Chapter 54: Blade of the Thief (Thanks to Patron elzhltvyn)

The reinforcements from the Nanzhao army arrived swiftly at daybreak the following day.

A force of several thousand men appeared outside Jinma Stockade and launched an attack without even stopping to rest.

From atop the watchtower, Zhao Huai'an gazed into the distance.

The first thing that caught his eye was not the neatly arranged Nanzhao troops, but hundreds of bamboo poles erected in front of the formation, each gruesomely bearing a human head that swayed in the fierce wind.

Recognizing them as the hundreds of captives he had released the previous night, Zhao Huai'an clicked his tongue in disbelief, thinking:

"These Nanzhao people are truly ruthless even to their own. Cutting off a thumb just means they can't wield a blade anymore, yet they aren't completely useless—and yet they just slaughtered them like this."

Then, he began to observe the enemy formation.

Indeed, with those hundreds of heads planted before them, the Nanzhao army exuded an intense aura of slaughter. The entire force was divided into three sections—left, center, and right—lined up evenly, fully equipped with infantry, cavalry, and chariot units, their banners fluttering in the wind.

At the very front were a large number of irregulars and forced laborers. From their attire, Zhao Huai'an could tell they were all Tang people who had been plundered by the Nanzhao army.

Driven by the commands of the Nanzhao supervision officers, these plundered commoners rushed toward Jinma Stockade, carrying shield boards and carts piled with earth.

Prodded by the blades and spears behind them, these people had no choice but to push carts and shoulder dirt sacks forward, shouting in various local dialects in an attempt to awaken the sympathy of the Tang soldiers inside Jinma Stockade.

Unfortunately, the composition of the Baoyi Battalion was so complex that even Zhao Huai'an, its founder, needed a long time to sort it out. There were routed soldiers, fierce bandits, mountain dwellers, and brave warriors—everything imaginable, except for anyone from the local area.

Thus, these peasants from near Shuangliu were essentially making eyes at a blind man. At the orders of the various squad leaders, countless crossbow bolts rained down from the stockade walls.

Zhao Huai'an had brought an untold number of carts laden with arrows when he set out from Shuangliu, and he had plundered another batch from the Nanzhao military camp yesterday, so the crossbowmen in his camp did not spare their ammunition at all.

Because the length of the stockade wall only allowed about a hundred men to stand abreast, each volley consisted of roughly a hundred arrows, but the barrage was relentless.

On the southern side of the camp—the main front where the Nanzhao army concentrated its attack—Zhao Huai'an had deployed three hundred men. The front hundred were crossbowmen, and the rear two hundred were stout camp laborers, averaging two loaders for every crossbowman.

Once the men at the front fired their bows, they would hand them to those in the rear to wind the strings, and then take back the ready crossbows to continue volley firing.

In this manner, a shroud of death was maintained across a zone of one hundred and fifty to two hundred paces, and peasants were continuously shot dead within this strip of ground.

The decisiveness of the Baoyi army and the deaths of their companions completely terrified the peasants in the rear.

Daring not to move forward any longer, they began to slack off at the two-hundred-pace mark, completely ignoring the frantic shouts of the Nanzhao soldiers behind them.

Such is human nature: people think, and people feel fear. Since moving forward meant certain death, why rush to throw their lives away?

The Nanzhao troops in the rear were not surprised by this. They had never expected these people to fill the stockade moat; frankly, they were just cheap pawns meant to exhaust the enemy's arrows.

As the enemy banners whipped about, amidst a rapid flurry of drums, a force of about two or three hundred men surged out from the left array.

Just like the peasants before them, they carried shield boards and pushed small carts, rushing forward to fill the trenches with swift and agile movements.

At that moment atop Jinma Stockade, Zhang Dai, who was in charge of defending the wall, shouted excitedly:

"Brothers, the Nanzhao running dogs are charging up! Give them a proper slaughter!"

With that, Zhang Dai loosed an arrow himself, and seeing that it missed, he cursed bitterly in frustration. Then he snatched a crossbow from someone nearby, hit his mark with a single shot, and only then stopped with a pleased grin.

While arrows fell like rain from Jinma Stockade, the Nanzhao troops struggled forward. Although shield carts led the way, soldiers were still struck by arrows and fell to the ground.

This Nanzhao army displayed significantly stronger institutional discipline; whenever a soldier fell, rear elements carrying shield boards would immediately rush out to drag the wounded back.

All of this was witnessed by Zhao Huai'an from the watchtower. Pondering for a moment, he called He Wenqin over:

"Dalang, go to the front and tell Zhang Dai to hold his fire until the enemy reaches the edge of the trench."

Clutching an iron badge, He Wenqin climbed down the watchtower and strode forward, holding the badge aloft and shouting:

"Urgent military order, make way at once!"

The soldiers resting in the open space of the camp quickly cleared a path, allowing He Wenqin to rush up to the southern camp wall.

When He Wenqin climbed to the top, Zhang Dai was excitedly firing away from the wooden planks. Catching sight of the battalion commander's trusted protégé, he hurriedly asked:

"What is it?"

He Wenqin first showed the iron badge to Zhang Dai, then delivered the verbal order:

"The commander's order: hold your fire and let the enemy reach the edge of the trench before shooting."

Puzzled by this directive, Zhang Dai took the iron badge, ran his fingers over it, furrowed his brow, and asked:

"Didn't the commander state the reason?"

At this, He Wenqin frowned in annoyance. Perhaps due to a mutual repulsion between their backgrounds, He Wenqin—who came from a family of mountain dwellers—deeply despised the old bandit Zhang Dai. He snorted:

"Just follow orders, why so many questions?"

Hearing this, the corners of Zhang Dai's mouth twitched. He cast a sideways glance at He Wenqin, tossed the badge back, and said with open contempt:

"Understood."

Without another glance at He Wenqin, he turned to his personal guards and instructed:

"Run a lap along the camp wall and tell everyone to let the bandits get right up to the ditch before opening fire."

The wooden wall was not long. The guard who had come up alongside Zhang Dai acknowledged the order and ran along the edge of the wall, shouting the message as he went.

Noticing the bewildered expressions of the various squad leaders, Zhang Dai shot a sidelong glare at He Wenqin:

"What? Shall I hand you a crossbow so you can have a go at shooting too?"

With a cold face, He Wenqin cupped his fists and descended the wall.

As soon as He Wenqin left, Zhang Dai's face darkened:

"You dog, I'll make you pay for this."

With that, he roared:

"Brothers, let the thieves get close before you strike!"

...

Up in the watchtower, Zhao Huai'an continued his observation. Seeing the Nanzhao troops pushing the dirt-filling carts successfully into the 150-pace range, he nodded inwardly—and then he saw He Wenqin return with an expression of displeasure.

Paying no heed to this, Zhao Huai'an kept his eyes fixed outside the stockade, awaiting the counterattack from Zhang Dai's sector.

As soon as he reached the top, however, He Wenqin directly complained:

"Commander, when I passed along the order, Zhang Dai made all sorts of sarcastic remarks and showed deep resentment."

Without replying, Zhao Huai'an simply looked out beyond the camp.

Out there, seeing the arrow rain dwindle, the enemy troops indeed began to surge forward, quickly pulling ahead of the forces in the rear.

Upon reaching the trench, those Nanzhao soldiers began flinging the bags of earth from their carts into the moat, only to be riddled with arrows and pinned to the ground the moment they raised their heads.

The Nanzhao troops in the rear wanted to advance with shields to rescue them and drag the wounded back, but this stretch of ground was well within the effective range of the crossbows. Not only were they unable to save anyone, but they too were wounded by the dense hail of arrows within the 150-pace mark.

Before long, agonizing cries echoed endlessly across that strip of land. The Nanzhao soldiers in the main formation dared not step forward to rescue them, leaving the wounded to bleed and wail on the battlefield.

The shrieks from behind galvanized the Nanzhao warriors lingering at the edge of the trench. Several immediately attempted to wade across the moat. After all, how hard could it be to scramble across such a narrow ditch?

To their horror, however, the moment these men stepped into the defensive moat, their feet were pierced by hidden caltrops and wooden spikes. Unable to maneuver in the cramped space, they simply drowned in the ditch.

For a time, cries of agony echoed from both front and rear, and the morale of the Nanzhao army was shattered, losing all its previous momentum.

...

Only after taking in all these events did Zhao Huai'an turn his gaze to He Wenqin, frowning:

"You said Zhang Dai made sarcastic remarks? And showed resentment?"

Feeling somewhat guilty, He Wenqin nonetheless nodded and said:

"When I relayed the commander's order, Zhang Dai seemed unconvinced."

Zhao Huai'an nodded and suddenly asked:

"Oh? And what exactly did he say?"

This was something He Wenqin dared not fabricate, so he recounted it honestly:

"Didn't the commander state the reason?"

Hearing this, Zhao Huai'an nodded, his expression turning stern:

"So all those other remarks came from you?"

Panic suddenly gripped He Wenqin, and he hurried to explain:

"Commander, when you gave the order, Zhang Dai didn't execute it immediately and instead questioned it. Doesn't that show he doubts your authority?"

With a cold calm, Zhao Huai'an replied:

"I don't care what you thought; I care about what I think. In my view, Zhang Dai was right, and you are the one stirring up trouble and wagging your tongue."

Having spoken, Zhao Huai'an unbuckled his saber and tossed it to He Wenqin.

So startled he froze, He Wenqin feared his master was ordering him to commit suicide.

Instead, Zhao Huai'an's next words were:

"Spending too much time in the rear has made your tongue too slick. Take my saber, go straight to the vanguard assault team, and lead the charge later."

Relieved of his terror, He Wenqin dared not argue further. He raised Zhao Huai'an's saber, kowtowed, and headed down.

Watching him leave, Zhao Huai'an shook his head and turned his attention back to the battlefield outside the stockade.

...

He Wenqin hurried down without a shred of dejection, leaving his fellow clansmen from Hejiashai who had stayed behind utterly bewildered.

Once they reached a quieter spot, one of them finally could not help asking:

"Eldest Brother, the commander reprimanded you so harshly, yet you aren't flustered at all?"

In response, He Wenqin tucked Zhao Huai'an's saber securely into his belt and asked:

"If he wanted to punish me, would he have bestowed his saber upon me?"

The man blinked, stunned, wanting to point out that this was an assignment to the suicide vanguard team.

Patting his companion's shoulder without another word, He Wenqin walked over to a group of heavily armored warriors sitting on folding stools near the southern camp wall—they were the vanguard assault team selected for this battle.

...

Though Zhao Huai'an continued to observe the enemy's movements, lingering annoyance remained in his heart.

While his reprimand of He Wenqin was entirely genuine, did He Wenqin's words lack reason? Of course they had reason.

To a certain extent, Zhang Dai had indeed failed to unconditionally obey his orders. While asking for the reason was not inherently wrong, if every single order required an explanation, where would his authority as the commander lie?

Zhao Huai'an harbored no illusions. In this brutal era and within a military culture built on power, he had to establish absolute authority; otherwise, he could be betrayed by his subordinates at any moment.

Yet Zhao Huai'an had no intention of punishing Zhang Dai for this. He could recognize Zhang Dai's potential; this incident merely made him clearer on one fact—his current prestige was still not high enough!

Just as these thoughts ran through his mind, gongs and drums suddenly sounded thunderously outside Jinma Stockade, and the Nanzhao troops that had been pressing the attack abruptly began to fall back.

While Zhao Huai'an watched in puzzlement, an enemy general dashed out from the formation, followed by five or six men who tossed a bundle of military banners onto the ground.

Then, the general roared toward Zhao Huai'an's position:

"Listen well, enemy general! Shuangliu has already fallen; do you still intend to offer futile resistance? Do you fail to recognize the Mandate of Heaven?"

At those words, the warriors behind him raised and waved their banners high—they were precisely the flags of the various foreign vassal armies that had been left behind in Shuangliu.

For a moment, absolute silence descended upon Jinma Stockade.