Chapter Twenty: Xu Le's Plans

The piercing arrow soared into the sky, trailing a mournful, shrill whistle behind it.

Within that whistle, one could almost hear the frustration and exasperation of the pursuing soldiers.

The Eagle Battalion of Heng’an Commandery was an elite force; even in the mountains, they were a power that struck fear into the hearts of the Turkic wolf cavalry. Yet now, a small trading caravan, having slain a squad of their men, had deftly evaded pursuit time and again. The soldiers chased eastward out of the mountains, only to be blocked in the south, convinced the caravan would head that way—never suspecting that it would instead turn north.

Yuan Junwei, leading his men south in vain, could only double back and give chase northwards, snot running from their noses, foam flying from their horses’ mouths, and still they had nearly let this tiny caravan slip into the city of Yunzhong!

Now, everyone—whether on the road, atop the city walls, or scattered among the commoners outside the city, even the steppe tribes who had come to trade—turned their eyes to the south.

They saw a cloud of dust rising along the road, as dozens of Heng’an Eagle Battalion cavalry, faces streaked with grime, eyes blazing with fury, charged straight toward Xu Le and his companions. At their fore rode the towering Yuan Junwei, wielding a long spear in reverse grip, the red triangular badge at its tip—edged in fire-tooth patterns—snapping taut in the wind. This young man, the rising star of the Eagle Battalion, now cut a figure of pure, unadulterated rage and frustration.

By his side, a bodyguard shouted at the top of his lungs, “Make way! Make way!”

On the road, the caravan sheltering Liu Wenjing was led by an experienced captain, a battle-hardened veteran who had campaigned in Goguryeo and fought in the suppression of Yang Xuangan’s rebellion. Seasoned and quick to react, at the first whistle he signaled, and his men hurriedly drove their wagons and pack animals off the road.

Liu Wenjing, having just praised the elegance and poise of the young Xu Le, settled back into his carriage to ponder the business at hand. Suddenly, he was jarred by the chaos outside—the roar of shouts, the neighing of horses, and his own carriage lurching sharply off the road. Unprepared, his head struck the side, and in a fit of anger he flung aside the curtain, snapping, “What’s going on?”

The caravan captain, sweating profusely, clustered with several guards around Liu Wenjing’s carriage. As he directed the driver to hurry, he said anxiously, “Master Liu, these Heng’an soldiers are after the group ahead! It’s best we keep out of their way!”

Liu Wenjing paused, his gaze shifting to the small group trapped between the city gates and their pursuers, and to the calm young man at their head who, sensing Liu Wenjing’s eyes upon him, turned and flashed a bright, toothy smile.

Bounced and bruised within the swaying carriage, Liu Wenjing was struck by a single thought:

Whatever this youth’s origins, he is destined for far greater things!

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At the sound of the whistling arrow, the guards at the city gate turned pale, the squad leader leaping to his feet with a start. He roared, “It’s Young Captain Yuan! Guard the gate!”

The usually languid gate soldiers sprang into action, snatching up their weapons. In the blink of an eye, they formed a tight line—though lacking formal field barricades, the ten-odd spears thrust forward blocked the narrow gateway as solidly as a wall.

Above, the sentries on the walls, who moments before had seemed half-asleep, too leapt into motion, racing to the spot. Each carried a bow and arrows; as they ran, they strung their bows, and many already had arrows clenched between their teeth, ready to draw and fire at a moment’s notice.

These Heng’an Eagle Battalion men were clad in worn robes and battered armor, their faces weathered by the hardships of life beyond the frontier. In the autumn sunlight they seemed undisciplined and lethargic, but when danger struck, the entire force came alive—revealing the true poise and ferocity of hardened veterans.

The elite soldiers of Yunzhong—worthy of their reputation. Centuries ago, the Northern Wei set its capital here, and the troops of Yunzhong held sway over the Central Plains and the tribes of the northern steppe.

Though over a hundred years had passed, and with the Sui dynasty’s focus shifting south and its power waning, leaving the borderlands with ever fewer resources, the sharp-edged warriors who had defended these lands for generations remained a force to be reckoned with.

The squad leader’s gaze locked intently on Xu Le, the most striking figure among the small band before him, unable to fathom:

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How could such a group of eight or nine men drive Captain Yuan to such mad pursuit? Two or three hundred ambushers, and they still couldn’t stop them before reaching the gates of Yunzhong? Who were these people? To have offended Captain Yuan and still dare to charge straight for Yunzhong—was this not courting death?

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In the scattered encampments outside the city, others too were roused by the sudden upheaval on the road.

From a nondescript tent of patched cowhide, the flap lifted, and two men emerged.

Both wore fur-lined coats and narrow boots, their hair braided at the back in the style of the Nine-Surnamed Tatars. Though the steppe was now dominated by the Turks and the golden wolf banner of the Ashina clan, the tribes north of Yunzhong were mainly the Nine-Surnamed Tatars, under the nominal rule of the Yizhi (Yizhibu), one of the great Turkic clans beneath Shibi Qaghan.

Despite the state of war between the Turks and the Sui, and the cessation of official relations, trade between the Nine-Surnamed Tatars and the outposts of Mayi and Yanmen never ceased. The Tatars needed grain, salt, and iron from the Central Plains, while the Chinese needed horses, furs, and steppe goods. It was common for Turks to profit from such trade, or even to masquerade as Tatars and slip into the Sui realm.

When war flared, everyone took up arms, fighting to the death. The Tatar tribes wavered between the Sui and the Turks, choosing sides as suited them. Once hostilities ended, business resumed—such was the rhythm of life on the frontier.

Of the two men, one was in his early twenties, tall and broad-shouldered, with the bow-legged gait of a lifelong rider—every inch the image of a young man of the steppe. Yet he was impeccably clean, his worn coat washed spotless, and at his belt hung a jade pendant of the sort favored by men of Chang’an and Luoyang, its color pure and translucent, worth a fortune in those cities.

The other, just over thirty, already bore the weathered look of a gnarled tree root battered by wind and rain, his sunken eyes gleaming with a chilling light—few could meet his gaze without feeling their blood run cold. There was in him the aura of one long accustomed to wielding power over life and death.

Amidst the jumbled encampment of the Nine-Surnamed Tatars, the two stood out as almost alien.

As they stepped out, the Tatar-clad guards nearby immediately closed in, surrounding them protectively.

Their attention was drawn at once to the maneuvers of the Eagle Battalion between the pursuers and the blocked road. The elder man sighed, “These Heng’an soldiers are like stones—stubborn and unyielding! The troops of Yanmen and Hedong are nothing compared to them. If we wish to open the southern road into the Central Plains, it’s not worth the effort to gnaw at these Heng’an men.”

The younger man laughed, “But we have Wang Renqiong as a fine ally, do we not… He may disdain the Heng’an soldiers, but our Yizhi tribe values them, and so does the Great Khan himself! This tough old stone will one day serve the Turks.”

The older man nodded, “Let’s hope this journey isn’t in vain… While we’re at it, we should also discipline these Tatars. They enjoy their trade, yet their annual tribute is pitiful. Some tribes even side with the Chinese. This time, we’ll settle accounts—let them learn that the blue wolf banner of Yizhi is not so easily trifled with!”

The younger man seemed unconcerned with Tatar affairs. His gaze fell instead on Xu Le’s group, poised on the highway, seemingly about to be swallowed by the charging Eagle Battalion. He waved dismissively, “Leave the Tatars to you, A Xianshe… but that little band is interesting. Do you think they’ll survive?”

The elder man glanced briefly, “Why bother watching? Offending the Eagle Battalion of Heng’an in Yunzhong’s territory is a death sentence.”

The younger man smiled, “Nothing but boredom here—who’d have thought we’d see such drama today?”

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On the highway, Song Bao was already resigned to despair.

They had twisted and turned, escaping from the mountains and doubling north, always just outpacing the Eagle Battalion. In his heart, Song Bao could not help but admire Xu Le’s seemingly reckless but truly shrewd strategy: the most dangerous path was often the safest. Once hidden in Yunzhong, what place could not shelter eight or nine men? Wait for the storm to pass, and they could slip away with ease.

But the Heng’an soldiers were not only as relentless as wolves, but as tenacious as hounds—sniffing them out and closing in again. Now, just one step from the city, they had been caught!

Song Bao glanced at his pale-faced companions, drew his single-bladed halberd, and prepared to throw it down. There was no point resisting now—their survival would depend on fate alone.

Just as he was about to let go, his wrist was seized. Looking up, he saw Xu Le beside him on horseback, reaching out.

Song Bao, furious, snapped, “Master Le, you’ve gotten us all killed—what more do you want?”

Xu Le deftly took the halberd from Song Bao’s grip. “I want to force a path out, of course.”

Song Bao gave a bitter smile, “Is there any way out left?”

Xu Le only smiled, his eyes shining as he gazed into Yunzhong.

“Under Wang Renqiong’s oppression, Liu Wuzhou has managed to hold on only by winning the hearts of men. Before his campaign in Goguryeo, he was already famed for his chivalry; upon returning to command Heng’an, he stood firm against Wang Renqiong. The Eagle Battalion’s morale endures because he is fair and just, his reputation widespread. Now, I’ll make my case to Liu Wuzhou himself—let him judge whether his men had reason to try to murder us. Let’s see if Liu Wuzhou still values the support of the people!”

Song Bao was dumbfounded.

He had thought Xu Le’s northern turn was a desperate gambit to escape pursuit, but now realized that this Master Le never intended to let the matter rest. He meant to take their grievance all the way to the commander of the Eagle Battalion, Liu Wuzhou himself!

Even if Xu Le had reason on his side, with a roadblock ahead and pursuers behind, how could they reach Liu Wuzhou?

Xu Le, paying him no mind, suddenly shouted, “Han Yue! Smash through! I’ll cover the rear!”

Han Yue, waiting for this order, drew his iron shield, a smaller bundle strapped to his back. He leapt from his horse, crouched behind the shield, and charged the Eagle Battalion’s spear line at the gate like a mountain in motion.

Xu Le called out, “I am a native of Mayi, a merchant by trade! We have been attacked by the Eagle Battalion! Liu the Hawk is renowned for protecting the people—his name is trusted throughout the land. We have come to seek justice from Liu the Hawk himself. Let him decide whether he will still stand by the people of Mayi!”

On the wall, a burly officer with skin dark as iron, over eight feet tall and built like a tower, had been hurrying over to take charge. On hearing Xu Le’s cry, he stopped and cursed.

“Damn that Yuan Si, lost control of his men again!”

Then he shouted orders, “Seize them first, sort it out later! Don’t let this get back to Liu the Hawk and make us all look bad! Don’t kill them, just capture them!”