Zhang Hu and the others only caught up with Xiao Zheng near the border of the Tartars.
"Brother Zheng! Wait for us!"
"Whoa!"
Hearing the sound of galloping hooves behind him, Xiao Zheng finally halted.
"All of you, turn back! This is a military order!"
Zhang Hu stubbornly retorted, "You're going to your death—who cares about your orders now?!"
Xiao Zheng glared at him, making him instinctively straighten his back in response.
"Brother Zheng! We owe everything we have today to you. Every extra day we live is a bonus! If you go to the Tartars alone, rescuing General Xiao the Second will be near impossible. With us, at least we can coordinate."
Mao Lai, the bald one, chimed in, "They say three cobblers equal one Zhuge Liang. The more of us there are, the better our chances!"
"Brother Zheng, take us with you!"
"Even if you refuse, we’ll still follow!"
Xiao Zheng looked at these brothers who had fought by his side for years, his eyes growing warm.
"Then keep up!"
Zhang Hu tossed the embroidered pouch back to him.
"Brother Zheng, keep this for yourself!"
Xiao Zheng tucked the pouch into his chest and resolutely looked ahead, hoping there would still be a chance for a reply.
After crossing the Tartar border, Xiao Zheng didn’t follow the route they had taken on their return. Instead, he circled south.
During his last visit to the market, he had heard that the northern Tartar lands were suffering from drought this year, leaving the grasslands barren. Many tribes had migrated south. The Tartars relied on livestock, and without grass or water, their camps would follow the resources.
When they had retreated earlier, the grasslands they passed had been nearly grazed bare, with no water sources nearby. The Tartar army would likely have set up camp in the south this time.
Choosing a spot on higher ground, Xiao Zheng stopped.
"Brother Zheng, aren’t we going to find the Tartar army?" Mao Lai scratched his head, confused.
Xiao Zheng shook his head. "Armies camp near water. Since they have General Xiao the Second, they’ll use him as leverage. They’ll come soon enough—we’ll wait here."
In war, morale was everything. Those Tartar beasts would surely parade his uncle’s corpse before battle to demoralize their enemies. His grandfather was old, but even if it cost him his life, he wouldn’t let them succeed.
"Zhang Hu, take these horses to the woods over there!"
"Mao Lai, Lao Shu, go gather some grass!"
"Bao Zi, Lu Dan, see those white dots in the distance? Those are probably abandoned Tartar tents. Check if there’s anything useful inside."
"Shun Zi, Tie Tou, fill the waterskins from the stream."
They were close to the Great Yuan border. The Tartars didn’t yet know the northwestern army had retreated to Shuozhou—they would likely set up camp here.
When the group returned, Xiao Zheng had them pile grass onto themselves.
"I’ve studied the terrain. The enemy will camp on that flatland. Once they settle, soldiers will come for water. Bao Zi, you’re good at mimicking sheep—make some noise to lure one over."
He then drew a finger across his throat.
Bao Zi nodded.
"After we take their clothes, we’ll sneak in. We’re outnumbered, so we must rely on wit, not force. Zhang Hu and Tie Tou will come with me. The rest of you, hold these positions."
"Lao Shu, you’re small and a good shot—stay up high. We’ll move at dusk. Remember the signal?"
In unison, they mimicked a bird call.
Xiao Zheng smiled. "Go on, pile on more grass."
Then his expression hardened.
"Our mission is to bring the general back to Great Yuan. No matter what happens, the mission comes first. Understood?"
"Yes!"
As they lay there, nearly dozing off, a distant rumble shook the ground.
Xiao Zheng looked up. On the horizon, a dark tide of soldiers surged forward, their iron hooves making the earth tremble.
Birds scattered from the riverbanks, fleeing into the distance.
The Tartar army had arrived.
Just as Xiao Zheng predicted, the vanguard circled before finally stopping on the central plain.
They pressed themselves flat, holding their breath as horses thundered past.
One lap.
Two laps.
"Angalan baidag!"
Zhang Hu listened as the Tartar soldier shouted in an unfamiliar tongue, waving a small flag toward the main force before galloping off in another direction.
Outside the tent, a towering man gazed toward Great Yuan, his thin lips curled in disdain. His narrow eyes gleamed with cold certainty.
"Fourth Prince, General Nuo Lan of the Rus requests an audience."
A soldier knelt, right hand over his heart.
This was Chi Na, the Tartars' fourth prince. In their tongue, "Chi Na" meant "wolf of the steppe." True to his name, the eighteen-year-old prince had won his father’s favor through martial prowess and cunning. His recent victory—allying with the Rus to crush five thousand Great Yuan soldiers—had earned him the admiration of warriors across the tribes.
"Let him in."
Nuo Lan pushed through the tent flaps with a booming laugh.
"Hahaha! Chi Na!! Those Great Yuan cowards fled back to Shuozhou! They’re terrified of us!! Why bother camping? Let’s slaughter them while they’re running!"
Chi Na looked up, his dark eyes devoid of amusement.
"General Nuo Lan, there’s no glory in this. If they had faced us head-on, they’d be fools. Do you know how to lay siege to a city?"
Nuo Lan’s grin faded.
"What do you mean?"
Chi Na stood. "Our strength lies on the steppe. Our men are horsemen. In a siege, what use is that? They’d pick us off from the walls. The Great Yuan have a saying: 'To wound a thousand, lose eight hundred.' Have you heard it?"
"Then what?! We’ll cut off Xiao Yi’s head and hang it from our tents! The Great Yuan value loyalty—they’ll come! And those prisoners? We’ll drag them to the gates and execute a hundred a day! That’ll last us five days!"
Nuo Lan grinned savagely.
Chi Na’s lips twitched. "Crush their spirit first. Starve them for days. When they think hope is near—that’s when we show them the truth! Only the Tartars rule this world! Only the strong deserve its bounty! Cowards deserve nothing!!"
Nearby, a tent flap fluttered as if brushed by wind—then stilled.
The sun dipped below the horizon, painting the vast grasslands in hues of twilight, beautiful as a slumbering maiden.
