Chapter 178: Yellow Dragon Mountain

Noon had passed.

The sun scorched the earth until it burned, the bare yellow dirt baked like an iron plate, draping a low, drifting haze over the distance.

Not a breath of wind — the air itself had thickened from the heat, heavy enough to suffocate.

Zhang Yundeng grew ever more agitated in the formation; even without armor, the front and back of his clothes were already soaked through, let alone the soldiers in full helmets and mail.

Over a hundred government troops had shed their armor, pouring water into their mouths in great gulps, and even the wounded were too drained by the heat to muster the strength to wail.

At the narrow, shallow Yunyan River, more than twenty corpses of men and horses blocked the bank, making it even harder for them to cross westward.

Someone on the opposite bank shouted: "Surrender! We're all household retainers, we only want the silver — we won't take your lives!"

The cavalry on the west bank were suffering no less; Liu Chengzong had not sent reinforcements to the west bank, instead stationing his four sentry companies of battle troops in the surrounding valleys for shade, their main defensive focus being to the north.

The silver convoy was already a turtle in a jar — if they moved south or north, their formation was too cumbersome to shift; if they scattered, they were no match, and the narrow terrain gave them no way to leverage their numerical advantage in the short term.

The household retainer cavalry squadrons simply shadowed them at intervals of a hundred-odd paces, and that alone left them trapped between advance and retreat.

They could not even send for help; several attempts to break through the defensive line had cost them over twenty warhorses.

Too few messengers, and they could not breach the line of household retainers and scout riders; too many, and the household cavalry would simply swallow them whole.

Wait another two hours, and every one of these men would collapse from exhaustion.

By comparison, the household cavalry were far more at ease — some had shed their armor to rest at the foot of the western hills, and occasionally a dozen or so riders would drift to the flank and loose a few arrows, but most of the time the two sides simply faced off under the blazing sun.

More than them, what worried Liu Chengzong was Du Wenhuan, stationed at Suide, marching south.

Even for them to move some silver from Yonghe County in Shanxi to Apricot Seed River, they knew they had to make contact first, ensure the road was clear, and send men to receive it.

All the more so for the government offices that fully controlled the region.

In Liu Chengzong's view, Yulin Garrison would certainly dispatch government troops south.

These past two days, Liu Chengzong had been turning over one question: how many government troops would Yulin Garrison send south.

As the saying goes, know yourself and know your enemy — after last year's battles, with men like Ai Mu having fled back to Yulin Garrison, he believed the Lion Camp's troop strength intelligence was no longer a secret in Yulin.

Du Wenhuan should have realized that mobilizing fewer than three thousand troops in a single campaign would make it very difficult to annihilate the Lion Camp.

He estimated that the government forces' next punitive expedition would number no fewer than four thousand.

Yulin Garrison originally had a paper strength of over eighty thousand, with an actual strength of sixty thousand, but after pay arrears, desertions, and deployments to guard the capital, its actual strength was now only around forty thousand.

Add to that the government troops lost at the hands of the Lion Camp and Wang Jiayin.

These losses could not be replenished in the short term, and they still had to garrison the countless beacon towers and forts along the border wall — Yulin Garrison itself did not have many troops left to mobilize.

Gazing at the standoff in the valley, Liu Chengzong narrowed his eyes and glanced up at the sun's outline, then said to Fan Sanlang: "Can you learn to repeat words?"

"Learn to repeat words?"

"Yes. Remember what I'm about to say, then ride along the river valley north to deliver a message to Sentry Commander Cao. Have him send someone sharp to Suide and pass these tidings to Wang Zuogua."

Fan Sanlang nodded her assent and watched as Liu Chengzong took out the paper and brush he carried with him, writing as he spoke: "Tell Wang Zuogua and Huntian King to flee quickly — he is about to die."

Fan Sanlang's eyes widened as she swallowed hard, committing the words firmly to memory.

"Yulin originally had a paper strength of eighty thousand, actual strength sixty thousand. After last year's desertions, bitter battles, and capital-guard deployments, its current strength is no more than forty thousand."

Liu Chengzong was worried that if Cao Yao's men took a letter to Yulin, Wang Zuogua's people on the other side might not be able to read, so a verbal message was essential.

Originally, when He Yong said that Wang Zuogua would die if he kept stirring up trouble, Liu Chengzong had felt little emotional reaction.

For one, he had surrendered to the government troops; for another, he had plundered the countryside — put those two together, and if he were killed, it would simply be reaping what he had sown.

But after these two days of reflection, he realized that Wang Zuogua being killed was almost an inevitability.

"The Lion Camp has successively annihilated fifteen hundred and then twenty-seven hundred government troops. When Du Wenhuan dispatches forces again, he will surely march south with a host of five thousand — Yulin does not have that many soldiers."

The problem was practically staring them in the face: Yulin Garrison's own troop strength was already stretched to the limit, so where would they find the men to keep watch on Wang Zuogua?

If the government troops were to march south, would they dare leave the numerous, unruly, and defiant Wang Zuogua at their backs?

To strike Liu the Lion, the government troops would have to kill Wang Zuogua first to consecrate their banners.

Fan Sanlang rode off to deliver the message, and the narrow river valley was about to see battle again.

Han Shipan had finished his rest and led over thirty riders from the northwest of the battlefield toward the river, throwing the government troops' formation into chaos — everyone scrambled to don their armor, and the soldiers armed with three-eyed guns and bird guns redeployed to the north.

By the time they had their armor on, Han Shipan had taken his men to water their horses upstream to the northwest.

The government troops, nerves stretched taut, dared not relax. They waited a long time, and only when the heat became unbearable did they gradually shed their armor in batches.

Then Han Shipan had a few of his riders begin donning their armor, and the government troops, who had just stripped theirs off, put it back on again.

They dared not leave it off — Han Shipan's men came and went like the wind and could plant a feathered arrow into their formation from sixty paces.

Worse, a few archers using barbed arrows were especially accurate; without armor, all one could do was wait to be ripped open, belly to gut.

More accurate than a musket shot.

But once the government troops had their armor on, Han Shipan merely had those few armored riders glare menacingly from a hundred-odd paces away.

Torture.

The government troops even tried digging trenches to hold their ground, but they had brought no digging tools with the silver transport.

Under the merciless, searing sun and the threat of the cavalry, digging trenches in full armor would exhaust them to collapse long before the trenches were finished.

They could only take turns resting in the cramped shadows beneath the wagons.

All they wanted was to hold out until nightfall.

After nearly a quarter-hour standoff, two of the armored government soldiers collapsed, and the rest could bear it no longer. Seeing that Han Shipan and his men made no move, they stripped off their armor one by one again.

Han Shipan's few men were also shedding their armor — they too were stifled beyond endurance, and once free of it, they drank water in great gulps.

But the men behind them were different: the cavalry who had not been armored a moment ago were now fully harnessed, and they swung back into their saddles and charged toward the government formation.

Bang! Bang!

On the outer edge of the panicked government line, the long period of tense readiness had frayed the gunners' nerves; the sudden shock made it impossible for them to fire on their officers' orders.

Dozens of three-eyed guns and bird guns fired in haste, hundreds of lead pellets spraying from the gunpowder smoke, but the distance was simply too great — the volley was almost entirely wasted.

Liu Chengzong saw only one warhorse rear up in pain, then continue its charge as if nothing had happened, while one rider toppled from the saddle.

The warhorse, having lost its rider, followed the herd a few steps, then turned back to the fallen cavalryman.

Not long after, that cavalryman struggled to his feet, sat on the ground and picked at his armor for a long while, before slowly rising, leading his horse and walking unhurriedly toward the west bank.

The remaining twenty-odd riders dodged a volley of scattered arrows, spurred their horses and drew their bows, loosing three arrows into the government army formation from sixty paces — nearly shooting down a whole section of one side of their battle line.

Afterwards, driven off under fire from the government archers, they withdrew.

But on the other side, Zhong Bao also did not miss this golden opportunity, leading his squad in a charge from the southwest to the river's far bank and firing a volley of lead balls.

However, they lacked the range advantage of the Left Squad — the Frankish hand-culverins' range was simply too short. Several riders were forced back by government arrows during the approach, and only a dozen or so managed to fire their guns in front of the government troops.

But the effect was still quite good.

Firearm weapons have great lethality at close range; as long as the shot is accurate, there is a very high chance of incapacitating a man.

Liu Chengzong had once seen a corpse killed by a firelance — the lead ball entered through the belly, and the exit wound on the back was even larger than the front.

Lead balls deform easily. Most of the time, when the powder charge is strong enough, they punch straight through the body.

But if they strike bone at an angle, or penetrate poor-quality armor, they deform or even shatter, causing even greater damage.

The biggest problem with this thing is that loading is troublesome, firing is troublesome, and it brings greater danger to the user.

A man with a little training and a firelock equals cheap and good.

One hundred soldiers who have trained with the bow for three months can hardly compare to one hundred soldiers who have trained with the firelock for three months.

This is the trend of war.

Thinking of this, Liu Chengzong could not help but sigh.

He was born in an era of transformation — better firelocks meant a certain possibility.

A traditional martial man like him, who had honed his martial skills day after day for ten years, should have indisputably dominated the battlefield, yet now faced the possibility of being carried off by a single lead ball.

The chance of such a thing happening in ancient times was minuscule.

Han Shipan's cavalry squad withdrew to the shaded slope of the western hill, and Han Shiyou once again led his cavalry squad to repeat the process.

Chengyun, riding his little horse, led a dozen or so soldiers of the Supply Squad driving small donkey carts, ambling unhurriedly over from the western mountain path.

They left behind a few replacement warhorses, unloaded bundle after bundle of feathered arrows, stripped the armor from wounded retainers, loaded them onto the donkey carts, and slowly hauled them away.

The entire process was extraordinarily composed.

So composed that it broke the government army. Liu Chengzong saw it with utter clarity through his telescope — the official in the official robe within the formation drew his sword and cut his own throat, and the entire battle line disintegrated.

This government force had not broken when Wei Qian'er seized the ridge to screen the battlefield, nor when Zhong Bao's hand-culverin cavalry fired their volley, nor even when Han Shipan and Han Shiyou charged in to loose three arrows and retreated loosing three more each time.

Yet they broke because of Chengyun's resupply.

Chengyun had not yet gone far. He watched, utterly baffled, as the government troops mutinied — their formation scattered in an instant, some fleeing south, some fleeing west, and those who ran over surrendered.

He scratched his head, unable to fathom what had just happened.

This time they did not recruit surrenders, nor did they hand out travel expenses and rations. After confiscating all the government soldiers' arms, armor, and supplies, they deliberately let slip that they were Ai Mu's retainers, then released them.

Liu Chengzong spurred his horse down from the hillside and inspected the wounded. With armor protecting them, the injuries were not serious, but two men had heatstroke.

The vast majority of the retainers were utterly exhausted by this very low-risk battle.

But the spoils were well worth it.

On the cart were twenty large wooden chests, neatly arranged. Liu Chengzong tore off a seal and opened one — in the sunlight, the neatly stacked silver ingots gleamed dazzlingly.

He picked up one ingot and turned it over in his hand. The official silver was large and weighty, with the inscription "Twenty-Five Taels" stamped on the bottom.

The Supply Outpost emerged from the mountains and took charge of the silver cart. The auxiliary soldiers, who had been waiting a long while, swarmed forward, using the Yunyan River to skin the government army's dead warhorses, butcher them, cut the meat, and wash it clean.

Even at this moment, Chengyun still wore a face of utter bafflement. He sidled up to Liu Chengzong and asked, "Brother, how did they suddenly just collapse?"

"Because of you."

Chengyun's eyes went wide. He spread his hands, speechless.

He felt he had only done a bit of trivial work.

"It's very easy for a person to persist in one thing — like persisting in standing still — as long as there is hope."

Liu Chengzong pointed toward the now-empty east bank of the river. "What was their hope? To drag the fight into nightfall, to exhaust the retainer cavalry's arrows. Two quivers per man, only thirty-some arrows in all."

"The arrows would eventually run out. They were not afraid of horsemen without arrows. But you came, bringing arrows and horses. They realized they could not hold out until dark, and naturally they broke."

Chengyun was still a little embarrassed. "Is what I did really that important?"

"The Supply Outpost is extremely important. The reason we have survived until now is precisely because the government army lacks proper supplies."

The main force advanced into the western mountains. They needed to find a place with shade to rest, and then locate a suitable place to settle, so they could fully digest the supplies gained from this battle.

Not a scrap of meat was to be wasted.

The seven outposts of Lion Camp moved along the Yunyan River, each taking a separate path across the crisscrossing gullies and loess ridges, keeping watch across the ravines, spreading out over several li.

Chengyun recommended a good place to Liu Chengzong.

It lay on the upper reaches of the Yunyan River, a narrow stream valley. The land belonged to Ganquan County, but was connected to Yan'an City only by a small footpath, with no official road linking them.

Because of abundant water and fertile soil, it had once been densely populated. However, since the drought began, the common folk had fled if they could, and few residents remained.

Its name — it was called Nanniwan.

Liu Chengzong laughed the moment he heard the name, and immediately decided to lead the troops in to take a look.

That store of memories in his mind was chattering at him madly — a whole string of recollections leaped forth, all to prove that reclaiming this land would make them self-sufficient.

Chengyun had no idea why he was so delighted just hearing the name.

The further they traveled upstream along the Yunyan River, the more Liu Chengzong felt this place was suited for stationing troops. After this river valley turned west from Yichuan, it generally ran east to west. Wherever the river branched north or south, there would be a valley three to five li long.

Now, both banks of the river were mostly desolate, though traces of former fields could still be seen. But accompanying this was an increasing desolation the further they went.

This place already belonged to the Yellow Dragon Mountain range.

They made camp for the night on the eastern side of the river valley. While the Supply Outpost soldiers processed the meat, Liu Chengzong sent word to each outpost commander — have them find someone.

Find the bandit soldier who had first joined the band back at Tiger's Hollow.

He actually managed to find one — in Gao Xian's Right Outpost, surname Huo, nickname Huo Vanguard.

Vanguard Huo said that in the past, this river valley, going deeper from Golden Basin Bend, was full of households. But later, when Li Bei routed them, the bandit soldiers were chased and scattered everywhere in the valley, and because of that, the common folk all fled beyond the mountains.

Now there is no one left in the mountains.

To prove his words, Vanguard Huo even took Liu Chengzong to see a fortified stronghold near the river valley, saying it was built by the common folk who used to live here.

The whole way, Liu Chengzong was calculating how much farmland this river valley could be opened up into.

By the next night, he called over Shangtian Hou and said to him, "Look over here. What do you think?"

"It's pretty good. The location is decent too, good enough to rest for a few days."

Liu Chengzong shook his head and said, "I'm not talking about resting for a few days. Look, Yan'an Prefectural City is here, and we are currently here."

He drew a line on the map. Nanniwan was southeast of the prefectural city, and Apricot Seed River was northwest of it. The two places just happened to bracket Yan'an Prefectural City between them.

He said, "What I mean is, how about recruiting refugees to open up and cultivate this river valley?"