Chapter 309: Switching Homes

Every trade has its specialists — no matter how thunderously Huang Shengxiao blasted his arquebuses and cannons at the mountain pass, once the Mongols started running, he really had no desire to pursue and strike them relentlessly.

But Gao Yingdeng did.

Liu Chengzong remembered Cao Yao once saying there was a kind of person in this world who lived each day seething with rage, not knowing whom to take revenge on — if no one pointed them to a clear path, they'd either turn bandit or hang themselves; but point out any way out at all, and they'd follow it with iron resolve.

Liu Chengzong felt Gao Yingdeng was exactly that kind of person.

Ever since Liu the Lion rose in revolt, the junior officers under his command had all been men who dared fight and dared charge.

Some of these men had died in battle, some had been wounded, but few were like Gao Yingdeng, who always believed he possessed the valor of Guan Yu and Zhang Fei.

This time was no exception — when Güyeng Ba'atur led his troops north, Gao Yingdeng spurred his cavalry in relentless pursuit, racing past Huashi Gorge, galloping through Drunken Horse Flat, crossing Bitter Sea and Hot Springs, chasing all the way.

Güyeng Ba'atur fled for three days; Gao Yingdeng pursued for three full days. The main army behind, fearing he might come to harm, had no choice but to follow and chase for three days as well.

Only when Liu Chengzong reached the grasslands where five rivers converged did he see Gao Yingdeng's cavalry had set up a crude camp on the steppe, with spoils of war — boots, horse tack, curved sabers, and the like — piled everywhere outside the camp.

Gao Yingdeng came out to greet him beyond the camp. As Liu Chengzong arrived with his troops, he called out from a distance, "You've got some sense after all, knowing to stop here."

Liu Chengzong had been deathly afraid Gao Yingdeng would push past this point and keep chasing — to the east lay a mountain range over eighty li long, with a winding road along its base; once around that mountain, to the northeast lay Heka Grassland, the former encampment of Guru Taiji.

Gao Yingdeng chuckled, patting himself down. "Commander, look — not a scratch, fit as ever. As long as I press them hard, they can't regroup. Routed soldiers stay routed."

Inside the camp, over a hundred captives were skinning and bleeding dead horses under the cavalry's supervision, smoking the meat into jerky.

Gao Yingdeng reported to Liu Chengzong: "In the end, over three hundred got away. They split into two groups — one heading east, most likely fleeing to Heka Grassland, where Chogtu Taiji is; the other fled northwest. The prisoners say they have a main camp at Ulaan Mountain, where Chogtu Taiji's son is garrisoned, building a fortification."

Ulaan Mountain lay west of the Chaka Salt Lake; Liu Chengzong had glimpsed it from afar during his southern campaign.

But at that moment, Gao Yingdeng's expression was rather odd, as if he were holding back a laugh. Liu Chengzong asked, "What is it?"

"Nothing. Which side does the Commander plan to strike first?"

Gao Yingdeng had pried a piece of news from the prisoners: Chogtu Taiji's eldest son shared the same name as their Commander — he was called Arslan, also a lion.

"No rush. We've been running for days on end; there's plenty of water here. Let the troops rest a while." Liu Chengzong spoke, then raised a hand toward the great mountain to the east. "Those two ice blocks from the Left Battalion are already up the mountain. You fought this battle well — let the horse troops rest."

As he spoke, Liu Chengzong patted Gao Yingdeng on the shoulder.

Gao Yingdeng's pursuit proved that the three training camps at Ju'er Bay had not been set up in vain — he had made tremendous progress.

In the Lion Army, nearly all the officers had Ming military backgrounds; those who had reached Battalion Commander or above could be counted on one hand. Thanks to the Ming army's abundance of deserters, however, his Company Leaders and Century Commanders were surprisingly numerous — sometimes even two successive holders of the same post within the same unit.

Weren't Zhang Tianlin and Liu Chengzu two generations of Company Leader in the same unit?

They had become Company Leaders and Century Commanders by daring to fight and charge, so for men like these, daring to fight and charge was no real skill — knowing when to stop, that was the real skill.

He sent Dai Daozi forward from the northern mountain pass to scout, and dispatched the mountain folk under Basang to climb the heights and gather intelligence. Only then did Liu Chengzong finally breathe a sigh of relief and set up several camps on the grassland.

This was perhaps the most exhausting long-distance march he had ever endured in his life.

The quality of the soldiers in the three battalions differed so vastly they could practically be called three entirely different professions: the Center Battalion were professional soldiers, the Left Battalion were professional slaves, and the Right Battalion were professional aristocrats.

With the language barrier making it impossible to intermix units in the face of the enemy, and the food supply and rebellion problems in the south forcing him to bring everyone north, the march had drained his mental energy severely.

The six hundred heavy infantrymen Wasi had brought from west of the Long River — those men's equipment was superb, enough to make even Liu Chengzong, who had seen plenty of Khulochi Mongol troops, take fresh notice.

They were the finest warriors under the various native chiliarchs of Minyak. To be selected for the campaign, Minyak had specially held competitions in firing arquebuses, shooting heavy crossbows, hurling javelins, throwing stones, and hand-to-hand combat. Only after enduring trial after trial were they chosen — they were the pride of the tusi, every one of them a master of close combat.

But the farthest any of them had ever marched was from Dajianlu west of the Dadu River to the east side of the Dadu River to fight the Lengbian Tusi. Before marching, they ate guokui flatbread stuffed with Dongpo pork elbow; the entire march was a hundred li; the total combat lasted eight days; victory won, they marched another hundred li home.

Now look at them: hungry every day, eating roasted flour and tsampa; thirsty, setting up a big pot to boil a bowl of snow with yak dung; day after day, nothing but marching and more marching — for half a month straight.

Even Wasi, who led them on horseback, had gone numb from all the riding. Figuring they must be close by now, he finally worked up the courage to ask Liu the Lion how much farther to Xining — only to see the Commander wave a hand: Excellent, you've covered a quarter of the distance.

From that day on, in the chiliarch company that had been marching with every last ounce of strength to avoid shaming Lord Minyak, these stout fellows who could wear heavy armor, wield heavy weapons, and cross mountains and rivers as if on level ground would burst into waves of weeping the moment they made camp.

The Right Battalion had plenty of professional soldiers, but their morale was low. Many of them had no desire to fight in this campaign at all; they all thought Liu Chengzong was no good, that he had dragged them from their homeland with no intention of ever letting them return.

The aristocratic lords were all shrewd — they kept count of Liu Chengzong's grain and fodder reserves, each one a little Zhuge Liang. Every day at camp, they'd huddle together and mutter in secret: See? This villainous marshal hasn't prepared any provisions for the journey back.

If Basang's men ran, Liu Chengzong might not even pursue them — but Basang's side had no deserters. Everyone was utterly loyal to Lord Basang, yet toward the "lord of their lord's lord," their attitude could hardly be called loyalty.

Devout — they were extremely devout toward Liu Chengzong.

Year after year, they had offered up their own paltry possessions to the temples without ever seeing the Buddha show the slightest sign of efficacy. The "lord of their lord's lord" was far more efficacious — if he said he'd give them a few mu of land, a few mu of land it was.

But their physical stamina truly couldn't keep up, and if they couldn't keep up, they fell behind. When they fell behind, men had to be left ahead to gather them in — not just to point the way, but also to guard against wild beasts. Most of the places they'd passed through along the way were like uninhabited wilderness; the beasts had starved all winter and were desperately hunting for food.

Even now, over two hundred men from the Left Battalion were still stranded south of the Yellow River, just beginning to cross.

On A'liu's side, it was the opposite — the aristocrats wanted to flee, only most of them didn't dare. Whenever any did, fearing they might stir up rebellion, Zhang Tianlin had to send men to chase them back. Those who resisted to the death were killed on the spot and their heads brought back.

It wasn't until Huang Shengxiao and Gao Yingdeng crossed the river and won their battle that the Right Battalion's morale improved dramatically. They had always assumed the first battle would be fought by them, that the northern expedition was just a pretext for the villainous marshal to get them all killed.

Now it seemed the Lion Army's combat strength was formidable indeed. As long as they weren't being put at the front as death troops, they had a chance of surviving.

Once they figured that out, the aristocrats' spirits improved considerably.

During the two days the army halted at Five-River Confluence to rest, Zhang Tianlin, who had been interrogating prisoners, sat down in Liu Chengzong's command tent and shook his head with a grin. "Commander, this Chogtu has ambitions far greater than we thought!"

"How so?"

"Among the prisoners are a few tribal soldiers whose families have lived at Ulaan Mountain for generations. The way they tell it, Chogtu Taiji is like an immortal — he brought them seven arts."

Liu Chengzong smiled. "I'd be glad to hear them."

Zhang Tianlin sat cross-legged by the brazier and began counting on his fingers. "First is Mongolian writing, second is trade, third is making snuff, fourth is building city walls, fifth is predicting fair weather and rain, sixth is mining. Commander, guess what the seventh is."

Liu Chengzong was simply baffled. "Wasn't Ulaan Mountain part of Guru Taiji's territory before? What, they didn't even know Mongolian writing?"

"Knew jack shit. That Guru Taiji only knew how to collect the tribute levy from the tribal folk and cared about nothing else. This Chogtu, on the other hand — he looks like he means to make something big of himself in Qinghai."

As he spoke, Zhang Tianlin let out a laugh. "Good thing we came back early. All these things of his have only just begun — that tribal soldier could only speak a couple of phrases in Mongolian."

Liu Chengzong nodded slowly, then asked, "What was that seventh one you mentioned?"

Zhang Tianlin spread both hands. "Making arquebuses and cannons."

"This 'cannon' you speak of..."

Liu Chengzong's expression turned peculiar. "Is it... proper?"

Doubting the Mongols' cannon-making ability was an instinct that required no thought whatsoever.

Because those were essentially two separate words — Mongols, Liu Chengzong understood; cannons, Liu Chengzong also understood. But put the two together, and it entered Liu Chengzong's blind spot of knowledge.

Similar things included "Tibetan peasant farmer" or "Mongolian navy" — two perfectly proper words that, when put together, made people feel they weren't quite so proper after all.

"Very orthodox — should be iron cannons. The area has plenty of iron mines, and their cannon-making craft probably wasn't learned from us. Gül Bay doesn't make iron cannons."

After Zhang Tianlin finished, he frowned and added: "Muskets are harder to say. That tribal soldier said they make all kinds of muskets. Over by Ulan Mountain there's a musket unit — some are just like bird guns, some are bigger than bird guns."

"Bigger than bird guns… exactly how big? As big as a wall gun?"

Liu Chengzong cared a great deal about this question. A firearm's length and charge ratio determined its range and power. The longest-range firearm in his hands was the wall gun. If Choktu's western garrison possessed weapons with greater range than wall guns, then he would have to cast a batch of cannons right here on the spot.

Zhang Tianlin clearly hadn't considered this issue and merely took it as his competitive spirit being roused. He laughed: "No, no — the Marshal's wall guns are definitely bigger."

Hearing this, Liu Chengzong set his mind at ease and decisively made the call: "If that's the case, I think we should first eliminate the Ulan Mountain force, then turn east and coordinate with the northern troops to encircle and annihilate Choktu. Save us the trouble of them scattering and being hard to catch."

His purpose in stationing troops here was twofold: on one hand, to let the soldiers and warhorses recover to peak condition for the coming battles; on the other, to gather intelligence — either locate the enemy's main force, or make the enemy's main force come to him.

Otherwise, from the Qilian Mountains to the Kunlun Mountains, across this vast expanse of land, if forty thousand Mongol troops played hide-and-seek with him, it would be quite a headache.

"Oh, right, Marshal — one more thing." Hearing Liu Chengzong's plan, Zhang Tianlin hurriedly said: "Lhazang's Little Loop has already fallen."

"Ah?"

Liu Chengzong was deeply regretful at this news: "Ai, I thought we'd already moved fast enough."

But his face showed not the slightest trace of pain — eager and restless, he even seemed about to smile: "Is Lhazang dead or not?"

Zhang Tianlin shook his head.

The disappointment on Liu Chengzong's face was beyond words: "That's rather a pit… Hm?"

He had already been pondering what official post would be suitable to confer posthumously on Lhazang — and after all that fuss, the man wasn't dead. A waste of sentiment.

Then he heard Zhang Tianlin say: "He didn't resist. He surr — well, you can't exactly call it surrender. He took several thousand men and fled south. The captives say they ran incredibly fast; their troops on the eastern side couldn't catch up at all. By now they might almost be at Luhuo."

Liu Chengzong's face flushed red in an instant from sheer fury. He yanked a tuft of fur from the tiger skin he was sitting on: "What the hell is he going to Luhuo for!"

It wasn't that he was angry Lhazang had abandoned his territory and fled — it was the direction, Luhuo. He felt that this dog egg Lhazang had encountered a strong foe and wanted to play swap-home with him.

"Well, now Kangning Prefecture's going to be in chaos. Good thing I left Cao Yao in Kangning… Let me write a letter." As he spoke, he turned, brushed a letter at the table, and moments later strode out of the tent and called for his guard: "Have the relay station send it to Nangqên."

When he returned, Zhang Tianlin asked: "Is the Marshal having General Cao guard against Lhazang?"

Liu Chengzong nodded, then finally let out a helpless laugh: "By the time the letter arrives, they've probably already started fighting. How does that little bastard's brain work — dares not provoke Choktu but dares provoke me?"

He had estimated the timing while writing. If Lhazang intended to attack Kangning Prefecture, the few thousand men he took would certainly not be enough. At most, he probably just wanted to seize Luhuo. By the time the letter arrived, fighting would likely have already begun.

So in the letter, he first told Cao Yao to handle things cautiously — if they truly couldn't win, it was fine to pull back; at worst they'd just conquer Kangning Prefecture again next year. If fighting hadn't broken out yet, then guard against Lhazang. Secondly, he told Chengyun not to run around recklessly, not to meddle in the fighting, and to avoid getting himself hurt.

If it really came to swapping homes, as long as he subdued Choktu, he wouldn't come out at a loss.

The Little Loop was a fine place. That place had more land suitable for reclamation and farming than all of Kangning Prefecture combined.

Had he not been newly arrived back then, still unsteady at Qinghai Lake, and had Baiten not been fairly sensible, that place would have been a must-conquer territory.

Liu Chengzong took a moment to calm himself. Once his thoughts cleared, he couldn't help but feel worry for the Marshal's Manor: "It's just that with that coward Lhazang running off, such a huge defense zone is left empty. The pressure on my brother's side will be immense now."

Zhang Tianlin nodded slowly, and then heard Liu Chengzong say: "Then we can only strike Choktu's main force first."

Just at that moment, a guard outside the tent reported: "Marshal, Left Camp Awang and Centurion Qijia request an audience."

Once Liu Chengzong granted permission, the mute Awang entered with his own paper and brush, prostrated himself, and immediately began writing. Old Qijia, his brows and beard still hung with ice crystals, also saluted at the side.

After a brief wait, Awang silently presented the paper with both hands. On it was written: Old Qijia saw from the snowy mountain that over ten thousand Mongol troops on the other side are massing and heading northwest, intending to circle around the mountain range and come over.

Liu Chengzong nodded. He felt he had miscalculated — Left Camp Awang's efficiency as a translator was truly not high.

"Then let's prepare for battle. We'll wait at ease and fight them right here. Summon Commandants Basang and Aliu."

Then he saw that after finishing that line, Awang lifted his brush again and wrote: Old Qijia has scouted the mountain paths. A unit can be ordered to cross the mountains and block the rear route. Left Camp — Left Camp can do it.