Chapter 459: Rockets, Rockets!

Bai Guang'en pursued with ferocious intensity.

A lowly bandit soldier who once hung his head on his belt fighting government troops, he fought his way up to small chief, then staked his entire fortune on becoming a turncoat to gain his current post as Staff Colonel of the Governor's Standard — all by sheer, extraordinary audacity.

Put nicely, it's decisiveness and courage; put bluntly, it's a colossal gambling streak.

At first he advanced slowly and by the book, because he didn't know where the enemy was or how many they numbered.

Now that guerrilla commander Li Yun had paid with his life to scout the enemy for him, Bai Guang'en had no more worries and very decisively issued two orders.

First, send word to Hong Chengchou that Liu Chengzong's troops were very likely crossing the mountains; second, order the entire army to split into three formations.

The surviving thirteen hundred infantry of Guerrilla General Li Yun would form the second formation, escorting the war wagons; the Governor's Standard twenty-five hundred infantry would form the third formation as the main force; the thirteen hundred cavalry would be the vanguard first formation, led personally by Bai Guang'en in a direct charge at Wang Ziyong.

Bai Guang'en's cavalry was not numerous, but Wang Ziyong lacked the confidence to fight and dared not engage — he turned and fled for his life, all the while thinking to himself that this time he would most likely die here.

Because he was very familiar with this tactic; it was a common Ming army tactic in the northwest.

Though Wang Ziyong was no classically trained traditional commander, tactics are something you basically learn after surviving a beating.

Back when he rose up in Ningxia, government troops had used this exact tactic to beat him to a pulp, and he even knew exactly what would happen if he stopped running.

The moment they caught up, this cavalry would cling to him, entangle him, deny him food, drink, sleep, dismounted combat — and they wouldn't fight him head-on either — until the two formations behind completed the encirclement. By then, even wanting a head-on fight would be impossible; the only path was defeat in close combat followed by rout.

This was a rich-man's tactic of fighting many against few, strong against weak — a combat skill the northwestern Ming army had honed against the Mongols. It demanded very little of a commander's talent but rather high soldier quality, relying on cavalry tenacity, equipment, and caliber.

And the elite cavalry under Bai Guang'en were partly veterans from when Hong Chengchou commanded Yansui Garrison, and partly old bandits who had surrendered with him and later recruited others — all possessed formidable tenacity.

Wang Ziyong dared not fight Bai Guang'en head-on and could only flee at full tilt, like a beast sighting its natural predator, cursing as he ran: "Just watch, this Daoist will find some damn killer and send every last one of you sky-high!"

But in truth he had no idea where to run. The Triple Calamity Society's tens of thousands of followers across Gansu couldn't save him at a moment like this, and Zhang Tianlin... the weapons and equipment Zhang Tianlin needed were all being worn on their own backs.

So he had no choice but to treat a dead horse as a live one and flee toward Liyuan Fort.

There he'd find the Triple Calamity Society's Little Sixteen Dharma Master, plus the several hundred garrison soldiers at Liyuan Fort who'd been stirred to mutiny.

The "damn killer" in Wang Ziyong's mind, Zhang Tianlin, was currently in a towering rage.

The mountain pass in the Qilian range had frozen him half to death, and he'd barely made it down when he learned Wang Ziyong had taken the weapons and gone off to fight — it made him shake with fury.

Zhang Tianlin saw this mission across the Qilian Mountains as his chance to prove himself.

As the saying goes, better the beak of a rooster than the rump of an ox. Like Wang Ziyong, he had risen in revolt earlier than Liu Chengzong, but unlike Wang Ziyong, Wang Ziyong had no military background.

Whereas Zhang the Fifth, "Passing Sky Star," was a regular border-army squad leader by origin — and he'd served right at Yuhe Fort, as the predecessor to Liu Chengzu's squad-leader post.

That had been a cavalry squad.

After merging camps, all the hard fighting had been done by Liu Chengzong's own Lion Camp. Zhang Tianlin's own troops had always played a supporting role alongside Liu Chengzu, and it wasn't until they entered Qinghai that he campaigned south with the army, yet he never got the chance to command a force independently.

For this chance, he was even willing to let Liu Chengzong dispatch him all the way to the Tianshan range.

Fighting across the Qilian Mountains was Zhang Tianlin's first independent command of a single force at the Marshal's Manor.

Before reaching the northern foothills, he had made many plans for himself — from defeating the enemy in field battle to attacking cities and sweeping across Gansu to sever the Hexi Corridor. Never in his wildest dreams did he imagine that before the first step even began, he'd have to face the enemy bare-handed.

But he truly couldn't blame Wang Ziyong for this. Zhang Tianlin, regrouping at Bazi Dun, could only seethe in impotent rage, cursing that the Triple Calamity Society had been exposed at the worst possible time.

Exposed a few days earlier, and Liu Chengzong's main Marshal's Manor force wouldn't have set out yet — the plan could still have been changed; exposed a few days later, and it wouldn't have affected their military operations either.

But it had to be right at this moment: the Marshal's Manor's great army was already marching toward Jiayu Pass, and Zhang Tianlin had crossed the Qilian Mountains bare-handed, opening his eyes to a dead end.

Lacking weapons, equipment, and warhorses was actually a minor matter. Zhang Tianlin had been a leader before, and he could keenly feel that the real big problem was the foul atmosphere in camp under this dead-end situation that any clear-eyed person could see.

The soldiers were despairing and lost about their prospects. At a time like this, if he dared order the army to march north bare-handed, the soldiers would dare mutiny.

He summoned his subordinate officers to confer in the open field and opened with: "At this moment we can't worry about anyone else. You all know the military law. This is a death trap, and we can't afford to care about much. I'll set only one rule: no killing."

The officers in council all caught his implied meaning. Feng Dakui, the Chiliarch who had led the cavalry detachment that pierced straight through Dong Xueli's cavalry at the great He-Huang battle, objected: "General, the Yellow Barbarians will probably not hand over their arms and armor to us. If we take them by force, I fear the Marshal won't let it go afterward..."

Feng Dakui shook his head. The rest didn't need saying — everyone present was a troop commander and knew the consequences of violating military law. The fighting strength of an army is guaranteed only by reward and punishment.

As one of the Marshal's Manor's four most elite direct-line battalions, the lowest rank of merit among the battalion's soldiers was First-Class Officer of Talent. They enjoyed the most generous treatment of the Marshal's Manor's thirteen battalions, and correspondingly, the strictest military law was enforced upon them.

The Marshal's Manor's military law made no distinction between battalions, but its enforcement always varied from person to person.

For example, speaking casually on the march — though military law forbade it, if it was a Mongol soldier from the Garrison-Herd Battalion, it was no big deal; if it was a local militiaman from the He-Huang Five Garrisons, he'd merely get a scolding from his officer.

But in the Field Battle Battalion, a soldier who opened his mouth without his officer's permission on the march would be beaten with the rod; if the squad leader didn't beat him, the entire squad would be beaten.

If casual speech was treated this way, blatant robbery went without saying.

The Marshal's Manor's soldiers generally didn't rob, because robbery meant certain death. Thus robbery was usually accompanied by the even graver crime of desertion. The punishment for desertion was: half the squad stays behind, the other half goes to capture him — if captured, the whole squad is beaten and the deserter beheaded; if not captured, the company commander and squad leader are written up, the whole squad is beaten, and their pay is docked for a year.

Now that Zhang Tianlin was practically openly saying they should rob, his subordinate officers had no desire to follow him to their deaths.

But Zhang Tianlin was extremely decisive. He said: "We have only one chance. If we go ask to borrow weapons, the Yellow Barbarians may not agree. If they refuse and grow wary of us, we won't be able to seize them without weapons."

"Without arms, armor, and warhorses, we won't live to see the day the Marshal breaks through Jiayu Pass and enters Gansu. I give the order; you carry it out. When the Marshal holds us to account afterward, all blame falls on me alone — it has nothing to do with any of you."

With this guarantee from him, his subordinate commanders relaxed a little and then each began pondering how to go about seizing the arms and armor.

Once the plan was finalized, Zhang Tianlin once more admonished everyone: "Avoid killing if at all possible. If things go bad, my head won't stay on my shoulders."

Zhang Tianlin also feared losing control of the situation. His thinking was to use extraordinary measures in extraordinary times. Afterward, Liu Chengzong would certainly punish him openly — without punishment he couldn't satisfy the troops — but as long as the battle was fought well and no killing caused excessively vile consequences, the impact on him shouldn't be too great.

With this decision made, Zhang Tianlin immediately turned his fierce gaze toward the five Yellow Barbarian tribes camped on the Bazi Dun grasslands. They were going back to their old trade — robbery.

Zhang Tianlin prepared a two-pronged approach. First he rode alone to meet with Tahe Zhike, using a mix of bluster and deceit to tell him that seven thousand more troops with weapons and equipment were still being transported on the other side of the mountains, and that the five Yellow Barbarian tribes should temporarily lend him six hundred bows and six hundred warhorses to guard against government troops attacking.

Tahe Zhike didn't want to give them, but didn't dare refuse. In the end, having no choice, he negotiated down to three hundred sixty horses, fifty sets of armor, three hundred sixty bows, and ten thousand arrows.

The moment they started negotiating, Zhang Tianlin knew this couldn't be settled amicably.

So as soon as Tahe Zhike had his tribesmen deliver the goods, Zhang Tianlin immediately turned hostile. He armed three hundred-man squads, took Tahe Zhike hostage, and on the condition of harming no one, seized all the weapons and warhorses of the five Yellow Barbarian tribes.

Looking at over eight hundred warhorses and enough weapons and equipment to arm a thousand-man battalion, Zhang Tianlin was thoroughly satisfied, though he also felt some guilt toward Tahe Zhike. He said: "Zhang resorted to this despicable measure because there was no other way. I hope the Great Chieftain, as a great man, won't hold a grudge against a petty one. When the fighting is over, if I'm still alive, I will certainly give you an accounting."

Surrounded by a crowd of arrogant soldiers and fierce commanders, the honest Tahe Zhike kept a blank face at Zhang Tianlin's declaration, but inwardly he was cursing Zhang Tianlin's ancestors back eighteen generations to filth.

These people were clearly professional robbers — and he still talked about giving an accounting. The five tribes didn't even have a single wok left to cook with; they couldn't even make a meal, and he was still spouting this shit.

Tahe Zhike thought to himself that he might as well have risen in arms with Wang Ziyong.

Truly, he was the fish on the chopping block. Helpless, Tahe Zhike said: "Then I can only hope General Zhang survives. If you win, and General Zhang is enfeoffed as a lord and appointed a general, I still hope you can build us a temple."

Build a temple?

Hearing this request, Zhang Tianlin's entire being turned to stone, and the crowd of arrogant soldiers and fierce commanders behind him could no longer hold back their laughter.

For Tahe Zhike, this request was right up his alley — everyone's got a hobby, after all. Yang Dingrui loved climbing mountains; A'Liu loved playing games with the disabled; Yang Yao wanted to inoculate everything he saw with smallpox vaccine; Li Wanqing loved catching small animals. Guo Tianxing, Zhang Tianlin, had no other hobby — he just loved tearing down temples.

Temples were a spiritual anchor for many, but for Zhang Tianlin and the pack of Shaanbei bandits he represented, whatever was worshipped inside, they believed in none of it.

They didn't believe any gods existed in this world. If there really was something three feet above their heads, they'd want to drag that god down and beat it senseless, make it see what it looked like when Shaanbei people ate each other.

Zhang Tianlin couldn't reach any god three feet above his head, so his joy in life was tearing down temples — wherever he went, he tore them down. If Liu Chengzong sent him to the Tianshan Mountains, then Dunhuang's Thousand Buddha Caves or Ten Thousand Buddha Gorge — nothing would be left standing.

In his whole life, he'd never heard a stranger request. Tahe Zhike actually wanted him to build a temple.

But as the saying goes, the mouth is softened by others' food, the hand is shortened by others' gifts. Zhang Tianlin felt indebted to the Five Yellow Barbarian Tribes. From a certain angle, looking at the army now armed with Yellow Barbarian armor and weapons, he felt this red-faced, yellow-bearded tribal chieftain before him had saved his life, and it made him put away his mocking thoughts.

Still, he didn't agree to the request. He just sighed and said, "You may not know what kind of man I am. From north to south, I, Guo Tianxing, have torn down no fewer than eighty temples, maybe a hundred. But these arms, armor, and livestock... you've done us a kindness."

He studied Tahe Zhike carefully and said, "I see you're a devotee of Buddha. Not tearing down temples will be my repayment. From this day forward, every temple my eyes fall upon that remains standing in this world — let that merit be counted as yours."

Before Zhang Tianlin could say more, a mounted scout who had just been assigned as a reconnaissance rider came galloping back to report: a Ming army force of over five hundred men was moving this way.

Zhang Tianlin rubbed his fists and wiped his palms, eager for a fight — but his punch landed on cotton. Because what approached wasn't a Ming army; it was Sixteen, a ritual master of the Three Tribulations Society, who had come after receiving the Yellow Barbarians' plea for help.

Sixteen had brought the mutinous troops from Liyuan Fort to mediate, but it turned out to be meat buns thrown at a dog. The moment they arrived, before any contact was made, they were surrounded by Zhang Tianlin's ferocious, fiendish soldiers.

Disarmed on the spot wasn't the end of it — this unit then marched on Liyuan Fort and took over everything the Three Tribulations Society had gained from the mutiny there.

With blades, spears, armor, and gear now in hand, and even warhorses to ride, Zhang Tianlin finally felt secure.

Just then, Sixteen told him that Wang Ziyong was being pursued to the north by government troops arrayed in three divisions. Zhang Tianlin grinned, immediately ordered the whole camp to advance rapidly north, and sent out scouts to find Wang Ziyong's position, telling them to pass on the message: "Stick tight to this government force — I'll be there shortly."

Wang Ziyong had been running for his life across the endless yellow sands and finally got Zhang Tianlin's response. He kept running south for another twenty li, but near dusk he could run no more. He turned around and charged straight back at Bai Guang'en, who had been relentlessly pursuing him.

This was precisely why Wang Ziyong always lost battles — not because of any disparity in strength, but because in leading troops, whatever he was thinking, the enemy could guess entirely from his actions.

If he hadn't turned back and had gradually slowed his pace, Bai Guang'en would have caught up on his own. But when he suddenly wheeled around and attacked, Bai Guang'en knew at a glance that reinforcements from the Marshal's Manor had arrived. He refused battle entirely, turned around, and led his thirteen hundred cavalry back the way they'd come.

Wang Ziyong hadn't yet figured out what was going on. He just wanted to stand with his hands on his hips and think to himself, This Daoist master is truly formidable — I've never seen government troops this cowardly.

Chasing and chasing, just before sunset, he spotted the government troops' second division — the remnant infantry of Mobile Corps Commander Li Yun, whom he had killed, responsible for escorting the war wagons and baggage.

Bai Guang'en had turned and fled without giving them any warning, so this infantry unit was still huffing and puffing forward on the march, directly exposed before Wang Ziyong. On the verge of being trampled by cavalry, they barely managed to form a wagon fort, but Wang Ziyong still led his cavalry charging through the gaps.

But this was exactly Bai Guang'en's aim. He was resting his horses just behind a nearby hillside and had sent men to contact the third division — his main force of over two thousand infantry. Together with the vanguard, one from the east and one from the west, they seized the moment the wagon camp was delaying Wang Ziyong's cavalry to execute a pincer movement and cut off Wang Ziyong's retreat.

By the time Wang Ziyong wanted to pull his men out of the wagon camp, it was already too late. The several hundred cavalry on the perimeter were scattered directly by Bai Guang'en personally leading his mounted troops. Blocking the routed soldiers' path was a broad horizontal formation of over two thousand infantry under Bai Guang'en's command, using layered formations to drive them northward.

Seeing this battlefield situation, Bai Guang'en, who had just led the cavalry charge, held victory firmly in hand. Swelling with pride, he ordered the entire army north — scatter and rout this cavalry force, then drive the fleeing soldiers all the way to Ganzhou, where they would link up with Yang Jiamo to complete the encirclement and annihilate them utterly.

At that very moment, he heard cries of alarm from his subordinates behind him. Turning his head, he saw a soul-stirring, breathtaking sight reflected in the pupils of his personal retinue cavalry.

Across the endless dunes, trails of soaring flame rose one after another into the sky — each dragging a ten-foot tail of fire and smoke, tracing countless chaotic arcs across the sky, still light yet darkening, blanketing the entire horizontal formation before him.

He heard someone shouting hoarsely at the top of their lungs: "Fire arrows! Fire arrows!"