Chapter Seventeen: Treading the Song

Zhao Huaian lifted the tent flap and stepped inside. Sniffing the air, he immediately said, “Old Yue, let’s move somewhere else to talk. I can’t stand the smell in here.”

Xian Yuè, who had already prepared a long list of explanations, was taken aback by Zhao Huaian’s words and paused before nodding in agreement.

He too was repulsed by the stench—a mix of fishiness, heavy blood, and an unmistakable odor of urine.

Seizing the initiative, Zhao Huaian led Xian Yuè out of the tent to a clearing, where they fell into silence.

Xian Yuè looked up. Since half of Zhao Huaian’s face was shrouded in shadow, his expression was hard to read. Breaking the silence, he said, “Zhao Jun, do you resent me for killing those Tubo soldiers without your consent?”

Zhao Huaian’s face remained impassive as he replied calmly, “We captured this camp together, so those Tubo soldiers belonged to both of us. How you handle your share of the spoils is your business, but you also killed my half. The least you could have done was inform me.”

Hearing the slight estrangement in Zhao Huaian’s tone, Xian Yuè took a deep breath and said, “Zhao Jun, I respect you—not only because you saved my life but because I see in you the spirit of a hero. You have the capacity for great deeds, but precisely because you strive for greatness, you must guard against trouble before it arises.”

When Zhao Huaian remained silent, Xian Yuè continued, “I know you intend to recruit these Tubo soldiers, but they are not like the barbarians we have seen. The captives are Tubo commanders and nobles—true warriors who hold estates on the plateau. How could they simply follow you? One of the Tubo nobles here is the nephew of Daru.”

He explained that Daru was a high-ranking Tubo aristocrat, roughly analogous to a military governor under the Tang dynasty, if not higher.

Xian Yuè questioned the presence of this noble because it was highly unusual.

Before, Tongshan City had been a strategic linchpin. Wei Gao had built a fort there because it connected various western regions of Jiannan. To the north lay the administrative seat of Lizhou and Hanyuan, westward was Qingxi Pass, south the Dadu River, and eastward Qionglai and Yazhou.

Controlling this spot meant controlling the Tubo’s route southward along the Dadu River.

However, since Wei Gao’s decisive defeat of the Tubo more than seventy years ago, the Tubo had not ventured south. Though many Tubo had joined the Nanzhao army over the years, these were mostly tribal volunteers, not actions of the Tubo aristocracy.

Knowing Zhao Huaian’s unfamiliarity with Tubo affairs, Xian Yuè elaborated.

Despite the Tubo’s past dominance, the empire had long since fractured. Their original territories in the Western Regions and Hexi Corridor were now occupied by the Uighurs of Xizhou and the Guiyi Army. Meanwhile, the heartland on the plateau was torn apart by succession disputes, fracturing the royal family and collapsing central authority. Local powers rose up and governed independently.

Coupled with recurring peasant uprisings and slave revolts, the Tubo were now fragmented and no longer the mighty overlords of the plateau.

Hence, even after Li Deyu took control of Jiannan and rebuilt fortifications, Tongshan Pass was never restored because it had lost its strategic value.

Yet now, a Tubo noble was stationed at Tongshan Pass with troops, which naturally aroused Xian Yuè’s suspicions.

He had heard from an old fugitive that Nanzhao forces had entered the camp and captured several hundred Tubo soldiers. Now, from this noble, he learned more details.

It turned out these Tubo troops had been invited by Nanzhao but had hesitated near the Yajiang River west of Tongshan Pass, fearing the Tang army’s strength.

However, Nanzhao forces had broken through the Dadu River defenses, capturing a string of passes and towns—Qionglai Pass, Shimen Garrison, Rongjing, Yazhou, Jidong Pass, Fureng Garrison, Baizhang, Linxi, and finally reaching Qiongzhou.

Now tens of thousands of Nanzhao soldiers faced the Tang army across the Baizhu River outside Qiongzhou, only two hundred miles from Chengdu.

At this critical juncture, the Tubo troops could no longer wait. Leaving a small contingent to guard Tongshan Pass, the main force sailed downstream to join the Nanzhao army and seek fortune.

This was merely an advance party. If all went well, Daru, the powerful noble in eastern Tubo, would lead his forces south from Tongshan Pass.

The noble left to guard the camp was Daru’s nephew, tasked with receiving reinforcements and safeguarding the rear of the invading forces.

Xian Yuè warned Zhao Huaian that many Tubo soldiers would likely descend southward soon. Tongshan Pass was no longer safe, and leaving these Tubo alive would surely bring chaos. It was better to kill them.

Listening to Xian Yuè’s account, Zhao Huaian said nothing, merely stroking his short beard.

Seeing no response, Xian Yuè bit his lip and pressed on.

“Zhao Jun, you might think I harbor hatred against the barbarians and act harshly. But do you know the century-long blood feud between our Sichuan people and the Nanzhao and Tubo? Not even the waters of the Three Rivers and Four Seas could wash it clean. My own family lost over a hundred souls to them. Do you still think I am cruel?”

Zhao Huaian sighed and said, “Old Yue, I just feel you should have discussed this with me before killing them. If you had told me, I wouldn’t have stopped you.”

Seeing Zhao Huaian’s tone soften, Xian Yuè smiled and seized the moment to make a heartfelt request.

“Zhao Jun, come with me to Qiongzhou! You are a hero with grand ambitions. Now that Sichuan is in peril, it is time for heroes to wield their swords. You could use the spoils and armor from the Tubo camp to recruit a hundred brave warriors and join the front lines to carve out great achievements. I also need to deliver news of the Tubo to Qiongzhou. Shall we go together and save western Sichuan? What say you?”

Faced with this invitation, Zhao Huaian pondered for a moment before voicing a concern.

“Old Yue, you know me well. These spoils are like water without a source—once used up, they’re gone. Starting a unit now, whether it’s manpower or supplies, is insufficient. So you see...”

If he didn’t raise his demands now, when would he? Zhao Huaian had long thought it through. Given the current situation, relying on the Tang military system was the best option, but that was no easy path.

To gain independence meant no steady supply of funds or troops. With Zhao Huaian’s capabilities, he could not maintain so many men without support.

Not to mention future recruitment—he couldn’t even sustain the men he already had.

Xian Yuè fell silent for a moment before making a decision.

“Zhao Jun, since we are old friends, why not become sworn brothers? From now on, let us share fortune and hardship together.”

Zhao Huaian was taken aback. Old Yue wanted to pledge brotherhood? Was he aiming to be Old Liu or the Bald One?

Though uneasy about the omen such a bond might bring, Zhao Huaian understood the subtext: without brotherhood, Xian Yuè would not invest in him.

After a moment’s thought, Zhao Huaian grabbed Xian Yuè’s hand and shouted to Zhao Liu, Ren Tong, and others who had been watching anxiously, fearing a fight.

“Old Liu, get some wine! Tonight, I’m swearing brotherhood with Old Yue!”

Both sides had been tense, wary of conflict. Hearing Zhao Huaian’s words, Zhao Liu’s expression twisted strangely but he still shouted, “There’s wine, just found a jar!”

He dashed to the main tent and returned with a jar of wine, handing it to Zhao Huaian.

Zhao Huaian took the wine, glancing at Zhao Liu and grumbling, “Old Liu, you could’ve brought two cups.”

Seeing Zhao Liu about to call him a coward, Zhao Huaian quickly amended, “Never mind, real men always drink from the same cup.”

Turning to Xian Yuè, he said, “Old Yue, today we swear an oath of blood brotherhood. From now on, we share wealth and fate.”

He took a sip of wine, then passed the jar to Xian Yuè.

Xian Yuè was equally generous, lifting the jar and downing a hearty gulp, the overflow washing the bloodstains from his armor.

Zhao Huaian puckered his lips, savoring the taste.

“Hmm, low-proof, mellow, with a barley aroma. Must be qingke wine. Not bad.”

He prepared to drink again but saw that Xian Yuè drank as if it were water, which made him wince.

“This is prime grain wine—don’t waste it!”

He snatched the jar and took another drink, then noticed Zhao Liu and the others eagerly watching.

Reluctantly, Zhao Huaian handed the wine to Old Liu, feigning generosity.

“Share it with everyone. Don’t drink too much.”

But Zhao Liu didn’t drink immediately. A man of principle, he knew wine without meat was no feast.

He ordered Yang Mao to bring out dried meat from the Tubo tents, Ren Tong and others to build a campfire, and found a spot to skewer the meat.

Old Liu’s wisdom earned cheers. Poor fellows—it was their first time making a fire and cooking a meal.

They had only been drinking cold water, chewing raw rice, and eating dried meat along the way. Hardly a proper life.

Soon, everyone sprang into action.

Ren Tong tended the fire, Song Yuan went to fetch firewood, and after Yang Mao moved the meat, he led Sun Tai and Zhao Hu to the camp to find more qingke wine.

Wang Li managed to shake off his grief over his lost brother and joined Old Liu and the other barbarians in helping.

Zhao Huaian sent Lao Mo to summon Niu Li and the Tang slaves, inviting them to join the bonfire gathering.

Niu Li and the others, awkward at first, helped under Lao Mo’s direction, stacking the Tubo corpses in a single tent.

All were busy. As the fire blazed, its warmth dispelled the chill of the camp.

Zhao Huaian sat by the fire with Xian Yuè and the others, raising his jar in a toast.

“Brother, please.”

Xian Yuè lifted his jar, laughing heartily.

“Younger brother, please!”

Zhao Huaian grimaced inwardly at the title “younger brother,” but with their ages reversed—he was twenty, Xian Yuè twenty-four—he had little choice.

“Well then, younger brother it is!”

He then shouted to everyone, “Eat the meat!”

Swift as a flash, he snatched the roasted meat from Zhao Liu and stuffed it into his mouth.

Delicious!

Amid Zhao Liu’s curses, they all gathered around the fire, alternating sips of wine with bites of meat.

Suddenly inspired, Ren Tong began to dance, followed by Song Yuan. He even took Zhao Huaian’s hand, leading him in a graceful dance despite Zhao Huaian’s bewilderment.

Zhao Huaian was delighted but couldn’t dance to save his life.

At that moment, social butterfly Xian Yuè took the stage. With one hand forward and one behind, he tapped his feet in rhythm with Ren Tong and Song Yuan, singing as he danced—sometimes light and quick, sometimes steady and firm.

Zhao Huaian laughed out loud. “That’s the duck dance! I know that one!”

He jumped in, dancing alongside Xian Yuè, swinging arms and stomping in time, stirring laughter all around.

Soon, Zhao Liu and the others joined, each stepping to the duck dance and singing along.

Under the moonlight, the wine wasn’t so intoxicating, the meat not quite so flavorful, and the dance steps a little dull—but this was the purest joy a man could know.

Their revelry lasted until dawn.