Chapter Nine: Nanzhao

The crowd present had by now recovered from the earlier spectacle and burst into cheers together. Yet most were merely entertained, unaware of the deeper significance; only Xianyu Yue perceived the true meaning behind it.

“The technique Zhao Jun uses bears some resemblance to wrestling, but it is more refined and flexible, undoubtedly the work of a master. This martial art suits the military perfectly; I must learn it. But joining the Righteous Society requires further consideration.”

Xianyu Yue could not afford to be careless. He was not alone—behind him stood an entire family, naturally suspicious of such associations.

Meanwhile, Zhao Huai’an, having just taken his seat, was already winning the complete admiration of the local tribesmen, two of whom stepped forward, eager to become his disciples.

One was called Potou, the other Tienu. Neither were native tribesmen but rather mixed barbarians from the Western Regions.

Though they claimed to be remnants of Tang people from those lands, Zhao Huai’an doubted this by their skin and features; they resembled more those from Iran.

What pleased Zhao Huai’an greatly was that both spoke Chinese.

They introduced their backgrounds: unlike Aqi Mo and the local tribes, they had been brought down from the plateau by the Tubo people.

Over the years, as the Gaochang Uyghurs rose in the Western Regions, the Tubo were pushed back, and slaves like Potou and Tienu were brought home.

Since then, they had served as armored slaves to Tubo warriors, fighting in many campaigns—sometimes for the nobles of the plateau, sometimes for the Nanzhao people.

Thus, Potou and Tienu had traveled extensively and possessed keen insight.

At first, they concealed their ability to speak Chinese, mistrusting Zhao Huai’an and his fellow Tang soldiers, who had only recently clashed with the Tang army.

But when Zhao Huai’an slept among them last night, showing complete trust, both men were moved, sensing that this Tang warrior was unlike others.

Yet it was not mere goodwill that compelled them; what truly drew them was that this Tang warrior was willing to accept a Qiang slave as his disciple and teach him such formidable martial arts.

They knew this was their only chance in life. In this world, martial skills and knowledge alike were confined within estates and noble families.

No matter what feats Potou and Tienu might accomplish, they could never acquire such skills.

And the more they served as armored slaves, the more they craved strength.

For in Tubo, everything was straightforward: warriors enjoyed all privileges.

But as armored slaves, they were always at the front lines, yet never shared in the spoils. Their blood and sweat earned them nothing more than barley cakes.

They cared little for the ten strings of coins Zhao Huai’an had promised; they simply wished to follow him and learn true skill.

In truth, the tribesmen, including Potou and Tienu, were not fools. They knew that since this Tang warrior asked for no payment, it meant he desired their loyalty.

But the tribesmen’s thoughts varied.

Potou and Tienu, as mixed barbarians from the West with no ties here, sought only true mastery. Hei Yang, also without a home and seeing Aqi Mo’s choice to follow Zhao Huai’an, agreed as well.

Others, though envious, had families in the mountains and were weary of battle, desiring only to escort Zhao Huai’an safely to Chengdu, collect their reward, and reunite with loved ones.

No one was foolish when it came to their own fate; they simply made different choices based on their circumstances.

It was this moment of decision that shaped the divergent destinies of these tribesmen.

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Zhao Huai’an was unaware of their inner thoughts but knew that after setting such a tone, only three tribesmen were willing to follow him. He suspected that, no matter his efforts, this would be the extent.

Thus, he focused on Potou and Tienu. After they performed the disciple’s ritual, he gave them new names: Sun Tai and Zhao Hu.

And so, Zhao Huai’an’s small band was formed.

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First was Zhao Liu, bound to him by a shared flight from death. Then came Yang Mao, Sun Tai, and Zhao Hu—the three tribal disciples. Lastly, Lao Mo, an older man unlikely to return to the mountains, who would probably join him later.

With six men now, his group was finally taking shape.

Life was finally looking up.

After consulting with Xianyu Yue, they decided to press onward. Lao Mo said it would take at least ten more days to reach Qiongzhou.

Everyone packed their belongings and ventured deeper into the forest.

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For several days, led by the tribesmen, Zhao Huai’an traveled through the wilderness along the edges of the Qionglai Mountains.

Whenever he rested, he taught Yang Mao, Sun Tai, and Zhao Hu his wrestling techniques, openly and without concealment.

Xianyu Yue, Ren Tong, and Song Yuan also sought instruction. Though they had not expressed intent to join the Righteous Society, Zhao Huai’an shared his knowledge generously.

Even the mixed barbarians watched as Zhao Huai’an demonstrated openly.

His straightforward generosity earned the respect of both tribesmen and Han alike—none had seen such a selfless warrior.

Xianyu Yue, Ren Tong, and Song Yuan grew even more admiring. If they had once been close to Zhao Huai’an out of gratitude, it was now his character they respected.

Feeling shy about taking advantage, Xianyu Yue offered to teach Zhao Huai’an archery.

During the recent battles in the meadows, he had noticed Zhao Huai’an’s poor skill with the bow and hoped to exchange archery lessons for wrestling.

Zhao Huai’an was eager to improve his archery and gladly accepted.

He soon discovered Xianyu Yue’s talent—not only was his archery excellent, but he was an exceptional teacher.

This was rare.

Anyone could practice diligently and improve, but to teach well required an excellent lineage and the ability to instruct deeply and clearly.

Now Zhao Huai’an’s curiosity about Xianyu Yue’s background deepened.

Finally, as they stopped near a Qiang settlement to replenish supplies, Zhao Huai’an asked Xianyu Yue:

“Old Yue, you must come from a prominent family, don’t you?”

Xianyu Yue shook his head, reluctant to speak, but after a moment, he said:

“Zhao Jun, we’ve known each other just a short while, but I won’t hide the truth.”

“My family was indeed noble, but that was a century ago. Our ancestor was the military governor of Jiannan during the Tianbao era, renowned in his time. But in the Tianbao tenth year’s campaign against Nanzhao, his entire army was wiped out, and he barely escaped with his life. Since then, our fortunes declined, and I had no choice but to carve out my path in the army.”

He spoke calmly, but his expression betrayed deep resentment.

Zhao Huai’an understood well. In his previous life, some second-generation friends had fallen into similar decline—living better than the middle class, yet bitterly unwilling to accept their fallen fortunes.

People who once lived in luxury find it hard to settle for ordinary life.

Zhao Huai’an was intrigued and asked:

“So, Old Yue, you must know Nanzhao quite well. I’ve always been puzzled: Nanzhao is such a small state, how could it dare confront the mighty Tang, even to the point of invading borderlands?”

His question was somewhat naive, for Zhao Huai’an’s own Lichuan army was on the front lines against Nanzhao. Surely he should understand the enemy well.

Xianyu Yue did not press the matter. Along the journey, he had noticed Zhao Huai’an’s oddities.

Though well-versed and experienced, he seemed unfamiliar with worldly customs. For instance, just yesterday when relieving himself, Zhao Huai’an refused to use leaves and lamented the absence of paper.

Xianyu Yue himself used paper only when hosting honored guests; otherwise, his family used wooden sticks for hygiene.

In short, the Xianyu family was not what it once was.

By now, Xianyu Yue had also learned Zhao Huai’an’s background from Zhao Shun, a traveling entertainer: a native of Shouzhou, a refugee who fled into Shu, later joining the Lichuan army.

Given Zhao Huai’an’s origins, he likely had never experienced the luxury of using paper for such purposes.

Sometimes, Zhao Huai’an’s manners were even more refined than Xianyu Yue’s.

Being a gentleman, Xianyu Yue never judged others by hidden motives, especially not his savior.

So when Zhao Huai’an asked such a foolish question, he explained:

“Zhao Jun, it’s not difficult to answer. The Jiannan Dao’s southwest is dense with forest and shrouded in miasma, making it hard for our Heavenly Army to operate. This is why we suffer repeated defeats.”

“But if I answered you so simply, it would be to deceive you and make me appear mediocre.”

“Zhao Jun, do you know who is the wealthiest family in Chengdu?”

Zhao Huai’an had no idea.

Xianyu Yue said:

“The Yan family.”

Seeing no reaction from Zhao Huai’an, Xianyu Yue realized his benefactor had never heard of the Yan family. He explained:

“The Yan family were originally a powerful clan in Zizhou. During the reign of Emperor Dezong, Yan Zhen helped uphold the realm, and from then the family rose in prominence. Yan Zhen had a cousin named Yan Li, who took part in quelling the Liu Pi rebellion but later led troops to plunder Chengdu, causing the Yan family to grow immensely wealthy.”

“But after Yan Li’s fall, the family capitalized on the tea-horse trade, conducting mutual commerce with Nanzhao and Tubo. Each year, five or six caravans traveled back and forth, making them truly as rich as a kingdom.”

Zhao Huai’an began to understand and guessed:

“Is Nanzhao’s strength due to internal traitors like the Yan family?”

Xianyu Yue shook his head:

“It’s not that the Yan family are traitors, but that the entire Chengdu establishment is involved, even some on the Nanzhao side. Those Nanzhao people are no different from us Tang anymore—they are all bound by gold and silver.”

Zhao Huai’an sensed the depth of intrigue and, impressed by Xianyu Yue’s insight, asked:

“Then, Old Yue, how do you view this latest Nanzhao invasion? Where might they strike next?”

At this, Xianyu Yue’s expression grew grave. He shared a stark reality:

Among the fourteen prefectures and seventy-one counties of Jiannan Xidao, the only truly battle-ready force is the Lichuan army Zhao Huai’an once belonged to.

Xianyu Yue warned that if Lichuan fell, places like Qionglai Pass, Rongjing, and Yazhou would inevitably be lost, as their garrisons were utterly corrupt and ineffective.

Only Qiongzhou had a capable defense force; if Qiongzhou fell, Nanzhao would advance straight to Chengdu.

These words gave Zhao Huai’an pause. Their destination was Qiongzhou, considered a rear stronghold—but now it seemed it was the front line.

Should they even continue to Qiongzhou?