Chapter 78: Seizing the Bridge (Part Three)

“Something’s wrong!”

Xu Guangjing’s heart jolted the moment he heard that sharp cry pierce the sky. Something must have gone awry at the bridgehead. The sound itself was unmistakable—a signal arrow, the kind only the Tubo use. That could only mean their operation had likely been exposed.

“Faster, hurry up!”

There was no longer any need for subterfuge. He shouted the command and straightened his back, quickening his pace. The several wooden planks slung over his shoulder felt weightless as he pressed forward.

In short order, his squad of fifty, along with several dozen auxiliaries, had hauled hundreds of long planks to the banks of the Bo Yi River.

“Lay the bridge!”

Hearing the commotion from the far side, Xu Guangjing gave the order without hesitation. A line of soldiers immediately formed at the bridge’s edge, passing the planks forward one by one to those at the front, who began laying them across the rattan suspension bridge.

With no torches burning at the opposite bridgehead and a hundred paces of darkness between them, Xu Guangjing could not make out what was happening no matter how wide he strained his eyes. Anxiety pricked him, when suddenly a hand clapped his shoulder.

“It’s Wulang and the others?”

He didn’t turn, only nodded, then realized how reckless it was to acknowledge someone like this in the dead of night.

“We agreed on tonight. They must have been discovered. If we can’t support them in time, what then?”

Tian Zhen’s voice was rough and forceful, but it struck a chord with Xu Guangjing. “They’ll hold. In a moment, your men cross first.”

Tian Zhen hadn’t come alone; his own troops carried more planks. This was a bridge over forty paces wide and more than a hundred long—thousands of boards would be needed. Behind him, the chaos of hoofbeats shattered the night as Yang He’s cavalry fanned out along both flanks.

With these light cavalrymen came two thousand blazing torches, and in an instant, the darkened banks of the Bo Yi River were bathed in fiery light.

A chorus of shouts echoed from across the river. That was Liu Ji’s men reacting to the sudden appearance of their own forces after days of anxious marching through enemy lands and snowbound wilderness. Even Liu Ji felt a surge of emotion at the sight.

The arrival of the Tang army brought a surge of stability to Zhuo Guli and his men. The force was sizable—thousands of cavalry alone. Under Liu Ji’s direction, as the enemy reeled in confusion, his men hurried to lay the remaining planks, working from their side while Xu Guangjing’s group did the same from theirs. In less than an hour, the two sides met at the bridge’s center.

Only when he glimpsed Xu Guangjing’s towering figure on the bridge did Liu Ji finally allow himself a sigh of relief. It had been a close thing—so close he wondered how General Feng Changqing had managed to break through this very bottleneck in history, for the chronicles barely spared it a line. Having now lived it himself, Liu Ji felt as if he’d walked a tightrope over an abyss. Yet with the bridge secured and the Tang army about to cross, the Tubo would have no hope of turning the tide.

By modern reckoning, it was about half past five in the morning—the darkest moment before dawn. The bridge was completed, and Xu Guangjing was leading his contingent across, the last of his garrison, with the first honors of this campaign against the Tubo nearly in his grasp.

Liu Ji glanced at the men around him, then back at the chaos in the Tubo camp nearby. Disorder still reigned: men fleeing in all directions, shouts, curses, horses screaming. This was just one enemy battalion facing them—there were two more, one on each flank, and soon even they would be swept up in the confusion. Everything was turning in their favor.

Suddenly, a shrill blast of horn cut through the uproar, dragging out for a long moment, ominous and insistent. Liu Ji’s instincts prickled with unease, and Zhuo Guli, beside him, was trembling, his face pale as death.

“That’s the Tubo call to arms. When it sounds, no one is to move without orders. Any who disobey, regardless of rank, will be executed.”

Zhang Wuji’s expression was grave as he explained.

“I didn’t expect the Tubo to have someone of such caliber, even now.”

Liu Ji barely heard him, his eyes fixed on the distance, murmuring under his breath.

“So, Xi Dongzan has played his hand—‘openly repairing the plank road while secretly crossing the Chen Cang.’”

Zhang Wuji and the others stared in astonishment. They didn’t recognize the name, but from the sound of it, Xi Dongzan was a Tubo commander—could it be that their own leader had met the enemy general face to face?

But as they followed Liu Ji’s gaze, understanding dawned.

Behind the Tubo camp, countless flames flickered like stars, darting through the darkness—clear evidence of something moving swiftly. Remembering the earlier reports, Zhang Wuji started in alarm.

“That’s... the Tubo’s—”

“Yes, their cavalry,” Liu Ji confirmed grimly, spinning to shout new orders. “Tell everyone to hurry! Full alert—prepare to meet the enemy!”

He saw Zhuo Guli still quaking and clapped him on the shoulder, steady and calm.

“As long as we hold the bridge, the Tubo can do nothing. Your men are sharp archers—go form up behind our lines, you know what to do. What I promised, I will keep. When this is over, you and your village will receive even more.”

There was no point hesitating now. Zhuo Guli bit down hard and loosed a piercing whistle skyward, echoed by his men. Soon, four or five dozen had gathered, each armed with bow and quiver, still clad in Tubo furs and leather, but in this moment such things could be overlooked.

“Form up! Form up!” Zhang Wuji’s voice rang out. Apart from the thirty who had come over the ice fields, Xu Guangjing’s squad had crossed the bridge at a run, forming up in the practiced array of their daily drills—an intact unit, each in full armor, bearing strong bows, heavy crossbows, or ironwood shields, armed with spears and sabers.

Liu Ji, still in Tubo garb, gritted his teeth, eyes locked on the distant movement. This was the critical moment—they had to hold for just a little longer. If the Tang main force could cross, there was still hope.

And yet, something felt off.

In his line of sight, the distant flames surged closer, drawing nearer—and higher—by the second. As Liu Ji watched, those flames arced down from the sky, and a dreadful realization seized him.

Fire arrows!