The thunderous hooves of the Northern Mang’s central army had already reached the lands south of Hutou City, charging straight toward the line of Huaiyang Pass and the twin towns of Fuling and Liuya. The scouting forces of Murong Baoding’s division had even ventured as far as the heavily fortified Zhongzhong military town. With the Liangzhou White Horse Rangers redeployed to Liuzhou, these Northern Mang scouts—far inferior to the elite Raven Riders—roamed freely across the land.
Commanding the Northern Mang’s central army were two great generals: Dong Zhuo and Murong Baoding, the Juzhou Jiedushi who had not participated in the first Liang-Mang war. For reasons unknown, Murong Baoding’s forces, originally tasked with attacking Huaiyang Pass, were abruptly reassigned to besiege Fuling and Liuya. Dong Zhuo personally led his troops toward Huaiyang Pass, the seat of the Northern Liang Protectorate. Though this move seemed impulsive, neither the Northern Mang court nor the Western Capital raised any objections. The reasons were simple: first, Dong Zhuo’s brother-in-law had just died abruptly on the Longyan’er Plains, and no one wanted to provoke the notoriously vengeful “Fat Dong” at such a time. Second, Huaiyang Pass was the only fortress outside Northern Liang renowned for its natural defenses—a true strategic stronghold, easy to hold but nearly impossible to breach.
Though Murong Baoding commanded a loyal force of 20,000 infantry, this imperial relative clearly lacked the confidence to take Huaiyang Pass, garrisoned by no fewer than 30,000 Northern Liang border troops. Deploying his elite cavalry—the finest in Northern Mang—to storm the walls would be nothing short of sacrilege, and Murong Baoding would surely balk at the cost. His 30,000-strong Winter Thunder Cavalry, with their superior armor, steeds, and combat prowess, had long been the pride of the Southern Dynasty’s frontier.
When the Northern Mang emperor personally presided over the Western Capital council and decided to assign Huaiyang Pass to Murong Baoding, the Juzhou Jiedushi—who shared his surname with the empress dowager—nearly erupted in anger on the spot. Later, when Hong Jingyan and Dong Zhuo’s brother-in-law, Yelü Chucai, both died in the scout skirmish north of Hutou City, the Rouran Iron Cavalry was left leaderless. Murong Baoding absorbed a full 30,000 Rouran horsemen, which somewhat mollified him. This was likely the emperor’s way of compensation, for otherwise, Murong Baoding would have had to compete with the notoriously greedy Dong Zhuo and the deeply entrenched Wang Yong, Jiedushi of Baopingzhou, not to mention the many The Great Steppe Feast (great tribal leaders) eyeing the Rouran cavalry like a fat prize fallen from the sky. Even if Murong Baoding had managed to secure a share, it would have been at most 4,000 to 5,000 riders. Thus, when Murong Baoding walked away with this windfall, the fact that “Fat Dong” voluntarily took on Huaiyang Pass made the entire Grassland (steppe) envy the Juzhou Jiedushi’s dumb luck—as if he’d bedded the finest courtesan in the land, only to have someone else foot the bill afterward.
Dong Zhuo, the youngest great general of Northern Mang, and Chu Lushan, the Northern Liang Protector, were collectively known as “Northern Dong, Southern Chu.” Their feud was legendary not only in Liang-Mang but even in the Central Plains’ official circles.
Had this military prodigy Dong Zhuo not risen to prominence, the Xu family’s cavalry might have long since breached the Northern Steppe Court, reducing the already beleaguered usurper empress to a captive of the Liyang Zhao clan. Dong Zhuo suffered his sole defeat at the hands of Chu Lushan. It was in that ambush that Chu Lushan’s 8,000-strong Yeluohe Iron Cavalry displayed their finest hour. Both armies had marched four hundred li in forced marches. Though Dong Zhuo’s troops initially broke free from Liyang’s encirclement, Chu Lushan’s unsanctioned pursuit led to a brutal confrontation. The battle ended without a clear victor, yet Dong Zhuo sustained grave injuries—unhorsed by a spear thrust from Chu Lushan himself.
Whispers spread across the Central Plains that Chu Lushan had mocked the young Northern Mang general during his frantic rescue: “In this world, there exist but two types of cavalry—not the Steppe Riders nor the Central Plains Horsemen, but our Xu family’s Iron Cavalry… and all others!”
Longyan’er Plains, where Yelü Chucai, acting commander of the Raven Riders, had met his end.
A Northern Mang officer of exceptional build—massive yet without a hint of flab—knelt down, his teeth lightly clicking out of habit, and squinted southward.
Beside him stood a little girl sobbing uncontrollably, her snow-white steed circling her anxiously, occasionally nuzzling her with its head.
Two young women in mourning white stood nearby. One, breathtakingly beautiful and cold in demeanor, wore a sword at her waist. The other, regal in bearing, held an urn of ashes, scattering them handful by handful into the wind.
They were the fifth daughter of Northern Mang’s Tibingshan, Di Wu Hu, and Yelü Chucai’s sister, a princess of Northern Mang.
Di Wu Hu’s father had died at the hands of the new Liang king, and Yelü Chucai had fallen on this very battlefield outside Liangzhou, where the young prince had once stood. Both deaths were directly tied to that young prince surnamed Xu.
The little girl, Tao Manwu, though still young, was already showing signs of blossoming beauty. Her father, Tao Qianzhi, had retired from the Gusai border army to become City Shepherd (city prefect) of Liucheng in Longyaozhou, only to die suddenly on a Qingming Festival years ago, when yellow paper offerings fluttered in the wind.
Tao Qianzhi and Dong Zhuo had been sworn brothers in the border army, especially close as they’d enlisted together. Thus, after Tao Qianzhi’s death, Tao Manwu became the apple of Dong Zhuo’s eye—a man otherwise known for his Cold and Iron-Fisted (ruthless iron fist) in the Southern Dynasty. The fat man had even bluntly told his two wives that even if he had sons and daughters of his own, none would ever be as dear to him as little Manwu.
Tao Manwu had always adored the uncle who loved to pick her up and tickle her cheeks with his beard, the young elder who joked about marrying her when she grew up. Though she’d often rolled her eyes at him, in her heart, she’d cherished him deeply—as one does with the closest of kin, where no pretense is needed.
Now, watching the woman surnamed Yelü scatter ashes, Tao Manwu wept until her eyes swelled, stifling her sobs with both hands, afraid her endless crying would only add to her grieving uncle and aunt’s sorrow.
Noticing the girl’s quieter weeping, the armored, white-cloaked fat man turned and gently pried her hands away. “It’s alright,” he rasped. “Cry if you want. In this world, women may not have much say in many things, but weeping is always allowed.”
This general, whose fame in Northern Mang rivaled even the war god Tuoba Pusa, knelt at eye level with the child. It was hard to imagine this towering figure, who’d risen to Southern Court King in just twenty years of service, capable of such tenderness.
The Northern Mang princess emptied the urn, then hurled it away, letting the plain pottery—crafted by Central Plains refugees—shatter on the ground.
Di Wu Hu’s eyelids trembled imperceptibly.
The princess turned to her husband and said coolly, “As Yelü Chucai’s brother-in-law and the foremost general of our Great Mang’s southern campaign, you must avenge him.”
Di Wu Hu frowned but stayed silent.
Dong Zhuo ruffled Tao Manwu’s hair and declared, “Of course! When I married you, I promised that as long as your brother didn’t become the Southern Dynasty’s fourth great general, he wouldn’t die in battle. I broke that vow. Even between husband and wife, debts must be settled. This reckoning begins at Huaiyang Pass! I’ll tally every score with that Xu (Xu bastard).”
She gazed north toward their distant homeland and murmured, “But as my husband, Dong Zhuo, you must not die.”
Dong Zhuo grinned, bracing his hands on his knees to stand. “The Northern Liang iron riders may be called the world’s finest, but killing me won’t be easy.”
She smiled bitterly. “You’ve broken one promise. Don’t let there be a second. If you do… who would I even have left to blame?”
Her family’s dominion over the Steppe Royal Court was immense. The elite cavalry Dong Zhuo had deployed to sabotage Liyang’s northern campaign had been part of her bridal dowry. His rapid ascent within the Southern Dynasty’s imperial court was largely fueled by her family’s patronage. The Dong household’s private army—comprising nearly 150,000 infantry and cavalry—stood unrivaled across the Southern Dynasty. How could Dong Zhuo possibly sustain such a formidable force? From the outset, her dowry had bankrolled them.
In stark contrast, her brother Yelü Chucai—the rightful eldest grandson and the family’s future cornerstone—had forsaken his mandatory service in the imperial guard (a rite of passage for all Yelü and Murong youths) to enlist under his brother-in-law, beginning as a lowly squad leader. After two decades of service, he perished having never risen beyond a middling officer’s rank. In any other border army of the Southern Dynasty, who would have dared to so brazenly suppress a scion of the Yelü lineage?
Hesitating, she whispered wretchedly to herself, “After the Hulu Pass battle, when you ordered him to reinforce Yang Yuanzan, I feared for his safety. Behind your back, I convinced our equally worried father to secure him a position leading one of the two royal iron cavalry units. But in the end, though Father’s arrangements were nearly complete, that stubborn fool refused, threatening to desert the army and wander the Central Plains The Jianghu (rivers and lakes) alone if forced to leave your side.”
Dong Zhuo clenched his fists. “I’m only learning of this now.”
He gazed into the distance. “Had I known earlier, had Yelü Chucai agreed, I wouldn’t have stopped him. But if he chose to stay, I wouldn’t have persuaded him otherwise.”
He continued, “The men of my Dong army are the Grassland (steppe’s) most coveted warriors. None need worry about advancement—any who wish to transfer are guaranteed promotion. Yet in all these years, after countless battles, outsiders clamor to join my ranks, proud to wear the Dong insignia. None have ever chosen to leave…”
He chuckled darkly. “No, I misspeak. Many have left—by dying. Like my brother-in-law.”
*Dong’s sons ride with spear and blade,*
*To die by horse or saddle laid.*
*Maidens at home, weep not so sore,*
*For sons will ride as Dong once more!*
She suddenly strode over and punched his chest. The blow, against his armored bulk, left her fist swollen while he barely flinched.
Then, dry-eyed and calm, she took a deep breath and said softly, “Don’t die at Huaiyang Pass. Don’t die at Jubei City. If you must die, let it be on the southern shores of the Central Plains, farthest from the Grassland (steppe), where I need never see your grave.”
Dong Zhuo grinned. “Deal!”
She turned to leave. “I’m returning to the Northern Court. Don’t see me off.”
Like Tao Manwu, this woman who’d once declared as a child, *”Were I born male, I’d surely be a Marquis of Ten Thousand Households (marquis of ten thousand households),”*—a statement that had made the Northern Mang empress laugh and exclaim “Splendid!” three times—dared not let her sobs be heard.
Only after she’d gone did Di Wu Hu ask worriedly, “Why insist on Gnawing (gnawing at) Huaiyang Pass, that meatless Hard as Steel (hard bone)? Let Murong Baoding Headache (have the headache).”
Dong Zhuo sneered. “Someone must bear the burden of war. If our Emperor wishes to establish dominance in the Central Plains, we cannot repeat the disastrous farce of the first Liang-Mang conflict. The warriors of the steppes are not mere grass that springs anew with each passing year. Every tribe has bled for this cause. Should the Northern Court overextend itself once more, the realm will plunge into civil war—a catastrophe so dire that not even the gods could mend it. And who would shoulder the blame? I would, while Northern Liang feasts upon the spoils of our ruin.”
Looking south toward the ruined Hutou City he’d personally shattered, and beyond it to the Natural Peril (natural fortress) of Huaiyang Pass, Dong Zhuo mused bitterly. In twenty years of war with Northern Liang, while the Old Butcher lived, Southern Dynasty troops had scarcely glimpsed Hutou City. Only after Xu Xiao’s death, with Dong Zhuo finally in power, had Northern Mang’s hooves trod further south—yet only slightly. Now, Yu Luandao’s 10,000 Northern Liang light cavalry had penetrated deep into Southern Dynasty territory, treating Gusai’s fortresses as mere scenery.
Pointing south, Dong Zhuo told his young wife, “In that Protectorate at Huaiyang Pass sits a Fatty (fat man) even larger than me. They say Liyang’s court claims that at the end of our battle, this adopted Butcher son boasted outrageously: ‘There are only two kinds of cavalry—the Xu family’s and all the rest.’ The truth was different, but Northern Liang’s arrogance embraced even this slander as praise.”
His arm still extended, Dong Zhuo’s smile turned sinister. “Chu Lushan did say something, though. I remember him on horseback, spear pointed at me, laughing: *’So you’re Dong Zhuo? My foster father held back for reasons, so Chen Zhibao and Yuan Zuozong couldn’t be bothered with you. I, Chu Lushan, had nothing better to do, so here I am. With your paltry skills and this rabble you call an army…'”*
He fell silent.
Di Wu Hu pressed, “And then?”
Dong Zhuo lowered his hand sheepishly. “Then I passed out from my wounds.”
As if embarrassed, he made a face at little Tao Manwu.
The tear-streaked girl only clutched his wrist tighter, on the verge of fresh tears.
“Uncle Dong,” she whispered, “don’t die!”
In her tragic young heart, she saw herself as the Folk (folk) cursed star that brought death to loved ones—first her father, then Yelü Chucai. Who next?
Dong Zhuo knelt again, his sword-calloused hand wiping her cheeks. “Little Manwu, don’t cry. Villains like me live longest. Even Yama won’t take me.”
This only made her cry harder, for in her eyes, aside from her father, Uncle Dong had always tied for second among the world’s kindest souls.
And the one she’d once ranked first? Now quietly demoted to second.
At a loss, Dong Zhuo hoisted her onto his shoulders, both gazing south. “Don’t worry,” he murmured. “Uncle Dong will take you to see him one last time.”
Tao Manwu rested her head atop his.
“Little Manwu,” Dong Zhuo asked softly, “how does that song go? Your uncle always sang it so off-key. Teach him one last time?”
She nodded, but tears choked her voice.
Patient, Dong Zhuo suddenly recalled scripture. The slaughter-hardened general clasped hands and bowed his head devoutly: *”Taking refuge in the Buddha, I escape The Torment of Samsara (samsara’s suffering). Taking refuge in the Dharma, I gain Blessings from the Ten Directions and Three Times (blessings of all realms). Taking refuge in the Sangha, I avoid Passing into the myriad realms of suffering (evil rebirths)…”*
Above him, Tao Manwu’s childlike voice rose like a sprite’s:
*Green grass springs anew, wild geese return.*
*This year’s spring breeze blows—will my lord come home?*
*Green Stone slab (slabs) and green grass,*
*On Greenstone Bridge (the stone bridge), a The Azure-robed Scholar (robed lad)*
*Sings a Jinling Tune (Jinling tune).*
*Which maiden hides her smile?*
*Yellow leaves fall, year upon year.*
*Next autumn’s wind will rise—will my lady remain?*
*Yellow river, yellow blossoms,*
*In Yellow River City (Yellow River City), a Yellow Flower Maiden (blossom girl)*
*Chases butterflies.*
*Which young man keeps his sheathed blade?*
※※※
*The blade remains sheathed.*
*The lord never returns.*
For many on both sides of the Liang-Mang conflict, this held true.
Yet to the Central Plains, the three rebel princes’ uprising seemed baseless, while Northern Liang and Northern Mang’s dead were simply expected casualties—natural and justified.
On Longyan’er Plains’ yellow sands, the fat man still carrying little Manwu lowered his prayer-clasped hands and growled, “Chu Lushan, since you seek death so eagerly, I’ll gladly take those three hundred pounds of yours!”
※※※
Huaiyang Pass, controlling the southern route, comprised inner and outer walls built into mountains, ascending southward. The inner citadel stood on cliffs, its ramparts of quarried stone. When Northern Liang Go all out to create (spared no effort) to build Hutou City, the The First Mighty City Beyond the Northwest Pass (first great fortress beyond the northwest frontier), most stone came from Canglang Mountain in Lingzhou. Surplus stone—nearly a third—was later transported to then-modest Huaiyang Pass. Over a decade of reinforcement, it amassed vast supplies. As long as the outer walls held, water was secure. Strategically secondary to Hutou City, Huaiyang Pass’s impregnability now surpassed even Jubei City’s pre-construction fame as Liyang’s foremost frontier stronghold.
Thus, when Chu Lushan insisted on locating the Protectorate at remote Huaiyang Pass, Xu Fengnian raised few objections.
But after Hutou City’s fall rendered it indefensible, both Xu Fengnian and Qingliang Mountain demanded Chu Lushan retreat to Jubei City. He refused, determined to hold Huaiyang Pass’s front line.
It was hard to reconcile this man—who’d once led a thousand riders to conquer Shu, commanded 8,000 Yeluohe Iron Cavalry—with the low-ranking hedonist who’d wallowed in wine, women, fine clothes, and calligraphy, boasting of his love for “good liquor, fair maidens, rich robes, stout steeds, rare scrolls, exotic blooms, and leisurely strolls.”
As Northern Liang’s Protector, he’d transformed again, standing immovable in the desolate frontier.
Perhaps after the Old Butcher Xu Xiao’s death, no one truly understood this monstrously cunning fat man.
On Huaiyang Pass’s inner citadel, a mountain of a man leaned on the battlements, silent.
*Enemies fill the world, but not one true friend.*
Rubbing his neck, he grinned. “What a fine head this is.”
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