Chapter 465: Drawing Inferences from One Instance

Inside the northern border wall of Suzhou, there is a river called the Beida River. North of the river, guarding a low, flat hill, lies a place called Malian Beach — its soil hard-packed, the ground everywhere caked with salt and alkali.

Malian, also called ma lin, is a salt- and alkali-tolerant plant often found on overgrazed saline pastures. Its leaves can feed cattle, sheep, and camels, and can also be used for papermaking and weaving; its roots make brushes; its flowers, used medicinally, promote urination and relieve constipation; its seeds, used medicinally, clear damp-heat, stop bleeding, detoxify, reduce fever, and expel parasites — the whole plant is a treasure.

But on the evening of the tenth day of the third month in the seventh year of Chongzhen, for the vast expanse of ma lin grass on Malian Beach just now turning from withered yellow back to green, the only useful trait that mattered was that it could withstand trampling.

Because two scouting cavalry units from the northwest were locked in skirmishing combat across this very saline beach.

Scout rider met scout rider, same gear, same background — no old grudges or new hatred to speak of. Each side served its own master, with no choice in the matter, and their sole objective was to screen the battlefield. So they mostly traded shots with bows and firelocks, tacitly refusing close-quarters combat.

Suzhou Mobile Corps Commander Zhao Zhirui, travel-worn and dusty, appeared on Flat Hill, watching the Malian Beach below where the scouting cavalry clashed, his gaze ice-cold.

Two days and nights, eating sand behind Zhang Tianlin's rear, circling two hundred li across the defense zone — they had lost two forts and a grazing ground, and the Twin Passes camp had been burned to ruins. Even now, the smoke drifted behind them, leaving them choking on a bellyful of rage with nowhere to vent it.

Zhao Zhirui was not blinded by fury, because something about the battlefield was off.

His scouts had advanced twenty li ahead of the main force, chasing and striking the enemy's rear-guard scouts. The Marshal's Headquarters rear-guard scouts had fought while retreating the whole way, and his own scouts had relentlessly pursued and hammered them — until they entered Malian Beach. There, the rear-guard scouts' battle line steadied, and they turned to fight back fiercely.

In a process where one side retreats and the other advances, to reach a stalemate the retreating army must pay a far heavier price, because his scouts, spread across twenty li, would reinforce in succession, creating a situation of many fighting few.

They should have held the upper hand. The battle line had gradually spread out, with nearly two hundred scouting cavalry from both sides forming mutually pressing lines across the gobi — yet they still could not break through the enemy riders' blockade on Malian Beach. That could only mean one thing: the enemy main force had turned back.

For a general of foreign stock, such a scene might freeze him with fear at the sight of the pressing battle line, leaving him afraid to move. But for Zhao Zhirui, it was practically a letter spelling out their intentions shoved right in his face — an open hand of cards.

He had already learned something of the enemy's route from the scouting reports relayed along the border wall. The commanding officer was called Zhang Tianlin, a former border-soldier squad leader who had turned bandit in northern Shaanxi, nicknamed Guo Tianxing. He was originally from Yuhe Fort in Yulin Garrison, and now served as a Mobile Corps Commander under Simpleton Khan Liu Chengzong.

Yuhe Fort — that cursed place produced capable men. Seeing that background, Zhao Zhirui inwardly scorned Zhang Tianlin. He thought: if he came out of Yuhe Fort, he must be one of Liu Chengzong's direct line, probably with no real ability, promoted through connections.

Think about it — from Yuhe Fort, with that kind of seniority, he must have fought alongside Liu Chengzong through the whole campaign. If he had real skill, wouldn't he have claimed one of the five seats among the Marshal's Headquarters' Five Tigers?

Gansu officers knew little about the Marshal's Headquarters. The only great generals they recognized were Yang Yao and Wang Wenxiu, who had distinguished themselves in the He-Huang Great Battle. Both were deserters from the Guyuan mutiny — by rights, not of the direct line — yet after the battle both were enfeoffed as Brigade Commanders. The Marshal's Headquarters had five Brigade Commanders in total: Yang Yao, Wang Wenxiu, Basang, Xie Erhu, and Mo Yujing.

Zhao Zhirui had heard of Yang Yao and Wang Wenxiu. He also knew of Mo Yujing, who had previously been a Mobile Corps Commander in the imperial army. As for what abilities Xie Erhu and Basang possessed, he did not know, but he knew their origins.

In Zhao Zhirui's mind, these five men respectively represented the old roving bandits, the Tartars, the Tibetans, and the surrendered troops of the Marshal's Headquarters.

If Zhang Tianlin, who had fought through the whole campaign, truly had ability, could he let outsiders from elsewhere ride over his head? Clearly, that whole Yuhe Fort bunch had no great skill.

Zhao Zhirui's judgment was not actually wrong — only his initial premise was mistaken. Zhang Tianlin was not of Liu Chengzong's direct line. In fact, if this fellow had turned bandit a little later, it is very likely that Liu Chengzong would have been Zhang Tianlin's direct line instead.

Even now, he still had not figured out the Marshal's Headquarters' organization — how this Mobile Corps Commander Zhang Tianlin came to command over five thousand troops. But at the very least, the scouting cavalry complement of these five thousand was no different from a standard imperial army battalion: one route had twenty-four squads, each squad five riders.

The "route" here meant a route in the sense of dividing the army into two routes.

Zhang Tianlin had two routes of scouting cavalry. The area around Malian Beach and the northern border wall had no roads — it was all gobi and desert. There was no need to divide forces, unless it was to separate infantry and cavalry for a faster march.

The normal interval between two scouting riders was one li. Right now, across the ten-li width of Malian Beach, there were over a hundred enemy scouting cavalry — men who should have been spread across a ten-li range.

So to Zhao Zhirui, this picture was Zhang Tianlin very bluntly conveying his military situation: the enemy main force had turned back ten li, and the infantry and cavalry had become disconnected during the march.

The distance between them had originally been only forty or fifty li. Zhang Tianlin had turned back and marched a stretch, so Zhao Zhirui judged that the distance between him and Zhang Tianlin should now be around thirty li.

Zhao Zhirui was fighting on home ground and knew every blade of grass and every tree here. North of Malian Beach, past a long stretch of sand, lay the Great Wall border fortifications. To the east was the Beida River, which extended to Jintasi Fort beyond the Wall. The only terrain in the vicinity suitable for a battlefield was the dozen or so li between Malian Beach and Loess Cliff.

Pushing his battle line further forward was pointless. Seeing that the sun was already setting in the west, he reckoned battle would likely commence at dawn the next morning, and so he devised a bold plan.

On Flat Hill, Zhao Zhirui summoned his subordinate, Chiliarch Mi Layin. Using a twig, he drew a sketch map at their feet, laid out his entire analysis, and then said: "Take your nine hundred riders and garrison Flat Hill. Pin down the bandits' scouting cavalry. Gather firewood, and tomorrow morning, after lighting cooking fires on the hill, withdraw to Linshui Relay Station on the east bank of the Beida River."

Pointing to the northern side of Malian Beach on the sketch, he said: "The bandits' infantry and cavalry are disconnected. I will lead the cavalry west, then circle north around Malian Beach, and tonight kick in their infantry camp. If the enemy does not pursue you tomorrow morning, you and I will rendezvous at Linshui Relay Station. If the bandits do pursue you, so much the better — I will be behind them, and when they cross the river, we will strike from both banks."

Chiliarch Mi Layin raised no objection to this order. He clasped his fists in salute, accepted the command, and went to make arrangements.

Not long after, Zhao Zhirui led fifteen hundred riders south of Flat Hill, skirting Zhaobi Mountain and heading north. They were not worried about being discovered, because west of Zhaobi Mountain lay desert — never mind finding a needle in the sea; even if one deliberately tried to enter, it was easy to get lost.

Only by heading north was there no fear of losing the way, because to the north stood the Great Wall as a landmark.

Zhao Zhirui's plan was simple: march twenty or thirty li north to the Great Wall, then appear behind Zhang Tianlin and kick his infantry camp to pieces.

The plan was meticulously thorough. Unwilling to send scouts from the west and risk alerting the enemy, he had specially procured several camels from the resident Tibetan herders at Zhaobi Mountain, intending to send a courier riding straight to Jintasi Fort beyond the border to check on the situation there.

But before his courier could set out, a relay station runner from Jintasi Fort had already come rushing over, bearing a letter from Guard Commander Li Jun'en.

Zhao Zhirui was initially rather puzzled — how could there be a relay runner outside the border wall? He intercepted the runner, called him over, and even opened the letter.

The runner was called Suo Kang, and he was indeed thoroughly familiar with relay station business. He said he was a runner from Linshui Relay Station, and that his younger brother was a soldier at Jintasi Fort. With spring arriving, he was going to pawn his brother's winter clothes in Suzhou, and had thus taken on a military letter going the same way.

Zhao Zhirui could understand this — pay had been in arrears for some time. Winter clothes were useless in summer anyway; pawn them first for cash, and when the court issued back pay, add a bit more money to redeem them — that made sense.

Unfolding the letter, it was indeed Guard Commander Li Jun'en of Jintasi's handwriting and seal, requesting Suzhou to allocate armor and warhorses. It said several hundred Tartars were loitering outside the fort beyond the border, and without sufficient armor and weapons, they could not wipe them out.

This could not be faked.

Zhao Zhirui thought to himself: This is rock-solid!

The guard commander of Jintasi Fort was still asking Suzhou for military equipment — he definitely had not seen any bandit infantry emerge beyond the border wall. Questioning the middle-aged relay runner before him confirmed it. As if having swallowed a calming pill, Zhao Zhirui led his troops and pressed on with single-minded focus toward the border wall.

What he did not know was that the submissive, deferential Yellow-headed Uighur nearing fifty before him was Suo Kang, the renowned Langtou of the Three Tribulations Society.

In over forty years of this Yellow-headed Uighur's life, he had been a relay runner for most of it — but not at Linshui Relay Station. He had been a runner at Heiquan Horse Relay Station under Gaotai Battalion, and when the Chongzhen Emperor streamlined the relay stations, he had been laid off.

Yet Suo Kang had always felt that in this life of his, he had only truly begun to live after leaving the relay stations. Joining the Three Tribulations Society in his forties — though his body bore the hidden injuries of early years of toil and his physical strength was far from what it once was — the Society's thirst for talent was insatiable, and he became the most capable great general under Wang Ziyong.

For a sect leader from northern Shaanxi, the widely traveled and road-wise Suo Kang was a talent you could not find even with a lantern.

And Suo Kang did not betray Wang Ziyong's trust.

He established the Three Tribulations Society's underground relay stations in Gansu. He became the pawnbroking magnate of Suzhou, Zhangye, and Wuwei, pawning off border soldiers' unneeded arms and armor at low prices, stimulating the Gansu Garrison's horse-smuggling trade and domestic demand for funeral rites, caring for the physical and mental well-being of widowed elders and women and children left behind in the villages, helping hundreds of laid-off colleagues and relay-station sons return to the workforce — single-handedly reducing the unemployment rate of relay foot soldiers by thirty-four percentage points.

He was a great hero of Gansu Garrison.

Suo Kang had come on this trip under Wang Ziyong's orders, heading to Suzhou to contact the Society's followers inside the city and deliver the prophetic secret code for opening the gates from within. He had never imagined he would run into government troops halfway across the great desert — his heart nearly leaped out of his throat from fright.

Fortunately, it was a scare but no danger. After leaving Zhao Zhirui's government troops, Suo Kang ran another two li toward Suzhou before it hit him: Zhao Zhirui's force was heading north... Wouldn't that mean they would go beyond the border wall and wipe out their army in one fell swoop?

The reason he was going to Suzhou was precisely because the Three Tribulations Society's armed forces had all been seized by Zhang Tianlin. Wang Ziyong, figuring that sitting idle was no good, had made the next plan — to seize Suzhou city — and sent him to deliver the message.

Their three-thousand-odd men, relying entirely on polearms, short weapons, and a few cannons, with neither horses nor bows, would be a one-sided slaughter if they ran into Zhao Zhirui.

At this thought, Suo Kang immediately wheeled his horse around and, under the night sky, raced north through the desert at desperate speed. He reached Jintasi before Zhao Zhirui arrived at the border wall and reported this news to Wang Ziyong.

Wang Ziyong was also badly startled by this intelligence. Not daring to even hold Jintasi Fort, he hastily called for Chantu Taiji to pack up and flee north.

Chantu Taiji looked utterly bewildered and asked, "Why are we running?"

Wang Ziyong looked at Chantu Taiji as if he were an idiot: "The government troops are coming, and we're not running?"

In truth, the belief that the other party was an idiot was often mutual.

Chantu Taiji actually greatly admired Wang Ziyong. They had been together in Gansu for barely half a day, but Chantu Taiji, who hailed from Chahar, had already recognized the terrifying talent in this fellow who was neither quite a Daoist priest nor quite a Buddhist monk.

He could unite everyone around him, and with just a few words he won over the garrison of Golden Pagoda Temple who had sworn to fight the Mongols to the death — he even assured the surrendered troops that their relatives in the areas between Gaotai and Suzhou would be properly looked after.

If this were just boasting it wouldn't matter, but Wang Ziyong actually relayed such an order to his subordinates, and some of those subordinates actually ran off to carry out this order, to deliver the message.

Prince Chaktu thought to himself, if his elder brother had even half of Wang Ziyong's talent for hoodwinking people, the Northern Yuan Khanate would never have fallen apart.

But where contempt was due, Prince Chaktu was utterly contemptuous — when it came to warfare, apart from being thoroughly clear on logistics, Wang Ziyong didn't understand a single thing about strategy and tactics!

Prince Chaktu said, "Chief Wang, the one who should be worried right now is neither you nor me, but that horse bandit. This is a five-pronged division of troops."

"Five-pronged division of troops?"

Wang Ziyong's body tilted slightly backward, a "tsss" sound escaping his lips as he squinted at Prince Chaktu, his face full of disbelief: "Suokang never said the government troops had split into five sections!"

Prince Chaktu was so anxious he felt like jumping up and down, thinking to himself, I'm a native-born Mongol, and after being beaten by your Heaven's Army I've learned the ropes. He thrust both hands forward, grasping at the air, and spread the five fingers of one hand wide: "A five-pronged division means splitting into five sections to grip the enemy tight..."

He then wrapped his open hand around Wang Ziyong's arm, while his other hand formed a fist and struck from the other side: "Two sections — isn't that also to pin the enemy dead? Draw inferences, Han man!"

Once Prince Chaktu put it that way, Wang Ziyong understood. He raised a thumb at him and said, "The Taiji is brilliant — you know military tactics and can even use idioms. You shouldn't be a Taiji; you should be teaching children their primers in Gansu."

Prince Chaktu thought to himself, who are you looking down on? I'm a first-cohort Mongol student of New City Academy.

But he had no time to banter with Wang Ziyong. He urged, "Teaching children their primers can wait. Chief Wang, you must tell that horse bandit at once — the government troops are about to strike his rear."

"Magnanimous!"

Wang Ziyong praised him once more, and only then hurriedly dispatched men, ordering them to take multiple routes and race by fast horse to deliver the news to Zhang Tianlin.

Prince Chaktu was not being magnanimous. Zhang Tianlin had robbed him of his weapons, equipment, and mount — of all the Han people in heaven and on earth, the one he detested most was Zhang Tianlin.

Under different circumstances, he might have muddle-headedly let the matter slide, but not now. Zhang Tianlin had his horse. If this horse bandit got wiped out, he would have to go back to Liu Chengzong covered in dust and shame.

By the time Zhang Tianlin received the news it was already the early morning hours. He was curled up in a low tent on the sand, leaning against his warhorse's belly, sleeping blissfully, when this piece of military intelligence suddenly arrived — it jolted him utterly and completely alert, his eyes glaring wide as bronze bells. He pondered battle plans until daybreak and decided to ignore what lay ahead for now and deal with the pursuers behind him first.

He had captured Li Jun'en, the Garrison Commander of Golden Pagoda Temple Fort, from behind at noon — if he were caught in a pincer attack by government troops, that would truly be instant karmic retribution.

On the early morning of the eleventh day of the third month in the seventh year of the Chongzhen reign, just as the sky was barely beginning to lighten, an extraordinarily eerie scene appeared over Malian Beach and Flat Mountain. Cooking smoke rose from the dark encampments far off in the desert, and cooking smoke likewise rose from the top of Flat Mountain — yet the two armies paid no attention to each other at all, one withdrawing south and the other north from their campsites.