Great Tang Idyll - Volume 4 Chapter 224

Tata Neitu was stunned—truly stunned. He wanted to find something similar in the few military texts he had read, but that was only a hope. In reality… nothing.

To apply stratagems to such a degree—this was practically divine. No, it was safer to stay cautious. Otherwise, if his five thousand men charged forward, even if the Tang truly had only ten thousand and were starving, something could still easily go wrong.

Yes—steady. They no longer had to worry about the Tang escaping. They could simply follow slowly. What else could the Tang do?

Thinking this, Tata Neitu ordered the troops behind him to increase their pace, while he released a large number of scouts. This was his personally conceived Rock Tactic—when holding a numerical advantage, never fall for traps or advance rashly.

As soon as the order was issued, reports came from the scouts: ahead, a large number of suits of armor had been discovered. They were neatly arranged, tied together with branches. Footprints indicated around ten to fifteen thousand men. Many animal bones—eaten clean—and small holes where wild vegetables had been dug also surrounded the site.

“Armor? Tied together? Laid out neatly? What does this mean? A gift for me? Animal bones… holes where wild vegetables were dug… about to starve? The numbers haven’t changed—still the same as at the start?”

Tata Neitu suddenly doubted the Rock Tactic he had just decided on. He didn’t know whether the enemy intended to intimidate him and then travel light, or whether they were making a false display to buy more time.

The problem again came down to whether to pursue or not. The feeling was extremely unpleasant. For safety, Tata Neitu suppressed his urge to chase quickly. He would wait for the troops behind him to arrive. Only when he had more men than the Tang unit that left the tracks could he proceed.

The pace slowed. Tata Neitu, frustrated and uneasy, repeatedly tried to comfort himself that this was the right decision.

Half a day later—by the next morning—his forces had gathered to sixteen thousand men. The remaining four thousand escorted the grain. With sixteen thousand at hand, Tata Neitu finally felt confident. He ordered the troops to advance quickly, ignoring the Tang’s confusing arrangements. They would respond once they encountered the enemy.

Along the way, he captured just over a hundred men who originally escorted Tang’s grain—excellent slaves who could be traded for many goods. But there was no sign of the Tang’s main force.

Just as Tata Neitu gave the order to pursue, heavy smoke rose in the distance ahead. The wind carried the thick smoke toward them, and it frightened the soldiers. It was far too dense—who knew what had happened ahead?

As soon as the smoke appeared, the Tibetans suffered terribly. Their eyes stung, and their breathing became difficult. Coughing broke out everywhere. Many soldiers desperately rubbed their eyes, and some even wished they could bury their heads into the ground to hide from the choking fumes.

The morning forest was already damp, and some areas still held lingering fog. Mixed with the smoke, the air became unbearable.

“Forward! Speed up! Break through it!”  Tata Neitu ordered, eyes reddened. 

He wanted to retreat, but feared that the Tang would use the smoke to launch a pursuit attack. The pursuers would be prepared—at the very least with wet cloths covering their faces. When his men could barely keep their eyes open, even sixteen thousand could not defeat ten thousand Tang soldiers.

The only option was to rush through. Judging from the density of the smoke, it shouldn’t be too far. They had to push through. Retreating was impossible.

Sixteen thousand men charged forward. The farther they went, the more miserable it became. Some clever ones wet their clothes with urine and used them as masks. Others imitated the method. Finally, even Tata Neitu used the water in his skin bag to cover his face.

The others dared not imitate him—if they ran out of water, they would have to melt snow on the mountain, slowing the march.

After a painful charge, Tata Neitu finally pushed through with his men, circling slightly downhill to reach the other side of the smoke. Fire still burned, and the smoke continued to rise. Everyone’s eyes were swollen like peaches, tears flowing uncontrollably.

Scouts reported again: they had found enemy traces. Judging from the heat of the field kitchens, the enemy had departed less than an hour ago, seemingly in haste.

“Chase! Chase them! Check the surroundings carefully—beware of ambush!”  Tata Neitu ordered.

“General… the footprints ahead suggest only two thousand men. The other ten thousand are unaccounted for.” A scout reported nervously.

“Chase! Even if it’s only a thousand—chase! Chasing will lead to more! Damn this smoke—it’s killing me!” Tata Neitu growled. He now understood the Tang’s ploy—they wanted to frighten him and widen the distance.

Two thousand men were easy to explain: his side had wasted much time, so the Tang’s main force had likely advanced far. The ones ahead were the vanguard while those behind cleaned the smoke site. The earlier scene was probably the same. No one knew how far the main Tang force had already gone.

If they didn’t pursue now and a rainstorm washed everything away, all tracks would vanish. They would be fooled. There was no room for “real and false,” “false and real”—none of those principles applied here.

Sixteen thousand Tibetans rushed forward. The two thousand in front indeed suffered greatly, but they had binoculars, allowing them to spot the Tibetan forces early and adjust their pace accordingly.

While sixteen thousand Tibetans hunted two thousand, high on the snowy mountains, another force moved rapidly in the opposite direction. Two hundred fifty-two latecomers advanced at full speed. Each carried a wineskin of strong liquor—a standard issue whenever Zhang Xiaobao had to cross snow mountains.

Each took a small sip, held it in their mouths until their lips numbed, then swallowed. About half wore hastily made cold-weather clothes—still reeking with blood, uncomfortable, stiff, and rustling loudly.

Zhang Xiaobao and Wang Juan carried no blankets in their packs—blankets took too much space. Those were only for tricking Li Xun earlier; they were useless for real operations.

“Xiaobao, you finally gave me a chance. Their commander is truly foolish—not seeing through such a simple setup.” Wang Juan walked beside him, taking a sip of liquor.

Zhang Xiaobao wasn’t sure whether to nod or shake his head. Was the enemy foolish? He himself was supposedly not foolish—and yet he had never guessed Wang Juan would plan like this. Was this the spirit of the Red Army? Wandering boldly behind enemy lines, dancing on the edge of a blade—the only feeling was thrill.

Wang Juan understood what he was thinking. “I had no choice. If I had been in command from the start, I would never have done this—too risky. But a cornered dog will leap over walls. When people are pushed, they’ll do anything. And who said that once we enter the mountains we must be passive? This time, I want to attack proactively, force the Tibetans to move, and—most importantly—our morale is terribly low. We need a symbolic victory.”

Even without further explanation, Zhang Xiaobao understood where they would get that victory: strike the Tibetan supply units, or strike the troops coming from behind to join the front. In short, attack any group smaller than theirs. With superior weapons, they could catch the enemy off-guard.

“Change clothes.” After running for a while, Wang Juan ordered the signal officer. 

Those wearing the cold-weather gear needed to remove it and switch with others to avoid non-combat casualties.

Guo Tu and the other officers were also being driven along. Li Xun’s guards watched them closely—any suspicious move meant immediate execution.

By now, no one needed to watch them. They fully understood what the logistics unit intended. They saw with their binoculars how the Tibetan army passed below. It had terrified them—but miraculously the Tibetans did not discover them.

Some Tibetan scouts had passed within only dozens of steps. Everyone here had pressed themselves flat against the ground, not daring to move.

This was the power of the binoculars. When Guo Tu held one in his hands, he had no words left. With such an item, how could it not be used? Look at the logistics unit—they used every resource to its fullest.

After another hour of marching, the troops rested. 

Guo Tu and the others, who were used to physical training, still felt fine.

The adjutant took a pair of binoculars and looked downhill. He said to the officers, “This is the true use of a thousand-mile eye: we can see the enemy, but the enemy can’t see us. We can react first. Such a treasure—if the three battalions escorting the grain destroyed their binoculars when surrounded, they’d avoid becoming sinners through the ages.”

Everyone nodded—even Guo Tu did not argue. The binoculars were too important.

A battalion commander added, “I’ve heard these binoculars were made by Prefect Zhang’s household—the same Zhang family responsible for gathering grain. Naturally, they know best when to use them. But what I’m thinking about isn’t the binoculars—it’s the commander of the logistics unit. Amazing. Truly amazing. From the moment they seized command, every step has been part of a plan. I put myself in the Tibetans’ position to think it through—if I were pursuing and saw what they saw… then…”

“Then I’d be confused,” another commander finished.

Hearing this, Guo Tu also fell silent. Putting himself in the position of the Tibetan pursuers, he realized that even he could not determine the Tang army’s intentions. If it were him pursuing, he would have no idea whether to continue forward.

He couldn’t understand how the logistics unit possessed such a commander. He voiced his thoughts: “If the logistics unit has someone like this, why did the court even send us? Just let the logistics unit handle grain and command. It’d be far better than us traveling all this way. They might have taken Tibetan territory long ago.”