Chapter Thirty-Nine: On the Eve of Battle

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Zhao Huai’an and the others hurried out of the tent and were met with a grim scene. On the open ground of the original camp, more than a dozen long poles had been erected, from which a string of severed heads hung beneath the bamboo rods. Not far off, over ten bodies lay dismembered, their blood staining the yellow earth.

Beneath the poles stood Ren Conghai, who had just been drinking with Zhao Huai’an, his face dark and fierce as he glared down at the local militia below. Flanking him were dozens of armored soldiers chanting military laws:

“...Those who leak military secrets shall be beheaded! ...Those whose banners are not upright or whose armor and weapons are unpolished shall be beheaded! ...Anyone who loses the battle flags, drums, orders, or battle axes shall have their entire unit executed! ...If the main commander is lost in battle, the entire unit shall be executed!”

Since Zhao Huai’an had come out, he had heard over twenty executions decreed—not only for errant soldiers but for entire units. The sight of the severed heads hanging from the poles made these laws feel cold and cruel.

Yet, when Zhao Huai’an heard one particular regulation, he sneered bitterly. It was this clause:

“In the event of an enemy encirclement and urgent situation, if neighboring units fail to provide aid resulting in the enemy’s capture of the position, the entire unit shall be executed.”

Zhao Huai’an immediately thought of Yan Shihui, the Eastern Sichuan general who had betrayed allied forces and retreated alone. According to military law, shouldn’t he be beheaded? Yet in reality, Yan Shihui still led his army and remained a general. These laws were utterly meaningless to him.

How ironic.

At that moment, Dou Pangzi from the neighboring tent rushed over, sweat pouring despite the winter chill. Seeing Zhao Huai’an emerge, he hurried forward, his cross-eyed gaze filled with panic and fear. Shaking, he told Zhao:

“Commander Zhao, those who were beheaded were heads of several militia groups caught gambling in the tent. Old Li called me over, but I didn’t go because I had diarrhea. Who would have thought this would cost them their heads.”

Zhao frowned and asked Chen Fahai, the highest-ranking regular soldier among them, who had risen to lead a fifty-man squad and was well-versed in military law.

Chen replied, “Gambling is forbidden in the army, but it’s not a capital offense. The wagers are confiscated, but it doesn’t warrant death.”

Angered, Zhao cursed, “Then what the hell is Ren Conghai doing? Killing people at random? Huh?”

Chen answered calmly, “Commander, this is army custom. Before battle, it is customary to execute a few men to discipline the troops.”

Zhao was stunned.

Dou Pangzi nodded rapidly like a pecking chick. “Yes, just now after Yu Hou executed Old Li and the others, he ordered the call for readiness for the battle the next day. Then the military laws were read aloud.”

“I was drinking with Old Li at noon. I just went to the latrine for a moment, and when I came back, Old Li’s head had fallen. What kind of world is this?”

Zhao sighed deeply. He knew Old Li hadn’t died for gambling, but because he was weak and had no backing. The real culprit was Yan Shihui, yet he thrived.

Hearing Dou’s lament, Zhao spat, “This is the world we live in! Hmph!”

At that moment, Zhao Huai’an fully realized the darkness and cruelty within the army. He looked at the sweating Dou Pangzi and patted him on the shoulder.

“Dou Pangzi, go back and lead your unit properly. Stop wandering around drinking. Feed your livestock well, and check the wagon wheels. Replace what needs replacing.”

Dou was about to speak, but Zhao shook his head.

“I didn’t say anything. Think for yourself. But I will give you a warning: on the battlefield day after tomorrow, watch for my banner and follow me closely!”

With that, Zhao returned to the tent, unwilling to witness the petty struggles outside.

Behind him, Dou’s tears were about to fall. He bowed deeply to Zhao’s retreating figure, then sprinted back to the camp.

...

The deterrent effect of the executions was undeniable.

The local militia silently accepted their comrades’ deaths but could not retrieve the bodies, as the severed heads still hung from the poles.

After the military laws were declared, the camp underwent visible changes. Where once there were no barriers, wooden stakes were now erected as a fence around the tents, surrounded further by a shallow trench.

Though crude and far from the fortified camps of the Tang army, it was a form of defense.

Moreover, the camp’s hygiene improved. Previously, only Zhao Huai’an’s group had dug a latrine; the rest relieved themselves anywhere, making the camp reek.

Now, following Tang military regulations, others began digging latrines too, proving they understood army discipline.

Zhao sighed at the effect of strict laws.

But if laws only applied to some, then such “order” was merely brutality.

The camp’s changes were more than physical; the atmosphere became tense. Once filled with laughter and loose camaraderie, now everyone was wary—perhaps mourning fallen comrades, perhaps fearing the coming battle.

Amid this tension, Zhao Huai’an and his men commenced urgent battle drills.

Having survived countless trials, Zhao knew the value of last-minute practice: a sharpened blade and quick reflexes could save a life.

He personally led the training, even setting up rewards for outstanding soldiers.

The nine units formed a formation of two wings of four units each, with one in the center.

At the first bugle from the center unit, the wings assumed battle stance; at the second, all raised their weapons, unfurled flags, drew bows, and unsheathed swords.

At the third bugle, all raised their guns; at the fourth, they lowered them, kneeling or sitting.

Thus, the defensive formation was complete.

Next came the war drum signal. With the center’s earthy-yellow banner advanced and the drumbeats sounding, all shouted in unison and advanced to the center line, yelling “Kill!”

The second drum call signaled a full charge by the wings to engage the enemy; if the enemy fled, they were to pursue thirty paces.

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At that moment, the center unit signaled: if the sound of the brass gong was heard, the troops ceased the killing cry and retreated to their original positions, breaking formation.

If no gong sounded, the cavalry beside the center unit led the pursuit, followed by the rest.

These two tactics—defensive formation and offensive charge—were drilled repeatedly by Zhao Huai’an, who ensured all understood the meanings of the drum and bugle signals.

In addition, everyone was taught to recognize two flags: Zhao’s earthy-yellow banner and their own unit’s standard.

On the battlefield, their movements depended entirely on these flags—advance when the flags advanced, retreat when they did.

If formations broke, they must find these flags and rally.

A military force’s training encompassed many aspects: familiarity with weapons and armor, formations, command systems, as well as courage, organization, discipline, and adapting to the harsh collective life.

Time was scarce, so Zhao employed this rapid method, which proved effective. Over half the force were veterans who helped train the newcomers.

Through the drills, Zhao learned the names, characters, and temperaments of all nine units—his foundational base and most vital resource.

Training was also a way to discover talent.

In these two days, Zhao identified two promising men: Xu Kaidao, from Zhang Dai’s group, a former mountain bandit skilled with twin blades and an excellent infantry fighter; and Ding Huaiyi, a former captive Tang soldier, once a scout, and second only to Guo Congyun in horsemanship, now part of Guo’s cavalry unit.

The collective training not only familiarized these disparate men with Zhao Huai’an but reshaped their view of him—from a generous, daring fighter and good cook to a true leader who rewarded excellence and personally retrained the laggards.

At this moment, the entire Bao Yi militia united, eager to distinguish themselves in the coming battle.

Yet Zhao had other concerns. He instructed the sixth brother to oversee logistics—making extra wheels, selling what could be sold, storing the rest on wagons, and ensuring the twenty-plus livestock were well fed.

Knowing the true situation, Zhao had to keep a secret reserve.

As Zhao’s camp conducted their intense drills, other militia groups began shedding their laxity and training, too.

Many among them were veterans, so their exercises mirrored Tang military methods. From outside, their discipline seemed commendable, though their equipment was poor and armor scarce.

Some had approached Zhao for armor purchases, but Zhao declined. Though they were allies, armor and weapons were Zhao’s and his brothers’ lifelines—no price was worth selling them.

Instead, Zhao pointed them to the main camp, certain that some quartermasters would sell weapons privately.

Whether these local militias dared to buy was beyond Zhao’s control.

After all, one must rely on oneself.

Thus, the tension before the great battle permeated the entire camp.

On December 12th, the long-silent Qiongzhou main camp suddenly sounded the horns in unison.

Throughout the morning, the Tang army’s main force, numbering about twenty thousand across nine armies, marched out from the camp, spreading along the northern bank of the Baishu River.

The great battle was about to erupt.

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