Chapter 83: The Battle Begins, A Contest of Wits

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At the break of dawn, as the first light crept over the horizon, the rebel army stirred. With the thunderous beat of war drums, squads of rebels advanced in formation across the plain, halting at a predetermined point.

Their commander, Zhen Zhai’er, rode her warhorse to the front of the ranks. Behind her, also mounted, were seven lieutenant generals. In addition, there were subordinates of various ranks: the Cavalry Marshal, the Chariot Marshal, the Gallant Cavalry General, and other lower-ranking officers—twelve in all—together with twenty-seven captains, as well as strategists, military advisers, and priests. The army boasted a complement of officers and officials befitting its size and ambition.

"Send someone to persuade the city’s defenders to surrender," Zhen Zhai’er commanded from horseback.

"Yes, General!" At her order, a trusted soldier led a small group, mounting their horses and riding toward the eastern city.

But before long, under the watchful gaze of both armies, those sent to negotiate were driven back by arrows fired from the city walls before they could draw near. One was even struck down, falling from his horse.

Seeing this, every officer in the rebel army frowned. It was clear to all: the defender of the eastern city had no intention of parley.

"General, there’s no need for negotiation. We have a force of one hundred thousand. The eastern city will fall to us within days!" said Tang Zhenhao, a burly figure, looking to Zhen Zhai’er from horseback.

The other officers nodded in agreement. In their minds, even though the city was prepared, the sight of towering siege towers, scaling ladders, and stone-throwers all around suggested that the eastern city could not possibly withstand their assault.

"It won’t be so easy," Zhen Zhai’er replied. "The commander within these walls is no ordinary man."

Her eyes lingered on the city’s battlements, where tall platforms had been erected and soldiers moved with calm purpose, betraying not the slightest panic. Even as the enemy, Zhen Zhai’er could not help but admire the defender’s composure.

"Unusual?" Tang Zhenhao, Xiang Yifeng, Yang Boyue, Tu Ye, and Qin Guangzhi exchanged glances. None contradicted her, but they clearly did not share her concern. What could be so extraordinary? Against one hundred thousand troops, how long could this small city of Jinyang hold?

"Bring them forward," Zhen Zhai’er ordered a nearby captain.

"Yes!" The officer turned his horse and rode to the rear.

Moments later, amidst the mass of the rebel army—soldiers armed with spears, bows, and swords—a group of elderly, weak, sick, and crippled villagers, along with some disheveled men and women, were herded to the front by rebel soldiers.

These people, their hair in disarray and faces marked by terror, were clearly villagers from the surrounding countryside, recently captured by the rebels.

"Move! Hurry up!" shouted the rebel soldiers, prodding the slow-moving elders with spear butts or even kicking them outright.

The old villagers dared not curse their captors, only quickening their pace. Many had once been respected elders in their villages, boasting connections with officials in Jinyang and looking down even on the city’s soldiers and magistrates. Even when banditry plagued Taiyuan, these village elders had never been afraid. After all, among the bandits, there were always fellow villagers they knew. If trouble came, they could always negotiate, hand over some grain, offer up a few men and women, and be left alone. Those villagers who bore grudges had already been taken away, leaving behind only those grateful to be under the elders’ protection, not that of the Sui officials.

This was why, when Jinyang’s soldiers came by night to relocate the villagers into the city, these elders opposed it, even urging others to stay put. To them, the countryside was their domain, not the city. Who would abandon their spacious homes and wealth to huddle behind city walls?

Never in their darkest dreams had they imagined that this rebel force was nothing like the local bandits they’d known. These invaders plundered without mercy, burning, slaughtering, and stealing everything, killing the men, seizing all food and valuables, and subjecting the women to unspeakable acts.

"If you want to live, go to the city walls and tell the people you know inside not to resist the Sui troops. Open the gates, and their lives will be spared!" shouted an armored captain on horseback.

Immediately, shield-bearing rebel soldiers formed a protective cordon around the villagers and began marching them toward the eastern city.

At the front of the rebel host, Zhen Zhai’er watched with keen interest, eyes fixed on the distant city. She wanted to see whether the city’s defender would dare to shoot these people down in front of all.

If not, the villagers would shout and plead outside the walls, testing the resolve of those within. Should the city attempt a rescue, she was ready: her cavalry stood prepared to charge at a signal.

"Keep sending in the earth-fill carts—fill every pit on the plain!" she ordered.

A trusted subordinate relayed the command through the vast phalanx. Soon, wagons caked with wet mud, each pushed by armored soldiers, rolled slowly toward the eastern city to fill ditches and level the ground, accompanied by shield and archer teams.

On the city walls of eastern Jinyang, Fu Zihou observed the scene and gave instructions.

"Have the elders from the local families go out and reassure the villagers. Announce to the citizens that all the villages outside have been ransacked by the rebels—even the respected elders have been dragged to the battlefield!"

Fu Zihou understood well: besieging the city was secondary; breaking their spirit was paramount. The enemy commander clearly grasped this, using the village leaders and women to sow discord.

Mindful of the fragile morale within the city, Fu Zihou dared not be careless. Any opening could spell disaster for the people behind these walls. The enemy commander cared nothing for the villagers’ lives, and Fu Zihou, too, knew that survival now depended on greater ruthlessness and endurance.

He turned to Hu Jingyuan. "Gather as much dry grass and rotten wood as possible. I will lead a sortie to rescue those villagers. Once I’m out, ignite the grass inside the city and push it across the moat, forming a line of heavy smoke. Have five hundred archers hide behind it and await my signal."

Hu Jingyuan and Yin Tianzong, both anxious, volunteered to lead the rescue instead, unwilling to risk their commander’s life.

Yet Fu Zihou insisted. "No more words. I am the captain of the eastern city. At times like this, the people and soldiers must see my resolve."

The smoke screens would not only shield the archers but also cloak the villagers in a protective haze—only he knew the plan’s full details.

As he pondered the situation, a heavy realization settled upon him. Until today, he had thought that "mercy has no place in command" referred only to the need for discipline within the ranks. But as those villagers approached, he understood how naive he’d been.

Within the gates, Fu Zihou descended to the courtyard, where two hundred riders had been assembled. He approached a sturdy steed—one of the fine horses contributed by the prominent families of the eastern city, despite their otherwise modest means. Taiyuan had long been a land of horse breeding, and the local gentry, eager to preserve their dignity, had spared no expense in maintaining their mounts.

"Captain!" called Cao Yong and Xia Jia, stepping forward to salute.

Fu Zihou nodded. Thanks to prior preparations, all available supplies—straw, wood—had been inventoried. Now, lines of women and girls brought bundle after bundle to form great stacks for the smoke screen.

Mounting his horse, Fu Zihou looked back at his two hundred riders.

"Open the gates! Prepare for battle!"

As the gates creaked open, a dozen soldiers dashed out to lower the drawbridge.

"Charge!" Fu Zihou brandished his spear, leading the way as the gates yawned wide. His riders, swords and lances gleaming, thundered after him, galloping out onto the plain.

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On the plains before the eastern city, the rebel host stretched endlessly. At the sight of the city gates opening, Zhen Zhai’er’s eyes widened in surprise. She and every officer—Tang Zhenhao, Xiang Yifeng, Yang Boyue, Tu Ye, Qin Guangzhi, and the strategists Cai Ran and Dou Lichuan—had not expected the defenders to sortie.

"I request permission to personally capture the Sui commander!" Tu Ye cried, saluting Zhen Zhai’er.

Tu Ye, a formidable warrior, had once served as a Sui ranker, rising through the ranks before defecting to Wei Daor, who had rewarded him with a generalship.

The moat was still unfilled; attacking now would be suicide. But to meet the enemy’s sortie, Tu Ye relished the chance to prove himself.

"I need no more than eight hundred men to crush the Sui and storm the city!" boasted Tang Zhenhao.

Tu Ye shot him a glance.

"I request seven hundred men to break into the city myself!" Xiang Yifeng added, not to be outdone.

"General, five hundred men will suffice!" Tu Ye insisted, coldly.

The others, Yang Boyue and Qin Guangzhi, also clamored for the honor, eager to win glory and future rewards.

Zhen Zhai’er, weighing the rivalries among her generals, finally decided: "The Sui have come out. Tu Ye, take one thousand cavalry and engage them!"

She did not underestimate the city’s commander—a man who had already slain a close aide of Zhang Jinchen at Qinghe and had proven his mettle by standing firm despite mockery from within.

Tu Ye grinned as he accepted the order, casting a triumphant look at Tang Zhenhao and Xiang Yifeng, who frowned but held their tongues. They would see whether Tu Ye could not only crush the Sui sortie but also storm the city itself—a far greater challenge.

Author’s Note: Only one chapter today, four thousand words. Taking a short break due to illness. Researching the Tang has proven daunting—just the background details on the various prominent families and their members runs to over a hundred thousand words. At times, the names and histories blur together. Apologies for any confusion, and thank you for your understanding.