Chapter 85: Heaven Itself Opposes

This time, Li Shimin reacted swiftly. In just two days, an envoy from Chang’an arrived in Liucheng, proclaiming the emperor’s decree: Mohe Hanpu and his tribesmen were permitted to move south and settle, with the most promising among them to be selected for the Imperial Guards. In addition, Li Shimin generously bestowed upon Hanpu the imperial surname and granted him the title of Earl, even assigning him a residence in Chang’an. In truth, this arrangement was less a gesture of trust and more a means of keeping Hanpu under close watch, for Li Shimin had not yet placed his full confidence in the man.

Hanpu, unaware of these subtleties, accepted the imperial edict with unrestrained delight.

Yet, at the end of the decree, there was an urgent summons for Li Kong to return at once—not because Li Shimin wished to intervene in the Liaodong campaign, but because the Astronomical Bureau had predicted that a severe snowstorm would strike the northern deserts and Liaodong region within three days. With the coming blizzard, Li Kong’s role here had come to an end.

The envoy departed, leading the Mohe people toward resettlement in Chang’an, but Li Kong did not immediately leave. Though the Astronomical Bureau was responsible for weather predictions, he trusted them no more than he had trusted the erratic forecasts of satellites in his previous life—let alone the so-called diviners of this era. Even with the famed Yuan Tiangang and Li Chunfeng serving in the Bureau, Li Kong remained a skeptic.

Most importantly, the three deputy generals had already departed with their men from Liucheng. If a blizzard truly descended, what would become of them? Li Kong was not a man without feeling; he could not simply abandon several thousand soldiers and return to Chang’an.

“General, the wind is picking up. Come inside and rest for a while,” said one of the few remaining deputy generals, his face full of concern.

Li Kong looked up with a sigh and asked, “Where do you think they are now?”

The deputy hesitated. “I can’t say for certain, General. But the snow hasn’t melted, the roads are rough, and their progress must be slow. At most, they can’t be more than a few hundred li away.”

Li Kong narrowed his eyes. The sky was heavy and gray, dusk already falling. To set out now was tantamount to courting death. In the end, he could only shake his head in resignation and turn back into the house.

With the Mohe people’s departure, two thousand cavalrymen were left behind for Li Kong’s command. He had already reorganized them, integrating them with his remaining thousand men. Over the past two days, the two groups had adapted well to each other; the Mohe’s sense of inferiority was gradually fading, and laughter and cheerful voices could be heard along the way.

The fire in the house had not gone out since it was first lit—there was no other way, for the cold was unbearable, and survival without the flames was impossible.

Entering the room, Li Kong sat down by the fire, but before he could catch his breath, a soldier came running in, shouting, “General, it’s snowing again!”

Li Kong sprang to his feet in alarm and rushed outside, only for a snowflake to strike him squarely on the forehead—a chill instantly piercing his skin and sinking into his brain, making him shudder.

“Guards! You there, a few men—mount up and ride hard to recall the three detachments at once!” Li Kong, now furious, bellowed the order, then glared up at the sky. He knew it was pointless to curse the heavens, but at that moment, he desperately wanted to rail at the damned weather.

He had hoped to deplete Goguryeo’s grain stores this year, laying the foundation for their destruction next year, but the cursed weather had foiled his plans. Did heaven truly believe Goguryeo deserved to survive?

Nonsense—what a ridiculous notion.

A dozen swift horses galloped out of Liucheng, splitting into three directions and disappearing into the night.

Li Kong did not know how many would return, but he had no other choice. This was the Tang Empire, not his former world—there were no telephones, not even a crude telegraph.

Meanwhile, three hundred li from Liucheng, in a desolate wilderness, a detachment of a thousand men huddled together around several roaring bonfires, roasting game over the flames.

By one fire, Zhou Han sat in silence, his expression dark as he watched the falling snow.

“General, shall we return for now?” his personal guard asked uncertainly, tearing a chunk of meat from a bone.

Zhou Han glared at the man and replied, “Never speak like that again. We may be cold, but so is the General. For all we know, he’s already left Liucheng himself. We have no right to complain; if anyone is to blame, it’s the weather, which seems determined to spare Goguryeo from destruction.”

The guard fell silent. Though Li Kong was still young, his leadership in the previous two battles had won their unwavering loyalty. None of the Liao-dong cavalry believed Li Kong would abandon them and shelter in Liucheng. As Zhou Han said, perhaps heaven itself still favored Goguryeo.

Though they could not return to Liucheng, Zhou Han ordered, “Pass the word: everyone must tend the fires carefully. We’ll remain here tomorrow and see how the weather fares.”

“Yes!” The guard was relieved; he had feared Zhou Han might stubbornly push them onward through the snow—a march that could well prove fatal. Though this was hardly comfortable, it was infinitely better than trudging through a blizzard.

This order was relayed to Han Jun’s two detachments as well, and, deep down, perhaps they too were hoping for something.

The sudden change in weather left Li Kong deeply irritable. He ate little that night, drank half a jin of Hero’s Brew to warm himself, but his anxiety for Zhou Han and the thousands of men in the field kept him awake through the night.

In truth, this snowstorm brought no real harm to the Tang Empire. It blocked Goguryeo from advancing south, buying Tang precious time for preparation and development, and would inflict severe losses on Eastern Turkic as well. Yet, with the chance to weaken Goguryeo so close—only to be thwarted by the snow—Li Kong’s frustration was palpable. After all, a settled, agrarian Goguryeo was a far greater threat than the Turks.

As Li Kong brooded alone in Liucheng, far away in Liaodong City, there was another man seething with rage at the blizzard—Yeon Gaesomun of Goguryeo. Though his status was not yet as exalted as it would become in the tenth year of the Zhenguan era, for Yeon Taejo still lived, he was nonetheless the city’s commander and the overall strategist of the Liaodong campaign, including the recent alliance with the Turks.

All his meticulous plans had been disrupted by one snowstorm after another. Was this some kind of joke?