Chapter Ninety-Seven: The Madman

Hunu Town lay six hundred li south of the capital of the Kingdom of Yutian, at the northern foothills of the Kunlun Mountains. Guarding a vital mountain pass, it had always been a key point of defense and contention between two nations. In the Tang era, the word “town” was used in its literal sense: to guard, to suppress. It ranked below a city but above a garrison post, not an isolated fortress but rather a network of passes, military forts, and outposts. One could call its defenses stringent, yet every time the Tubo invaded, it had never once been held.

The reason was simple. This region stood at the edge of the Tarim Basin, its terrain lower, while the Tubo descended from the higher Qingqiang Plateau, giving them the advantage of the land. The garrison troops merely hoped to hold out as long as possible, but the most critical matter was early warning—lighting the beacons to inform all the towns of Anxi that the enemy had come.

But in the fifth month of the eleventh year of the Tianbao era, everything changed dramatically. The southernmost military town of Yutian was suddenly overflowing with troops and horses. The small town could not contain them all, and even the surrounding fields were requisitioned, yet people and horses kept pouring in.

The town commander, Wang Tao, was just over thirty, in his prime, but looked like a man of fifty. He had started as a personal guard to the former Great Protector, Fumeng Lingcha, later promoted to an official post. During Gao Xianzhi’s time, he’d been sent here as a garrison leader and finally worked his way up to town commander, unexpectedly becoming the chief officer of Hunu Town.

He had no hope of rising higher; he merely waited for the day the Tubo attacked, to die or to flee. If he could hold out for one more day, it would be a gain. Yet, in the past few years, even when the Tubo showed up, it was only in small groups, never even reaching the town—merely scouting, it seemed.

The situation had changed. Those of them on the front lines felt it most keenly. The Tang had shifted from defense to offense, and now to overwhelming dominance. When to fight and how much to fight was solely the decision of the frontier generals. Success was naturally celebrated, but failure mattered little; one could always buy redemption. As long as you didn’t die, you’d be reinstated eventually and could fight again.

In this atmosphere, everyone on the border strove to outdo one another. Most of the time, it was the Tang who took the initiative, steadily shrinking the Tubo’s territory. Of course, places like Hezhou and Longxi were the main battlefields; out here on the fringes, they could only watch, their strength useless. After all, the Kunlun Mountains stood before them like a natural barrier—who knew what lay beyond?

Wang Tao was not discouraged. In these times, survival was achievement enough. A man like him, without connections or support, even if he performed some heroic deed, would likely see the credit go to someone else. Content to make no mistakes and thus earn merit, he could get by—why strive for more?

Who could have imagined that this far-flung outpost would one day become so lively?

The arrival of troops was not strange in itself. The first to arrive were all from Yutian: both infantry and cavalry, easily four or five thousand in number. The commander was even more impressive. Wang Tao, upon seeing the royal standard embroidered with golden lotus, nearly toppled from the ramparts.

The King of Yutian, Governor Yuchi Sheng, had come in person!

“Your Majesty!”

Wang Tao was deeply shocked. A small kingdom dispatching troops without cause was tantamount to rebellion. Their arrival at his humble military town—were they planning to join forces with the Tubo? He dared not let his thoughts wander further, nor could he stand idly by. Before leaving the city, he had prepared for the worst. The unimposing city gate closed behind him, sealing off his last hope of escape.

If things were as he suspected, he had no choice but to offer his life for his country. Facing the approaching cavalry, he stopped at a distance, clasped his fists in salute, and performed every courtesy with precision.

“I recognize you. We met in Kucha.”

“Yes, Your Majesty, you have an excellent memory. Six years ago, when Vice Minister Fumeng gathered the armies of all nations to strike at the remnants of Helu, Your Majesty’s headquarters were under my charge. We exchanged only a few words—I didn’t think you’d remember.”

“Not just that. When you entered service at the Yutian garrison command, Magistrate Yang appointed you as town commander. I saw your name myself.”

Yuchi Sheng was about the same age as Wang Tao, but looked much younger, sporting a neatly trimmed mustache, the typical style of the Western Regions. He leapt from his handsome Turkic horse, removed his iron helmet and handed it to an attendant, then walked over, whip in hand.

Wang Tao recalled the occasion mentioned—he had indeed visited Yutian when promoted to town commander, three years ago. The King’s memory was truly impressive. But as a minor official with no background, he couldn’t imagine being remembered deliberately.

“You look as if you expect an enemy. Do you think I’m here to betray the Tang?” Yuchi Sheng glanced up at the ramparts, where the garrison, clearly under orders, crouched behind the battlements, likely with bows and crossbows at the ready.

“There was no official notice. It is my duty to act thus. Please forgive me, Your Majesty,” Wang Tao admitted frankly—there could only be one outcome, no reason for pretense.

“Blame you? With such diligence at the border, I can sleep soundly in town,” the king first praised him, then asked in puzzlement, “Have you not received the imperial order?”

Wang Tao gave a sheepish smile. “In a backwater like this, who would send me an imperial order? Has something happened?”

Yuchi Sheng studied his face, saw he was not lying, and shook his head. “No wonder, then. But the order isn’t with me, either.”

Seeing that mere words wouldn’t suffice, and that the other was unmoved, he scratched his head awkwardly, clearly at a loss. “They can’t last more than a few days now. To turn to the Tubo at this moment would be sheer folly—do I look like such a fool?”

Just as they were at a loss, more troops arrived from behind. At the sight of the leading banner, both men were startled.

“Old Bai is quick indeed, arriving no later than I. If he’s here, the main force can’t be far behind. Enough—let’s forget about entering the town for now and go greet them.”

In truth, when Wang Tao saw the troops from Kucha, he already believed Yuchi Sheng. Yutian might have dealings with the Tubo, given their proximity, but if Kucha had also turned traitor, it would mean all of Anxi had fallen—a catastrophe of such scale that, as town commander, Wang Tao would surely have heard. Since that wasn’t so, it meant the court was planning something big. For all these troops to gather on his patch of land, their target could only be the Tubo beyond the mountains.

With certainty in his heart, Wang Tao’s steps grew lighter. When he went to receive the troops from Kucha, he saw they were not the only newcomers.

Red tassels like blood, red flags blazing—those troops marching in pairs, each step in perfect unison, were unmistakably Tang border soldiers. That air of battle-readiness and pride on their faces could never be feigned. The only puzzling thing was that every man wore a white cloth tunic over his armor, and white pennants hung from the banners.

They were a mourning army!

As the central banner drew near, Wang Tao caught sight of its insignia and stood dumbfounded, unable to move for a long time.

Protector-General of Beiting, Acting Censor-in-Chief, Inspector-General of Yixi and Beiting... Cheng.

Beneath the great banner, surrounded by his personal guards, was none other than the former Deputy Protector of Anxi, famed as a “madman”—Cheng Qianli.

Beiting troops, the main forces of two kingdoms, and a madman leading them all—Wang Tao could scarcely make sense of it.

What was the court planning?