Chapter Fifty-Seven: Wolf of War (IV)

“Aah!”
A pained scream reached Zhang Wuji’s ears; he knew it was from an old soldier hailing from Longyou. Judging by the sound, the man must have taken a grievous wound.
Was this the third, or the fourth now?
The assault of the wolf pack seemed endless. Beneath Zhang Wuji’s feet lay two snow wolf corpses; before him, the passage blocked off by the sled was already lined with five or six more dead wolves, their bodies paving the way into a level path. Behind him, three or four more lay sprawled, their hides riddled with spear holes.
Eight directions, eight passages—at this rate, the wolves had already lost nearly a hundred of their number, yet their silhouettes behind still surged forth without end.
Zhang Wuji quickly estimated: they had run into a great pack of nearly two hundred snow wolves. Such a vast number likely meant this was the only pack in the glacier region nearby—perhaps not even the only one. Only a territory large enough could sustain so many predators.
That meant, as long as they could break through this pack, there would be no more great beasts ahead to threaten them.
He leaned on his long saber, exhaling a breath that turned instantly to white vapor. Seizing this rare lull, he steadied his breath; as for the claw mark on his shoulder, he hadn’t even the time to glance at it before another snow wolf appeared in his sights.
The hiss of arrows whistled past his ears. Compared to the beginning of the fight, both their rate and accuracy had fallen off. Even the most seasoned veterans, loosing arrows without pause, could not maintain their best. He had no mind to blame them.
A snow wolf was struck by an arrow—wounded but not mortally so. With a whimper, it bounded over the corpses of its fallen kin, agilely leaping onto the sled. Following a zigzagging path, it evaded most of the arrows and sprang at Zhang Wuji with startling swiftness.
War always brings progress, whether for men or beasts.
“Come, beast,” Zhang Wuji growled, locking eyes with it as he slowly raised his saber. The heavy blade made his movements sluggish; the prolonged battle had drained most of his strength, and he could no longer wield it as effortlessly as before.
With a howl, the snow wolf lunged like lightning. Its massive forepaws clamped onto the blade at the very last instant, throwing off Zhang Wuji’s swing. He immediately let go and leaped back, drawing the short sword at his waist before the long blade hit the ground.
The wolf’s right forepaw was split by the blade, and it staggered. Planting itself atop the saber, its powerful hind legs launched it forward. Its jaws gaped wide, revealing fangs like steel, rank with blood and stench, lunging straight at Zhang Wuji’s face.
With a metallic clang, Zhang Wuji dodged aside, caught its other forepaw with his bare hand—the force nearly toppled him. Instinctively, he braced with his short sword. At that moment, the wolf spun, its long tail whipping like an iron flail with a rush of wind, striking his back.
He grunted, his body flung like a severed kite, the short sword flying from his grasp as blood spurted from his mouth.

The wolf, having struck true, lunged again, jaws snapping at his head. Zhang Wuji closed his eyes, awaiting the final moment.
A cry rang out. Zhang Wuji opened his eyes in astonishment—a spear had pierced through the wolf’s mouth, lifting its entire head high. Even from a distance, Zhang Wuji could see the wolf’s body convulse; such was the power behind the blow.
With another shout, Liu Ji twisted his arm, hurling his entire weight forward, eyes wide, mouth bloody, face contorted.
At this moment, he looked more beast than wolf.
The massive wolf—over six and a half feet long, weighing more than three hundred pounds—was lifted clear off the ground, the hardwood spear shaft bending into a bow until it finally snapped with a loud crack.
“Can you still stand, old man?”
Liu Ji thrust half the broken spear at him. Zhang Wuji grinned, hauled himself up with the shaft, and staggered back into the ranks, dropping heavily onto a wolf corpse behind the line.
“Once each—we’re even now.”
Liu Ji, not caring if Zhang Wuji heard, strode forward, picked up the abandoned saber, and with the wolf blood and the rush of battle, felt his strength returning, his blood boiling with renewed fighting spirit.
“Qian Keng Garrison, picked men of the vanguard—lads, this is a delicacy granted by Heaven, food fit only for warriors! Are we to let it slip away?”
Raising the thirty-pound saber in one hand, he roared, “Slaughter these beasts!”
“Slaughter them!”
“Slaughter them!”
The fatigue and flagging morale brought on by the long struggle were swept away in a surge of energy—even Zhang Wuji threw back his head and shouted. The wave of their voices drowned out the wind and snow, and even the wolves’ howls.
The general is the soul of the army!
With the commander’s spirit rekindled, the whole company flared anew, their fighting will reignited.
Behind the wolves, a long, drawn-out howl sounded in answer. Taking the humans’ rally as a challenge, the wolves responded in kind. At the leader’s call, the rest raised their voices as well, their howls echoing without end.
A bloodier slaughter was about to begin.

Beneath the walls of Niedo City, squads of Tang soldiers marched along the riverside. Each man rode a horse, and behind each was tethered a pack animal—either a mule or a long-eared donkey—laden with all the supplies they could not do without, but could not carry into battle.
Clothing, fodder, rations, even firewood and cooking pots.
“Old Feng… Commandant.”
Li Siyi, mounted on a tall Turkic steed, sat so high that he towered half a head above Feng Changqing beside him.
He had barely uttered the old familiar term before catching himself and correcting it. At this, Feng Changqing, who had seemed indifferent, turned to glance at him.
“What is it? Still not figured it out?”
“You mean that incident last time?” Li Siyi lowered his head and his voice.
“Last time?” Feng Changqing frowned, trying to recall.
Thinking he’d guessed correctly, Li Siyi hurried to explain: “It was that foolish Hu lad’s fault. I’ve already punished him, but if you’re still upset, I’ll go give him a few more strokes myself, personally.”
Hearing what it was about, Feng Changqing couldn’t help but laugh, playfully tapping him on the head with his riding crop.
“For all your cleverness, you still act daft, trying to imitate that old Duan fool. He would’ve seen through it in a second, but you—your mind just twists things until there’s no end in sight.”
Of course, these weren’t Feng Changqing’s exact words—he wasn’t so coarse or glib, but that was the general meaning.
“I don’t buy it. If that wasn’t it, why would Tian Mazi have been given the lead on this route?”
“You old mule—if I don’t spell it out, you really won’t move.” Feng Changqing shook his head, leaned close, and murmured by Li Siyi’s ear, “Before he left, Wulang said that from here to Hepulao City, there’s more than one path. He himself chose the most dangerous route; as for you, you’ll take the longest one. Only a brute like you can manage it. If you can’t, I’ll have Liang Zai do it, and you can take the central army and support General Tian—how about it?”
Li Siyi nearly leapt out of his saddle at this, almost knocking heads with Feng Changqing.
“Me, supporting Tian Mazi? In his dreams! What’s so scary about distance? Just tell me, which way do we go?”
Which way? Feng Changqing turned his head toward the direction of the Indus River. Following the valley straight ahead—that was the route Master Xuanzang had taken on his journey west.
India!