Han Ji

Chapter 130 Blood Shadow on the Qiang Border

Guan Yu then turned his head: "The way to defend a city lies first and foremost in bows and crossbows. The bow must be drawn like this—" He took the bow from the saddle, nocked an arrow, drew it taut, his arm as steady as a rock, and released the string.

The arrow flew like a meteor, striking the straw figure squarely between the eyebrows from a distance of 120 paces.

"This is how you chop!" He spurred his horse forward, drawing his Green Dragon Crescent Blade and sweeping past a hitching post as thick as a bowl at the edge of the field.

With a flash of the blade, the wooden stake was severed in two, the cut surface smooth.

Guan Yu reined in his horse, turned around, and pointed his blade at the ground: "Don't know? I'll teach you. Don't want to learn? Get lost, don't occupy a military post and collect a salary."

The voice wasn't loud, but every word struck a chord deep within.

Chen Lu's face turned pale.

A young military officer behind him couldn't help but whisper, "What's with the arrogance..."

Before he finished speaking, Guan Yu's gaze swept over.

The military officer shuddered and shut his mouth.

"Commander Chen," Guan Yu sheathed his sword, "starting tomorrow, the two units will train together. Morning roll call will be at 7:00 AM. Those late will receive ten strokes of the cane. Those who neglect training will receive twenty. Those who disobey orders will be expelled from the camp."

Chen Lu gritted his teeth: "Commander Guan, isn't this... a bit too harsh?"

"Yan?" Guan Yu looked at him. "If the Qiang cavalry arrive, they will not spare you an arrow just because you are lenient."

He turned his horse around: "That's all for today. See you at the drill ground tomorrow at dawn."

Five hundred men mounted their horses in unison, their hooves thundering as they returned to camp.

Chen Lu stood there for a long time, then kicked the broken stake in the ground.

"damn it..."

On the same day, in the rice warehouse.

Zhang Fei led 500 men to join another 500 men from the third battalion of the county army. The leader was a squad leader named Zhao Gan, a cousin of Chen Lü, in his early twenties, with a fierce and stern look.

"Commander Zhang," Zhao Gan clasped his hands in a fist salute, his smile slightly roguish, "I've long heard that your eighteen-foot spear is unparalleled in the world. Would you like to see it for yourself today?"

Zhang Fei grinned: "Want to see?"

"think!"

Zhang Fei dismounted and walked to an old pine tree by the roadside. The tree was so thick that it took two people to encircle it, and its bark was rough and cracked.

He spat into his palm, rubbed it together, gripped the spear tightly, let out a low roar, and swung the spear shaft in a wide arc, smashing it against the tree trunk.

"Snap!"

The tree trunk was mostly split open, splinters flying everywhere. The tree swayed and leaned to one side.

Zhang Fei sheathed his spear, dusted off the sawdust from his hands, and asked, "How about this force for stabbing someone in the neck?"

The county soldiers were astonished.

Zhao Gan chuckled dryly, "Impressive, impressive..."

"If you're so capable, learn from me." Zhang Fei mounted his horse. "From today onwards, get up at dawn every day and run ten miles carrying heavy loads. Practice spear fighting at dawn, bow fighting at noon, and formation drills at dusk. Anyone who slacks off will be punished by me personally."

He surveyed the crowd: "Anyone who disagrees, step forward now. One-on-one, group fight, it's up to you. Beat me, and you're the boss."

Nobody moved.

Zhang Fei nodded: "Then it's settled. Zhao Gan!"

"Yes, yes!"

"You lead the way and patrol the rice granary road. Point out to me where there are ambushes and where sentries should be set up."

"yes..."

That night, at the military camp in the west of the city.

Qian Zhao secretly reported: "Brother, Zhao Gan said to his confidants after drinking: 'Liu Bei will seize the position of governor sooner or later, and then none of us who followed Su Gong will escape.'"

Liu Bei was examining a map under the lamp when he heard this and looked up: "Your exact words?"

"The exact words."

"Who heard that?"

"Our informant in the county army is surnamed Li. He is a veteran from Guangzong and is reliable."

Liu Bei pondered for a moment: "Li Shun."

"Yes, sir." Li Shun entered from outside the tent.

"Investigate Zhao Gan," Liu Bei said. "Investigate thoroughly. Don't overlook anything related to the grain and provisions he handled, the people he associated with, or the dirty deeds he committed."

"clear."

The crowd dispersed.

Liu Bei sat alone in the darkness, listening to the wind outside the tent.

The wind carries the chill of spring, as well as the earthy smell of distant mountains.

He recalled a night like this beneath the walls of Guangzong City. Back then, he had only five thousand soldiers, yet he faced a hundred thousand Yellow Turban rebels.

Now he has five thousand soldiers, but he has to face an even bigger net—the net of officialdom, the net of people's hearts, and the net of undercurrents.

"Su Gu..." he murmured.

The game had only reached the middle stage.

It can't be rushed.

In early April, the grass on the north bank of the Ju River was just sprouting.

After two months of fleeing into the Baima Qiang tribe, the one-eyed wolf finally persuaded the chieftain, Ehe.

Inside the tent, cow dung was burning, the smoke stinging the eyes. Ehe sat cross-legged on a felt mat; he was about forty years old, with a broad face and high cheekbones, wearing an old fur robe and a string of wolf teeth hanging from his chest. He listened, twirling a butcher's knife in his hand.

"Han officials killed my brothers and plundered my wealth!" The one-eyed wolf knelt, the scar on his face writhing in the firelight. "Great Chieftain, if this grudge isn't avenged, the Qiang people will have no face to live in this world!"

Ehe remained silent. Inside the tent were three elders, all old men, who seemed to be dozing off with their eyes half-closed.

"The Han people's salt, tea, and cloth," the one-eyed wolf crawled forward half a step, "we used to trade them with horses. But this year? Han officials have taken control of the salt wells, and the price of salt has tripled! Tea? A basket of tea costs three horses! This is forcing us to our deaths!"

An elder opened his eyes: "A Han Chinese caravan came here last month."

"That's just for show!" the one-eyed wolf roared. "To really exchange salt? We'd have to find their officials, we'd have to bribe them! Isn't our Qiang people's money money?"

He stopped turning the knife, the tip of which pierced the roasted lamb leg in front of him, spurting out a stream of oil.

"What do you want to do?"

"Attack!" The one-eyed wolf's eyes turned bloodshot. "Rob the salt! Rob the tea! Let them know that the Qiang people's knives aren't rusted yet!"

Ehe drew his knife, cut off a piece of mutton, put it in his mouth, chewed it, and looked at the elders.

The oldest one, with droopy eyelids, spoke in a voice like a broken bellows: "There are many Han soldiers."

"Not many!" One-Eyed Wolf interrupted. "I asked around. The Hanzhong troops were divided into two groups: one at Yangping Pass and another at Micang Road. As for Ju County, there are only about a hundred county soldiers, mostly old, weak, and disabled!"

He swallowed the meat, licked the tip of his knife, and asked, "How much should I take?"

"Salt, at least five hundred bushels! Tea, two hundred baskets! Cloth..." the one-eyed wolf gritted his teeth, "enough for us to get through the winter!"

There was a moment of silence in the tent. The sound of cow dung crackling filled the air.

Ehe rose, walked to the tent, and lifted the leather curtain. The pale moonlight outside illuminated half of his face.

"I will only send three hundred cavalry," he said.

The one-eyed wolf was taken aback: "Chieftain, three hundred is enough..."

"That's enough looting of salt." He turned around, staring at him. "But remember—only loot the goods, don't kill. Once you kill, there's no going back."

The one-eyed wolf lowered his head: "Understood."

April 12th, just past midnight.

At the watchtower, twenty li north of Ju County, two soldiers were dozing, spears in hand. The watchtower was made of adobe bricks, two stories high, and half of it had collapsed. The torches had long since gone out, leaving only moonlight.

A muffled rumble of thunder came from afar.

The old soldier opened his eyes and listened intently. The sound grew closer; it was horses' hooves, many horses' hooves.

He nudged his companion awake: "Quick, light it!"

The young soldier frantically grabbed the flint and steel, his hands trembling, unable to strike it. The older soldier snatched it, snapped it twice, and sparks flew onto the tinder, just as smoke began to rise—

The arrows are coming.

The first arrow pierced the young soldier's throat; he grunted and fell backward. The second arrow sank into the old soldier's shoulder blade; he staggered backward and crashed into the wall.

The gate was smashed open, and the Qiang cavalry rushed in, hacking and slashing at anyone they saw. Two county soldiers and five post station workers all fell in pools of blood. The twenty shi of grain and ten bags of salt stored in the gate were loaded onto horses.

The Qiang cavalry roared away, setting fire to the place before they left.

The second beacon met the same fate.