Chapter 84: Infiltration

Qi Jun had chosen a campsite behind a massive boulder on the hillside, diagonally opposite the mountain cliff. Here, they could shelter from the wind and observe both the cliff and the Qiang village ahead.

At this hour, any movement in the open wilderness would likely be noticed by the Qiang people. Qi Jun lay in the shadow of the boulder, eyes closed, resting as he waited for nightfall.

Captain Qin was no fool; whatever Qi Jun had considered, he too was keenly aware of. Yet the terrain and vantage point here were unmatched by any other location nearby, and he was unwilling to abandon such an advantageous spot.

He therefore brought two men up to the cliff to observe the Qiang’s activity, while the rest waited below, concealed and ready. This way, should the Qiang discover them, they could react quickly.

Unbeknownst to them, their supposedly secretive movements had already been spotted by the Qiang scouts shortly after entering Qiang territory.

While the warriors watched the Qiang village, the Qiang themselves kept a close eye from the other side of the cliff.

A Qiang herdsman murmured something to the young man behind him. The youth leapt up onto a rocky outcrop and ran toward the village, nimble as a deer.

“Five years ago, were these Qiang barbarians, clad in reversed sheepskin coats and wielding shepherd’s staffs, really the ones who defeated more than ten thousand troops of Great Liang at Anqiang, and even pressed their attack all the way to Ding’an’s city gates?” One of the provincial warriors, gazing at the sheep moving at the base of the distant mountain, asked Captain Qin with a mix of disbelief and awe.

Captain Qin said nothing, continuing to sharpen his dagger on a small whetstone, his mind pulled back to the memories of five years past.

He would never forget that day: the sky was shrouded in gray, drizzling rain. His unit marched through the river valley from Anqiang into Qiang territory, the damp air making his campaign tunic cling uncomfortably to his body.

If memory served, the valley was called Red Clay Gorge. The cliffs on either side were of red earth, which became slippery, muddy slopes in the rain.

It was the color of blood.

He would never forget the moment the Qiang’s whistling arrows resounded without warning. His comrades, standing beside and before him, fell in the dense rain of arrows like pitiful stalks of wheat, reaped en masse by the scythe of death.

His brother had thrown himself in front, using his own body as a shield to block the invisible scythe of fate. He remembered his brother, lying across his chest, spending his last breath to utter one final sentence.

“Stay alive…”

At this thought, his hand jerked violently. The dagger on the whetstone sliced his finger, and blood—matching the hue of Red Clay Gorge—welled up.

“Captain, the blade is sharp enough…” the warrior said, startled by the blood.

“Not enough yet…” Captain Qin glanced at his finger, his gaze fixed on the Qiang village.

“Not enough?”

“Not enough. The blood of the Qiang… it’s still not enough!” Captain Qin’s eyes were rimmed red as he looked toward the village, gritting his teeth and uttering words the warrior could not comprehend.

With only six men, a frontal assault on a village holding dozens would be suicide.

From the outset, the county’s commander had ordered them to launch a surprise attack, to burn the village down under cover of night.

Qiang villages were built of deadwood and vines, easily consumed by fire. Arson was thus the method of choice for stealth attacks.

Their Rou-ran attire not only concealed their identities, but could also shift any potential conflict onto Liang’s neighbors and old adversaries to the north.

As the sun sank behind the mountains, the camp fell under deep shadow. In the distance, the Qiang village began to glow with scattered points of fire—preparations for supper.

“Move out!” Captain Qin exhaled, issuing the order to his warriors. The warrior nodded and sent a birdcall toward the foot of the hill.

But the expected answer did not come.

He thought his companions below hadn’t heard, so he repeated the birdcall.

The cliff was only about twenty meters high, yet still there was no response from below.

“Captain, could it be that we…” The warrior turned, puzzled, only to see Captain Qin facing forward, hand gripping his waist blade. Following his gaze, the warrior realized they were surrounded by a group of Qiang, all armed with bows and arrows.

Qi Jun watched the scene unfold from afar; the sudden appearance of figures made clear the warriors’ predicament.

He sighed, shook his head in resignation, stamped out his campfire, packed his gear, and edged along the rock face toward the Qiang village, taking advantage of the fading light.

Captain Qin and his men had been captured. When they were marched down the cliff, they saw the four warriors left below tied together with a thick hemp rope.

The Qiang villagers pulled the rope taut, binding Captain Qin and another warrior as well.

An older Qiang villager said something, kicked Captain Qin hard, then another Qiang dragged the rope, leading them toward the village, while the others took their horses.

A warrior, sensing their fate, let out a desperate scream of terror.

He had heard from county soldiers that the Qiang still preserved ancient and brutal sacrificial rituals; captured Liang soldiers were often slaughtered before their idols in cruel ways.

Even Captain Qin, once so haughty to Qi Jun, now fell into despair, following the Qiang in silence, his only hope for an end swift and merciful.

Qi Jun kept a measured distance behind the Qiang escorting the prisoners, trailing them unhurriedly.

Remembering how the warriors had treated him earlier, he was tempted to abandon them altogether. After all, they never heeded his orders and acted without permission; no one could blame him for what befell them.

But they were, after all, his compatriots in this world. And besides, one of the warriors had shown him kindness, tossing him a waterskin.

For the sake of that sheepskin waterskin, he could not let them die without trying.

Qi Jun crouched in a rocky crevice, watching the Qiang villagers laughing and speaking in a language he could not understand as they led Captain Qin and the others into the village.

This Qiang village was small, merely an outpost on the frontier. Finding where the captives were held wouldn’t be difficult; from a high vantage, the entire layout was visible.

The challenge was how to infiltrate the village unseen.

He frowned in thought, then spotted a Qiang herdsman in the distance driving a flock of sheep toward the village.

Qi Jun’s eyes lit up; he began to move quietly toward the flock.

As the sheep drew near, he unhooked his crossbow and took aim at the lead ram, firing a bolt.

The bolt struck the ram’s hind leg, not killing it but causing it to thrash in pain, running and leaping wildly among the flock, desperate to ease the agony.

The flock scattered in panic, sheep fleeing in every direction. The herdsman, baffled by the ram’s sudden madness, was more concerned by the chaos as his animals scattered.

He called out urgently toward the village for help. The Qiang sentries at the gate, hearing his cries and seeing the chaos, panicked as well, shouting for others to help round up the sheep.

This was precisely the confusion Qi Jun had hoped for.