Chapter Fourteen: The Breach of the Fort

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Seeing Xianyu Yue approaching, although the wound on his leg still ached, Zhao Huaian stood up to greet him warmly:

“Old Yue, you’ve come. I had Sun Tai and the others set aside your share over there.”

Xianyu Yue paused briefly, then looked toward the direction Zhao Huaian indicated. The three sets of Tibetan lamellar and chainmail armor belonging to the vice-captain were neatly stacked, while swords, treasures, and other spoils were piled aside.

From this, Xianyu Yue gained a rough understanding of Zhao Huaian’s character.

He could distinguish what was right, indicating he did not wish to take advantage of others, and conversely, did not want others to take advantage of him.

With this in mind, Xianyu Yue smiled and said:

“Lord Zhao, this victory is all thanks to you; how could the three of us claim these spoils? Though my family has declined, we are not lacking these things…”

Zhao Huaian waved his hand to interrupt:

“Let’s keep business and friendship separate. Whether you lack them or not, I cannot withhold your share. You contributed, so you must have your portion; otherwise, our friendship won’t last.”

Hearing Zhao Huaian mention friendship, Xianyu Yue was even more reluctant.

Zhao believed that being able to distinguish friendship would make it last, but Xianyu Yue understood that only when friendship is indistinct can it endure.

After a moment’s thought, Xianyu Yue suggested:

“Lord Zhao, why don’t you take these armors and weapons, and in exchange, I’ll take some of the Tibetan agates, amber, and indigo stones. The armor is too heavy for the three of us to carry; it’s better to trade for these lighter items.”

Zhao Huaian was momentarily puzzled, unfamiliar with the indigo stones, until he saw Old Yue pointing at the sapphire he was holding. Suddenly, it dawned on him.

Old Yue wasn’t straightforward; was he trying to take advantage of his ignorance? Just that one sapphire might be worth all these spoils.

Yet he wasn’t entirely sure—though sapphires are valuable in later times, that might not be the case now. The one in his hand came from the Tibetan officer they had captured.

From Sun Tai and Zhao Hu, he learned that this officer was a low-ranking military clerk commanding about thirty or forty men.

Such a rank would not carry anything particularly precious.

Thinking this through, he agreed to Xianyu Yue’s proposal:

“Alright, let’s do as you say. But keep that indigo stone as a keepsake—I'll leave that with me. You can look through the rest if you want.”

Xianyu Yue shook his head, declining further items.

After all, the indigo stone was merely a curiosity, not truly valuable.

Among the Tibetans, these stones were used for rituals and statues; in Tang lands, they were just ornaments in scholars' studies—rare, but not uncommon in his household.

Seeing Zhao Huaian’s enthusiasm for armor and weapons, Xianyu Yue guessed he intended to keep them himself and thus offered a gentle reminder:

“Lord Zhao, how much armor do you have now?”

At the mention, Zhao Huaian brightened, showing with his fingers:

“If I take yours, I’d have nine full suits of armor, six chainmail shirts, and some leather armor—though damaged—after repairs, more than twenty sets altogether.”

Hearing this, Xianyu Yue was astonished. That was enough to equip a squadron; he had not expected Zhao Huaian to quietly amass such an arsenal.

But the more he thought about it, the more worried he became. He sighed deeply and said anxiously:

“Lord Zhao, do you know how the Tang punishes those who privately hoard armor?”

Zhao Huaian’s heart skipped a beat. Armor was illegal?

Then Xianyu Yue explained:

“According to the Tang ‘Law of Unauthorized Armament,’ privately hoarding one suit of armor or three crossbows leads to exile two thousand miles away. Three suits of armor or five crossbows results in execution by hanging. Lord Zhao, calculate how many times you’d be hanged with your armor.”

Zhao Huaian took a deep breath and smiled at Xianyu Yue:

“Old Yue, you know me—I’m timid. It’s just armor; I don’t want it. Leave it here; whoever wants it can take it.”

He wasn’t truly afraid. After all, he could bury it somewhere later—who else would find it? What worried him was Xianyu Yue holding this against him as leverage.

Zhao Huaian, in his next life, would never be a lackey to the aristocracy.

Unexpectedly, Xianyu Yue offered advice: since the Nanzhao forces had already advanced into Qiongzhou, the Jian’nan Military Commissioner’s office would be short of soldiers. At this time, raising a militia and submitting it to the army would surely be accepted.

Then, these armors would no longer be considered private hoarding, and Zhao Huaian would be free from legal trouble.

Zhao Huaian stroked his short beard, realizing Xianyu Yue wanted him to join the army in Qiongzhou. But he guessed that, with his current resources, he didn’t want to be a mere soldier, so Xianyu Yue suggested he raise a unit himself.

But what was this militia? Raising a unit would make it legal?

Xianyu Yue explained that militia units were originally imperial auxiliary troops, but since the An Lushan Rebellion, local strongmen had begun forming their own bands, which the court gradually tolerated.

As to why it was legal, he told Zhao Huaian that since the rebellion of Pang Xun and the chaos in the Central Plains, many strongmen had formed groups for self-protection.

Though no large-scale militia had yet appeared in Shu, with this Nanzhao invasion and resurgence of war, the military commissioner’s office was short of troops and would certainly allow local strongmen to raise militias to defend their land.

At this, Xianyu Yue showed rare agitation:

“To be frank, Lord Zhao, though Nanzhao has violated Tang territory, they are not truly fearsome. The imperial Shen Ce Army numbers in the hundreds of thousands and can march into Shu at any time to defend the borders. Rather, it is the Central Plains that trouble me. I often receive letters from friends there describing simultaneous floods and droughts. Officials in prefectures and counties hide the truth; deception runs rampant, leaving the people displaced, starving, and without recourse—enduring unbearable suffering.”

He sighed again:

“The young emperor is inexperienced; governance has deteriorated. The Southern and Northern Departments fight endlessly, neglecting the people's welfare. The court grows ever more extravagant; wars rage constantly, with ever-increasing demands on manpower. Now, the Central Plains suffer floods and droughts, and the people rise as bandits everywhere. I fear great chaos is near.”

Xianyu Yue spoke with sorrow, but seeing Zhao Huaian still confused, he smiled wryly:

“Perhaps I am overthinking; after all, the world has endured such hardships for many years.”

Zhao Huaian indeed felt puzzled. Wasn’t it just a matter of joining the army? Why talk of a great upheaval?

No one understood the fate of the Tang better than he did. As long as Huang Chao had not yet appeared, life would go on. Even if, as Old Yue said, the Central Plains rebelled, it would be just a small disturbance.

He had never heard of the Pang Xun Rebellion mentioned by Old Yue—surely just some minor bandit king.

But what exactly had Pang Xun done? From what Old Yue said, it sounded significant.

Zhao Huaian had intended to ask but, seeing the battlefield already cleared and night falling, decided to move out first.

This was no time to celebrate; they would deal with the Tibetans at Tongshan Pass first, and then discuss this.

…

Time quickly passed into the late night. The once bustling marketplace was now silent.

In the darkness, the rustling of armor plates and hurried footsteps approached the wooden palisade.

Zhao Huaian limped at the front, turning to look back. Behind him, everyone had donned Tibetan armor, the steel gleaming coldly, inspiring awe.

To distinguish themselves, they bound scarves around their arms, but even so, Zhao Huaian repeatedly warned everyone not to act alone.

After one last scan of the group, Zhao Huaian nodded and was the first to slip through a narrow gap in the wooden fence.

Next came Xianyu Yue, Ren Tong, Zhang Yuan, followed by a group of tribesmen. Even Zhao Liu carried a broad sword and a suona horn at his waist, trembling as he entered.

This was not Zhao Huaian’s original plan. He had intended to disguise themselves as Tibetans to deceive the gate guards, as Sun Tai and Zhao Hu could speak Tibetan and handle the ruse.

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But during the interrogation of the captured officer after the battle, Zhao Huaian learned that over forty Tibetans still remained inside the camp.

Thus, Zhao Huaian abandoned the original plan. With so few of them, even entering the camp would not be enough to overcome more than forty Tibetan soldiers.

Moreover, his leg was injured; though the wound was shallow, it hindered his movement. With already limited numbers, losing his fighting strength meant a direct clash with the Tibetans would be suicidal.

Therefore, Zhao Huaian decided on a night raid.

Night raids were also risky. On one hand, the Tibetans who had gone out had not returned for a long time, so the camp’s remaining soldiers would surely be suspicious. On the other hand, among their group, only five of the Tang could see well at night.

Yet after discussion, they decided on the night attack. They understood this night was their last chance.

…

Tonight was a dreadful night, without a sliver of moonlight.

The temperature in the mountains was biting. Zhao Huaian led the way, clearly hearing people behind him chattering their teeth from the cold.

Or perhaps from fear.

Zhao Huaian himself was afraid—who isn’t afraid of death? But once you have faced death, everything else matters little.

Besides, he was not necessarily going to die; why scare himself?

Thus, Zhao Huaian was the calmest among them. Though limping, his steps were steady.

Emotions are contagious; seeing Zhao Huaian so composed, everyone else felt an inexplicable reassurance.

At the same time, a thought flashed through their minds:

“Zhao Da is a man capable of great things.”

Among the group, Zhao Liu, Yang Mao, Sun Tai, and Zhao Hu thought even more deeply.

For the first time, they realized that following this man might be the most important decision of their lives.

Before this, none of them had truly committed.

Zhao Liu was a man from Guanzhong, merely escaping with Zhao Huaian. His old patron was Huang Jingfu, the governor of Lizhou, who had since returned to Qiongzhou and Chengdu, so Zhao Liu would likely rejoin his old commander.

Yang Mao, Sun Tai, and Zhao Hu were even less loyal.

One was a tribesman from the lawless Qionglai region, unfamiliar with loyalty or righteousness. The other two were displaced barbarians from the Western Regions, calling themselves Han, but their thoughts and behavior were no different from barbarians.

Zhao Huaian had tried to win them over with skills, even attempted to exert control with deeper techniques, but he did not realize that once they mastered one or two tricks, they would switch allegiances to the aristocrats.

Yes, Zhao Huaian did not want to be a lackey, but many desired to be so but could not.

This was reality. Ultimately, Zhao Huaian’s lowly background only qualified him to be a lackey, not to command one.

Yet at this moment, Zhao Liu and the others sensed a true heroic spirit in Zhao Huaian. Following him, they might have a better future.

It was at this moment that Zhao Huaian’s small team was truly formed, though he himself was unaware.

Now, he held his breath, carefully lifting the flap of a tent with his sword sheath.

But in the next moment, a shadow suddenly appeared right before Zhao Huaian’s eyes.

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