Outside the main hall, an autumn wind scoured the dead trees in the courtyard.
Yang Cang’s armor was caked with a thick layer of yellow dust, and the soles of his boots still bore wet mud.
He strode into the hall, knelt on one knee, and presented a military report: “Report to the Grand Marshal! The men have mapped out every inch of those underground passages!”
Tie Lanshan rose from behind his desk and walked around it, taking the sheepskin scroll and spreading it open.
Yang Cang pointed at the crisscrossing ink lines, unable to keep a note of pride from his voice: “Grand Marshal, take a look! That Chen Changfeng is a snake who schemed to the bone. Beneath the horse-and-mule market, they’ve dug a veritable rat’s nest. We’ve confirmed a full twelve entrances alone.”
“Some are hidden at the bottom of dry wells, some behind the feed troughs in stables, and others directly beneath the slop pools in dead-end alleys.”
Tie Lanshan’s brows knitted together, his finger tracing over the sheepskin: “This northern town has been hollowed out by rats! With this many entrances, if we don’t know the full layout, our men would charge in and be blind as bats.”
Yang Cang replied: “Exactly! Those tunnels are a tangled web, stacked one atop another, with offshoots branching off like hairs on a man’s head. And on top of that, the passageways are rigged with flip-plates and rock-fall traps.”
“If we hadn’t scouted it all out carefully… let alone catching anyone, even sending a hundred-man squad in, they’d still be lost after two hours without finding the right path.”
With that, Yang Cang’s finger swept north, landing on a marker just outside the city: “But Grand Marshal, no matter how many tricks they pull, they can’t beat the bedrock down there.”
“The foundations beneath the northern gate’s walls are solid dead granite, thousands of years old. A pickaxe can only leave a faint white scratch. To avoid that rock, those twelve branching tunnels all merge into one main route that punches north, straight out of the city.”
Tie Lanshan’s gaze fell upon the marker: “What’s this place?”
“Three li beyond the North Horse Road, that abandoned official kiln, unused for twenty years.” Yang Cang raised his head, his voice booming like a great bell, “No matter how many troops Chen Changfeng wants to slip into the city, he can only come through the mouth of that brick kiln!”
“Good! Good! Good!”
Tie Lanshan slammed his palm hard against the long table, bursting into laughter as he stepped forward to lift Yang Cang up by both hands.
“Hard work has been done by you and your men! This bone-scraping task of hunting out the poison—you’ve done it cleanly! You are owed great credit!”
Yang Cang lowered his head: “All thanks to the Grand Marshal’s strategy. I dare not claim any merit.”
Tie Lanshan waved a hand, then paced the hall, speaking calmly: “Since that kiln is their only way in, they can hardly blame this old man for being ruthless. From here, we simply wait for those beasts to walk into the trap!”
Tie Lanshan stopped pacing and turned his gaze to Xu Qinghuan, who was seated calmly in the side chair.
The old marshal asked: “Master Xu, how go the preparations outside?”
Xu Qinghuan set down his teacup in a slow, unhurried manner.
“In answer to the Grand Marshal,” Xu Qinghuan replied seriously, “the net has been spread in accordance with your orders.”
“I have already consulted with the engineers. All twelve entrances at the horse-and-mule market are now manned by hidden elite troops. Five hundred mounted crossbows are set in dead angles, and kindling, lamp oil, and sulfur are all in place.”
Xu Qinghuan looked up and added: “As soon as their men poke their heads out of the tunnels, we cut off their retreat and seal every exit.”
“Then we pump smoke into the holes. That underground maze will become a mass grave of their own making.”
Tie Lanshan listened, gave a heavy nod, and let out a single word: “Good!”
...
Thirty li away, in the central command tent of the Left Luli King of the Helian tribe.
The Left Luli King, Ashina Dubi, sat upon a great tiger-skin throne, idly turning a curved dagger inlaid with turquoise.
Chen Changfeng stood before the sand table, his blue robes crisp and clean, an incongruous figure among the fur-clad, reeking Hu generals around him.
Chen Changfeng tapped the sand table marker for the northern town with a wooden stick, speaking with certainty: “Gully King, please take note. The plan I’ve laid over five years is about to bear fruit. That discarded pawn, Zhao Cheng, will surely pin Tie Lanshan’s forces down at the north side gate.”
“The tunnels beneath the horse-and-mule market are the poisoned blade aimed straight at the heart of the Great Qian Empire.”
A chiliarch beside him spoke in a rumbling voice: “Master Chen, are those tunnels of yours truly so miraculous? Southerners are full of tricks—if they catch wind of movement underground, won’t our warriors be lambs trapped in a pen?”
Chen Changfeng glanced at him: “Chiliarch, you worry too much. The tunnels run several zhang beneath the earth, and we only dig under cover of the third watch, when the drums and horns on the city walls mask the noise. Every bit of excavated soil is mixed into the night-soil carts from the horse market and hauled out of the city.”
“Even if those southerners had eyes that could pierce the heavens, they’d never see through what lies beneath the earth.”
Just as that chiliarch was about to argue further, hurried footsteps sounded from outside the tent.
The tent flap was thrown open. A centurion in charge of the mounted scouts stepped quickly inside, dropped to one knee, and pressed his right hand to his chest in salute.
“Report to the Left Luli King! Report to Master Chen!”
Ashina Dubi stopped toying with his curved dagger and raised his eyelids: “Speak.”
The centurion held up a blood-stained bamboo tube with both hands, his voice hoarse with urgency: “We’ve received a reply from our man inside the city! Our scout brought it back from the North Horse Road!”
Chen Changfeng stepped forward, took the bamboo tube from the centurion’s hands, pulled out the wooden stopper, and shook loose a rolled parchment.
He unrolled the sheepskin, scanned the ink marks, then turned and gave a deep bow to Ashina Dubi.
“Congratulations, Gully King! Congratulations to you!” Chen Changfeng declared loudly, “Hunchback Zhang sends word: Tie Lanshan and that Xu Qinghuan are still fooled by the Zhao Cheng matter and have pulled all their elite guards to the north gate. The horse-and-mule market is completely unguarded.”
“Hunchback Zhang says we strike tomorrow at midnight—inside and out, in perfect coordination.”
The moment the words left his mouth, the tension that had gripped the tent vanished.
Several Hu generals clapped one another on the shoulders and threw back their heads in laughter.
Bayaer grinned wide: “This southern dotard is blind! Tonight, I’ll make a drinking cup from their imperial envoy’s skull!”
The tent erupted in high spirits and burning battle lust.
Only Ashina Dubi, upon his tiger-skin throne, showed not a trace of joy.
This Hu prince had campaigned half his life, and to survive this long on the ever-shifting steppe, he relied not on blind optimism, but on a suspicion carved into his very bones.
Ashina Dubi rose and sheathed his curved dagger.
With steady strides, he walked to the centurion who had delivered the message.
His tall frame blocked out the lamplight, casting a shadow over the man.
Ashina Dubi looked down at his subordinate from above, studying him, and spoke slowly: “Where is the scout who carried the message?”
The centurion swallowed hard and answered with lowered head: “In answer, Gully King! The Great Qian patrols are strict. Our rider was struck by an arrow in the back as he made the handoff. He spurred his horse back to camp on his last breath, handed me the bamboo tube, and then died.”
Ashina Dubi’s brow knitted Tight together. He turned back to face Chen Changfeng: “Master Chen… can you be certain this letter came from Hunchback Zhang himself? The passwords and secret signs—are there truly no flaws?”
Chen Changfeng handed over the sheepskin scroll: "Let the Gully King take a look. The charcoal cipher in the lower left corner, with its inverted-phrase cuts in the wording, are marks I personally taught Hunchback Zhang back in the day. Even if the southerners got their hands on the letter, they could not forge such secret signs."
Ashina Dubi did not reach for the sheepskin scroll. He turned his head again, his gaze boring straight into the kneeling centurion.
"I will ask you once more." Ashina Dubi's voice was cold and hard as iron. "The man sent to make contact is dead. On the road back to camp with this letter, were there any southerners trailing you? And is it possible this bamboo tube was deliberately planted on the corpse by Tie Lanshan's men?"
A fine sheen of sweat broke out on the centurion's forehead.
He spent his days within the camp—how could he know the petty twists and turns on the front lines?
The scout sent to make contact had come back a dead man, and this bamboo tube was simply taken from the horse by the men below.
Two armies at war, out in the wilds—who would stake his own head on the guarantee that nothing had gone wrong along the way?
The centurion lifted his eyelids slightly and swept a glance across the tent.
The chiliarchs were gripping their sword hilts, looking in his direction.
Lord Chen also stood off to one side.
Every high official in the tent was waiting for a single word from him.
If he said "I cannot be certain," then given the Left Luli King's customary severity in military discipline, guards would be summoned on the spot, and his head would be struck off as a sacrifice to the battle standards.
Life and death hung by a single thread.
