Chapter Seventy-Three: Li Bei Sets Out for War

On the night of the second day of the sixth month, Liu Chengzong committed a significant act.

He called upon Song Shouzhen from Black Dragon Mountain, Li Wanqing of Tiger Waist, Guo Zhashi, and six squad leaders who had never served in the military.

The ten of them made their way to a desolate mountain on the southern bank of the Yan River and dug a foxhole overlooking the river.

The pit was neither too large nor too small—just enough to squeeze all ten of them inside, camouflaged on the outside with dead branches and wild grass.

In the latter half of the night, the group huddled together in the pit, catching a few hours of sleep.

At dawn on the third day of the sixth month, as the sky began to lighten, the distant, continuous sound of bugles from the west startled them awake.

Half-awake, Liu Chengzong glanced at the sky, roused his companions, and said, “From now on, no one is to speak. Whatever you see, I’ll explain it to you.”

The sky gradually brightened, though the sun had not yet risen. In the distance, the thunderous beat of drums could already be heard.

He hadn’t brought them here to watch the sunrise.

Rather, he wanted these squad leaders under his command—men who lacked combat and military experience—to witness the imperial army’s mobilization firsthand.

He wished them to understand what kind of opponents awaited them on this path, to steel their minds: so that, when advancing, they would not charge forward recklessly out of contempt for the enemy, and when retreating, they would not dissolve into panic at the first clash.

As dawn approached, the sound of galloping hooves echoed from the riverside below, suggesting cavalry units dispersing—some pressing forward, others halting.

“The first to emerge are the recon riders—five to a unit, with twenty-four units in each direction, screening the main force within a radius of twenty li.”

Liu Chengzong had once been a recon captain and was intimately familiar with their operations. “All are light cavalry, hard to catch, each bearing five-colored pennant lances, sabers at their waists, and bows and arrows. They advance one li apart, moving forward in overlapping waves.”

His voice was barely above a whisper, yet the men in the pit breathed heavily.

Not far below, some of these recon riders had already stationed themselves by the riverbank; they could even hear the snorting of the horses.

Soon, the sky grew brighter. A half-risen crimson sun spilled red rays through the rolling sea of clouds over the mountains, dividing heaven and earth.

The recon riders sat upright on their mounts, flag lances in hand, scanning the horizon.

It was a perilous profession, being a recon rider—always at the forefront of war.

They were the first to spot the enemy and, in turn, the first to be spotted.

But the risks came with rewards: any who detected enemy movement and relayed it effectively would be credited with a kill after the battle.

No one could have imagined that, just five or six li outside Yan’an Prefecture, someone would dig a pit overnight on the mountainside merely to observe their deployment.

Though Liu Chengzong did not know the government’s specific plans for this campaign, he was well aware of the timing and purpose.

The authorities were launching a campaign to wipe out bandits in the Yanqing region, making the territory from Qingyang Prefecture to Yan’an their battlefield.

At present, there were fewer bandits to the west, more to the east.

Still, Liu Chengzong was unsure if the government troops would take this route.

Only when he saw recon riders approaching from the west with pennant lances did his fears subside.

He explained to his subordinates, “The recon units cover twenty li, denying the enemy any knowledge of troop disposition. Yet from their movements, you can still discern the army’s direction.

Wherever the main army advances, the recon riders go first; as the rear catches up, the lead moves further ahead—right now, they’re heading east.”

He glanced down at the crystal hourglass in his arms. From the moment the bugle sounded at the Yan’an Garrison, less than a quarter of an hour had passed.

This hourglass was a trophy from Wangzhuang Fort, originally equipped with an automaton that would strike a bell when a certain amount of sand had fallen.

But Liu Chengzong had since dismantled the mechanism, keeping the hourglass as a timer.

He longed for a watch, but timepieces of this era hardly met his needs.

Since the middle Ming, with missionaries and overseas trade flourishing, Western clocks first entered China as gifts.

By this era, local craftsmen could produce Western-style clocks very well, cheaper than those from Europe, and for the same price, Ming artisans could make them smaller.

Yet even the smallest were only “desktop-sized.” The most advanced used iron mainsprings—hardly portable and quite noisy.

So, by comparison, this modestly sized hourglass suited Liu Chengzong’s needs best.

“The cavalry departs first, then the infantry. I estimate that, setting out together, they’ll arrive here within a quarter of an hour—”

Before he could finish, Liu Chengzong gripped the rim of the pit, peering anxiously westward, his brow deeply furrowed.

The recon riders were racing east, one after another.

Then all could hear it: the rhythmic pounding of hooves, the clatter of armor, the sound of men running in formation.

“The cavalry is coming.”

First to come into view were more than thirty retainers and guards in bright Ming lamellar armor, forming a phalanx. They raised a variety of banners, striding forward under the first rays of sun.

Cleansing banners, golden drum flags, the Five-Color Flying Tiger Banner of the Command Tent, Leopard-Tail Pennants at the gate, banners of the Five Marshals—so many silken flags that they nearly obscured the infantry formation.

Yet, conspicuously, there was no official standard.

Immediately behind, the mingled sounds of running feet, clashing weapons, and horses’ hooves.

Two unassuming plain banners: one inscribed “By Imperial Edict to Suppress Bandits” on the left, the other “Forward General Li of Shanhaiguan” on the right.

Beneath these banners, four elite cavalrymen escorted an armored general.

Behind him, two hundred cavalry rode in four columns, leading their horses and keeping pace.

Each warhorse was robust and powerful, armored with iron plates on the head and lamellar on the chest—half-armored in all.

The two outer columns of cavalry wore lamellar armor, weapons at the ready as they marched.

The two inner columns were lightly equipped, with weapons and armor slung across their horses’ backs.

Following the cavalry came twenty lightly armed soldiers, each leading four or five packhorses laden with cookware, rice, and other supplies, as well as five three-wheeled artillery carts.

The entire force advanced in silence, swiftly passing before Liu Chengzong and his group, heading east.

This was bad.

Liu Chengzong muttered, “These are government troops who can keep themselves well fed.”

It was only then that he recalled vividly how the Tiger General of Ganquan had been annihilated.

That battle lasted only two days—General Li Bei had attacked three times in succession, pursuing the enemy for a hundred and sixty li.

First, Li Bei was not truly a “Forward General,” but a dismissed military officer desperate to regain his position through victory.

Second, if one counted the march to Ganquan, Li Bei had likely covered two hundred and sixty li in just two days and claimed the Tiger General’s head.

Their marching speed was truly terrifying, making Zhang Tianlin’s boast of three hundred li in three days seem paltry by comparison.

The inexperienced squad leaders noticed little, only that the force appeared disciplined and dignified.

Guo Zhashi, seeing Liu Chengzong’s grim expression, whispered, “Master?”

Liu Chengzong returned to himself, suppressing his concern for Zhang Tianlin, and addressed the group: “Marching in four columns, leading their horses on foot, with armored men on the flanks near hills and water—this is to prevent ambushes when there’s no time to don armor.

They have over two hundred fighting men and over two hundred warhorses. The horses, though well-fed, will be used for mounted charges only at the moment of engagement.

This march didn’t follow the usual regulation of waiting for the infantry—Li Bei clearly intends to strike with cavalry. When forces are evenly matched, this tactic is suicidal.”

He paused for a moment.

Just as a few squad leaders were smirking, he broke in, “But the militia and the government troops are not equally matched. Li Bei’s tactic will work. As for us? Hah.”

“Even ten thousand of us would not be enough for his two hundred.”