Chapter 114: Winds Rising (11)

North of the Sanggan River lie rolling hills, a landscape of earth and stone interspersed with thickets. Beyond these hills rise the vast, rugged mountain ranges, dominated by precipitous rocky peaks that encircle the Yunzhong Basin. The Heng'an Eagle-Yang Prefecture, stationed in Yunzhong City, commands this basin.

Further north, crossing through these mountains, one reaches the vast grasslands where the Tujue are currently flourishing, poised to strike south into the Central Plains at any moment. The importance of the Heng'an Eagle-Yang Prefecture is evident, as it blocks one of the key gateways for the Tujue invasion.

Xu Gan and his party were currently traveling through the hilly terrain north of the Sanggan River, yet to reach the Yunzhong mountains. He was followed by forty or fifty young men from the Xu family village. Some rode horses, others donkeys; all were mounted. They carried bows and swords, their expressions tense as they followed Xu Gan’s lead through the hills.

Xu Gan rode in front. Han Xiaoliu, fearing his elder’s legs were too weak to hold the saddle, rode alongside to steady him. Aunt Han led the way, keeping a watchful eye on the path to ensure Xu Gan’s horse did not stumble. This treatment drew a bitter smile from Xu Gan. Looking back at the loyal young men from the village—refugees he had pulled back from the brink of death, who had chosen to live or die with him in this critical moment—he felt a sudden, surreal sense of displacement.

For a moment, he was back decades in the past: black armor, a black helmet, his face hidden behind a wrathful vajra mask. Looking back, iron cavalry stretched like clouds; each ferocious iron-masked face gazed at him with fervent devotion. Looking forward, the Northern Qi army stood like a mountain, their blades and spears a dense forest, while thousands of Rouran cavalry swirled on the flanks like the wind. With a single gesture, a young general—looking exactly like Xu Le—had charged out alone, his horse-lance leveled. His black-armored knights had roared and surged forward, crashing into the Northern Qi formation.

"That is my son, my Wei'er," he thought. Behind him, the banners of the Eight Pillars fluttered, all watching him lead the charge to shatter the enemy for the Northern Zhou army. It had been a time of golden spears and iron horses, of stirring hearts and spirits that swallowed the world like tigers. How had it come to this? Even after settling in this remote corner, he was still forced to abandon his home. He no longer had the strength to defy fate or shatter this world. "Le'er, it is all up to you now," he mused. "It is all up to you... but I wonder, will I ever see you again?"

Xu Gan whispered, "Head northwest, toward Tingbing Mountain!"

Han Xiaoliu replied, "The Tingbing Mountain where you often took Young Master Le? I know the way!"

Behind them, thick black smoke rolled into the sky, a sinister omen unfurling in the air. Xu Gan sat in the saddle, looking back repeatedly. *Le'er, seeing this smoke, you must know that the Xu village is destroyed. You must know where to find your grandfather, won't you? I will be there, waiting for you. I truly cannot hold on much longer.*

***

Two horses galloped out of the mountain pass, racing south along the rolling hills. The riders were Xu Le and Han Yue. Xu Le’s handsome face was taut, stripped of his usual carefree air, as he urged his mount on relentlessly. Tunlong was drenched in sweat, its coat shimmering like satin, muscles bunched, its hooves nearly lifting off the ground. Han Yue, leading two pack horses, struggled to keep pace, trailing by more than an arrow’s flight. Xu Le did not look back; he only wished he could reach the village in a single bound. The sense of impending doom grew heavier, nearly suffocating him.

Suddenly, Xu Le jolted and hauled on the reins. Tunlong, running at full tilt, reared up and let out a long neigh. Captured from the Qianlou camp, this magnificent steed lived up to its name, "Dragon Swallower," growing more spirited the longer it ran.

The Sanggan River was nearby. Across the water, in the direction of the Xu village, black smoke billowed toward the clouds. Xu Le rode to the top of a hill. The setting sun cast a blood-red glow over the river. Looking into the distance, his home of over a decade was engulfed in flames; black smoke blanketed everything.

How could this be? He had traveled day and night. News from Yunzhong City could not have arrived this quickly. How could the village have fallen? Xu Le had not foreseen that Liu Wenjing, a man of aristocratic standing, would prioritize his family coalition’s interests to force Xu Le out of Mayi and into the service of Hedong. He had sent men day and night to spread word of Xu Le capturing Zhang Wan-sui, prompting Wang Rengong to ruthlessly dispatch elite forces to purge his home. Because Xu Le had taken the mountain path, he was just a few days behind, arriving only to witness this scene.

The sound of hooves approached. Han Yue arrived, trembling as he looked at the destruction. "Mother! Xiaoliu!" he cried, his voice breaking. The man who usually stood as steady as a mountain lost his strength, nearly sliding from his horse. Xu Le reached out and steadied him.

Han Yue looked up, meeting Xu Le’s eyes—sharp as blades. Having grown up together, Han Yue had never seen such killing intent in Xu Le.

"My grandfather must have taken Aunt and Xiaoliu away. He would never sit and wait for death," Xu Le declared.

Han Yue shook his head, trying to clear his mind. "Where did they go?"

Xu Le looked northwest and spat out three words: "Tingbing Mountain!"

That was where his grandfather had taught him in the wild since he was a child. He had spent countless fearful nights there, enduring his grandfather’s harsh training. It was a place with complex terrain, familiar to them, and stocked with hidden weapons—a secondary refuge his grandfather had painstakingly prepared. His grandfather would be waiting for him there.

"Tingbing Mountain!" Han Yue echoed. The two men and four horses turned northwest, leaving the billowing black smoke of the Xu village behind them.

***

A large detachment of Mayi Yueqi cavalry splashed across the shallows of the Sanggan River. A dozen scouts were sent ahead, disappearing over the horizon of the hills. Behind them, the main force followed with pack horses laden with armor and weaponry.

Shi Zhaozhi, a former household general for Wang Rengong, had risen to command the elite Yueqi battalion of the Mayi Eagle-Yang Prefecture through his ruthless execution of orders and cautious approach to warfare. Even with two hundred elite cavalry to raze one village, he had brought full armor. A lion fighting a rabbit still uses its full strength.

Long, shrill whistles echoed from the hills—the scouts had picked up the trail of the fleeing villagers. A smug smile touched Shi Zhaozhi’s face. He looked at his subordinate, Chen Fengpo. "Caught them. They’re heading northwest. What’s in the northwest?"

Chen Fengpo frowned. "Dwarf mountains all the way. Twenty miles out is Tingbing Mountain. It’s not tall, but the terrain is complex. Beyond that is flat land, and another few dozen miles further, you hit the Yunzhong ranges."

Shi Zhaozhi laughed. "Aren't they running to their own graves? It’s an isolated mountain—what does complex terrain matter? We’ll pin them down tonight and dig them out at dawn. It won’t be easy to escape the clutches of the Mayi Yueqi!"