Chapter Fourteen: Treacherous Mountains and Rivers (Part One)

Page 1 of 3

On December fifth, a bitter wind shrieked through the mountains, whipping snow across the sky and pelting Wanyan Yinchuke’s iron armor with a fine, rattling hiss. Though he had long grown accustomed to such weather, the slow transport of provisions along the way had delayed the campaign.

Behind him, three thousand elite Jin cavalrymen stood arrayed through the narrow valley, the dull scrape of iron armor weighing heavily upon the air.

The renowned Jin general reined in his horse and gazed at Shiling Pass, known as the “Throat of Hedong.” His brows drew together in a grim knot.

The pass lay in the narrow cleft between the Xizhou and Yunzhong Mountains. Cliffs towered on either side, and at its narrowest point, the road was too tight for two wheelbarrows to pass side by side. With a difference in elevation of more than three hundred meters between north and south, the terrain formed a natural funnel.

In winter, the Fen River’s tributaries ran swift and violent. Even when the ice grew a full meter thick, crossing remained nearly impossible. The water was like a sword quenched in a mountain stream—sharp enough to snap a horse’s bones.

Shiling Pass guarded this very fissure, as though the God of Nature had split the mountains apart with a colossal axe.

“Xieli.” He turned his head toward his deputy, his voice unusually solemn beneath the howling northern wind. “I’ve heard that hundreds of years ago, Emperor Wu of Northern Zhou lost a great many men and horses here. Their bones filled the mountain ravines.”

“When we stormed into the Liao capital, trampling through blood and smoke, I never felt my heart hang so heavily. But faced with terrain like this, even courage is powerless.”

A flicker of uncertainty passed through Yinchuke’s eyes. Ten years of destroying the Liao had forged his arrogance, yet before this killing ground shaped by heaven and earth, that arrogance suffered its first hairline fracture.

Following the direction of his commander’s whip, Xieli looked ahead. Two precipitous cliffs rose like the fangs of monstrous beasts, clamping shut around a narrow passage less than eight meters wide.

The cliff faces were thick with icicles that gleamed with a grim, chilling light beneath the pale winter sun.

“The commander’s concerns are entirely justified.” Xieli swallowed. “If crossbowmen are lying in ambush atop Eagle-Beak Cliff, our army couldn’t escape even with wings!”

Yinchuke narrowed his eyes and studied the summit. Beneath him, his warhorse sensed its master’s unease and snorted nervously.

Twelve suspended watchtowers and firing platforms had been built along the cliffs, yet at that moment the place was unnaturally silent.

Far too silent.

The stillness sent a chill down his back.

Before this vast and oppressive spectacle of nature, men seemed as insignificant as ants.

“Send three of our best climbers up there,” Yinchuke ordered in a low voice. “Use the men who once captured gyrfalcons. Alive or dead, they must find traces of Song soldiers and determine exactly what those watchtowers contain.”

Three lean men removed their armor, took only short blades, and began to climb.

Like geckos, they pressed themselves against the nearly vertical rock face and moved upward. All three had once been among the finest eagle hunters of the White Mountains and Black Waters, men who could scale sheer cliffs with their bare hands as easily as walking on level ground.

From time to time, chunks of ice broke loose beneath their feet and tumbled downward. Such skills had been honed by necessity. In order to capture gyrfalcons as tribute for Liao nobles, countless capable men from the Jurchen tribes had perished in the wild mountain gullies.

One climber had just stepped onto a protruding rock when the seemingly solid stone emitted a teeth-grating crack and instantly crumbled into dust.

He swung dangerously backward, then clung desperately to another fissure in the rock before he could fall.

The wind shrieked between the cliffs, driving ice shards and snow into their faces. Every grain cut like a knife. As they climbed, each step was a dance upon a blade’s edge. Against the immense rock wall, their figures gradually dwindled into several tiny black specks inching slowly upward.

At last, one of the specks reached the summit of the eagle-beak-shaped cliff.

Keeping close to the cold, jagged rock, he looked warily in every direction before edging toward the nearest suspended wooden watchtower. The structure was built against the cliff and hung out over the void, its mortise-and-tenon joints anchored into the rock.

He suddenly pulled open the watchtower’s half-latched, decrepit wooden door.

Creak—

The stench of rotten wood rushed into his face.

There were no crossbowmen. No flash of blades.

In one corner lay several arrows with gleaming, newly forged heads, scattered across the dust-covered floor.

Beside them stood several heavy wooden chests. Through the gaps beneath their lids, the undamaged fletching of arrows could be seen. The vermilion seals stamped across them looked as though the ink had not yet dried. The words “Taiyuan Arsenal” were written upon them in stark characters.

Deep inside the watchtower, leaning against the cold stone wall, sat a small brazier made of red clay.

The coals within had long since died, but three coarse earthenware wine jars beside it were still faintly warm, and the mouths of the jars exhaled a powerful alcoholic scent. A gray sparrow that had flown in from somewhere pecked at scattered grains of rice and crumbs beside the jars.

The climber rubbed his eyes in disbelief, then leaned over the cliff and shouted with all his strength:

“It’s empty! Not a single man! Only a pile of unopened arrows and warm wine jars!”

Page 2 of 3

Yinchuke’s hand instinctively closed around the hilt of his saber, ready for a possible rain of arrows to come pouring down from the summit.

At the climber’s shout, Yinchuke and Xieli exchanged glances.

This was too strange.

According to the Song military deployment maps, a strategic position like this should have had at least a hundred defenders. A hundred men would have been enough to hold back ten thousand.

“It must be a trap to lure us in.” Yinchuke gave a cold laugh. “Send the order. Divide the army into three groups, each a hundred paces behind the next. If the front group is ambushed, the rear groups are to come to its aid immediately.”

“All troops across the cliffs! I want to see what kind of trick these Song men are playing!”

The Jin army formed into three groups as though facing a mortal enemy, with Yinchuke personally leading the center.

The warhorses snorted uneasily once more. The cavalrymen gripped their spears tightly, their eyes sweeping constantly over the cliffs on either side.

As they passed through Eagle-Beak Cliff, they could even make out the grooves of man-made channels cut into the rock for rolling stones. Yet they saw not a single Song soldier.

Thus, amid their fear, they crossed the perilous passage without incident.

“Commander, the gate of Shiling Pass is less than a mile ahead.” Xieli’s voice trembled, partly from tension and partly from disbelief.

When the three thousand armored horsemen finally reached the pass, the sight before them left even these battle-hardened Jurchen warriors dumbstruck.

On the walls, which rose more than six meters high, several Song soldiers were scrambling frantically toward the battlements. One lost his footing and fell, letting out a shrill, despairing scream.

Outside the gate, fleeing soldiers crowded together in a chaotic mass, shoving and trampling one another. Some were even crushed to death against the iron caltrop barricades.

More absurd still, the men atop the walls had actually begun fighting among themselves. The two sides were locked in a chaotic brawl.

“What… what sort of performance is this?” Xieli rubbed his eyes, wondering whether he had imagined it.

Yinchuke could not restrain his laughter. Mockery rang through his voice.

“The Song! These are the Song men who supposedly command a million armored troops!”

He abruptly drew his curved saber.

“Men, give me—”

Before he could finish, the gate swung open, once again forcing the Jurchen cavalry to prepare for battle.

A group of soldiers in Liao-style leather armor emerged, escorting several Song officers.

The man at their head dropped to one knee and shouted:

“Geng Shouzhong, commander of the Yisheng Army, offers the pass and begs to surrender!”

Seated upright on his horse, Yinchuke looked down at the humble figure kneeling before him like some lowly insect. Then he slowly surveyed the chaos inside the gate and the rebel soldiers scrambling to kneel before him.

An indescribable sensation seized him.

It was not the wild ecstasy of victory, but an almost empty sense of absurdity.

The warm wine jars atop Eagle-Beak Cliff, the stone shot lying forgotten beside the firing position of the Ten-Thousand-Man Enemy, the iron portcullis suspended above Guai Gate but never dropped—all these ridiculous fragments had ultimately assembled themselves into the formidable pass now lying within easy reach.

Page 3 of 3

Yinchuke narrowed his eyes.

“You’re the loyalist who contacted the Great Jin?”

“Indeed, Your Excellency.” Geng Shouzhong smiled ingratiatingly. “I know every strength and weakness in Taiyuan’s defenses. JI Jing, sent by Zhang Xiaochun, fled long ago. Everyone inside the pass now is one of my men.”

Xieli leaned toward his commander and whispered, “Commander, be careful. There may be a deception—”

“Hahahaha!” Yinchuke pointed at the crooked, tattered banners atop the gate tower. “Look at these useless wretches. Do you really think they’re capable of a deception?”

He swung down from his horse and seized Geng Shouzhong by the collar.

“Speak! How many troops does Taiyuan have?”

“Answering the great commander,” Geng Shouzhong said, his eyes darting from side to side, “there are fifty thousand in name, but fewer than eight thousand who can actually fight. It’s an empty shell! That old Zhang Xiaochun has barely any soldiers capable of battle under his command.

“The walls may look intimidating, but several sections have collapsed and still haven’t been repaired. As for provisions… the granaries are more than seventy percent empty! Once the heavenly army arrives, everyone inside the city will surrender at the first sight of our banners! I am willing to serve as the vanguard and knock open Taiyuan’s gates for the Great Jin!”

A brilliant light flared in Yinchuke’s eyes.

A heaven-shaking achievement lay directly before him.

He turned and shouted to the entire army:

“Men! Taiyuan’s gold and silver, fine wine, and women are waiting for us! Let these Han fellows lead the way. Tomorrow, I’ll be drinking in the Taiyuan prefectural offices!”

The Jin army erupted in a thunderous cheer.

The Yisheng soldiers who had just surrendered instantly lost their ingratiating expressions. In their place appeared a feverish zeal to prove themselves.

They scrambled to their feet and quickly picked up the weapons they had abandoned. Some even shoved and cursed one another over the few swords and spears that remained in decent condition.

In the blink of an eye, these fugitives—who moments earlier had been storming their own gate—were driven onward by Geng Shouzhong. Disorderly yet charged with the reckless exhilaration of men who had nothing left to lose, they surged onto the road south ahead of the main Jin army.

They intended to stain the steps of the new dynasty red with their own blood before the Jin main force arrived.

Watching the ridiculous procession, Yinchuke remembered how he had just faced the pass as though confronting a mortal enemy and could not help shaking his head with a bitter smile.

“Xieli,” he said, patting his deputy on the shoulder, “if I’d known the Song were such a rabble, why did we proceed so cautiously all the way here?”

“Commander, no one could have anticipated this. I’ve fought all my life. Even the Khitans, though poor fighters, had to be defeated before we knew their mettle. But these Song men truly are…”

Xieli shook his head, his face thoughtful.

“If they cannot stand against the Great Jin in open battle, why would they abandon even a natural fortress like this?”

As the sun sank in the west, a Jin wolf banner was planted crookedly beside the stone stele proclaiming Shiling Pass the “Mountain-and-River Gateway.”

Inside the pass warehouses, crates of arrows still sat unopened, their seals intact. Beside them lay several warm wine jars.

Yinchuke kicked one over. Amber liquid meandered across the blue-gray flagstones.

“Send the order. We march through the night. I want the grand marshal to see that Taiyuan can be taken within a day!”

A string of victories had already convinced him that he understood the Song’s true strength and weakness completely.

Beneath the darkened sky, Shiling Pass still lay silent between the two mountains. Its massive walls, deep barbican, and precipitous Eagle-Beak Cliff traced a fearsome outline.

Yet not a trace of the Song army’s presence remained in the gorge. Only the cheers of the Jin soldiers and the thunder of hooves could be heard as they rode south toward the rich lands beyond.

High above, Eagle-Beak Cliff still hung in the void like a gaping beast. Yet it had failed to catch even a single bird. It could only watch helplessly as these uninvited guests easily crossed the natural deathtrap that should have shattered them to pieces.