Volume One: In a World of Chaos, How Could There Be a Path for Mortals Chapter 30: Deciding the Strategy (III)

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That night, Deng She personally went to see Lady Wang to explain their current predicament.

Lady Wang, who had hoped to return to Shangdu in high spirits, felt as though a bucket of ice had been poured over her after hearing Deng She’s words—her heart chilled through. Compared to others’ envy, her own safety was more important. She hesitated and asked, “What plan does the General have?”

Deng She did not reveal his own intentions, but shifted the decision onto the other officers. “On learning this intelligence, I urgently summoned the generals to discuss our options. Unanimously, they agreed: with the enemy’s vast forces closing in and ours outnumbered, the city cannot be held. However, with Shangdu in peril and us under the command of Lord Guan Pingzhang, we must face danger together and cannot flee in cowardice. Thus, the generals decided that two days hence, we would withdraw from Yongping, head northeast in guerrilla fashion, and seek an opportunity to reach Shangdu.”

He glanced at Lady Wang, who was making a show of composure, and changed his tone. “But to face death is a man’s duty; this journey is fraught with danger, and your ladyship should not risk yourself. I believe that the perils of war should be borne by us alone. If you wish, you may sail to Shandong ahead of us.”

Lady Wang was pleased with Deng She’s arrangement, though she feigned hesitation. Only after Deng She’s repeated pleas did she agree: “General Deng, your loyalty inspires my deepest admiration.” A few words settled the date of departure by sea—early the morning after next. Since arriving in Yongping, Deng She had presented, and Lady Wang had demanded, a great many jewels, silks, trinkets, and household items; she would need a day to pack.

In haste, they could not find a large ship, so only twenty or thirty attendants were selected for her escort, most of them Lady Wang’s old retinue. The two maids previously sent were brought along as well. At Lady Wang’s request, Deng She also provided a hundred taels of silver from the treasury to fill her coffers.

With arrangements complete, Deng She took his leave in the night. Looking back, their midnight conversation had been dominated by Lady Wang making various requests; not once had she inquired about Wang Shicheng, still left in Liaodong.

That night, Deng She still could not sleep—too many preparations remained.

First, he distributed arms; then, he issued three months’ pay and rations to the soldiers to steady their morale. He still needed a pretext to tell them their destination—neither the truth nor a lie would do. This task fell to Wu Heniang, who did not disappoint: “Yongping lacks food, Goryeo has plenty.” For the newly recruited, half-starved soldiers, these eight words were enough.

More urgently, he needed to forge combat effectiveness. Deng She selected three hundred veteran soldiers skilled with firearms, arming them with the matchlocks seized from Yongping. Adding the hundred original gunners, he had a force of four hundred. Besides the eight hundred captured warhorses, he had gathered another hundred or so from local gentry in recent days, making nine hundred in all, and assigned them to nine hundred new cavalrymen, forming a thousand-strong cavalry unit.

Deng She kept the firearms and cavalry units close under his command. The remaining four hundred veterans were assigned as personal guards, distributed among Wen, Chen, and Zhao’s troops as temporary centurions to help train the soldiers on the march.

Within two days, over four thousand more joined. Deng She kept two thousand, gave Zhao Guo a thousand, and split the rest among Guan, Li, and Luo. The day after Lady Wang’s departure, Deng She felt as if a great weight had been lifted from his chest—refreshed and at ease.

Everything ready, on the third morning, Chen Hu led the vanguard, Guan Shirong and Li Heshang took the wings, Zhao Guo guarded the supply train, and Wen Huaguo brought up the rear. Luo Guoqi, He Guangxiu, and others accompanied the central force. The troops set out in succession.

Danning and Xingzhou lay to the northwest of Yongping. Deng She decided to avoid them, taking the eastern road through Ruizhou Administration, heading north to cross the Daling River, then turning east past Liaoyang, straight to the Yalu River—a journey of roughly six hundred li.

Leaving Yongping, Deng She sat tall on horseback and looked back. Under a gloomy sky, the distant city stood imposing, forests looming behind. Nearby, banners fluttered and weapons bristled; ahead and behind, men cheered and horses pranced, raising clouds of dust. He could not help but muse: ten days ago, he had been fleeing for his life; now, in the blink of an eye, he commanded ten thousand men.

He suddenly recalled Lady Wang’s behavior; beneath his contempt, he felt wary.

Since crossing over, he had seen mountains of bones and rivers of blood. In times like these, life and death were commonplace; Lady Wang’s conduct was barely worth mentioning. In just a decade, how many heroes had risen, and how many had fallen?

He thought back: Zhimali, King Bu, the mighty Red Armies of the north and south—vanished in two or three years. Tens of thousands scattered, their leaders ending with their heads sent to Dadu. Was it fate, or destiny? Deng She turned, bowed his head in thought, nothing like the high-spirited optimism of He Guangxiu and the rest. His path was arduous.

Yet, whatever the future held, he had to keep moving, step by step.

But how should he proceed? With flames of war raging north and south, anyone could see the Yuan dynasty tottered on the brink. Yet the Mongol Yuan had ruled for a century, still backed by great houses across the land. Even at its weakest, it had the strength to wipe out his small force. Looking around, he deeply understood why Duke Zhou had to spit out his food when seeking talent—true talent was hard to find.

Counting those around him, there were few he could truly use. Chen Hu was cautious, suited only to holding a region; Zhao Guo brave and a natural general; Wen Huaguo, sharp but too hot-tempered; Luo Guoqi and the others, not worth mentioning; Wu Heniang was cowardly and unreliable; He Guangxiu, little better than a dog.

Recruitment notices adorned every county, written in earnest. With Wu and He as bait, not a single scholar or man of letters had come. In these circumstances, he tossed and turned, helpless, even considering recruiting the famed generals and ministers he knew from his previous life—but realized it would not work.

He had not known many such men in his former life, and by now, most would already have found their own lords; even if he wanted to, there was nowhere to find them. More importantly, he did not believe that all the world’s talent was limited to a few renowned names.

Throughout history, founding heroes were mostly the emperor’s old friends or countrymen. Was it really that fate concentrated all genius in one place? More likely, those were the ones the ruler trusted most. It was less that the stars descended to aid the true lord, more that when one man rose to power, even his dogs and chickens ascended with him.

He recalled the old saying: among ten, the best is outstanding; among a hundred, a hero; among a thousand, a champion; among ten thousand, a peerless one. Now, with ten thousand under his command, perhaps hidden among them were hundreds or thousands of heroes. Deng She’s spirits lifted, and he recited, “The pass stretches like iron, but all six hundred million become sages and kings.”

He Guangxiu, though illiterate, understood what poetry was and showered praise: “A fine poem, a fine poem! The General is gifted in both war and letters—just listening makes us commoners tremble in awe.”

—

Deng She did not laugh, but Luo Guoqi did. A eunuch ape, acting the scholar and speaking in affected phrases—an utter farce and a disgrace to the sages’ words. Usually, he would have been furious, but lately Wang Shicheng had trained him otherwise, so he only smiled. Gripping his whip, he pointed ahead and said to Deng She, “If we make good time, we should reach Liaoyang’s border today and camp by the Six Streams tomorrow night.”

Deng She glanced at the sky. “The weather’s poor, and the soldiers barely trained—we can’t move that fast.” Two days had passed with no sign from Danning or Xingzhou, and he felt uneasy. Just then, a cavalryman galloped up—one of Chen Hu’s personal guard, and Deng She tensed.

The rider dismounted and rushed to Deng She’s horse, urgently reporting, “General, ten li ahead, our unit encountered a small group of Tartar scouts. Chen’s detachment has only thirty-odd mounted veterans and couldn’t catch them.”

“Which way did the Tartars go?”

“One group headed toward Danning, the rest roved nearby.”

They’re scouting our strength! Deng She’s mind raced. He ordered, “All units, raise the banners high. All generals must keep strict order—maintain perfect formation.” He had studied several military treatises over the years. As the classics say: Never attack a well-formed enemy; never strike a standing formation.

He instructed Chen Hu’s guards, “Send Chen two hundred more cavalry. Not one Tartar scout is to escape.” Then, “Any sign of the main enemy force in thirty li?”

“None, General.”

Deng She pondered. They had not yet gone far from Yongping; the Yuan would not attack so soon. The question was whether these scouts came from Danning or were the vanguard of an enemy force.

Luo Guoqi murmured, “If the Tartars really attack, these ten thousand new recruits...”

“What I fear is not their attack,” Deng She interrupted, “but that they don’t attack.”

“You mean the Tartars...?”

“They might be setting an ambush ahead.”

Deng She gritted his teeth and gave another order: “Tell Chen to send scouts thirty li ahead—don’t miss the slightest movement!” He hesitated, deciding not to recall the veterans yet—it was too soon, and would only worry the new soldiers.

He turned to Luo Guoqi. “Luo, if the enemy really comes, I’ll trouble you to take two hundred men and relieve Zhao Guo at the rear. I’ll handle the rest. For now, you’re in charge of guarding the supplies. If battle breaks out, unless I order it, you need not join—just keep the provisions safe.”

Luo Guoqi accepted the order without hesitation. He knew he wasn’t as brave as Zhao Guo. Besides, being entrusted in battle was a sign of trust. He had wanted to go to Shandong, but he greatly admired Deng She’s generosity. He himself would not have entrusted thousands of men to a near-stranger after only a month’s acquaintance.

“Where the men are, the grain will be,” he said simply. “Should we call in Wen and Zhao to discuss the situation?”

Deng She shook his head. “If the Tartars are coming, they’ll come regardless. The only choices are fight or defend. Retreating to Yongping to hold the city brings only harm—morale would falter, and a hastily assembled force is a disaster. So, we fight.” He explained, “Suddenly calling them all here would only unsettle the troops and cause confusion.”

After a moment’s thought, he gave a third order: “March slowly—halt after noon. Each camp must fortify its position—dig trenches, raise walls, set banners and drums. Don’t neglect a thing.”

“Very well. Digging fortifications will serve as training,” Luo Guoqi joked ruefully.

Three orders given, yet Deng She still felt uneasy. He told He Guangxiu, “Go fetch Commander Huang and Mr. Wu. Say I have matters to discuss.”

He had been too busy to notice He Guangxiu earlier, but now saw he was as calm as ever. The same composure he’d shown when sent into Yongping as an insider. Deng She and Luo Guoqi exchanged glances—one thinking, “What a strange man”; the other, “Bold as a dog.”

Deng She called for two; only one came. Brother Huang claimed he was too unimportant to be consulted; Wu Heniang arrived quickly—unable to ride, Deng She had found him a cart. Even so, he was shivering with cold.

Wu Heniang hunched his neck, snot streaming, unable to speak for a long while. He’d never fought or marched before, and Deng She had no illusions of brilliant strategy from him. What he wanted was Wu’s knowledge of Zhang Jujing and Shijia Bao.

“Zhang Jujing runs the Privy Council, he’s military. I worked in the puppet Yuan administration, local affairs—didn’t interact much,” Wu Heniang strained to recall. “I know a little about Shijia Bao, though—met him a few times. He passed the imperial exam early in the Zhizheng era, is an eloquent man with depth, speaks and writes Chinese, and is well-versed in our literature and history. He’s gentle, dignified, respected in the counties.”

That was all he could remember.

From this description, Deng She roughly sketched Shijia Bao: in short, a Mongol who had assimilated into Chinese culture. This made things tricky—he read their books, studied their history, understood their culture, and could guess their thinking; but they could not hope to predict his.

—

Deng She frowned, noticing Wu Heniang’s face had gone pale, his long neck bobbing as he swallowed nervously—whether from cold or fear, he couldn’t tell. It reminded him of something, so he called a few guards: “Protect Mr. Wu—do not leave his side. If anything happens to him, you’ll answer with your heads.”

Protection in name, surveillance in fact. Wu Heniang understood, panicked, and, forgetting the cold, craned his neck to swear loyalty. Just then, another messenger galloped up.

“Reporting, General: Commander Chen has surrounded the Tartar scouts with two hundred cavalry.”

“How many of them?”

“Thirty.”

“Results?”

“The battle is ongoing.”

Deng She straightened, gazing forward. Upon the vast, rugged earth, pale grass tinged with green; black clouds pressed down, shrouding the long, snaking column of troops. The cold wind rattled armor, sending banners flapping wildly. Yet he could not see the battle ahead. Soldiers made way for another group of returning riders, whispering among themselves—they sensed something was wrong.

“Reporting, General: The fighting is fierce. The Tartars are superb at mounted archery, and the chase has gone twenty li. Commander Chen has taken up his own bow.”

Among the former bandits, Chen Hu was nicknamed “Divine Archer Yangshu”—after Yang Youji, the famed archer of the Eastern Zhou. If even he had to take the field, the enemy’s skill was formidable. Luo Guoqi instinctively reached for his sword, Deng She silent and intent.

No more reports came for some time.

After two quarters of an hour, a stir passed through the troops ahead. Someone cheered, and the cry was taken up all along the line, rolling back to Deng She. Amid the cheers, Chen Hu galloped up, left hand raised high with a bloodied head, a dozen horsemen behind him, each with heads hanging from their saddles, right hands brandishing blades, all shouting as one: “Commander Chen’s divine archery is peerless—ten shots, ten kills! Not a single Tartar escaped!”

Luo Guoqi exhaled and released his grip on his sword, grinning with delight: “Victory, victory!”

But Deng She’s heart sank. All those following Chen were his own veterans—none of the new recruits. Chen Hu reined in beside him, lifted the head above his horse and reported loudly, “General, your subordinate has not failed you—the Tartars were utterly destroyed. Here are their heads, for your inspection.” Drawing close, he leaned over and whispered, “Half of the two hundred new cavalry are dead.”

—

1. Zhimali.

Some say he did not die, but after defeat, fled to the mountains and became a monk. This legend is much like the tale of Li Zicheng becoming a monk at the end of the Ming—a story circulated to comfort the people, unwilling to accept the hero’s death.

2. North and South Red Armies.

Zhimali and the northern and southern Red Armies were among the earliest rebel forces, all defeated within a year. They were crushed by the father of Boluotemuer, Dashibadulu.

“Deputy Prime Minister Dashibadulu requested to attack Xiangyang, was granted permission, and advanced to Jingmen. The rebels numbered a hundred thousand; the official army only three thousand. Following a plan from Song Tingjie, they recruited local officials and landowners fleeing the fighting, gaining twenty thousand volunteers.”

That these rebel armies could be crushed by “Green Troops” rather than regular forces suggests the rebels lacked military training. But the reliance on Green Troops rather than regulars also shows that most of the Yuan army at the time was nothing to boast of.

After their defeat, remnants of the Southern Red Army joined Liu Futong or Zhu Yuanzhang, strengthening both. Most of the Northern Red Army also joined Liu Futong.

3. Six Streams.

North of Ruizhou Administration, south of the Little Liao River.