Chapter Twenty: Hard to Surpass

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Heading north from Tongshan Pass, traversing the seldom-trodden wilderness, Zhao Huai’an’s group entered the territory of Dangma. Beyond this point lay the towering Snow Mountains, the domain of the Tubo people.

At a river junction in Dangma, the group veered eastward, following an unnamed wild river. This stretch proved arduous; Erlang Mountain blocked their path east, forcing them to skirt north along its southern foothills before looping back to the river valley.

Drawing upon later-era geography, Zhao Huai’an surmised that the place called Dangma corresponded to what would later be known as Luding, where the Dadu River cut through a gorge before turning toward Hanyuan. The detour around Erlang Mountain, which in later times would have a tunnel, now demanded a tedious trek on foot.

The journey taxed Zhao Huai’an—not from lack of physical endurance, but because the prolonged march through forests and snowfields frayed his spirit. In contrast, the gaunt mountain bandits and the listless Tang slaves showed no signs of fatigue, shouldering fifty to sixty pounds of supplies with cracked, weather-beaten skin yet unyielding resolve.

Perhaps, compared to their harsh lives, this hardship was but trifling.

Originally, they had planned to reach Hechuan Town in northwest Yazhou within five or six days—a strategic stronghold guarding the passage between Tang and Tubo. Yet merely circumventing Erlang Mountain consumed nearly that entire time, primarily due to the sheer number of people and the volume of supplies.

Zhao Huai’an and Xianyu Yue commanded twelve men; the freed Tang slaves numbered twenty-six; the recruited mountain bandits counted sixty-three; and twelve boys purchased from the market were added, tallying a total of one hundred eleven souls.

Besides Zhao Huai’an’s group, the others bore the burden of transporting vast military supplies: forty-one sets of iron armor, ninety-eight leather armors, one long saber, twenty-six broad swords, one hundred thirty Tubo knives, thirty-two horn bows, thirty quivers of arrows, and twenty shields.

Moreover, they carried pelts brought by the Tubo—twenty-eight yak hides, three hundred sheepskins, and forty-six assorted fox, sable, silver-mouse, and antelope pelts—a treasure trove of wealth.

There were also gold and silver plaques, agates, amber, and turquoise seized from the Tubo, kept in small pouches under Zhao Liu’s close guard.

Beyond these spoils, Zhao Huai’an had sold off three yaks and more than ten tents from camp, using the proceeds to buy the twelve boys at the market.

It was here that Zhao Huai’an realized that the brutal fighting among mountain strongholds was no less fierce than beyond, perhaps even more savage.

The twelve boys hailed from different tribes; their villages had been destroyed, and as surplus population, they were sold at market.

Exchanging three yaks for twelve young slaves was certainly expensive, but Zhao Huai’an wished only for a swift transaction.

He had hoped to trade the yaks for silver ingots, but mountain folk had no use for such currency, and these slaves were the only valuable commodities at the market.

Earlier, the sheep seized from camp had been consumed by Zhao’s men or gifted to the bandits; only six horses remained, carrying the most precious iron armor.

Unlike cattle and sheep, Zhao Huai’an prized these six horses above all.

Zhao Hu, skilled in horse appraisal, informed him that all six were suitable war mounts, one being a prized steed from the Western Regions, worth a fortune if the right buyer appeared.

Clearly, Zhao Huai’an had struck it rich on this expedition.

Had he wished only to be a wealthy landowner, selling off these supplies and weapons would have sufficed for a comfortable life.

But Zhao Huai’an was lucid—without power, wealth alone marked him as a fat target. Although abundant, these assets were insufficient to forge a fighting force.

Now he understood why local militias were called “tǔtuán” — it was not for their rustic nature, but because only local magnates dared to lead such groups.

Reflecting on this, Zhao Huai’an pondered the route ahead.

...

After crossing Erlang Mountain, the caravan pressed east for three days until reaching a fortified pass: Hechuan Town.

Built upon a mountain trail, this fortress was a true bastion—defensible by one man against ten thousand.

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From the smoke-stained walls, Zhao Huai’an discerned its glorious history, though now it lay abandoned, overgrown with creeping vines.

Entering the pass startled the group—inside dwelled a herd of mountain tapirs. When Yang Mao and others attempted to hunt them, Zhao Huai’an forbade it.

These creatures were none other than the future’s national treasure—the giant panda.

Seeing these gentle giants stirred a pang of melancholy in Zhao Huai’an, who last encountered them at the Wolong base.

Since the fortress was now the pandas’ domain, Zhao Huai’an chose not to intrude and resolved to press onward.

Two more days’ journey brought them to a large river.

Xianyu Yue identified this as the confluence of Futushui and Luodaishui rivers. Following the Luodaishui led into Maozhou, then turning south would bring them to Qiongzhou.

However, Xianyu Yue warned Zhao Huai’an that from here onward lay the rear of the Nanzhao people, and encounters with their forces were likely. He urged caution.

Zhao Huai’an took no chances, personally selecting a concealed mountain valley to camp and rest for two days.

Though Xianyu Yue wished to return swiftly to Chengdu, he understood the weariness afflicting the group after ten days’ march and agreed with the respite.

He decided to scout the nearby area of Yazhou himself.

...

After Xianyu Yue departed, Zhao Huai’an summoned Sun Tai.

Sun Tai had been overseeing supplies and, upon seeing Zhao’s summons, quickly left a young boy in charge and hurried over.

Zhao Huai’an was pleased with Sun Tai’s strong build and agile step—proof that plentiful food and constant training had borne fruit.

Once by his side, Zhao Huai’an asked the question foremost in his mind:

“How is the situation within the group?”

Sun Tai promptly replied:

“All is well under our watch. The four mountain bandit villages—He, Li, Fei, and Zhang—are still obedient. When they heard you planned to rest here two days, they cheered heartily.”

Zhao Huai’an nodded—he had been strategic.

To prevent mischief among the bandits, he ensured they marched until exhausted each day, so at night they collapsed into sleep.

Conversely, Zhao’s own men, tasked only with marching, remained energetic. The comparison naturally instilled a deterrent effect.

Yet such forced marches could not last forever; Zhao had begun to sense discontent brewing. Now at a river junction, a rest was imperative.

Then Zhao Huai’an asked another question:

“How many among them wish to join us?”

Indeed, Zhao did not intend to release these mountain bandits. With armor, weapons, and Xianyu Yue’s promised funds, all that remained was manpower.

Though these bandits were hardly law-abiding citizens, they were ideal for quickly forming a fighting force in the mountains.

But Sun Tai’s answer was discouraging. He shook his head:

“Lord, the situation is grim. These bandits are stubborn, eager to return home to farm. I asked some privately; only a few are willing to learn from us, the majority refuse.”

To entice more recruits, Zhao Huai’an had been teaching a small number of disciples, yet only a handful showed interest.

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How strange—was his martial skill no longer enticing?

Aspiring to become Tang’s great demon seducer, Zhao Huai’an doubted himself.

Unable to fathom why, he shook his head:

“Very well, so be it. We’ll find other chances to recruit. I refuse to believe that with armor and blades, we can’t attract men.”

Sun Tai nodded earnestly, evidently confident in the brotherhood’s future.

“By the way, fetch those willing to learn—I want to question them myself.”

Sun Tai bowed and ran back to the camp.

At that moment, Zhao Liu, busy taking inventory, approached with a regretful expression upon hearing the recruitment woes.

“Master Zhao, we’ve suffered losses on this trip.”

Previously, Zhao Huai’an had lavishly distributed provisions to impress the bandits with his wealth, but unexpectedly, these people were unimpressed.

Only a few recruits came forward—a costly failure.

Zhao Huai’an felt awkward but stubbornly retorted:

“Those rations weren’t coming with us anyway. Giving them to bandits to encourage transport is already a gain. It’ll get better.”

Still, Zhao Liu sighed, like a landlord lamenting lost profits.

Soon Sun Tai returned, bringing five youths—one of whom Zhao recognized as He Bo’s nephew.

Sun Tai gathered them and said:

“The Lord wishes to see you all; seize this opportunity.”

The five—among them He Wenqin—knelt before Zhao Huai’an, addressing him as “Lord.”

Zhao evaluated them. Except for He Bo’s nephew, taller than the rest, they were all under six feet—a group of short men.

But short stature did not preclude generals; willingness to follow him mattered more.

He inquired into their backgrounds.

Except for He Wenqin, who had a family, the others were orphans from the four villages, without kin, inspired to join Zhao’s grand enterprise.

He Wenqin himself had been captivated by Zhao Huai’an’s sword demonstrations and wished to learn.

Hearing this, Zhao realized recruiting bandits as soldiers was unlikely—these men had homes and families in the mountains, their hearts were not elsewhere.

He resigned himself to being the perennial fool, content to be a humble benefactor.

As he comforted himself thus, Xianyu Yue arrived, accompanied by Ren Tong and Song Yuan, hastening with urgency.

Without pause, Xianyu Yue gasped out:

“Second Brother, the Nanzhao forces... have... arrived...!”

At these words, Zhao Huai’an sprang to his feet.