeing riders was Bu'yu'er Po.

As for why they had been caught, it was not that the Zhou army's cavalry horses were faster, but that these tribal horsemen simply had nowhere left to run.

They had fled quickly before because the women, children, old, and weak, carrying the baggage, had set out two or three days earlier, and the routed steppe cavalry only needed to ride alone to catch up.

Now they could not run, naturally also because of the drag of the old, weak, women, and children.

One must understand that they could not simply mount horses and flee; clothing, carts, livestock, fodder — all of it, every last bit, had to be brought along. Without these things, even if they escaped, they would die.

Moreover, the forward scouts had estimated wrongly: what was trapped at Bu'yu'er Po was not thirty thousand steppe cavalry, but at least seventy or eighty thousand old, weak, women, and children, plus roughly twenty thousand cavalry.

Zhe Deyuan and Yelu He came over to pay their respects, but both were somewhat dusty and disheveled, cautious and careful.

They had received Zhang Zhao's order and left the frontier on the third day of the ninth month, but all along the way, like Zhang Zhao, they had encountered virtually no steppe tribes.

In this season, the steppe, like the Central Plains, had been tormented by harsh climate and constant warfare into a sharp population decline; it was estimated that all the peoples of the entire southern and northern Gobi combined numbered only around seven hundred thousand.

Of these, the three Northern Zubu tribes, plus the Dalimi and Yedugua tribes they barely controlled, totaled two hundred fifty or sixty thousand.

The eight Dilie tribes numbered roughly two hundred thousand, and all the remaining places together only amounted to two or three hundred thousand — so it was perfectly normal to leave the frontier and meet no one.

More tragically, on their first venture beyond the frontier they lost their way, and in the end Zhe Deyuan, fearing they would be stranded in the Gobi of the southern steppe, could only turn back; after making preparations, they set out again.

This time they crossed the great Gobi fairly smoothly, but when they seized some small Western Zubu tribes who were fleeing in distress and questioned them, they learned that the great battle in the northern steppe had already ended.

At this, Zhe Deyuan, Yelu He, and Yelu Sizhong were dumbfounded — especially Yelu He and Yelu Sizhong, whose hearts were in turmoil. This was the grave crime of missing the appointed time!

Although Zhe Deyuan, as commander of the army, bore leadership responsibility, he was the Emperor's adopted son and had married the Emperor's niece, the Princess of Changle; his father and brothers were all meritorious high officials of the realm.

With such deep backing, even if he were stripped of office, he would merely go home and rest for two years, and once the Emperor's anger subsided he could come out and serve again.

But for Yelu He and Yelu Sizhong, Khitans who had been promoted only by special grace, they might well end up as the ones taking the blame.

So once they learned that the main army had already gone east to strike the eight Dilie tribes, Yelu He and Yelu Sizhong firmly refused to turn back, insisting on following the main force east.

Zhe Deyuan had won no military merit and was in truth unhappy about it; moreover, on this expedition beyond the frontier, the elite cavalry of Datong Prefecture and Bingzhou he actually commanded numbered only a little over a thousand riders, while the rest were men of the Upper Khitan Four Tribes' ten-thousands brought out by Yelu He and the others.

With the two of them insisting on heading east, Zhe Deyuan could not forcibly stop them, and it also suited his own wishes.

So they pressed eastward all the way, toward what later generations would call Erenhot, and on the road they encountered the vanguard of Yan Jin's force, which had come out of the frontier from Datong Prefecture.

It turned out that after receiving his orders, Yan Jin had immediately selected twenty thousand infantry and cavalry and marched north.

This famous general — currently ranked foremost under Zhang Zhao, able to hold his own against Guo Wei even when outnumbered, and the one who had kept Liu Zhiyuan from expanding in Hebei during Zhang Zhao's southern campaign against Huainan — was naturally not someone Zhe Deyuan, Yelu Sizhong, and the others could compare with.

While these fellows were still wandering the steppe, Yan Jin had already personally led his army to smash the Khitans' last stronghold, the Supreme Capital at Linhuang Prefecture.

In that battle he shattered the allied forces of the Khitan tribes, took more than three thousand heads, captured sixty or seventy thousand people, and seized baggage and supplies beyond counting — stored grain alone amounted to more than two hundred thousand shi.

Now that he knew Yan Jin was nearby, Zhe Deyuan was overjoyed; Yan Jin's head was big enough — listening to him could not go wrong.

So the two armies then joined forces and struck north to smash the Black Cart Shiwei.

The Black Cart Shiwei, also called the Black Cart Tatars, nomadized in the area of what later generations would call the Xilingol League, and they were closely related to the Xi and the Khitans.

When Yelu Abaoji established the Liao state, a considerable portion of them were absorbed into Liao.

Shulu Ping's maiden family had originally been very close to the Black Cart Shiwei, so they were also steadfast supporters of Shulu Ping.

With the addition of Zhe Deyuan's eight thousand riders, Yan Jin's cavalry force swelled directly to twenty thousand, plus ten thousand elite infantry — combat strength had more than doubled.

In that battle, the Black Cart Shiwei were utterly smashed; of their mere four thousand-odd households, more than three thousand were slain, leaving them on the very brink of extinction.

With the fighting reaching this point, the fog of war lifted; Zhe Deyuan had so many Khitans under him, and they were far too familiar with the geography of this region.

So Zhe Deyuan ordered Yelu Sizhong to take two thousand riders as guides for Yan Jin, leading Yan Jin's force to continue north and clear out the tribes loyal to the Khitans around the Great Xianbei Mountains.

Yan Jin, in turn, handed over a portion of his Taiyuan elite cavalry to Zhe Deyuan, sending them to continue north to reinforce Zhang Zhao.

Yan Jin believed that of the thirty thousand-plus men Zhang Zhao led, more than twenty thousand were Helong conscripts who had barely seen battle; crossing several thousand li to strike the eight Dilie tribes was still somewhat dangerous, so he hurriedly sent Zhe Deyuan north to reinforce him.

Only, even though Zhe Deyuan and his men had gotten their bearings and hurried as fast as they could, they still arrived late.

Hah! Not exactly late — with them here, the herders around Bu'yu'er Po would not be getting away.

Looking at the uneasy gazes of Zhe Deyuan and Yelu He, Zhang Zhao had no thought of doing anything to them.

How to put it — Zhe Deyuan's ability was originally among the poorer of his adopted sons; Zhang Zhao had used him to guard Datong mainly because he valued his reliability and steadiness.

This time, when they were ordered beyond the frontier, they had been given less than a month in total to prepare.

The Upper Khitan Four Tribes' ten-thousands controlled by Yelu He, Yelu Sizhong, and the others had originally not been under Zhe Deyuan's command either, but were temporarily under the authority of the Defense Commissioner of Ningxia Province, Yang Jiye's father Yang Hongxin.

Given hasty orders and placed over unfamiliar troops, Zhe Deyuan had committed no major errors and had even managed to win some small, presentable merits — that was enough.

Toward those below, military law must indeed be strict, but in some matters one should not be overly demanding.

Seeing that the Emperor had no intention of pursuing their failure to meet the deadline, Zhe Deyuan and Yelu He felt much more at ease.

And with the arrival of this army of theirs, the forces in Zhang Zhao's hands suddenly became ample, and he could now take action against the nearly hundred thousand people at Bu'yu'er Po.

A gust of cold wind blew, and Zhang Zhao, wrapped in a fur robe, could not help shivering. It was damnably cold — even the warhorse beneath him gave a soft, uneasy whinny.

Though the soldiers around him still stood as motionless as mountains, Zhang Zhao could clearly see that their faces were all a frozen, raw red.

And if the pursuing Zhou troops were like this, the herders opposite were in far worse shape. The Zhou troops at least had a cloth-faced iron cuirass to block the wind; most of the herders opposite had only a single layer of clothing.

Never mind fur robes — even on the steppe, those were something only the nobility could have. Ordinary herders kept warm in winter first by staying indoors, and second by the various rotting hides and animal fur they collected in ordinary times.

Now, fleeing in haste and trying to lighten their loads, many had brought no thick clothing at all. As the cold wind blew, the whole shore of Bu'yu'er Po was filled with the sound of chattering teeth.

Zhang Zhao raised his eyes and looked: what soldiers were these? Most were herders so frozen that snot streamed down their faces. A few charges would probably be enough to drive them into Bu'yu'er Po.

Was that venomous woman Shulu Ping trying to drag these nearly hundred thousand people to their graves with her?

Zhang Zhao could not help feeling anger. Though there were nearly a hundred thousand on the other side, they were all birds startled by the mere twang of a bow, plus a great mass of old, weak, women, and children — they could not withstand a few charges at all. This was no battle; it was pure slaughter.

"Sage, we must not resort to massive force! If, for the sake of an old crone like Shulu Ping, we drive a hundred thousand herders into Bu'yu'er Po, the image of the Boundless Heaven's great compassion will not hold."

Moreover, the steppe is now sparsely populated. If the Sage wants to use them as a base to strike west against the other Yellow-Head tribes, he cannot afford to lose these hundred thousand people."

Yuan Heng looked at Zhang Zhao with a face full of worry, as if afraid that Zhang Zhao would immediately order an attack.

Zhang Zhao knew perfectly well this was Shulu Ping's venomous scheme. This Six Dharma Sect on the steppe had always proclaimed that the Supreme Heaven was the spokesman of the Buddha — all-knowing, all-wise, all-merciful and all-compassionate.

But if one battle killed a hundred thousand people, most of them old, weak, women and children, no matter how you looked at it, that could hardly be called merciful or compassionate.

Yet if he did not attack — in ordinary times Zhang Zhao could have found a way to slowly break them apart, but it was already October, and his tens of thousands of troops were all in thin clothing. If they did not withdraw within ten days and a blizzard suddenly struck, then even if they wanted to leave, they would not be able to.

After thinking it over again and again, Zhang Zhao waved his hand. "Let Li Cunhui take command. Open a small gap on the eastern side, and have each unit attack in sequence according to plan!"

What Supreme Heaven, what great mercy and compassion — he could not gamble the lives of his tens of thousands of elite soldiers. Zhang Zhao still decided to act.

In an instant, weeping and wailing shook the sky. Nearly a hundred thousand people were hemmed in beside a lake that was not large, and many of them were even standing in the lake water in the freezing wind. The frightened cattle and sheep pressed close against their masters, as if they too were crying and howling.

Zhao Jingangnu raised the bow and arrows in his hands, but after picking one target after another, he still could not bring himself to shoot.

The laws of the steppe were not the same as those of the Central Plains. The people of the Central Plains spoke of treating the elderly of others as one's own elderly, and the young of others as one's own young — always placing the protection of the old and young first.

But on the steppe, the pressure of survival was immense. A grown man, strong and vigorous, was the hope for the entire tribe's continued existence.

So when there was no other choice, the choice of the steppe herders was always to sacrifice the weak and keep the able-bodied, so that the tribe could carry on.

Therefore, what Zhao Jingangnu faced were almost all half-grown children, white-haired old men, or else entirely women.

They held all kinds of wooden spears, or even just farm tools, weeping desperately, trying to defend themselves with those pitiful things in their hands.

Li Cunhui scratched his head. He did not have Zhang Zhao's inexplicable sympathy from a later age. Apart from thinking it was a pity to kill so many of the sturdy women among them, he felt almost no pity in his heart.

This was a born killer, rarely constrained by anything other than victory. He looked at Feng Jiye, son of Feng Hui, beside him and said:

"These lads from Helong have read a bit too much and can't bring themselves to strike. Feng Silang, take your own unit out and give them a proper lesson."

"Once you're on the battlefield, whether man or woman, they are all enemies. There is no room for soft-heartedness on a battlefield."

Feng Jiye nodded in agreement, not at all feeling that Li Cunhui's order to slaughter the old, weak, women and children across from him was anything shameful.

This fellow, raised among top-class warriors like the Silver Spear Effective Duty Unit, was a killer too. Historically, he had even dared to kill his own elder brother who stood in his way — killing a few herders was nothing.

Once Feng Jiye went down, the steppe escort cavalry brought by Huang Yingda and the others also began to move. These men likewise would not hesitate.

The old and weak on the outer edge fell in swathes, like withered grass cut down. Under the influence of Feng Jiye and the escort cavalry, the Helong lads who had just been unable to strike also gradually loosened up.

Zhang Zhao did not know whether he should call a halt. He truly did not know whether this kind of nearly wholesale slaughter was good or bad for an army.

Fortunately, someone cracked before Zhang Zhao did — he would not have to agonize over it himself.

On an ox cart by the lake, Han Kuangye was hopping with anxiety. He looked at his third brother Han Kuangsi and said:

"I told you the Empress Dowager has lost her mind, but you wouldn't believe me. You really think that because she's usually good to you, she truly treats you as one of her own? She wants to drag our family down to be buried with the Khitan."

Han Kuangsi had wanted to retort, but he felt his elder brother had a point. The Son of Heaven of Shaoming was a hero of his generation — how could he be bound hand and foot by such womanly compassion?

After a long while, Han Kuangsi nodded. "I'll go find Xiao Siwen. Second Brother, have Fourth and Fifth follow me. If he still refuses, then we'll beat him and kill him too."

(End of Chapter)

Related