Chapter 148: Wind's Message
With a single command from Chai Huaixing, the entire army stepped forward in unison, falling into a long, serpentine line that slowly made its way into the Tulun Qi Desert before them. It was a clear, cloudless day with nary a breath of wind. In the words of Tirqi, such weather meant there was virtually no possibility of a sandstorm occurring today or tomorrow, but desert weather was inherently fickle. To declare with certainty that there would be no sandstorms within two days was already an extremely radical judgment. As for what kind of weather they would encounter after two days—that is, on the third day—they would simply have to assess the situation when the time came.
About an hour after entering the vast expanse of the desert, the murmurs and whispers of the soldiers, who had initially been somewhat excited about stepping into the sands, died down into silence. Everyone did their best to conceal the skin of their bodies beneath the cloaks they wore, keeping their heads down as they rode forward on camelback. Only occasionally would someone lift his head to ensure he had not fallen behind the formation, before quickly lowering it again, hiding his facial features in the shadow cast from the sun's glare. Everyone slowed their breathing as much as possible to prevent the scorching hot air from rushing into their nasal passages and lungs, where it would fight the body for the already scarce reserves of moisture.
Aside from those whose families had taken root in the Western Regions for generations, more than half of Li Wenyuan’s army at this moment consisted of Han refugees who had fled from the Central Plains. For them, the climate of the desert was their greatest enemy. While the absence of wind naturally spared them the immediate threat of a sandstorm, it brought with it an unremitting, blistering heat that never subsided.
Consequently, some men in the army began to show varying degrees of mild heatstroke. Some suffered from splitting headaches and developed an unquenchable thirst that no amount of drinking could relieve. Yet, under the suppression of strict military discipline, they managed to overcome this physical discomfort and maintain the integrity of their marching formation. However, those soldiers who originally hailed from south of the Huai River suffered symptoms far more severe.
Some of these men began to experience bouts of dizziness. Others, possessing greater self-restraint, hastily tied themselves securely to the bellies of the camels they rode, ensuring that even if they fainted, the beasts would carry them along with the marching column, preventing them from lagging behind and becoming lost in the desert. But others were broken by the sudden onset of vertigo before they could react, tumbling headlong from their camels straight into the searing sands, their fates unknown.
Tirqi, rich in experience leading groups into the desert, knew that these incidents were only the beginning; from then on, an increasing number of men would exhibit similar symptoms. Driven both by his professional habit as a desert guide and by the pervasive doctrine of the Western Regions army—never to abandon a comrade—this old fox, long since acclimated to the desert climate, urged his camel forward. He galloped back and forth between the vanguard and the rearguard, constantly taking headcount. Assisting him in this task were a select few individuals assigned during the previous adaptive training who had proven relatively resilient to the desert's scorching heat.
Through the efforts of Tirqi and his assistants, aside from a few unfortunate souls whose heads were gashed by rocks hidden beneath the sands as they fell from their camels, and a tiny handful of truly ill-fated men who struck their temples against stones upon impact and died instantly, the vast majority of the Western Regions army managed to survive the first day in the desert.
As the golden crow sank in the west and the jade rabbit rose in the east, Chai Huaixing’s army pitched camp at a location designated by Tirqi, subsequently erecting sand-defense walls around the perimeter. Under Tirqi’s repeated admonitions, all the soldiers pitched their tents with utmost sturdiness and donned the heavy inner garments usually reserved for late autumn. Only then did they eat their evening meals inside the tents and fall into a heavy, weapon-clutched sleep. Though today’s journey had not been a long-distance march, the extreme climate rendered such movement terribly draining on their physical strength. Thus, save for the sentries on duty, the entire camp was left in stillness, save for Chai Huaixing and Tirqi poring over the map spread across a desk, planning the marching route for the morrow.
The Tulun Qi was a shifting desert; its topography and landforms changed daily. Even Tirqi, deeply familiar with the desert's temperament, could only map out a rough trajectory and dared not guarantee an exact itinerary for the following day. The map the two men were now examining was merely a sheepskin roll upon which a few points representing oases were hastily marked. Although the map as a whole was crudely drawn, the markers for the oases were drawn with extreme precision—after all, these represented the hope of survival in the wasteland, and no one dared to treat them with negligence.
"General Chai, we shall march toward this oasis tomorrow. Barring accidents, we should reach it by the third day, at which point we can replenish our water supplies," Tirqi said, tracing a wooden stick across the sheepskin.
"We won't arrive until the third day? Hmm, how are our drinking water supplies holding up currently?" Chai Huaixing nodded and asked the logistics officer nearby.
"We’ve only consumed twenty percent of our drinking water today. At this rate, our reserves will hold out until the next oasis," the logistics officer replied, licking his parched, cracked lips as he rattled off the figures.
"Then we shall follow the route Tirqi proposed. You may all retire for the rest," Chai Huaixing decided, finalizing the itinerary for the next day.
As he stepped out of Chai Huaixing’s command tent, Tirqi suddenly felt a chill on the back of his neck. At first, he thought he had grown too accustomed to the warmth of the brazier inside and was simply reacting to the cold desert night. However, his keen senses perceived a faint breeze stirring through the air.
Glancing up at the sky, Tirqi felt a twinge of apprehension regarding the upcoming march; he might be facing the very situation he dreaded most. Yet, knowing that this breeze also signaled at least one more night of safe passage, he cast aside idle worries about perils not yet encountered. He stretched lazily, yawned, and made his way back to his own tent. Without even removing his outer clothes, he dove straight beneath the covers, pulled the sheepskin blanket over himself, and drifted off into a dreamless sleep.
The night passed without incident. Early the next morning, when Tirqi awoke, the main army was just preparing its morning meal. Tirqi joined a squad of soldiers for breakfast; having originally hailed from humble common roots, it was here that he truly felt a sense of ease.