Chapter Twenty-One: Waylaid

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Why did Zhao Huaian suddenly jump up? To run away? Right now, his troop faced certain death if they encountered any unit of the Nanzhao army. The family fortune he had painstakingly built could not be lost so quickly. But just as Zhao Huaian sprang to his feet, Xianyu Yue grabbed his hand and finished the half-spoken sentence:

“A convoy is coming, passing just ahead of us.”

Hearing this, Zhao Huaian steadied himself, inwardly cursing his elder brother for not finishing his sentence. There was a dirt road ahead—though rough and worn, it was the official route from Yazhou to Lizhou. Clearly, this Nanzhao group was retreating from the Qiongzhou front line. What could a convoy retreating from the front bring? Surely it was a train of plundered spoils! How could they not seize this chance?

His heart pounding wildly, Zhao Huaian hurriedly asked Xianyu Yue:

“Old Yue, how many men do they have?”

Xianyu Yue, a crack commander from Chengdu, caught his breath and replied calmly:

“Judging by the number of banners, it should be a full army.”

Zhao Huaian fought the urge to roll his eyes. How was he supposed to know how many men were in an army? Not daring to reveal his ignorance, he pressed on:

“What about the troops and horses?”

Xianyu Yue knew his answer could be ambiguous, since the size of units in both Tang and Nanzhao armies was never fixed—Nanzhao units ranged from several hundred to over a thousand men. He could only confirm the unit was an army but couldn’t count exact numbers. Yet, he needed to give Zhao Huaian a clear figure, so after a quick calculation he said:

“Three to four men per cart, over a hundred carts, plus those leading and trailing—it’s roughly five hundred men.”

Zhao Huaian clicked his tongue and sat back on the folding stool, smiling wryly at Xianyu Yue:

“Old Yue, what else is there to say? Let’s hide everyone. We can’t take on these Nanzhao troops.”

Xianyu Yue nodded in agreement. He hadn’t intended to attack with Zhao Huaian; it was Zhao’s younger brother acting impulsively.

Then, Yang Mao and Zhao Hu rushed downhill to gather the four local leaders from the mountain shelters, as ordered by Zhao Huaian.

After laying out the situation, He Bo and the other three had no objections and promised to keep everyone concealed and quiet.

Watching them tremble as they left, Zhao Huaian stroked his beard and suddenly turned to Xianyu Yue:

“Old Yue, how about the six of us go up ahead to take a look? If anything happens, we can prepare early.”

Xianyu Yue nodded; he had the same thought.

The plan set, Zhao Huaian decisively gathered Sun Tai, Wang Li, and Xianyu Yue himself. They donned armor, with Zhao Huaian wearing his previous bright armor but now adding a green cloak.

Without hesitation, the six charged straight toward the dirt road ahead.

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As they ran, descending into a hollow, the clatter of carts and horses ahead became audible.

The six moved stealthily, choosing a concealed hillside to crawl upward.

Zhao Huaian gasped when they reached the top. The dirt road stretched out before them, flags fluttering in the dust-filled air, Nanzhao troops lined up like fish scales—cavalry at the front, infantry behind, then carts and horses, all in perfect order.

Looking at the Nanzhao soldiers, who joked and shouted among themselves with a lazy air, Zhao Huaian saw unmistakable pride of a victorious army.

Wasn’t Nanzhao just the later Yunnan region, a small place? Did they really have such a strong military?

He finally couldn’t help but ask Xianyu Yue beside him:

“Old Yue, is the Nanzhao army really this powerful?”

Used to Zhao Huaian’s ignorance in certain matters, Xianyu Yue whispered:

“These should be the core troops from Nanzhao’s capital—elite soldiers. It’s no surprise they’re strong. But why would such a unit be escorting a convoy?”

Zhao Huaian was puzzled. He knew Tang also had capital guards, but Nanzhao had them too?

Yet this was not the time for questions. He reminded himself this was the real world, one to be respected.

Watching the proud Nanzhao soldiers, Zhao Huaian despaired, but since he was here, he decided to observe their situation carefully.

What he saw next nearly made him explode with rage: the convoy was bound with groups of Tang captives, some still in military uniforms, but most were ordinary civilians.

Perhaps resigned to their fate, the Tang prisoners neither cried nor screamed, only numb and staggering alongside the carts.

Before Zhao Huaian could react, Xianyu Yue—always a staunch Tang loyalist—lost his temper first. He pounded the grass and cursed softly:

“Those treacherous Nanzhao slaves! Nanzhao dogs!”

Zhao Huaian glanced sideways. This was the first time he heard Old Yue swear—usually a refined gentleman, but now clearly capable of cursing.

Though, that was hardly a cutting insult.

Xianyu Yue turned to Zhao Huaian:

“Second brother, do you know how Niu Li and the others became Tang slaves?”

Zhao Huaian didn’t know, but guessed they had been captured by Nanzhao raids.

Xianyu Yue then revealed a secret.

Over seventy years ago, Nanzhao breached Chengdu for the first time in history. Though they only took an outer city, they captured tens of thousands of Tang people—mostly women and craftsmen. Niu Li’s grandfather was among them.

Xianyu Yue’s own family lost sixteen direct relatives in that year’s defense of Chengdu—there was true blood hatred between them.

Seeing Xianyu Yue’s eyes redden, Zhao Huaian worried about his reason and patted his back, urging:

“Old Yue, when we return to Qiongzhou, we’ll kill those Nanzhao dogs on the battlefield.”

Xianyu Yue drew a deep breath and stared fixedly at the convoy. No one could say what he was thinking.

Zhao Huaian’s anger was fueled more by humanitarian sympathy, so he quietly observed the convoy.

Then he noticed something strange: though the Tang captives were tied with hemp ropes, the convoy included a dozen cage carts, each holding a prisoner.

One prisoner was pitiful beyond compare—his head locked to the top of the cage, forced to stand, barely able to keep on tiptoe.

Two Nanzhao soldiers with long spears stood beside him, occasionally prodding him with the spear butts, laughing loudly.

Zhao Huaian squinted. The man was truly miserable—what crime had earned such hatred from Nanzhao?

Xianyu Yue also noticed him, hesitated, then told Zhao Huaian:

“See that cage cart? Though his hair is disheveled and hard to identify, that looks like Song Jian, a vanguard marshal.”

Seeing Zhao Huaian’s blank reaction, Xianyu Yue added:

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“His uncle is Song Wei, the current military governor of Pinglu. Four years ago, Song Jian and his uncle entered western Sichuan and crushed Nanzhao forces near Piqiao in Hanzhou. His uncle was then promoted to Pinglu governor, while Song Jian stayed in Sichuan. Unexpectedly, now he’s been captured by Nanzhao.”

Xianyu Yue sighed:

“Song Jian is a brave man. Being captured by Nanzhao means he’s surely endured skinning alive.”

Hearing “skinning,” Zhao Huaian immediately recalled a corpse he had seen on the battlefield, the man skinned alive. The sight of dark blood made him want to vomit.

Suddenly, chaos erupted on the hillside.

From the mountain opposite, huge boulders rolled down, crashing into the Nanzhao cavalry at the front of the convoy.

The dirt road lay between two mountains. The Nanzhao knew well it was vulnerable to ambush, but the Tang forces had been utterly crushed and confined to Qiongzhou. Yazhou was now the rear, so Nanzhao troops felt secure enough to escort prisoners and slaves on a large scale.

The ambush dealt a heavy blow, but the Nanzhao quickly counterattacked, sending squads charging toward the eastern mountains.

Watching the Nanzhao troops descend into chaos, Zhao Huaian and Xianyu Yue saw wild joy in their eyes.

Zhao Huaian slammed the grassland with his fist:

“Damn it, let’s take this chance!”

He handed his personal token to Sun Tai, ordering him to return and tell Zhao Liu and Zhao Hu to gather the mountain shelters and distribute arms.

Fearing reluctance among the mountain bands, Zhao Huaian added:

“Fools with plenty of money—come quick!”

Thus, Zhao Huaian and his comrades eagerly watched the battle, seeking their opportunity.

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The clash began. Nanzhao soldiers kept charging the eastern hillside. These elite troops from the Erhai region were unmatched in strength and morale.

Yet the ambushers had not appeared so far, leaving Zhao Huaian uneasy.

Meanwhile, the convoy behind the hill grew restless. The desperate Tang captives nervously looked around, only to be beaten harshly by Nanzhao warriors.

About fifty or sixty Nanzhao soldiers guarded the convoy, nervously scanning the mountains.

Zhao Huaian couldn’t see the battle in the opposite mountains and hesitated, when suddenly a group came rushing over—He Bo, Li Da, Fei Yanggu, Zhang Dai, and others.

Wearing the armor Zhao Huaian had issued, they were led by Zhao Liu and Sun Tai.

Zhao Huaian noticed that apart from the four mountain bands, Niu Li had also brought freed slaves, though their armor was ill-fitting and wobbled as they ran.

Several leaders and Zhao Huaian’s disciples gathered around, chattering excitedly.

Fei Yanggu, the leader of the Fei mountain band, was the most enthusiastic—known for highway robbery, he jumped at Zhao Huaian’s words about fools with money.

Others responded similarly. The mountain bands of western Sichuan truly delighted at the prospect of plunder.

But when they reached Zhao Huaian’s side and looked down at the dirt road, all fell silent.

Fei Yanggu, previously eager to seize money and women, now had a dry mouth and asked hesitantly:

“Lord Zhao, the fat sheep you mentioned—are you talking about those Nanzhao soldiers down there?”

Zhao Huaian said nothing.

Fei Yanggu turned his head and prepared to lead his men away.

Was this not just bullying?