Chapter Ten: Bronze Mountain

Very soon, Zhao Huai’an no longer had to wrestle with this dilemma, for Xianyu Yue informed him that according to military law, a deserter like him must return to his local regiment. If discovered, punishments such as flogging or imprisonment would be the mildest consequences; in severe cases, it could mean execution by beheading.

Conversely, those who voluntarily rejoin their units during a retreat not only face lighter penalties but may also be rewarded for outstanding deeds.

Xianyu Yue explained to Zhao Huai’an that although the world had long been in chaos and deserters were countless—especially following the imperial conscription four years prior to suppress the rebellion led by Pang Xun in Xuzhou, which had dragged on for years and left the Central Plains scattered with fleeing soldiers—the situation in Shu was markedly different. Thanks to years of stability and direct imperial governance over its frontier garrisons, Tang legal codes were still strictly enforced there.

For someone like Zhao Huai’an, an outsider with an accent, it was impossible to hide in Shu for long; discovery was just a matter of time.

Therefore, Xianyu Yue urged Zhao Huai’an not to make a foolish choice and to return with him to the military at Qiongzhou.

Moreover, Xianyu Yue brought good news: the six Tibetan soldiers Zhao Huai’an had killed earlier could be counted as military merits.

Although the army typically tallied merits by severed heads for accuracy, at the time they were fleeing through the forest and could not carry bloodied heads without attracting wild beasts. But Xianyu Yue, ever resourceful, had cut off the distinctive topknots of those six Tibetan soldiers.

Tibetan hairstyles were highly recognizable, so the military sometimes accepted these as proof. Adding Zhao Huai’an’s captured Tibetan armor and weapons, Xianyu Yue assured him the merits would undoubtedly be credited.

Xianyu Yue spoke earnestly to Zhao Huai’an, sensing he was somewhat reluctant to rejoin the Tang army. He could not bear the thought of such a hero turning to banditry; with Zhao’s talents, only the military could offer him true opportunity to soar.

Moved by Xianyu Yue’s earnestness, Zhao Huai’an felt a touch of gratitude. This old Yue was indeed quite warm-hearted.

He then called over Aqi Mo, their guide, and asked, “Old Mo, how much farther until the next settlement?”

Aqi Mo counted on his fingers and replied simply, “Soon.”

Hearing this, Zhao Huai’an’s face darkened; even after more than an hour, this was always the answer he got. Did this old Mo have any sense of time at all?

Suppressing a thousand complaints, Zhao Huai’an forced a smile and encouraged him, “Old Mo, you truly are a treasure—an old treasure at that. You’re a real live jewel!”

Of course, Aqi Mo didn’t grasp the irony. He grinned, revealing yellow, crooked teeth, and the wrinkles on his face bloomed like chrysanthemums.

Seeing this, Zhao Huai’an felt a pang of guilt. This old Mo was a hard-luck man—only thirty-six but already half his teeth were gone.

He patted Aqi Mo on the shoulder and said, “Let’s keep moving. No rush anyway; our supplies will last two more days.”

They had been trekking through the forest for two days without encountering any Nanzhao soldiers. Their path led northwest, while the Nanzhao army was advancing northeast toward Rongjing and Yazhou. Once past the midsection, the route would be safe.

That was why Zhao Huai’an decided to leave the forest, letting Aqi Mo guide them along the river to the next settlement for rest and to gather news.

Aqi Mo had been there before; he said it was a resting place for many tea-horse traders, gradually developing into a small market.

Meanwhile, Xianyu Yue, for the first time speaking to these tribal people, asked, “What is the name of that place?”

Bowing respectfully to the honored Han noble, Aqi Mo answered, “We call it Wild Ox Market, but some Tang people say it used to be called Tongshan Pass City.”

Zhao Huai’an showed no reaction, but Xianyu Yue sighed softly and remarked to him, “Who would have thought the border pass built by Lord Wei back then would now fall into such unsavory hands.”

Nearby, Zhao Liu chimed in, “Shame on our ancestors.”

Noticing Aqi Mo’s discomfort, Zhao Huai’an quickly said, “Old Mo, lead on. Try to reach before sunset, so we don’t have to camp outside again.”

Aqi Mo nodded respectfully and turned back to the front, though his steps were heavier than before. It seemed Xianyu Yue’s words had hurt this tribal man.

Zhao Huai’an wanted to gently advise Xianyu Yue to hold back, since they were all fleeing for their lives together, and discord would only harm their unity.

But Xianyu Yue was the first to counsel Zhao Huai’an, speaking sincerely: “Zhao, you must still be wary of these barbarians. Has our imperial court not suffered enough losses from such people? Barbarians have always been like beasts—fearful of might but lacking virtue; strong ones become bandits and thieves, weak ones grovel, caring little for kindness or loyalty.”

Though slightly embarrassed, Zhao Huai’an did not resent Xianyu Yue for this. The old Yue was a man of social tact. Earlier, he had opposed Zhao Huai’an teaching these tribal men the Ba Ruo martial art, but out of caution had kept quiet. After days together, they were familiar enough that he felt comfortable advising him now.

Zhao Huai’an also had his own thoughts. Compared to Han Chinese, these tribal men were more resolute. If they returned to Chengdu later, tribal men like Yang Mao, Sun Tai, and Zhao Hu would be unfamiliar with the place and naturally gravitate toward him.

Of course, Zhao planned to recruit some Tang followers as disciples to feel more secure.

So though Zhao could not fully heed Xianyu Yue’s warning, he appreciated the concern. Wanting to change the subject, he asked a question that had been on his mind: “Old Yue, who exactly was this Lord Wei you mentioned earlier?”

Xianyu Yue was clearly stunned by the question. Looking into Zhao Huai’an’s clear eyes, he felt a lump in his throat.

But Zhao Liu grew animated and slapped his hands together, saying boisterously, “Zhao Da, you don’t know? Lord Wei is the pride of Guanzhong, from the Jingzhao Wei clan, the Marquises of Meicheng. I even went there for a funeral once—it’s quite grand…”

Zhao Liu rambled on, mostly about his own exploits, but at last he named Lord Wei: Wei Gao, who during Emperor Dezong’s reign served as the military governor of Jiannan for over twenty years, effectively the king of Shu.

Though Zhao Liu knew little beyond that due to his low background and the passage of time, Xianyu Yue supplemented with Wei Gao’s achievements in Shu, praising the governor as the greatest since Tang.

In the fourth year of Zhenyuan, Wei Gao decisively defeated 100,000 Tibetan troops at Qingxi Pass; in the seventeenth year, he launched an offensive against the Tibetans, campaigning over two thousand li, defeating 160,000 soldiers, capturing seven cities and five forts, taking 3,000 households, capturing 6,000 enemy soldiers alive, and beheading over 10,000.

The following year, he again crushed a 100,000-strong Tibetan reinforcement and captured the Tibetan minister Lun Mangre alive.

As Xianyu Yue put it, that battle shattered the Tibetan backbone, and for seventy years thereafter they dared not advance southwards. During Wei Gao’s time, the Nanzhao were as docile as sheep.

Finally, Xianyu Yue expressed heartfelt feelings: “If Lord Wei still lived, with his renowned strategy and blend of mercy and might, how could Nanzhao dare provoke war and bring disaster to the southwest?”

Xianyu Yue spoke eloquently, and Zhao Huai’an should have been enthralled, but his attention was drawn to Zhao Liu nodding off to the side. A fleeting thought crossed his mind: “Old Liu has quite the worldly experience—traveling far and wide. Seems his suona playing is pretty good. If there’s a chance, I’ll have him play for me sometime.”

Quickly realizing this was ill-omened, Zhao Huai’an spat thrice.

However, what Xianyu Yue shared greatly expanded Zhao Huai’an’s horizons. He had always thought the Tibetans were fierce, having seen them repeatedly force the Li family to flee Chang’an in panic. Yet here in Shu, they had been utterly crushed.

Wei Gao was truly formidable. It was clear that even in the mid-to-late Tang period, great figures emerged and should not be underestimated.

Yet while listening, Zhao Huai’an acknowledged his own shortcoming: he knew little of imperial figures or classical allusions. Remaining a lowly soldier might be fine, but to advance, he would inevitably need to interact with higher-ranking officials. If he lacked that knowledge, he would surely be looked down upon.

Resolving this, Zhao Huai’an privately vowed that once he earned his first fortune, he would hire a scholar to tutor him in imperial history and lore.

But that was for the future. For now, there was a noble scion right here.

Though Xianyu Yue claimed his family fortunes had declined, a hobbled camel was still bigger than a horse. Indeed, these imperial tales flowed from his lips effortlessly.

They had no money or connections, but learning could not wait. Zhao decided to make good use of this free resource.

Thus, on the journey, Zhao Huai’an asked Xianyu Yue many questions about Shu’s historical figures. Xianyu Yue answered all without impatience.

This was not only out of gratitude for saving his life but also because Zhao Huai’an skillfully gave emotional value, often striking chords deep within Xianyu Yue’s heart.

Meanwhile, Zhao Huai’an noticed Xianyu Yue’s excellence: not haughty like other noble sons, accomplished in both civil and martial arts—a true outstanding figure of the Tang.

The two grew close and kindred in spirit. Had they not soon arrived at Tongshan Pass, they might have sworn brotherhood, blood-bonded though of different surnames.

Finally, Aqi Mo got it right for once—they quickly reached their destination, Tongshan Pass City.

Yet unlike Aqi Mo’s description, what Zhao Huai’an saw was less a marketplace and more a military fort.

Now, the group hid in dense woods, holding their breath, carefully observing the camp ahead.

The camp lay beside a river, encircled by a sparse wooden palisade, with a dozen tents scattered inside.

Outside the camp, several pens held livestock—cattle and horses—with quite a few people present.

At that moment, Zhao Liu suddenly questioned the silent Aqi Mo, “You said this was a market? Where are the soldiers coming from?”

Aqi Mo glanced at Zhao Huai’an, then cautiously explained, “This was indeed a settlement before. Some tea-horse traders often rested here and bartered with the locals. But why there are soldiers now, I really don’t know.”

He dared say no more, noticing the Han man Ren Tong had drawn his sword and stood behind him.

Frightened, Aqi Mo knelt, crying to Zhao Huai’an, “Master, believe me, I wouldn’t dare deceive you.”

Zhao Huai’an remained silent. Xianyu Yue then warned him, “Zhao, these barbarians cannot be trusted. Leading us here must be a trap to sell us out.”

He stared at Zhao Huai’an intently. On either side stood Ren Tong and Song Yuan, swords drawn and menacing.

Zhao Liu shrank behind Zhao Huai’an. Sun Tai and Zhao Hu silently slipped aside. The remaining tribesmen, panicked and dismayed, drew their knives and pointed them at the Tang men.

Only Yang Mao and Aqi Mo knelt, pleading with Zhao Huai’an.