Great Tang Idyll - Volume 4 Chapter 210:

Old Man Bi and the others had said the army would depart in three days, but after only two and a half, the troops arrived — choosing, of all routes, the most difficult one through Yizhou. 

Grand General Guo Tu waited by the river and summoned Zhang Zhong to meet him.

Zhang Zhong had still been discussing with Sima Fang how to improve local livelihoods when the summons came. The bearer of the imperial decree was none other than Old Man Yao, who came without any ceremony; no incense table, no formalities. He simply handed the decree to Zhang Zhong and said:

“Yongcheng, this is the court’s order. Take a look. Go meet General Guo, then come back and continue managing local affairs. If you need to draw from the changping cang (ever-normal granary), go to Yizhou Prefecture to collect it. Whatever amount you take, just file a report to the capital.”

The message was plain: Stay here as prefect, don’t meddle in logistics. You want to help the people? Fine — take supplies from Yizhou Prefecture. How much you take is up to you, just keep the capital informed.

Reading the decree, Zhang Zhong grew increasingly uneasy. Hadn’t he been transferred here because Yizhou was hard to govern? How did it turn into a military campaign overnight? Logistics? Grain supply? He hadn’t prepared anything — where was the food to come from?

The look on his face pleased Old Man Yao and the others greatly. It proved that the Zhang family’s two “high advisers” hadn’t told him — not even Xiaobao or Juanjuan did. Their secrecy had been flawless; father and son each bearing their own burden without complaint. Excellent.

What they didn’t know was that Zhang Xiaobao had kept silent only to spare his family worry. Even if he’d told them, it wouldn’t have helped — the responsibility still fell on him and Wang Juan. Why make his father anxious for nothing?

After a moment, Zhang Zhong rolled up the decree, steadied himself, and said calmly, “Zhang Zhong accepts the imperial edict. I will meet General Guo immediately.”

He turned to change clothes — really to find his son and daughter-in-law and demand an explanation. War was no trivial matter; if something went wrong, it would be on his head.

His reaction made the three elders even more certain that the Zhangs’ two “mysterious experts” must be with Zhang Zhong’s son and daughter-in-law. Otherwise, how could he stay so composed?

When Zhang Zhong found Xiaobao and Juanjuan, they had just finished drafting two plans — Wang Juan’s for grain transport, Zhang Xiaobao’s for local administration.

“Xiaobao,” Zhang Zhong said sternly the moment he entered, “did you know about this decree?”

“Yes,” Xiaobao answered evenly. “Grandpa Bi told me not to speak of it — and saying anything wouldn’t have changed a thing. Even if we didn’t want this war, could we stop it? Father, don’t worry. Everything is arranged. Here’s an economic-development plan; look it over. Juanjuan and I won’t be staying home for a while — we have to follow the army. Just follow the plan, and don’t be afraid something will go wrong.”

He had known the instant he saw the decree that it was time to move. Without communications, field logistics had to be managed on site; otherwise, any shift in battlefield conditions could spell disaster. He handed his written plan to his father.

With a slap, Zhang Zhong knocked the document to the floor. Pointing at his son, he burst out, “You—you—you kept such a huge matter from us! Are you trying to drive me to my grave? You think war can be fought just by spending a bit of money? That it’s as easy as governing a county? You—ah …”

Halfway through, he stopped with a sigh. He realized the truth: whether his son told him or not, the result was the same. If the Emperor had sent them here, they couldn’t refuse. Even if the family had known earlier, what could they have done? In the end, it still rested on Xiaobao and Juanjuan.

Picking up the plan, Zhang Zhong frowned. “My son,” he said, “can’t you stay here in Yizhou to oversee things? Must you go personally? Blades and arrows know no eyes.”

Xiaobao shook his head. “Father, how can we command without going? This expedition has only fifteen thousand troops, divided into fifteen reinforced battalions — five from Jiannan Circuit and ten from Shannan West Circuit. That’s far too few. It must be a lightning strike — if we win, all is well; if we lose and even one issue arises in logistics, we’ll bear the blame. This isn’t just about obeying the Emperor — as Tang citizens, we can’t stand idle while the people of Wangjiang lie dead. It’s a matter of dignity and of the people’s faith. If we’re bullied and don’t strike back, we’ll only be bullied again. Besides, Juanjuan and I are only in charge of logistics. We won’t fight on the front lines or cross the border. The farthest we’ll go is a safe post near the frontier. Who would target two children?”

He was genuinely thankful to live in this era. Here, even scholars valued courage; no one accepted humiliation in silence. If you kill one of ours, we’ll wipe out your village. Otherwise, how could the Tang have made the Western Tribes bow?

Zhang Zhong felt his own blood stir. He often practiced sword and bow, and hearing his son’s resolve eased his fear.

“My son,” he said gravely, “if that’s the case, then go — but be careful, always careful. Take Team Zero with you. I’ll keep training the Guardian Squad so they can fill in if needed. Bring enough of the inner-court men, and return after avenging Wangjiang’s people.”

Suppressing his reluctance, he patted his son’s shoulder.

In that moment, Zhang Xiaobao felt a surge of exhilaration — the same feeling he’d once had when setting out alone, without guidance, yet unafraid, filled with confidence and anticipation.

After changing clothes, Zhang Zhong took his son and daughter-in-law to meet Guo Tu by the river. Their entourage was large: fifty-six from the Guardian Squad, thirty from the inner court, two hundred guards borrowed from Li Xun, and assorted attendants. It took more than an hour to reach the general.

As the official head of the mission, Zhang Zhong met Guo Tu first, with Xiaobao and Juanjuan standing beside him.

Guo Tu looked around forty, his beard thick from cheeks to ears — nothing like the refined scholar-generals they had pictured. His speech was blunt, almost harsh, showing no deference to Zhang Zhong. He fired question after question about the supplies.

Zhang Zhong didn’t argue. He answered briefly and let the man go. 

Guo Tu, brimming with arrogance, marched off with his army in haste.

Once the troops had departed, Zhang Xiaobao and Wang Juan stayed behind with their team, watched the army vanish, then signaled to follow at a distance.

“I just don’t get it,” Xiaobao muttered, riding his mule. “Why not use the Jiannan Circuit troops? Even if it’s nearby, the men from Shannan West may not be used to the climate.”

“Too much money to spend, that’s all,” Juanjuan said, chewing on an unripe green apple. “Sparring practice — the border troops here already know the terrain, so they’re testing the others. I think Li Longji’s planning something bigger. And honestly, it’s partly our fault — we made the empire too stable. With all those technologies we spread, he doesn’t have to worry about the people’s livelihood anymore. When any ruler realizes the economy can expand, he’ll start thinking of expansion.”

Xiaobao nodded. “Probably. Whatever he’s plotting, we just do our part. Good thing I prepared in advance — plenty of horses. But is that terrain even suitable for cavalry? From here to Jinchuan City on the Jinshui River must be what — a hundred and fifty kilometers? They’ll have to cross Pengzhou territory. Let’s see how they cover that in ten days. From the maps, there’s a mountain there — the same one that was hardest to climb last time, the snow peak. Think skirting it will work?”

“Once they reach Jinchuan, things improve,” Juanjuan replied. “There’s a big river and a plain — perfect for cavalry raids. If it were me, I’d send light infantry ahead to secure the villages and burn the fields, throwing Tubo into chaos. The cavalry should carry the armor and catch up later. The infantry’s job is to sweep every village — kill or capture everyone. Once the cavalry crosses the mountains and overtakes the foot soldiers, they split: one detachment north, then east across the Weak River to harass possible reinforcements; another south, bypassing villages, straight to Danba City for a feint. Detach part of the infantry to follow the Danba feint, build fires everywhere to make noise, drive the villagers toward Jinchuan City. The rest form north-south lines, widen the front, move slightly north to the Weak River bank, set up camps, cut timber, build boats, face Jinchuan. Advance cavalry circles the city, cuts off western reinforcements, drives the villagers inside, surrounds but doesn’t attack — let Jinchuan burn its grain. When Tubo sends reinforcements from all sides, the northern light cavalry will sweep south like a blade toward Jinchuan. After crossing the Jinchuan River, they’ll retreat, meet up with the others, and cross together. The Danba feint troops retreat west across the river, drawing Danba’s forces into what looks like a pincer with Jinchuan’s garrison. Then the village-driving unit regroups, joins the river forces, boards boats, sails down the Weak River, and storms Danba. If they take it, they withdraw east toward Chengdu. The western diversion either links up — or…”

She trailed off; the meaning was clear — the western force might be sacrificed.

Xiaobao listened in silence, then sighed. “‘Speak not of dukedoms won; one general’s triumph lies upon ten thousand bones.’ I don’t understand warfare, but if it’s as you say, why not give the Danba feint cavalry double or triple mounts? When the foot soldiers regroup, share the horses, then after the Danba battle, leave a few men to hold boats downstream while the mounted ones loop south across the river — maybe a few more would make it back alive.”

“Enough,” Juanjuan said. “I’m not the commander. Battlefields change in an instant; no one can predict everything — especially without knowing the enemy generals. If Danba’s commander is the cautious type who refuses to leave the city, all plans fail. Or if Jinchuan’s commander is a fool who charges across the river to attack our camp before knowing our numbers, the plan also collapses.”

Having spoken her fill, she felt better, swaying lazily in the saddle beside him as the column trudged on. There was no hurrying through this terrain anyway.

By noon the next day, the sky had turned heavy and dark. The locals, familiar with the weather, predicted rain before nightfall — a short storm that would cool the muggy air for a few days.

On horseback, Guo Tu looked up grimly. Rain now would ruin everything. Forget reaching Jinchuan in ten days — they might not even clear Pengzhou. Every day lost meant a day for Tubo to discover them.

“General,” the adjutant said, riding up beside him, “perhaps let the infantry move ahead lightly equipped — occupy villages, burn the fields, throw Tubo into disorder.”

Guo Tu shook his head. “No. If the infantry goes first and the cavalry carries their loads, we’ll be even slower. By the time we reach Jinchuan, Tubo will be fully deployed. And even if they call this a ‘raid,’ I never planned a true surprise attack. Fifteen thousand Tang soldiers — even if we don’t take Jinchuan, Tubo won’t dare move easily afterward. Once we seize their grain, we’ll see how they react. Are Tang blades not sharp enough? My only worry is the supplies. If, within five days of our advance, the provisions don’t arrive, I’ll make Zhang Zhong pay for it. Pass the order — accelerate the march. We must get beyond the rain zone before it falls.”

“By your command,” the adjutant said. He knew his earlier suggestion had been reckless — if discovered early by Tubo, the blame would be his. Better to obey.

“Xiaobao,” Wang Juan said, glancing up at the darkening clouds, “rain already — what bad luck. Let’s hope our arrangements work. But tell me, how did you know it would rain today?”

Seeing the weather turn, she climbed down from her own mule and settled in front of Xiaobao on his, so when the rain came they could share a single large umbrella and keep each other warm.

Holding her close, Zhang Xiaobao caught his breath and replied, “How would I know? All I knew was that Sichuan rains often. With these mountains, warm air rises and hits cold air at high altitudes; add the terrain’s uplift and you get rain easily. Simple physics, not prophecy. Let it rain,” Zhang Xiaobao said calmly. “This will give Guo Tu a chance to see what real logistics looks like. We’ve fronted a huge sum for this campaign already. I doubt Li Longji will ever pay us back. At best, he’ll reward us with some kind of policy instead of silver — which might actually be better. I’m already thinking about what sort of policy to ask for. A good policy is worth far more than money.”

“I agree,” Wang Juan said. “The court doesn’t have that much silver to repay us anyway. What kind of policy though? A tax exemption? No, that’s not good — taxes must be paid. If no one pays, the empire suffers. Better something tied to the tea–horse trade. I remember a man three years older than me in my old neighborhood — he made a fortune off his father’s border-trade permit. People partnered with him, splitting the profits fifty-fifty. Others urged me to ask for a road construction contract back then, a subcontract or something like that, but I never cared to make money. Maybe we should ask for a road-construction policy instead?”

No one knew better than Wang Juan the value of a well-placed policy — with one, money flowed like water.

But Zhang Xiaobao shook his head firmly. “Absolutely not. Even if they gave it to me for free, I wouldn’t take it. We’d end up paying out of our own pocket to build those roads. Who would we earn from? There’s no toll collection yet. The best thing would be a decree granting us border trade rights — both maritime and overland.”

At last, the rain began to fall. Guo Tu’s army hadn’t managed to march out of the rain zone. On roads this rough, even carriages on a smooth highway couldn’t escape it; the downpour was simply too wide.

Meanwhile, Xiaobao’s and Wang Juan’s convoy was well prepared. Those wearing rain capes put them on, others opened umbrellas, even the mules were covered with oilcloths. They pressed forward through the storm — faster, in fact, than the army ahead of them.

Their contingent might have been fewer than three hundred, but its combat ability was far beyond that of the main force. To put it bluntly, if it came to a fight, they could easily crush a thousand or two ordinary soldiers.

“Faster! Hurry! Find shelter from the rain!” General Guo Tu shouted, his beard dripping, his armor soaked through. Wiping water from his face, he barked orders above the roaring rain.

He didn’t have to say it twice — fifteen thousand men slogged forward, desperate for a dry patch of ground. They needed somewhere to pitch tents at least, but in this narrow valley the slopes rose sharply on both sides, with rainwater cascading down.

After half an hour of trudging through the mire, the path grew worse — slick, flooded, treacherous. Just when Guo Tu was about to lose his temper, a scout reported a flat stretch ahead.

Through the curtain of rain, Guo Tu could make out several large awnings already erected there. Smoke rose from fires beneath them, and even through the wet wind, the smell of cooked food drifted over.

He raised his binoculars and handed them to a young adjutant. “Go see what’s going on up there.”

The adjutant nodded and ran ahead — but before he reached the site, someone came out to meet him, standing squarely in the middle of the road. That man also raised a pair of binoculars and peered back toward the approaching army.

“Huh? Binoculars?” Guo Tu frowned. “Who the hell are those people? How do they have binoculars? Who leaked that out?”

He squinted through the rain and locked eyes with the man ahead — both clearly recognized what the other was using. 

Guo Tu’s irritation flared into anger. Binoculars weren’t toys. Every pair in the Tang army was registered and accounted for. If anyone could just get their hands on one, what would stop foreign nations from doing the same? These things could decide battles.

The man standing in the road apparently realized the same thing — that he needed to show his identity. He tucked the binoculars away and pulled a flag from his chest. Holding it high with both hands, he spread it open for the approaching army to see.

The lead ranks halted, watching warily.

Guo Tu squinted at the flag through the rain and scowled. “Does anyone recognize that emblem? It looks… like a seedling of rice?”

One of his staff officers, hearing that, suddenly remembered something and stepped closer. “General, are you sure? A rice sprout — with big eyes and skinny arms?”

“Yes!” Guo Tu grunted.

The officer relaxed and smiled. “Then it’s the Zhang family’s banner — the very same Zhang family in charge of logistics. That’s Prefect Zhang Zhong’s household symbol — the Between Water and Clouds Pavilion family.”

“Oh? So it’s them.” Guo Tu’s expression softened slightly. “But what are they doing all the way up here?”

The adjutant soon reached the spot, exchanged a few words with the men there, and ran back through the rain, beaming.

“General! Good news! It’s the Yizhou logistics unit. They’ve built shelters ahead for us to rest under. They’ve cooked meat porridge, invited us to warm up — they even have medicine ready, in case of illness!”

Guo Tu froze. The aide had to call him twice before he responded, blinking in disbelief. “What? Logistics troops? How did they get ahead of us — and already set up tents? Come, we’ll see this for ourselves.”

He wasn’t the only one astonished. The other officers, even the soldiers, were incredulous. Since when did supply convoys march ahead of the main force — and build rain shelters and porridge kitchens?

When the vanguard entered the makeshift camp, Guo Tu dismounted and found the man in charge.

“General Guo, please this way,” the officer said politely. “We have tea and light refreshments prepared. You’ve worked hard on your march.”

To Guo Tu, the words sounded like mockery. If I’m the one working hard, what are you? Since when had a supply officer become so high-handed?

Yes, they said “the army does not move until the provisions move first,” but that was a proverb — he’d never seen it literally happen.

The logistics unit had reached the destination before the army, erected shelters, built fires, cooked porridge — all without orders. If every supply corps had this kind of ability, who would need frontline troops?

He had to ask. Something didn’t add up. 

Looking around, he realized the camp wasn’t some casual setup — it was built like a fortified position, defensible and efficient.

He began to regret his dismissive attitude toward Zhang Zhong back in Yizhou. He’d assumed the man was just another soft-handed bureaucrat. Now he understood — just look at that layout. The shelters were arranged in a tactical grid, ready for attack or defense. They hadn’t even sent scouts, and yet these people had done everything perfectly on their own.

Was the Zhang family perhaps born of a military line?

“How did you get here ahead of us?” Guo Tu asked at last.

The officer bowed. “Reporting to the General — we came in advance, per our lord’s orders. Early autumn brings frequent rains. To prevent delays in the army’s march, we were instructed to deploy beforehand. If it rained, we were to reveal ourselves; if not, we’d remain hidden. Our duty is to ensure the imperial army’s path remains clear and unhindered. This camp was thrown together in haste, so it may be crude — please forgive our shortcomings.”

He spoke humbly, as though he truly thought his work unworthy — though everything around him proved the opposite.