Great Tang Idyll - Volume 4 Chapter 223

Li Longji’s original plan was to first send troops to launch a surprise raid, then burn a portion of the grain in Tubo that was about to be harvested. Tubo requested peace every year yet raided every year as well; when they requested peace, they acted as if they were the victorious side and demanded things from Tang. Naturally, this could not be allowed.

While Zhang family’s grafting and seed-raising methods were spreading across Tang territory, and while the methods for hatching chicks and the use of thermometers also existed, next year’s harvest would increase greatly. When Tubo inevitably retaliated in the autumn, many areas of Tang would already have harvested their grain, so they would not fear lacking food for war.

By fighting a major battle, the Tang Empire’s people would work harder to support the frontier. That support meant learning grafting and seed-raising as much as possible—using war to stimulate what was called “domestic demand” and promote “productive capacity.”

Li Longji learned these ideas from Bi Gou’s letters and believed they could succeed. It would also train the army. After two more years, when Tang possessed even more grain, poultry, and livestock, they could wage external campaigns and expand the borders.

But he never expected that Guo Tu—who usually appeared capable and clever—would commit such an idiotic mistake. 

Yes, idiotic. If he made a mistake, he should have died there, instead of dragging Xiaobao and Juanjuan into danger.

Xiaobao and Juanjuan were the direct disciples of the Zhang family’s hidden expert—an expert who never showed himself. It was said that the two little ones could pass the jinshi examination through the imperial examinations even now. How capable must they be?

If the expert refused to come forward, then it was enough for the two children to inherit his skills. They could not remain hidden forever. Whether used for the Zhang family in the future or passed down to their descendants, they would be invaluable.

Now the two children had gone beyond the pass, taking more than three hundred able fighters with them. Could they come back alive? If the worst happened, where could he find two more like them? No one even knew how many years the Zhang family’s expert still had to live.

More importantly, the four younger children of the Zhang family were indeed stronger than ordinary kids, but nowhere near Xiaobao and Juanjuan.

The more Li Longji thought, the more frightened he became. The more he thought, the angrier he became. 

He had originally intended to meet Xiaobao and Juanjuan on their return to the capital after finishing their work in Yizhou. Now everything was uncertain. If possible, he truly wished he could bite Guo Tu to death—he caused the disaster, but the two children had to bear it.

Of course, what Li Longji refused to think about at this moment was that he had personally sent an early imperial edict—meant to give Zhang Zhong the merit of providing support—which set this chain of events into motion.

He only prayed that Xiaobao and Juanjuan—two talents of the future—would return safely. Once they did, he would immediately send an edict telling Zhang Zhong to keep those two children safe. They must not run all over the place. If something happened, how would Zhang Zhong answer for it? Xiaobao and Juanjuan did not belong solely to the Zhang family—they were needed to accomplish things like that hidden expert.

“Lishi, summon Song Jing, Zhang Shuo, and Zhang Jiuling—all those who can discuss state affairs. Let us see if anyone has a solution.” Li Longji no longer had any mood to watch dances. He ordered Gao Lishi to gather his senior ministers.

Gao Lishi hurried away. He worried for Xiaobao and Juanjuan, and he also intended to find a chance to acknowledge one of them as a godson or goddaughter—or perhaps god-son-in-law or god-daughter-in-law. In short, he wanted to create a family tie. He also wanted to enjoy more of the meals they cooked and take them to stroll through the imperial gardens.

Guo Tu had no idea that he was now hated—hated by someone extremely powerful. 

He continued discussing with the other detained officers what the logistics unit intended to do.

“Too much. This is simply too much. They captured us and won’t even explain their purpose. Think about it—if we somehow escape, how will we answer others? And this food—do they expect anyone to eat this?” Guo Tu grumbled while eating vegetable soup that contained not a shred of meat. 

If he had not committed such a terrible mistake that placed the army in danger, he might still be praising the logistics unit. But his mental fortitude was clearly insufficient. Faced with setbacks, his spirit grew unstable, and he tried to shift responsibility onto others. His human weakness was fully exposed—especially when detained and denied knowledge of the logistics unit’s objective.

He desperately wanted to participate in decisions—to at least say a word and offer a suggestion—but they gave him no chance. Under the fear of the unknown, he finally erupted.

The other officers said nothing. They did not complain about the poor food. Under these circumstances, having something to eat was already fortunate. In most power seizures, detention was not so gentle—people were often killed. And even if all of them were killed, with the help of former Chancellors and former Ministers of Revenue, who could punish two children afterward?

Seeing no one echoed him, Guo Tu stuffed the vegetables into his mouth, glaring around at the officers.

The adjutant finally sighed and said, “General, I think we truly have a chance to escape. Since we cannot understand the intentions of the leaders we are following, would the Tibetans be able to see through them? Eat. It looks like they are preparing something big.”

As if to support his statement, a new order from Wang Juan arrived early the next morning:

Ten battalions were to go further up the mountain. All the grain that had been gathered would be given to these ten battalions. The remaining two battalions and the several hundred rescued men were to continue forward. After marching for three days they were to descend the mountain, where people would be waiting for them.

Along the way they were to reduce the number of field kitchens—burning one every three hours, from seventy thousand down to sixty thousand, then down to fifty thousand. Two days later, restore the number to two thousand. Once they descended, they would follow the instructions of those waiting for them.

Another key point: while the ten battalions climbed higher, the people below were to burn flammable materials to generate thick smoke, blocking the Tibetan pursuers and wiping away traces.

After issuing the orders, Wang Juan and Zhang Xiaobao departed with the ten battalions. Guo Tu and the others were still taken along—otherwise, if left to two battalions, they might try to seize command again.

“You’re trying to die! Do you know how cold it is up there? All the food combined only lasts two days. You’re harming ten thousand men! I want to see the commander—I demand to see them!”
As Guo Tu watched them climb, he shouted. Based on everything he had learned, he concluded the army’s future would be disastrous.

A guard glared at him, kicked him, and said, “Behave. What are you shouting for? Keep yelling and I’ll cut you down. Do you think anyone would risk offending the Prince of Tong’an for the sake of a failed general like you?”

“Prince of Tong’an? Prince Li? What has that to do with you?” Guo Tu asked, startled—careful not to say Li Xun’s name directly.

“I am His Highness’s personal guard. His Highness stayed as a guest in Yizhou and calls Young Master Xiaobao his younger brother. Do you think there is no connection?” Li Xun’s guard answered coldly.

Guo Tu fell silent. All the officers fell silent as well. 

Only now did they realize the enormous backing behind the two children. If they were killed, and the pair returned with any excuse, no one would complain on their behalf.

After a long time, Guo Tu quietly said to the guard, “What Xiaobao and the girl are doing is wrong. Aren’t you afraid…”

“Wrong? Can they possibly make worse mistakes than you? Shut up.” The guard showed no politeness. 

He knew very well the abilities of Xiaobao and Juanjuan. He had witnessed them back in Luzhou, then in Shuzhou, then in Pengzhou. They had been learning from the two children the entire way.

Many of the tactical ideas were things they had never imagined before. Their explanations of terrain, human nature, and various battlefield situations were precise. And they had not even finished teaching—clearly more knowledge was still waiting.

Would such people make unwise decisions?

After Zhang Xiaobao and Wang Juan led ten battalions—more than ten thousand men—up the mountain, the two battalions left below began lighting fires. Thick smoke drifted backward with the wind. Only because today’s wind direction was favorable had Wang Juan implemented this plan; otherwise they would have continued waiting.

After setting the smoke, the two battalions cleaned up all traces as much as possible, then marched rapidly forward. Three days later they would descend to see whether reinforcements existed.

The Tibetans had nearly caught up, but they had to slow down. Their commander feared being ambushed. The field kitchens increased daily—confusing and hard to interpret. Could reinforcements have arrived? If so, they should fight.

Increasing kitchens without fighting—was this meant to lure them into ambush? That wasn’t too frightening—just advance carefully. They were on Tibetan territory; mobilizing troops was easy.

But why did footprints vary so strangely? Sometimes the tracks suggested more than ten thousand men, sometimes eight thousand, sometimes six thousand. When the numbers seemed small, where did the men go? Did reinforcements join and then hide? Or were they building something? Increasing kitchens while changing numbers—there must be trickery. “War is deception,” but should they pursue or not? Should they wait for reinforcements?

Tata Neitu, the wanhu commander of this force, had arrived with twenty thousand men. In the past he could have brought more—Tuboghun troops helped back then. Now that option was gone; only his own tribe could fight.

He considered himself talented and educated. He had read several military texts. Normally, he guarded the Jinchuan front and believed he understood military affairs, especially stratagems—he had memorized them.

Seeing the situation ahead, he immediately thought of the phrase “war is deception.” When real, show false; when false, show real. But now he could not tell if the enemy intended false or real. If they meant to lure with diminishing kitchens, they should not have created so many. If they meant to intimidate with more kitchens, they should not have left such clear tracks.

From the footprints, the total force still seemed around ten thousand—sometimes even fewer. Why add kitchens when numbers fell? Did they think he couldn’t tell? Or were they doing it deliberately?

Troublesome. His scouts in Pengzhou said the Tang general this time was someone called Guo Tu—a name he had never heard. Could this be another cunning Tang commander?

At this moment, only five thousand of his own men were close behind. Should he push faster? Or advance cautiously? Should he send scouts far out to test everything, or ignore everything and charge?

What exactly did Guo Tu intend?