Chapter Seventy-Six: Seizing the Bridge (Part One)

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Marda Qi hailed from a not particularly large tribe in Tibet, and even among his own people, he was far from being considered a warrior. Therefore, it was difficult for him to rise through the ranks in his tribe’s army. He thought it better to try his luck in this vassal land. Yet, as fate would have it, just as he had finally gotten acquainted with the previous Dongben and was on the verge of securing a comfortable, lucrative post—perhaps as a tax collector—a new chief arrived within a few months, dashing all his hopes.

Even that wouldn’t have been so bad; after all, so long as the future seemed promising, a little expenditure of money could always be recouped. But who could have guessed that this new Dongben, despite his youth, was remarkably formidable? The bribes continued to be accepted and business as usual carried on, but Marda Qi was banished from Hepo City to the banks of the Boyi River—supposedly as a chance for him to prove himself.

It was truly a case of trying to steal a chicken only to lose the rice—Marda Qi bitterly recalled a Tang proverb that described his mood with perfect accuracy.

As for the Tang, the mere mention of them made his heart skip a beat. Rumors abounded in camp that tens of thousands of Tang soldiers had arrived and were encamped just across the river.

No one really knew if there were that many, but he was certain the Tang had come; otherwise, the Dongben would not be acting as if facing a formidable enemy—recruiting locals into the army and personally leading cavalry to the riverbank. Was this to guard against the Tang crossing, or to keep an eye on the local garrison? Only those from here knew the truth.

As the atmosphere in camp grew more tense by the day, trouble flared in the rear. Xi Dongzan led his troops away, leaving only orders to guard the bridge closely without explanation. But after spending so long here, Marda Qi could easily guess—something must have happened in Hepo Lao City.

The two camps were barely a hundred paces apart, and the Tibetans’ commotion was impossible to hide, making the camp’s mood even stranger. On his rounds, Marda Qi could sense that the Bolü soldiers were no longer as obedient as before.

The Tibetans had occupied this land for just over thirty years. Anyone slightly older could still remember how things used to be. Though several uprisings had been suppressed—many killed, heavy taxes imposed, and severe measures enforced—at least on the surface, people had long since submitted, and there had been no incidents for quite some time.

But what they truly thought in their hearts, only the gods knew.

Marda Qi understood that now, only he could help himself. At the very least, until the Dongben’s return, he had to keep the bridge from falling and the camp from slipping into chaos—that was his limit.

Thus, he was forced to muster more energy than usual, urging his Tibetan officers to patrol constantly in hopes of stabilizing morale this way.

Hepo Lao City was barely a hundred miles away—a half-day’s ride for cavalry. If only they could hold out for two days—perhaps even less—the Dongben would return. This was the thought Marda Qi clung to on every inspection.

The night was as cool and clear as water, and only on their side did rows of torches burn, lighting the way from the camp all the way to the bridge, as bright as day.

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In truth, this was not a wise choice for the defenders. If Tang soldiers lay in ambush across the river, they could easily observe every movement here, while the defenders could see nothing in return.

There was no help for it. Night was dangerous by nature, and without light, mishaps were even more likely. Between two evils, the lesser had to be chosen.

Marda Qi led his men straight to the bridgehead, their main point of defense. The bridge, forty paces wide, could accommodate eight horses abreast when the planks were intact. Only such a throughput could sustain the bustling trade caravans passing between the two sides.

No torches were lit at the bridgehead, for the area was doused in oil; one wrong move and the whole structure would go up in flames. In the darkness, several figures busied themselves, while others dashed over from afar.

Could there be an enemy threat?

Marda Qi’s heart tightened. Night was the bane of marching and battle, and in poor light, many common folk found it hard even to keep their eyes open—a malady modern times would call “night blindness.” It stemmed from a lack of vitamin A in the diet or digestive disorders affecting its absorption, depriving retinal rod cells of the materials needed to produce rhodopsin.

But the Tang—especially their soldiers—suffered no such weakness. They could even march and raid day and night across grasslands and deserts, achieving total surprise.

“Which unit is on duty tonight?” he asked as he walked.

“Duoguli from Nufuli Village.”

At the mention of that name, Marda Qi quickened his pace. That man was a hunter with keen eyesight—he wanted to know what, exactly, had been spotted.

Meanwhile, in a valley several miles away, the Tang camp was in a frenzy, though torches were strictly limited. Even at this distance, the enemy might not see them clearly, but the glow cast into the sky was impossible to conceal.

The entire vanguard was on the move, including Yang He’s right wing, which was advancing in parallel. The cavalry had all dismounted, leading their bridled and muffled horses single file, hugging the mountainside as they pressed forward.

In the center, personally commanded by Feng Changqing, every riding and pack horse had been harnessed to pull wagons. The carts were loaded with timber, ropes, and mortise-and-tenon joints for assembly. The heavy loads left deep ruts in the road, and the soldiers at the front had to whip the horses constantly, yet still could not pick up speed.

“This won’t do—they can’t hold out for long. Send all your men to push the carts,” Feng Changqing said anxiously, dispatching Liang Zai and then spotting his own adjutant.

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“You go too. There’s no danger here.”

The adjutant had no choice but to lead his men away, leaving only a handful of clerks and judges at Feng’s side. Watching cart after cart of materials being dragged and pushed forward, Feng’s heart was filled with unease.

“Military Clerk Yuwen.”

“Present, sir,” Yuwen Sheng answered softly.

“You say all this was at Wulang’s request?”

“Yes, sir. I’ve seen the designs he drew—there’s only one word for them.” He paused, then continued, “Unfathomable.”

Feng Changqing understood the feeling. Upon seeing the actual objects, the same thought had surged within him.

For a moment, he even suspected that all of Wulang’s previous misdeeds had been nothing but a cover for his brilliance. How else could one explain all that was happening before their eyes?

He looked up at the valley ahead. Figures rose and fell, silhouetted against the night, which concealed everything but could not hide his inner anxiety. What lay ahead on this path?

Success or failure would be decided here.