Chapter Seventy-Nine: Seizing the Bridge (Part Four)

Xi Dongzan had indeed not gone far, not because he possessed any extraordinary foresight, but simply because the riot in Hepulao City was far too suspicious. Even a person of average intelligence would inevitably link it to the actions of the Tang army—much more so for someone who considered himself unusually clever.

After moving his troops and breaking camp, he ordered the army to turn around as dusk approached. His plan was simple: if nothing happened at the bridgehead, he could wait a day or two before coming to the rescue. At worst, he’d arrive late and clean up the aftermath; after all, Dabolü was already prepared to abandon its positions, and what did a mere Hepulao City matter in the grand scheme of things?

He never expected the Tang army to act so swiftly—not even waiting for a single night. Now, he could not tell whether he felt triumphant or anxious, perhaps both at once. The Tang forces stood on the opposite bank, torches ablaze, making no effort to conceal their numbers, and they outnumbered him significantly. How many had crossed the river, he could not ascertain; all he could do was steady his own troops, ensuring his few thousand Boli soldiers did not immediately collapse—a scenario he had never anticipated.

With only three thousand cavalry at his disposal? Though Xi Dongzan was proud, he was not arrogant on the battlefield, nor would he ever underestimate the Tang army’s strength.

He sounded the horn to summon his soldiers, alerting the Tibetan officers in camp to his arrival. Even amidst chaos, this would prevent the complete collapse of the army.

As expected, after the long blast of the horn, the two thousand-strong units on his flanks stabilized. Their officers had already suppressed minor breaches; after all, the Tibetan rule had lasted over thirty years—such accumulated authority could not be undone by mere rumors or a day or two of unrest.

As for the central camp, Xi Dongzan saw at a glance that the fool Ma’erdaqi had likely already lost his head.

“Take your men and take charge of the camp. Gather as many as you can. Ignore those who’ve fled for now,” he ordered a trusted aide behind him.

“Yes, Dongben,” the aide replied, departing to carry out the command. Xi Dongzan himself led the cavalry to the front, forming a fan-shaped array. If the central camp failed to rally, he would not hesitate to charge in, scattering the troops if necessary—but he would never let the Tang army profit from the disorder.

The horn and the pressure of the cavalry finally brought order to the chaotic camp. The central camp, now nearly deserted, was herded toward the bridgehead by Xi Dongzan’s men.

About eighty paces away, nearly three hundred Boli soldiers readied their bows and arrows, aiming at the distant Tang troops. Strangely, Xi Dongzan ordered them to switch to fire arrows and use an arcing shot.

Though puzzled, the archers obeyed unquestioningly. They fetched torches, thrust them into the ground, wrapped oil-soaked cloth around their arrowheads, lit them, and angled their bows skyward. At the officer’s command, they loosed the arrows at a forty-five-degree angle.

Their wooden bows, if shot directly, had an effective range of thirty to fifty paces, but with this arcing method, they could reach eighty to a hundred paces—enough to blanket the small Tang formation at the bridgehead.

What use was this, though?

In the night sky, burning arrows scattered like stars, lighting up the darkness—just as Liu Ji and his men saw.

“Hurry, protect the bridge!” Liu Ji instantly grasped Xi Dongzan’s intent. The Tibetans wanted to destroy the bridge; he had previously heard from Zhuoguli that the Tibetans had doused the bridgehead with fire oil. A single spark would ignite it. Though Liu Ji knew this, time was too tight—he had not yet had a chance to deal with the threat before the enemy appeared.

“Zhang Wuji, you take the lead!” he commanded, then spun and ran back.

The broad bridgehead was tightly guarded by two teams, with one Tang infantryman after another crossing over—these were all from Tian Zhen’s unit, though from different squads.

Passing Xu Guangjing, Liu Ji issued a quick order as he ran: “Shields, follow me!”

The soldiers were accustomed to obeying; since it was the garrison chief’s command, over twenty men immediately stepped out of formation and followed him. Xu Guangjing’s squad was halved, unable to form a proper unit, so he joined with Zhang Wuji’s thirty men, barely assembling a complete team.

Arriving at the bridgehead, Liu Ji ordered, “Raise your shields, block the arrows!”

Over twenty wooden shields were quickly raised, but the bridge was more than forty paces wide. Even spread out, they could not fully cover it. The fire arrows would soon rain down.

“Retreat! Everyone, fall back!” Liu Ji rushed onto the bridge, blocking the bridgehead and shouting up to the soldiers crossing. His voice startled Tian Zhen, who was about to step onto the planks.

A sharp whistle cut through the air.

At that moment, countless fire arrows descended, falling within that small area. Soldiers without shields could only dodge as best they could. Fortunately, there was space and they were prepared; casualties were not severe.

Almost simultaneously, a bright blaze erupted, instantly spreading. Not only were the shield-bearers at the bridgehead caught in the flames, but even the soldiers still on the bridge had not yet reached the shore were engulfed!

The Tibetans had soaked the entire bridgehead—from the ground to the beams, even every vine—with fire oil. No wonder they never lit torches there.

Fortunately, the fire had just started; the soldiers could easily pat out the sparks on their bodies, and those approaching the bridgehead pressed forward, quickening their pace and leaping through the flames.

Seeing this, Tian Zhen’s face turned pale. Liu Ji’s intention was clear: abandon the crossing immediately. But doing so meant watching, powerless, as those who had already crossed were slaughtered by the vastly superior Tibetan force.

Yet there was no choice. Once the vine bridge caught fire, it could not be extinguished. If they could not retreat before the structure collapsed, their fate would be no different from those left on the other side.

Beneath the bridge flowed the “Weak Water,” where not even a feather could float. These heavily armored soldiers would not even have a chance to struggle.

“Retreat! Everyone, fall back!” Tian Zhen gritted his teeth and gave the order. The Tang soldiers who had not crossed half the bridge quickly withdrew. As the last man returned, the vine bridge—arching like a dragon above the riverbed—was now a blazing serpent.

Amidst the crackling flames, with a thunderous crash, it broke from the far end, plunging into the dark, deep water below.

A hundred paces apart, the river was now a chasm.