Chapter Fifty-Three: The Escape

Yang Lian was furious. He had been attacked for no reason, the army had fallen apart, and no one knew where the remaining soldiers were. The army of Wuyue could sweep in at any moment. At a time like this, everyone needed to unite and get through the crisis together. If this squad leader was truly capable, Yang Lian wouldn’t mind letting him lead, but the man had come in, pressing his authority as a squad leader, claiming to be from the Tianxiong Army and not part of the Shenwu Army—so he had no right to interfere. Left with no choice, Yang Lian gave him a severe lesson.

The man clutched his mouth, staring at Yang Lian in disbelief. Was this fellow a barbarian? How could he resort to violence so quickly? The scattered teeth on the ground filled him with rage.

Lin Renzhao stepped forward and said, “Deputy Yang is right. We must stay united now; there must be no infighting.”

Chen Tie also approached, eyeing the Tianxiong squad leader coldly as he flexed his wrist—a clear warning.

Unable to help himself, the squad leader backed away two steps, afraid Yang Lian might strike him again.

Yang Lian clapped his hands and said, “Brothers, while it looks like we’re safe resting here, in truth, we’re not. Look there—Wuyue scouts are scattered outside. They could discover us at any moment. If they block the exit, they won’t even need to attack us. In a day or two, with our food and water gone, we’ll be waiting for death.”

A man with an injured leg struggled to his feet; he too was a squad leader from the Tianxiong Army. He glanced at Yang Lian and said, “Brother Yang speaks well. Now is the time for us to support one another. I’m willing to let Yang Lian lead us, so we can break out and return to Changzhou.”

With one squad leader’s support, the situation improved greatly. The other man, though resentful, could only agree.

Yang Lian immediately rallied the group, instructing them to take stock of all they had—especially food and water. After the arduous march and the fighting, their energy was spent; they needed to recover before taking the next step.

But most of the soldiers had lost much of their provisions in the chaos. Yang Lian himself had only a few cold flatbreads left, and Lin Renzhao and Chen Tie were in similar straits. Yang Lian gathered all the food and divided it evenly.

He produced a fair amount—besides the flatbreads, there was some salted fish. Since he contributed more than others, no one questioned his decision to take a smaller share himself. With an even split, each man received one flatbread, and a mouthful of salted fish.

One flatbread was nowhere near enough to fill them, which meant they could not stay here long. Water was scarce as well; Yang Lian took only a sip before passing it on. The region around Suchang had few mountains or hills, mostly crisscrossed by rivers, and there was no water source where they camped now. They had to be frugal.

The sun rose higher, stretching Yang Lian’s shadow. Judging by the hour, it was mid-morning. He wondered about Li Zhenggu, High Commander Gao, and the others—had the pursuing Wuyue troops retreated? And where exactly were they now? Everything was uncertain.

Yang Lian climbed a tall tree and gazed into the distance. The vast plain was laced with countless rivers, and many Wuyue troops rode to and fro. In some places, skirmishes still raged. From this distance, it was unclear who held the advantage, but it seemed likely it was the Wuyue forces.

The endless plain filled Yang Lian with despair. Retreating across such open ground would make them easy to spot. They had too few horses—of the fifty-odd men, only a dozen or so had mounts; the situation was grim. Yang Lian hoped the Wuyue would withdraw, but to his disappointment, more and more of their troops appeared, heading northeast. Perhaps they had discovered Li Zhenggu or High Commander Gao.

Yet this might be an opportunity. After watching a while longer, Yang Lian made up his mind, slid down the tree, and told the soldiers to rest while they could—the battle to the northeast could end at any moment. Half an hour later, he climbed the tree again. Most of the Wuyue troops were now moving northeast, and fewer remained nearby.

“Go!” Yang Lian ordered decisively. The soldiers rose. Yang Lian sent Lin Renzhao and Chen Tie to lead the way, with the rest following behind, heading northwest. However distant Changzhou might be, northwest was the right direction.

The Tang soldiers helped each other along in silence. Even the squad leader who’d been struck was quiet. Yang Lian handed him a piece of flatbread, leaving the man with mixed feelings.

Leaving the low hills, Lin Renzhao skirted the edge of the forest—seeking both cover and a retreat route should they be discovered. But with over fifty men, they were still an obvious target, and fighting was inevitable.

Lin Renzhao and Chen Tie led the charge. Small enemy groups stood no chance against them, and several squads of Wuyue troops were scattered.

“Move quickly!” Yang Lian shouted.

The soldiers quickened their pace. After two miles, the sound of urgent hooves came from behind, and a youthful voice rang out, “Where do you think you’re going?”

“Hurry on!” Yang Lian called, gripping his long saber as he looked back. A young officer in white armor and silver robes, probably not yet twenty, was charging at him with a spear.

Yang Lian narrowed his eyes. This youth must be of high status—so young and clad in such armor, doubtless a scion of some distinguished family. As he pondered, the officer rushed at him, and Yang Lian met him with his blade. They passed each other, weapons clashing with a sharp ring.

Yang Lian’s arm tingled—this young officer was surprisingly strong.

“Again!” the officer cried, exhilarated.

Yang Lian rolled his eyes. Was this young man addled? The Tang army might be defeated, but there were still over fifty men here. Why would he charge in with just two or three companions? Seeing the officer’s attendants hurrying over, Yang Lian let out a cold laugh.

The toothless squad leader said nothing, stepping forward to block the two attendants. Yang Lian gripped his saber tighter and struck at the young officer with all his might, eager to escape. The young man managed to fend off a few blows, but soon sweat beaded his brow.

This was Hu Xuan, grandson of Hu Jin Si, the Grand General of Wuyue. Hu Jin Si doted on him, and though he had gone to command at Fuzhou, Hu Xuan had gotten his father Hu Jing’s permission to serve under Qian Wen Feng at Suzhou as a humble soldier. The Hu family held great sway in Wuyue, producing both civil and military officials. Hu Jing also hoped his son would become a famed general like his father, and thus agreed to his request. Qian Wen Feng, knowing the boy only wanted a taste of action, kept him away from the front lines. But unexpectedly, Hu Xuan discovered these fifty Tang fugitives and, fired by youthful fervor, charged out before his attendants could stop him.

Yang Lian’s blows came harder and faster, and Hu Xuan could not withstand them. After seven or eight exchanges, his spear was in disarray. With a shout, Yang Lian struck, sending the spear flying. Before Hu Xuan could react, Yang Lian raised his saber and, with a single sweep, took his head.

Blood gushed forth. Yang Lian caught the head, slung it onto his horse’s tail, and, seeing Hu Xuan’s body slump, noticed a token at his waist. Laughing, he snatched it up, examined it closely, and said, “So, a descendant of the Hu family of Wuyue.”

The two attendants panicked. The death of their young master was no small matter. One tried to rush forward in desperation but was held back, while the other slipped past the squad leader and charged at Yang Lian—only to be cut down by the timely arrival of Lin Renzhao.

The last attendant, seeing the situation hopeless, fled in terror.

“Go, don’t get bogged down!” Yang Lian shouted.

In the chaos, a few of their own were killed, but the survivors left their comrades’ bodies behind, tears in their eyes, and pressed on. The way ahead was clear. After ten miles, Yang Lian saw a stone tablet by the roadside: Henglin Town.

They had reached the boundary of Henglin Town, and everyone felt much safer. Yang Lian called out encouragement, and the soldiers, knowing Henglin was a major garrison of Changzhou with several hundred troops stationed there, were revived with new hope. Those who could not walk unaided were helped along by their fellows.

Yang Lian breathed a sigh of relief. Luck had been with them this time. Someone had drawn the Wuyue’s attention away, allowing them to escape. Gazing at the severed head tied to his horse’s tail, Yang Lian gave a cold laugh. The token proved the man’s identity—Hu Xuan had fallen in battle. Even if Qian Wen Feng was of royal kin, Hu Jin Si was not a man to be trifled with. When he returned from Fuzhou, there would surely be fierce conflict. For Yang Lian, though, strife within Wuyue was just what he wanted.

“Come on, we’re almost at Henglin Town. Once we arrive, I’ll treat everyone to a meal!” Yang Lian called, his spirits rising as safety drew near.

Though the battle had ended in defeat, they had survived the ordeal—life itself was a blessing.

“Thank you, Deputy Yang!” The soldiers, recognizing his leadership in the escape and his bravery despite his wounds, had little complaint left. Their survival was thanks to good fortune.

Henglin Town was not far now. Following the Grand Canal northwest, after ten miles or so, they glimpsed boats shuttling across the water.

Because Southern Tang and Wuyue had massed troops at the border, war could break out at any moment. Trade along the canal had been halted. The timid had already fled, but the bold lingered at trade towns like Henglin. These boats, it seemed, belonged to merchants.

The sight of boats was heartening—proof of safety. The soldiers smiled and quickened their pace.

Yang Lian gently patted his horse’s neck. Finally, they had returned—Henglin Town, after so long.

As they drew closer, the number of boats increased. Many boatmen, startled by the sudden appearance of these soldiers, grew uneasy. The timid at once set sail north, fleeing far away. The bold stood at the prow, watching, confident in their safety out on the water, for these were merely infantry.