Chapter Eleven: First Arrival in Liaodong

The words struck everyone present like a clap of thunder in midsummer. Even some who had originally sided with Zhang Jincheng now found themselves at a loss upon hearing Sun Shuo accuse Zhang Jincheng of killing Sun Anzu with poison. Zhang Jincheng, seeing Sun Shuo openly declare that he had murdered Sun Anzu, dared not admit it; if the truth came out, Sun Anzu’s loyal followers would surely tear him limb from limb. He immediately retorted, “Cease your reckless slander! At every turn, you accuse me of killing Brother Sun. It’s clear you’re trying to sow discord and fish in troubled waters! Do you have proof?”

“Proof? Wasn’t the proof burnt when you silenced the mountain men and set the fire yourself?” Dou Jiande replied with a cold laugh.

“Hahaha.” Zhang Jincheng could tell from Dou Jiande’s words that their investigation had not uncovered any decisive evidence; otherwise, they would have produced it at this critical moment. He felt somewhat reassured and said, “If you wish to condemn me, you’ll always find an excuse. Without evidence, you can say anything to ruin my reputation in the stronghold!”

“Words are useless. Zhang! Give back my brother’s life!” Sun Shuo, unable to restrain himself, raised his blade and charged at Zhang Jincheng, but Dou Jiande held him back. “Don’t go. He’s a skilled fighter; let me handle this.” Then, turning to Li Wenyuan, he said, “Zhang Jincheng is ruthless. If he finds himself at a disadvantage, he’s sure to resort to tricks. I’ll need you to keep an eye out for me.”

“Don’t worry, brother. If anyone tries to shoot a cold arrow, I’ll put a hole in him and let the air through,” Li Wenyuan replied with a smile.

Dou Jiande nodded, stepped forward with his blade, and declared, “Zhang Jincheng, Heaven has eyes. Sooner or later, your deeds will be revealed. Let’s set everything else aside and settle this by the rules of the stronghold—winner takes all.” With that, he stood ready with his sword.

There was a custom at Gaojibo: if a subordinate was dissatisfied with the leader’s decisions, he could challenge him. If the leader won, he would behead the insubordinate as punishment for rebellion; if the leader lost, he would step down, and his challenger would take his place. Though rarely invoked, this rule attracted countless ambitious men.

Zhang Jincheng hadn’t expected Dou Jiande to invoke this rule and was momentarily stunned. He knew Dou Jiande was formidable but had never fought him and didn’t know if he could win. Yet, with things as they were, there was no turning back; he had to press on, but he would not show any sign of fear.

“Very well. If you wish to die, I’ll oblige you,” Zhang Jincheng said, stepping forward. At that moment, a confidant at his side interjected, “Boss, there’s no need for you to dirty your hands with him. Let me deal with him for you.”

Zhang Jincheng was only too glad to have someone test the waters first and nodded in agreement, feigning concern: “We’re all brothers here; don’t take any lives unless absolutely necessary.” Then, turning to Dou Jiande, he said, “Brother Jiande, my man here wishes to fight on my behalf. Do you accept?”

Zhang Jincheng wanted to curb Dou Jiande’s momentum. After all, Dou Jiande’s willingness to risk death for justice had already swayed many hearts. If he didn’t put Dou Jiande in his place, even a victory would take ages to restore his own authority. With a smile, Zhang Jincheng delivered his lines, but Dou Jiande’s next words wiped the smile from his face:

“Come and face death together, then.”

With Zhang Jincheng’s approval, the man stepped out, squared off against Dou Jiande, and, after a brief standoff, suddenly attacked, slashing at Dou Jiande. Dou Jiande met him calmly, and the two exchanged over a dozen blows in the blink of an eye. The challenger was clearly outmatched, and Dou Jiande, wishing to hide his true skill, did not fight with full force.

Then, seizing an opportunity, Dou Jiande drove his blade into his opponent’s abdomen. The man, writhing in agony, dropped his sword and clutched at the wound as blood gushed forth, collapsing to the ground in convulsions. He seemed to want to speak but could only gurgle blood, his breath growing weaker until he expired.

Zhang Jincheng, seeing his man dead while Dou Jiande remained calm and unruffled, realized that Dou Jiande had not even exerted himself. His fighting spirit waned, but after a few words to his aides, he too took up a blade and entered the ring. All this was witnessed by Li Wenyuan, who inwardly mocked the naïveté of the time—such obvious ploys wouldn’t fool even a child in later generations. Amused, he nonetheless took up his bow.

Zhang Jincheng donned his battle attire and received a broad-backed blade from his men. He swung it casually and stood waiting as the corpse was carried off. During this, Li Wenyuan gave a soft cough from behind—their secret signal that someone was about to shoot a hidden arrow. At the sound, Dou Jiande, almost without thinking, rolled to the ground, and the man who had been standing behind him screamed, struck by an arrow in the shoulder and collapsing.

Dou Jiande shouted in anger, “Zhang Jincheng, how dare you resort to such tricks!”

But before he could finish, another arrow whistled through the air from behind. The archer on Zhang Jincheng’s side, who had just fired, was struck in the forehead by an iron-tipped arrow, killed instantly. The crowd turned to see Li Wenyuan still aiming his bow at Zhang Jincheng.

Zhang Jincheng was seized by terror and staggered back a few steps, but tried not to lose face. He said to Dou Jiande, “My foolish subordinate acted without orders and brought shame upon me by firing an arrow at the general. It pains me, but what’s done is done. I concede this contest to you.”

Dou Jiande narrowed his eyes, thinking, What a clever retreat! Not only does he preserve his reputation, but he also takes responsibility for his men, appearing magnanimous. If I kill him now, I’ll seem petty—who then would pledge allegiance to me?

“Since you concede, Zhang Jincheng, I will not pursue this to the end. But remember this well—Heaven has eyes.” With that, Dou Jiande sheathed his sword and returned to his men.

Zhang Jincheng, having survived, fled Gaojibo that night with a thousand loyal men. Dou Jiande, at Sun Shuo’s urging, took over as leader, while Li Wenyuan politely declined to stay. His leave was nearly over, and he needed to report back to Xue Ju—not to mention that Qiuniang was waiting for him at home.

Riding with the main force, letting his horse follow the column, Li Wenyuan’s thoughts drifted back, with a neigh from his mount, to the ninth year of the Daye era. He and Xue Ju, leading over five thousand men, had just left Diaoyin Commandery, preparing to cross the Yellow River eastward.

Riding side by side, they gazed at a ruined village not far from the river. Xue Ju sighed, “Back in the seventeenth year of the Kaihuang era, I crossed the Yellow River here to visit friends in Shanggu. Then, there were endless boats, and the fields on both banks stretched far and wide. But now—broken bricks, desolate ruins, not a soul in sight. Truly, it gives one pause.”

Li Wenyuan knew this history, but nothing compared to seeing the famine-stricken land, ruined houses, and graves, or the scattered bones along the roadside, to appreciate just how pale the chronicles' descriptions really were.

As Xue Ju directed his soldiers to clear the ruins for their night’s camp, he said to Li Wenyuan, “The people suffer, vast lands lie fallow, and the peasants have been conscripted as laborers and soldiers. His Majesty wages endless wars out of vanity and ambition. How many more years can the Sui survive these storms? And if Sui falls, where will we go?”

Li Wenyuan stroked his Sandan horse’s mane and said quietly, “No matter the dynasty, China remains China—as long as we hold fast to certain principles.”

Xue Ju was startled—Li Wenyuan’s words struck a chord. Xue Ju had indeed considered inviting foreign troops into Longxi to vie for the empire, but history showed such attempts always failed, leaving only infamy. He had never spoken of this to anyone, but now Li Wenyuan had seen through him, so he said no more.

Li Wenyuan realized he’d spoken out of turn; as a traveler from another time, he saw history from above, but how could a hero of the present transcend his own era? Even in the future, with all its science, space travel was still seen as science fiction.

He organized his thoughts and said, “Don’t be discouraged, brother. The sons of Longxi have always been fierce, and Hexi has always been the empire’s horse-breeding ground. With proper training, our cavalry need not be inferior to any. Besides, our strength lies in sturdy armor and sharp blades, not in forsaking our advantages to match the enemy’s.”

Seeing the gloom in Xue Ju’s eyes lighten, he continued, “And infantry defeating cavalry is not without precedent. You needn’t worry—what is meant to be, will be.”

Xue Ju was shocked. “How is that possible? Anyone with sense knows that a cavalry charge will trample any infantry in its way!”

Li Wenyuan, seeing Xue Ju’s confusion, explained, “Brother Xue, you may not know, but in former dynasties, there was a corps called the Mo Dao Army, made up of strongmen wielding sabers weighing fifteen jin each—over fifteen pounds. The blades were seven feet long, with three-foot edges and four-foot handles tipped with iron spikes. These weapons could be used on land or water, on horseback or foot. As infantry, they would set the iron spikes in the ground, point the blade forward and low, and slash at the horses’ bellies, legs, and riders—a deadly formation.”

Xue Ju was dumbfounded. “If that’s true, then why fear the northern tribes? With ten thousand such troops, we could take their great tent in no time!”

Li Wenyuan shook his head. “You overestimate, brother. Mo Dao blades require hundred-fold forged steel; ordinary iron can’t withstand a cavalry charge. The unique material means the Mo Dao Army was always small, reserved for the imperial guard and ceremonial use.”

Xue Ju asked, “Then why do you mention this?”

Li Wenyuan spurred his horse forward to ride alongside Xue Ju and spoke quietly, “I know you wish to establish yourself in Longxi. I’ve brought the secrets of forging the Mo Dao and methods for training such troops. All we lack are large numbers of blacksmiths and time. The Mo Dao Army, unlike other forces, is insignificant in small numbers, but with the right formation, one can defeat ten.”

Xue Ju knew his brother, though sometimes rough and unpolished, had far-reaching vision—almost like Zhuge Liang. He asked, “How long will this take?”

Li Wenyuan replied, “When the Emperor launches his third campaign against Goguryeo, the Mo Dao Army will be ready.” This was a delaying tactic; if Xue Ju rebelled as in history, he would likely share the same fate, falling to the House of Li. An early uprising, before the people turned against Sui, would never last.

Xue Ju was stunned. “The Emperor will campaign against Goguryeo three times?”

To keep Xue Ju entrenched in Longxi long enough for the House of Li to change course and march east, Li Wenyuan adopted the role of oracle once more. “Yes, brother. Before I set out, I cast the divinations; the Emperor will march east three times, and on the third, he will turn north to south. After that, the omens end.”

“No more omens? Does that mean—?” Xue Ju’s breath quickened; glancing about to be sure no one was listening, he spoke in a low voice.

“That’s right. If nothing goes awry, the Emperor will die after the third campaign. That will be your moment to rise. Before then, countless rebels will plunder the countryside. You can petition the court to raise an elite force to suppress them—recruiting rebels under the guise of defeating them and masking your Mo Dao Army’s training. When the Emperor dies, you can make your move for the realm.”

Xue Ju pulled up his reins, placed a hand on Li Wenyuan’s shoulder, and said, “Brother, rest assured. If you help me so wholeheartedly and I do become Emperor, you shall be made a king!”

Li Wenyuan quickly bowed in thanks and offered some polite words, amused at how the men of this era always used such promises to win loyalty.

The night passed uneventfully. At dawn, the troops set out, crossing the frozen Yellow River while the ice was thick. By noon, all had safely crossed. Li Wenyuan looked at the cracks in the ice and marveled that soldiers in the past risked their lives not only in battle but also on marches, often taking perilous routes to reach their destinations on time.

Beyond the Yellow River, with no more natural barriers, they reached Liaodong before April. From afar, they saw a city whose bricks looked newly laid. Xue Ju, pointing with his riding crop, said, “Brother, that’s the ancient city of Liaodong, rebuilt since last winter.”