Chapter 1427: The Massive Reconnaissance Cavalry Force

In cavalry combat, everyone from Amin, Jirgalang, and Yoto down to the company commanders was full of confidence. When it came to large formations fighting on foot, your Zhao family army's firearms might be sharp, but in mounted battle they did not think they would be at any disadvantage — in fact, they believed they held a great advantage.

Never mind the Jianzhou horse troops, famed for their archery and horsemanship — when it comes to riding, who under heaven could surpass the Mongols of the steppe? First, they would gradually whittle down the Zhao family army's cavalry, strip them of their mobility and shock power, turn them deaf and blind. Once only foot soldiers remained, what could they do? With this long winter and such overwhelming superiority, they could butcher them at leisure. How could they fail to finish them off?

Great rewards bring forth brave men. Amin did not hesitate — before the cavalry was sent out, he announced the merit rewards: for the head of a single Zhao family army cavalryman, triple the bounty and double the promotion. If taken alive, or if an officer or commander was killed, the bounty and promotion would be even greater.

Wealth and rank stir the heart. The moment these rewards were proclaimed, the great Jianzhou Jurchen army boiled with excitement. In the early days of the Jianzhou Jurchen uprising, promotions were not worth much; everyone fought desperately for riches, and the spoils depended on what you could seize on the battlefield and what you were allotted after a victory. But with victory after victory, the territory the Jianzhou Jurchen controlled grew larger and larger, and these promotions became incomparably precious.

Every promotion represented the status and wealth you could attain, and it even determined everything for your descendants. Moreover, Jianzhou had learned from the Ming's mistakes — they never handed out promotions carelessly and never skimmed off the top. The promotions representing military merit rewards carried tremendous weight, making them worth risking your life to fight for.

By now, the Jianzhou Jurchen already held Liaodong and vast territories beyond the passes. Every promotion meant a certain amount of land and population, a lofty position above others, and wealth and honor for one's family and descendants. Not only did the core Jianzhou Jurchen value this, but so did the other Jurchen tribes, the Mongols, the Han, and the Koreans.

With such rewards on offer, everyone scrambled to be first. No one considered the bitter cold and wind-driven snow a danger — all wanted to go out, earn merit, get rich, and win fortune and rank.

There was another point: no one believed that Han people, especially Han from inside the passes, could have many good riders. Their scouts were not bad, but they were far inferior to true experts. Besides, they had absolute superiority here — ten thousand riders against fewer than two thousand. What more was there to say? This mission of going out to reconnoiter and search had actually become a plum assignment. Commanders at every level fought and scrambled for it, none willing to fall behind. Never mind the glory of the first merit — when their subordinates earned merit, they themselves would benefit too.

Hulegen was a squad leader of ten from the Khorchin tribe, commanding a dozen-odd cavalrymen. Later, he had followed his tribal noble in submitting to Jianzhou and now held the rank of company commander himself. Although he still commanded only a dozen-odd riders, life was far better than on the steppe. First, their weapons and horse tack were fully issued — though some were used, the blades were kept constantly sharpened, the arrowheads were made of good iron, and even the horseshoes were complete. Second, they received full rations and pay. Here among the Jianzhou Jurchen, grain and money were handed out in full measure, and it was closely watched, leaving no loophole for the nobles to skim. Third, merit was always rewarded — if you dared fight to the death and kill the enemy, you were certain to receive your recompense.

In the very beginning, Hulegen had laughed at several of his companions, saying: why fight so desperately? When plunder was taken, the nobles took the lion's share, but your life was your own — if you were wounded or killed, who would answer for it? He had never expected that while some died on the battlefield, others rose step by step to wealth and rank. Now they commanded several hundred riders, raised hundreds of large livestock at home, and owned nearly a thousand slaves — not one bit inferior to the chieftains of small steppe tribes.

If others could do it, why couldn't he? Hulegen felt both regret and a burning eagerness in his heart, determined to seize the opportunity before him. And Hulegen knew that everyone else was thinking the exact same thing.

In winter, the land of Liao was frozen and bitter cold. Because this was along the coastline, the snow fell heavier and thicker than elsewhere, and the wind blowing in from the sea was just as piercingly icy.

But Hulegen and his men did not care in the slightest. Compared to the northern winds howling down across the steppe and the rampaging white-disaster blizzards, this place could even be called warm. And when they thought of the merit and riches ahead, a heat spread outward from their hearts, making them feel this was nothing at all.

What dissatisfied Hulegen was that there were too many traveling together. Reconnaissance riders and scouts were supposed to seek concealment — there was no reason to come out with such great fanfare. Across the vast snowy wilderness, looking in any direction you could see the movements of companion squads. What kind of reconnaissance was this? It was clearly a large force of cavalry on the move. The scale of these riders alone matched the total number of that so-called Zhao family army cavalry.

Dissatisfied though he was, Hulegen felt reassured. Even if he didn't snag any great merit or earn any spoils to get rich, he could still scrape some benefit from a great victory — at least he wouldn't come out at a loss.

Besides, Hulegen was still somewhat confused. What was the background of this Zhao family army? Weren't the Han in the south just the Ming? Yet he had heard people around him say that this Zhao family army was even richer than the Ming, that they had fine iron armor and good strong liquor. Hulegen did not intend to think too deeply about it — in any case, there were benefits to be had, and those benefits suited his tastes perfectly.

After leaving the main camp at Gaizhou Garrison City, Hulegen hurried forward as fast as he could. If he fell behind, all the good things would be gone. What he could think of, others could think of too. They pressed forward like this, and by the time they passed Xiongyue Post Station, there were still roughly two hundred riders.

None of these dozen-odd squads could shake off the others. Moreover, the stretch between Xiongyue Post Station and the next stop, Wushizhai Post Station, required passing through a valley among the hills and low mountains. This was the only convenient route. Though one could circle around by the seashore or take other paths through the hills, that would cause delays — and any delay would mean being left behind by one's companions. Then all the subsequent benefits would be completely out of reach.

By this point, everyone had figured it out: rather than trying to shake each other off, it was better to look out for one another. They were all on the same side, after all, and with greater numbers their chances would be better. What if the Zhao family army came out in force?

Under this tacit, unspoken understanding, the group coalesced into a loose large formation and pressed southward together. Even if they were to scatter, it would only be after emerging from this hilly region.

Reckoning the distance, they would have to spend a night in these hills no matter what. When bedding down, no one would stay near the valley's official road; instead, they would lead their horses over a few hills to make camp and build fires in sheltered hollows.

During the day's march, they had gotten on well enough, moving forward with laughter and banter, even casually shooting a few hares and pheasants along the way, agreeing to roast them and enjoy them with wine. But when it came time to light the campfires, everyone parted by unspoken agreement, each gathering in their own clusters.

As the saying goes, "camels love willows, Mongols love wine." They had all planned to drink a few mouthfuls of rough liquor and rest that night, but at this moment, every group was huddled together whispering, and even the usual loud voices had vanished.

"... Did you get a clear look? Make sure it's not our own people's tracks..."

"... No mistake. I counted everyone traveling together. Reckoning by horse power and pace, we're the ones running at the very front, and no one's charged too far ahead and circled back. It has to be Zhao family army scouts..."

"How many? Don't go hunting rabbits and run into a wolf."

"Four or five. The hoofprints in the snow show five horses at most. They must have spotted us from hiding and pulled back."

Listening to the report, Hulegen grew more and more excited. Four heads brought back would still be merit. But when he looked up and scanned his surroundings, most of that excitement faded. Plenty of others had likely seen this too. Even those who hadn't, judging by the atmosphere, probably knew something was up. Over two hundred riders splitting four heads — it was doable, but with so many monks and so little gruel, heaven only knew who would get the prize.

Hulegen looked again at the ten men under his command and lost even more of his will to compete. Listlessly, he said, "Everyone stay sharp. Don't let the meat fly away when it's right at your lips."

His men could figure this out too. One of them chuckled and said, "It'd be fine just to get a taste of the soup. We'll still get a share."

The night was quiet, and the rest in this sheltered hollow was decent enough. But before daybreak, stirrings arose among the scattered encampments.

"... Hurihe and his men left first..." Though the noise was cautious, everyone who needed to hear it heard it. Every squad began to move — some set out in pursuit, while others warned each other.

Roused from deep sleep, Hulegen was irritable. He waved his hand and said, "They've gone — you think you dare chase them? Those savage bastards with their fast horses and reckless guts."

Hurihe was a personal guard of some Mongol prince, sent out this time precisely to earn merit. The twenty-three men under him were all elite riders, masters of bow and horse. Among the two hundred-odd riders who had pressed to the front, he was tacitly acknowledged as the leader. Even the Jianzhou Jurchen cavalry were unwilling to contend with him. Out in this desolate wilderness, if things really turned ugly and they fought and killed each other, there wouldn't even be an investigation afterward. Why bother?

Since they had gone ahead first, everyone else's enthusiasm waned. Trying to go up and snatch the prize would be difficult, and they might even get ambushed...

Low spirits were one thing, but the mission of forward reconnaissance still had to be done. After daybreak, everyone rose, lit fires, and cooked a hot meal, preparing to exit the hilly region between Xiongyue Post Station and Wushizhai Post Station and head as quickly as possible to reconnoiter the Zhao family army encampment around Fuzhou.

Despite their low enthusiasm, these nearly two hundred reconnaissance riders and scouts still could not disperse. The valley had only this one road, and they had no way to spread out. They could only wait until they reached open ground to fan out. Not long after daybreak, riders from behind had already caught up — even yesterday's hard riding hadn't managed to open much distance.

"... What kind of scouting is this? This is clearly going to war..." someone muttered, looking at this massive, grandiose display. But no one paid him any mind.

The army Amin commanded numbered over fifty thousand, with more than ten thousand cavalry — a great host rarely seen in recent years. Every day, everyone thought of victory and talked of the military merit and promotions that would follow a great triumph. Yet deep down, they were all equally uncertain. Whether Jurchen, Mongol, Han, or Korean, they knew what Ming troops were like — some had even come from Ming ranks — but they did not know what the Zhao family army was like. Much information had already been sealed off from them, and what scattered fragments they might learn all spoke of how strong the Zhao family army was — a strength that had already surpassed common sense and understanding.