Chapter Eighty-Six: A Surprise Assault on Guihua

The General asked eagerly whether war was at hand.

Wang Pu said in a low voice, "At the fifth watch tomorrow, we set out."

"Who are we fighting?" Scarface asked in excitement as well. "The Manchus, or the rebels?"

"This time we fight neither Manchus nor rebels," Wang Pu said, shaking his head. "We fight the Mongols. We attack the city of Hohhot. You, Youcai, explain the plan of battle to them now."

"Yes."

Zhen Youcai answered and pointed to the map. "Please look here, gentlemen. This is Hohhot, the seat of the Tumed tribal court. The land south of Hohhot, east of the Yellow River, and north of the Mianmucuan is commonly known as the Fengzhou Grasslands, also called the eastern loop of the Yellow River. It is the richest pastureland in the Hetao region. Before the Ming Dynasty, the four garrisons of Yulin, Yunchuan, Dongsheng, and Zhenlu were stationed here, but now it has become the horse pasture of the Tumed."

"Damn them," Big Beard said angrily. "One day we'll take it back."

"Don't interrupt," Wang Pu said, frowning. "Let Zhen continue."

Zhen Youcai nodded and went on. "Our detailed battle plan is as follows: Big Beard, Scarface, and Monk Zhang each lead two hundred cavalry, disguised as the Manchu Plain Red, Bordered Red, and Plain Blue Banners, and ride out in advance in three columns. Advancing abreast, they will lure and kill any Mongols encountered along the way, so that the news of our surprise attack on Hohhot will not be exposed."

"Our route of march starts from the Thunder God Mountain camp. We cross the Great Wall through the Mituo Mountain pass, then pass through Tucheng and Yaniehai to the Black River, and finally follow the Black River downstream straight to Hohhot. The total distance is about five hundred li, and we must complete it within three days. That way, even if the Tumed learn the news two days early, they will not be able to assemble many troops in such haste. With our strength, taking Hohhot should be effortless."

"Once Hohhot is taken, our army will split into four and seize Dongsheng, Yulin, Yunchuan, and Zhenlu respectively, driving the Tumed who roam the eastern loop of the Yellow River toward Yaniehai. At that point, Eunuch Zhang will lead the main force forward to intercept them at Yaniehai. Caught in a pincer from both sides, the Tumed will have nowhere to run, and their great herds of cattle and sheep will be ours."

"Good!"

"Excellent!"

"This way, brothers can get rich again. Haha."

Big Beard, Scarface, Tang Sheng, Monk Zhang, and the others all cheered and slapped their thighs in delight. It was as if the Tumed had already been shattered to pieces, as if the hundreds of thousands of cattle and sheep grazing on the eastern loop of the Yellow River had already become meat on their platter. Only Wang Pu and Zhen Youcai remained calm. In truth, Zhen had only explained the first half of the plan. The most crucial second half had yet to be spoken.

According to Wang Pu's plan, the Tumed were sure to collapse in confusion and panic once caught off guard. After all, the Tumed of today were no longer the same Tumed of the days of Altan Khan and Lady San, when they could challenge the Great Ming. But would the Khorchin, who roamed the vast lands east of Yaniehai, simply sit by and watch?

Wang Pu raised his hand to silence the cheers and said coldly, "Have you all understood?"

"We understand."

Big Beard and the others answered in a rumble.

Wang Pu nodded and said in a deep voice, "Then return to your camps. Big Beard, Scarface, and Monk Zhang, remember to take your men to the quartermaster's storehouse to collect the Manchu armor. Tomorrow at the fifth watch, the army sets out on time."

The night passed without incident.

Before dawn the next day, columns of fully armed cavalry poured out of the Thunder God Mountain camp and rode north in a vast tide on the bleak northern wind. Big Beard, Scarface, and Monk Zhang each led two hundred horsemen disguised as Manchu cavalry and went ahead first, while Wang Pu brought up the rear with the main force.

Although the Northern Yuan and the Ming were enemy states, ever since Lady San came to power, relations between the Tumed of the Northern Yuan and the Ming had greatly improved. Later, when the Golden Clan restored its rule and Ligdan Khan once again became the overlord of the Mongol tribes, the good relations between the Tumed and the Ming still endured.

It was only five years ago, after Hong Taiji led his forces in conquering the Mongol tribes of the southern steppe, that relations between the Ming and the Tumed began to grow tense again. Yet private trade between those tribes and the frontier people of the Ming had never ceased, so the common people of Datong were thoroughly familiar with the terrain of the southern steppe around the Fengzhou Grasslands.

Wang Pu's army included veteran soldiers who knew the southern steppe well, so there was no need to seek Mongol guides.

Once the three vanguard cavalry units had crossed the Mituo Mountain pass, they dispersed. Big Beard led two hundred riders on the left, Scarface led two hundred on the right, and Monk Zhang led two hundred in the center. The three forces spread out in a broad front, ten paces apart, sweeping northward across a width of nearly twenty li.

Within that front spanning almost twenty li, whenever a Mongol yurt appeared, Big Beard and the others would gather the proper number of horsemen according to the size of the herding settlement and slaughter them mercilessly. The old, the young, the women, and the children would be spared no more than the rest. Such was Wang Pu's military order. He had no choice but to give it.

For four thousand cavalry to move across the grasslands without revealing themselves was nearly impossible, so Wang Pu could only resort to this desperate measure: to cut down every Mongol encountered along the way. Even so, it would still be hard to prevent their movements from being discovered, but at the very least it could delay the moment of discovery.

The sun hung high in a sky of flawless blue, cloudless for ten thousand li.

The vast blue sky looked as though it had been washed clean, pure and without a trace of impurity.

Under that blue vault, a flock of sheep grazed on a gentle slope. From afar they looked like a white cloud fallen onto the grasslands, drifting slowly with the rolling hillside. Beneath the slope lay a small river, its pure water reflecting the blue heaven above. Like a canopy of jade, by the river a group of sturdy Mongol horses were drinking. After feeding and drinking their fill, they would occasionally lift their heads and neigh, their clear calls carrying for miles.

Not far away, more than ten yurts were scattered across the steppe. There were barking sheepdogs, the cheerful laughter of children, and wisps of smoke rising from the tops of the yurts. An old man leaned against a wagon and played the horse-head fiddle in his hands; its desolate, mournful song drew a crowd of children to watch.

All of it looked like a hidden paradise, so beautiful it was almost suffocating.

Without the slightest warning, one of the strings on the old man's horse-head fiddle suddenly snapped, and the mournful music came to an abrupt end. The children dispersed in disappointment, but the old man's gaze remained fixed on the low ridge in the distance, where, at some unknown moment, a rider in blue helmet and blue armor had emerged from behind the crest.

More riders followed, one after another, appearing from behind the ridge.

When dozens of cavalrymen in blue helmets and blue armor had appeared and lined up across the ridge, there were no ceaseless trumpet calls, no shouted commands, no savage brandishing of blades in the saddle. The riders simply stood there in silence. No one knew what they intended to do.

The old Mongol man stared fixedly at the cavalry on the ridge. The children stopped their games and turned to look at the unexpected strangers. The Mongol women, busy with their work, also paused. Finally, the Mongol men drinking milk tea inside the yurts sensed the unease in the air and came hurrying out.

"They're Qing cavalry," one Mongol man said after shading his eyes and looking for a moment. "Plain Blue Banner."

"What are Qing cavalry doing here?" another asked in confusion. "Are they going to attack the Ming again?"

"No," another man said, shaking his head. "If they truly meant to attack the Ming, His Majesty would surely have summoned the Mongol tribes to a conference first. But we have not received any order arrow from the Tumed Khan."

Just as the Mongol men were wondering in confusion, faint hoofbeats sounded from the left and right flanks and from behind as well. When the Mongol men hurriedly looked to the sides and rear, they were stunned to see that Qing Plain Blue Banner cavalry had appeared in the other three directions too, galloping straight toward their settlement.

The dozens of Plain Blue Banner riders on the front ridge also came charging down the slope, just barely forming a full encirclement with the Qing cavalry from the other three directions.

Sensing the murderous intent thick in the air, the Mongol men mounted their horses and charged toward the approaching riders. Though they had only a dozen horsemen, less than one-tenth the enemy's number, it was their duty to protect the old, the weak, the women, and the children. The Mongol women, meanwhile, hurried to gather up their children, stuffing them beneath wagons and into haystacks in confusion.

In almost an instant, the peace of the grasslands had vanished entirely.

"Ha!"

Monk Zhang drove his heels hard into his horse's belly. The mount let out a tragic neigh and at last finished gathering itself into a full burst of speed, charging like an arrow toward the nearest yurt. The dozens of Ming horsemen who had once been mounted bandits rode in a single line behind Monk Zhang, like shadows bound to him, following him through life and death.

The biting northern wind howled past his ears, and the ground beneath him seemed to rush backward like a tide. In the blink of an eye, Monk Zhang had already driven his horse into the shallow river. The leaping iron hooves sent spray flying in all directions, glittering with brilliant color in the slanting sunlight before drifting away and dissolving in the fierce cold wind.

"Yohah!"

"Hoo-heh!"

Strange shouts suddenly rang out ahead. Through the pounding hoofbeats, six Mongol herdsmen had already burst forth from the settlement, riding in a line and charging toward Monk Zhang and the dozens under his command. A savage glint of killing intent flashed across Monk Zhang's face as his ancestral iron bow was already in his hand.

Almost at the same moment, the dozens of horsemen behind him also drew their bows and notched arrows, aiming at the Mongol herdsmen racing toward them. These men had all once been mounted bandits; they had lived for years licking blood from the blade's edge, forever walking the line between life and death. In horsemanship and archery, they were no weaker than the Mongols.

Hooves thundered like drums. The distance between the two sides closed rapidly, until they were just within bowshot.

Swish, swish, swish.

The Ming cavalry and the six Mongol herdsmen loosed their arrows almost simultaneously. With piercing shrieks, the sharp wolf-tooth arrows flashed toward their targets like lightning. The six Mongol riders urgently threw themselves sideways in the saddle, trying to evade the arrows aimed at them. Though their riding skills were superb, two of them were struck by three arrows each. They cried out and tumbled from their horses.

On horseback, Monk Zhang's sturdy body twisted and shifted in an uncanny motion, causing the two arrows aimed at him to miss. The four arrows aimed at the riders behind him also passed harmlessly by. The dozens of Ming horsemen emerged unscathed. In the blink of an eye, the remaining four Mongol riders were already upon them, and one of them charged straight at Monk Zhang.

"Ha!"

Monk Zhang bellowed and drew his razor-sharp saber.

As the two horses came together, Monk Zhang suddenly seized the reins with his left hand and leaned almost entirely sideways out of the saddle. His right hand, gripping the saber, swept upward in one smooth motion. A shriek so miserable it seemed to split the sky rang out, and the Mongol rider who had met Monk Zhang was cut cleanly in two at the waist. The upper half of his body crashed heavily into the grass, and bright red blood instantly soaked the yellow turf beneath him.

Shrill screams rang out one after another. The remaining three Mongol herdsmen were also cut down without the slightest suspense by the Ming troops. The Mongols were indeed brave and formidable in battle, but this time they had met not ordinary Ming soldiers. This company's fighting power far exceeded what Mongol cavalry would normally expect from Ming troops.

"Ha!"

After killing the Mongol herdsmen with a single stroke, Monk Zhang did not pause but rode forward at full speed, sweeping onward like a gale. In an instant, the dozen yurts were close at hand, and all that filled his ears were the panicked cries of Mongol women and the terrified wails of children.

Monk Zhang laughed like a beast, a cold murderous light already burning in his eyes. Suddenly, the saber in his hand rose high into the sky, and beneath the blue vault of heaven his voice rang out like thunder:

"Brothers, listen well. Kill them all. Leave not a chicken or dog alive."