Chapter 312: Mascot

On the mid-slope of the towering snow mountain, Old Qijia leaned on his banner-spear and tugged the yak's halter rope forward.

Claws made of horse bone trod the muddy, slick mountain terrain; his heavy panting turned to mist upon the snow mountain.

The broad slope stretching several dozen li was not steep, but the summer snowline's rise left everything below the mid-slope muddy and slick, difficult to traverse.

From the foot to the mid-slope, a dozen-odd squads of several dozen men each trudged onward with heads down; Fierce Tiger heroes with snow-mountain experience in the ranks would look back from time to time to tend to the soldiers.

Liu Chengzong's original plan had been for the entire Left Battalion to cross the mountain range, but many who climbed to the mid-slope found that taking one more step upward felt like a goose being throttled by the throat — they simply could not climb higher.

To cross this mountain, the Left Battalion was reorganized: those with ample stamina who could make the climb were issued the best equipment and yaks, while the rest remained in the river valley under Basang's command to continue building the defensive line.

The Qijia father and son, abandoned by the Baili King's army and forced to live on the snow mountain for half a year, became the leaders of this contingent, assigned to carry out the most perilous tasks.

They had one thousand four hundred and forty soldiers; through the spoils at the Yellow River headwaters, every man now had Mongol-style long and short boots and Mongol-Tibetan leather coats, along with over three hundred sets of mail armor, over a hundred sets of leather armor, sixty sets of lamellar armor, and fifty sets of cotton armor.

They were equipped with bows, sabers, axes, slings, dog-beating staves, long and short spears, and shields, plus over a hundred yaks.

The cotton armor and yaks were both bestowed by Liu Chengzong before their departure; the cotton armor was of rather poor quality, its internal plates protecting only the vitals, its main purpose being to keep the soldiers warm up in the high mountains.

The yaks carried supplies and arrows, and could be eaten if they were besieged.

In truth, most of the soldiers had never eaten yak in their lives, because they owned no cattle — cattle all belonged to the noble lords.

It was the same as common folk revering mountain gods and opposing others' mining: the mines belonged to monks and nobles; the common folk had no mines.

Old Qijia halted, bent down to hammer in a wooden wedge, fixed the rope ladder to the muddy stretch with stakes, turned back to look at the soldiers lagging behind, and shook his head helplessly.

A large-scale force crossing a mountain range posed great danger and a severe test to the troops.

Old Qijia shed his equipment, casually tossed aside the small hammer, and, leaning on his banner pole, walked toward a pile of stones; drawing near, he unfurled the Hundred-Man Banner and planted it deep beside the stone pile, signaling to the several squads climbing in parallel that this route could be climbed further.

The Hundred-Man Banner bearing the words "All Under Heaven at Peace" snapped and fluttered in the wind; Old Qijia, his cheeks wind-blasted purple, drew a round stone from his sleeve, added it to the disordered mani pile, glanced at the "All Under Heaven at Peace" on the banner, knelt, and prayed in silence.

Seven months had passed since the last war ended; he had heard the Grand Marshal was very fond of the words on the banner, and figured he too must be a lord whose heart inclined toward peace — Old Qijia hoped that after this battle, the next peace might last a little longer.

A pity Old Qijia knew only one side and not the other: the Grand Marshal's ultimate ideal was indeed All Under Heaven at Peace, but his short-term goal was to Let Loose the Horses on South Mountain.

For the Qinghai Marshal's Headquarters, "Let Loose the Horses on South Mountain" symbolized neither peace nor could it describe letting one's guard down.

Quite the opposite — because South Mountain was Mount Hua, the phrase was brimming with enterprising ambition, meaning to seize the half of the realm west of Tong Pass.

Young Qijia braced his deerhide-gloved palm against a rock, removed his helmet to release the heat billowing from his head, and saw Old Qijia once again praying for All Under Heaven at Peace.

When they mustered at Nangqian, Young Qijia had only worn a set of mail armor with a heart-protecting mirror, but by the time they prepared to climb the mountain, the Grand Marshal had summoned the Left Battalion's squad leaders and Hundred-Commanders and bestowed upon them some of the Lion Army's iron-and-cotton armor to keep warm in the mountains.

Young Qijia touched the cotton armor with its coiled-dragon pattern and the pair of deerhide gloves specially granted to him, thinking to himself that the Grand Marshal was truly a thoughtful man.

For he had never worn armor like this; before their departure, the Grand Marshal had even taken the trouble to instruct him, telling him that if he needed to run swiftly and the armored skirt hindered his movement, he could roll it up — there were several colored ribbons on the inner thigh area that could tie the rolled skirt in place.

However, Liu Chengzong had also told him that this cotton armor had fewer iron plates inside, was mainly for warmth, and in defense could only protect the vitals — he still needed to be cautious in battle.

This was more than enough for Young Qijia; although the areas without iron plates offered less protection against weapons than mail, this set of armor was far more comfortable to wear.

He turned to look toward the river valley; the troops left to garrison the camp were working fast — three trench lines under excavation had already outlined the embryonic form of the valley fortifications.

Liu Chengzong, carrying a three-eyed gun, was digging trenches with the soldiers at the front, head down.

The three-eyed gun in his hand was Huang Shengxiao's masterpiece from their time in Nangqian.

The Lion Army had always possessed many three-eyed guns, but the only troops truly equipped with this weapon in large numbers were the relay cavalry.

Because relay cavalry generally did not fight in coordination with other units, range mattered little to them; in solo combat, an extra barrel meant an extra hope of survival.

But Huang Shengxiao had not only made bird guns in Nangqian — he had also produced a large batch of three-eyed guns.

This was mainly at the behest of Yang Dingrui of the Prefect's Office, who commissioned him to produce a batch of weapons for the village officers of the seven counties.

Huang Shengxiao pondered the scenarios in which the seven counties' three thousand-odd village officers would need to use weapons: they might face bandits and robbers with low-level organization but high-level skill.

Combat would be highly sudden, at close range, with few chances to fire a gun, a very low probability of accurate hits, and the possible state of being outnumbered.

What weapon could meet such needs? The three-eyed gun.

Its loud report could draw reinforcements, its margin for error was high, one blast and then flee could effectively repel the enemy, and running off to summon help was a very wise tactic.

Riding the great wave of agricultural tool manufacturing in Nangqian, Huang Shengxiao even revived an old design, using gun-shovels and gun-pickaxes — antiques from the Wanli era.

The three-eyed gun Liu Chengzong now held in his hand was precisely a gun-shovel.

In essence, it was a three-eyed gun with an iron shovel mounted on the other end: it possessed ranged firepower superior to that of peasant rebel armies, melee capability no less than that of peasant rebel armies, and allowed one to swing one's arms and throw oneself into a hearty bout of earthwork.

Getting into the swing of it, Liu Chengzong simply detached the three-eyed gun and worked with just the iron shovel.

Though he was proficient in all eighteen martial arts, his skill at earthwork — a compulsory military skill — was actually rather poor, only slightly better than that of the Kangning serfs, and even that advantage lay not in technique but in greater physical strength and power.

Back at Yuhe Fort, all he had drilled day after day were formations and individual skills; He Renlong, to prevent mutiny and death from exhaustion, had basically never arranged high-exertion training like earthwork or forced marches.

Raising an army's combat strength is very hard, but lowering it is extremely easy.

In trench-digging efficiency, Liu Chengzong was essentially a mascot; but in mascot efficiency, Liu Chengzong was the most formidable of all.

They were hardly short of mascots here: apart from the troops on defense duty, officers of every rank were toiling with heads down, the soldiers sharing their hardships, and the nobles of Kangning Prefecture had joined in as well — that lot's efficiency was actually even worse than Liu the Lion's.

But what Liu Chengzong valued was not efficiency.

While digging trenches and building the camp, this army could briefly cast aside hierarchy; everyone was worn to exhaustion by the three trench lines, and when the work was done they slaughtered sheep and cattle, completing life's toil and pleasure together — for the first time, the three battalions' soldiers coalesced as a single collective.

Liu Chengzong's camp design was simple: the valley was split into two banks by a small river; at the point where the left bank was widest and the right bank narrowest, a first square trench was dug on the left bank to serve as the Lion Army's position, while an earthen wall was piled and covered with oilcloth in preparation for the coming rain.

A second trench was dug on the right bank a hundred paces to the south, to protect the troops behind and facilitate cavalry sallies.

For the Right Battalion's horse troops to sally, they had to first cross the river from the left bank and then head to the battlefield from the right bank; if the Mongol horse troops wanted to raid their rear baggage, they too would have to take this route — all within the firing range of guns and cannons.

Liu Chengzong was building his defensive line before the rain came; the Mongol army on the other side of the mountain, however, was waiting for the rain to arrive.

At the great Mongol camp beyond the mountain, the travel-worn Elengchi was loudly proclaiming the legal code, carrying out the punishment for defeat in battle upon Güyang Ba'atur.

Elengchi was not a noble title but the name of a commoner post, akin to a herald — someone responsible for conveying major news of assemblies, wars, or the death of a Noyan; at this moment, they were envoys of Choktu Taiji.

News of Güyang's defeat at the Yellow River headwaters reached Choktu Taiji just as the vanguard Hundred-Commander was defeated at the Guide Battalion; the simultaneous arrival of defeat reports from two route armies enraged Choktu, who directly ordered the legal code brought forth and read on the spot.

Bringing out the legal code meant handling matters by the book; due to prolonged division, the Khalkha legal code differed in many respects from those of the Tümed and Oirat, apart from all revering the Great Khan.

And for Choktu Taiji's Mongol allied army, they had not handled matters by the book for many years — for no other reason than poverty.

According to the code, Güyang Ba'atur, for fleeing the field, was fined one hundred sets of armor, a thousand warhorses, and a hundred camels; of the over three hundred commoner soldiers who fled back, those with armor were fined one set of armor and four warhorses; those without armor were fined two riding horses.

Counting all the gains from seizing Guru's territory, Güyang did not have one hundred sets of armor and a thousand warhorses; even without losing the battle, his soldiers had never reached the level of four warhorses per man.

But the enraged Choktu Taiji punished him exactly like that — and even provided Guyang with a solution. These things would be counted as debt. They didn't have them, but the Han army on the other side of the mountain did. After defeating the Han army, the punishment would be deducted from the spoils.

Beyond this, Choktu Taiji also mobilized several Noyan nobles nearby who had originally been assigned to seize the Huangnan Lesser Loop, throwing full support behind Guyang's southern campaign.

Listening to Elchi proclaim the ordinances, Guyang hung his head and cursed inwardly.

These ordinances could only punish him anyway — no one else listened to them. If you've got the guts, go proclaim the ordinances to Daiching! Oh wait, can you even find him?

The great noble chieftain arriving as reinforcements this time was also called Daiching — known to all as the Khalkha's Khojigor Akhai Daiching.

This bafflingly impressive name was a bit of a mouthful, but very easy to understand: Khojigor meant thin-haired or bald, Daiching meant battle-skilled or wise.

Rendered with fidelity, elegance, and fluency, it came out roughly as… Bald Strong?

Akhai Daiching stood not far away with his arms folded, a cold sneer on his face, tidying the braids that hung down from his temples as he watched Choktu Taiji's messenger put on his performance.

He knew perfectly well that Choktu Taiji was not truly punishing Guyang, but using Guyang's punishment to lay the groundwork for punishing chieftains like himself who had come to the rescue.

Because Guyang was flat broke — there was no way he could produce warhorses and armor — and the man was Choktu Taiji's trusted confidant, unlike powerful nobles like them who had come through the allied assembly.

Lately he had heard it said more than once: Choktu Taiji wanted to become Khan of Qinghai.

Although both belonged to the Khalkha, Akhai Daiching was not of Choktu Taiji's own division. He had come from the north leading only a little over two thousand riders — reinforcements for entering Tibet recruited from the Khalkha by the Yellow Sect monks. In truth, he and the Tumed's Lhazang were allies.

Precisely because of this, he had entered Qinghai under the guise of a Tibet-bound pilgrim, having reached an agreement with the Gansu Regional Commander to traverse Gansu Garrison.

The problem was that after traversing Gansu Garrison, what stood before him was Liu Chengzong. Bald Strong had no desire to fight the Marshal's Headquarters… he wanted to go to Ü-Tsang. Getting into a clanging, banging brawl with the Han army here — what was that about?

But the border troops of Gansu Garrison were devious. They had permitted him to travel south from the north because he had presented a great many gifts. Now, with no gifts, they would not permit him to return north from the south.

The Gansu border troops knew exactly what Akhai Daiching would face after crossing Gansu, and had deliberately let him through. In any case, once the man got there and saw Liu the Lion, he would surely want to come back.

And wanting to come back meant paying another road toll. As for how the road toll was obtained, the Gansu border troops did not care — if he had the nerve, let him fight a battle across the Qilian Mountains.

To ensure no one was laid off, entrepreneurship was the main theme of seventeenth-century border defense forces.

Akhai Daiching had thought that after crossing Gansu, what awaited him was the young Lhazang. Never in his wildest dreams had he imagined that the Qinghai lake region had already changed hands. To the north, he couldn't win; to the south, he didn't want to fight.

With the road into Tibet cut off by the Qinghai Marshal's Headquarters, he had been forced to halt briefly beyond the Gansu border and compelled to merge forces with Choktu Taiji.

As it turned out, misfortune became a blessing. Instead, due to shifting conditions on the eastern grasslands, he had gathered some followers and even held a secondary position within Choktu Taiji's coalition.

Akhai Daiching — bald, strong, and preternaturally brilliant — how could he fail to see through Choktu Taiji's petty ploy in punishing Guyang? If Guyang could be punished this time, next time they could punish him with full legitimacy.

Still, for Akhai Daiching, this situation was no great problem. For now, all that mattered was victory. As for what came after, following Choktu offered no great prospects. Defeating Liu Chengzong and entering Tibet as soon as possible to earn a khan title — that was the real business.

Anyway, judging by the sky, the rain would fall within these two days. Guyang said the Han army to the south had fearsome firearms and cannon — then they would simply wait for the rain and attack. Perfect, since he had his eye on getting some firearms and cannon himself.

Watching Choktu Taiji's son tinker at Ulan Mountain with firearms and cannon copied from the Oirats, he had been drooling with envy, even dreaming about how those Oros barbarians had gotten their hands on such things.

Dai Daozi stood guard at the mountain pass for three days and, in the process, rigidly guarded himself into becoming a philosopher — discovering the uncanny valley principle: people deeply dislike things that resemble themselves.

For instance, right now, he deeply disliked these copycat Tartars.

At first, the Mongol cavalry units had still tried to break through his blockade, but after losing a dozen or so men, they simply stood far off like reconnaissance riders, watching aggressively. The moment the reconnaissance riders approached, they fled. If pursued too far, they even tried to use their numerical advantage to surround and annihilate the reconnaissance riders.

At last the sky darkened. A rolling thunderclap exploded on the horizon, and light rain mixed with ice chips fell from the heavens. He heard the hoofbeats of the Mongol cavalry units in the distance beyond the pass, surging forward in unison.

Battle flags swayed. The reconnaissance riders withdrew layer by layer from the mountain pass into the river valley, contracting toward their position.

On the other side of the river valley, lightning tore across the darkened sky. The Western Barbarian nobles fastened their plumed helmets, gripped their spiral-shafted long spears, and led their warhorses forward. For the battle merits that would grant them new territories, they trod through the muddy river valley toward the battlefield.