Chapter 65: Inescapable Fate

“General Chen, there’s no need for formalities. If not for your tireless march to our aid, tens of thousands of soldiers and civilians in Shizhou would have already fallen to the rebels’ massacre.”

This was no exaggeration. If Chen Ying hadn’t arrived with his troops at the critical hour, things would indeed have unfolded as Pang Yu described. According to Pang Qidi’s vicious habits, whenever he conquered a city, he would spare only those able-bodied men and attractive young women willing to join him; the rest—elderly, women, and children—were mercilessly slaughtered. Even the women, should they show the slightest resistance, were put to death without exception.

“It was merely my duty. I dare not claim credit,” Chen Ying replied calmly, his expression composed and measured.

Pang Yu studied Chen Ying with care and couldn’t help feeling a twinge of emotion—Chen Ying was astonishingly young. At his age, Pang Yu himself had only been a common foot soldier. Yet Chen Ying was already a General of the Fifth Rank, bearing the title “General Ningyuan.” If he continued to progress at this pace, it would be only a matter of time before he reached the pinnacle of power.

Still, this thought drifted only briefly through Pang Yu’s mind before being dismissed. What worried him most, as Governor of Lizhou, was the safety of Shizhou. The Governor’s troops had suffered devastating losses, leaving barely any soldiers fit for battle. Pang Yu was certain he would be held accountable by the court. Only by utterly crushing Pang Qidi’s rebel army could he hope to balance his failures with merit.

With this in mind, Pang Yu asked anxiously, “General Chen, how many troops do you currently command?”

“To be frank, our Right Guard Division lost nearly all its elite soldiers at Qianshuiyuan,” Chen Ying replied with a wry smile. “I’ve brought just over three hundred veterans to suppress the rebellion. The remainder—about fifteen hundred men—are new recruits hastily gathered in Xixian.”

“New recruits…? New recruits?” Pang Yu was a traditional general, perhaps the most experienced in the Tang army when it came to warfare and military organization. He was well aware of the difference between seasoned soldiers and raw conscripts. The revelation that Chen Ying’s forces were mostly green recruits left him stunned. He couldn’t help but speak with a tone heavy with frustration and resignation, “When will the next wave of reinforcements from the court arrive?”

Chen Ying shook his head, his smile bitter. “I’m afraid, General Pang, that you may not yet know. The court’s troops are now committed on three fronts—Tongguan, Hedong, Longxi, and Lingzhou. The forces in Chang’an barely suffice to intimidate the disloyal; there are simply no reinforcements to spare.”

“What are we to do then?” Pang Yu’s voice betrayed his unease.

There is a saying in the art of Go: “Gold at the corners, silver at the sides, grass at the center.” The value of a stone varies depending on its placement—the corners are most precious, easy to hold and hard to attack, like gold; the sides are next, like silver; the center is least valuable, like grass. So too is the balance of power under heaven. Longyou and Ganliang lie in the northwest; Guanzhong and Bashu form the southwest’s two golden corners; Hedong sits to the north, a silver side. Meanwhile, Dou Jiande in Hebei and Wang Shichong in Henan occupy Ye and Luoyang, but north, south, east, and west they are beset—by Luo Yi, Du Fuwei, Yuwen Huaji, and your own Great Tang—a vulnerable center of the board.

In the grand scheme, Li Yuan’s possession of Guanzhong and Bashu placed him in an unassailable position. Unless the Tang emperor made catastrophic blunders, unification would surely belong to the Li family. For this reason, upon hearing that Li Yuan had taken Chang’an and the heartland, Pang Yu did not hesitate to lead his ten-thousand-strong force to surrender to the Tang.

But now Pang Yu couldn’t help but feel a sense of foreboding: “Have I miscalculated after all?”

Chen Ying, unaware of Pang Yu’s worries, was focused on using the “traitor” to lure Pang Qidi into his trap, hoping to gather and annihilate the rebel forces in one stroke.

“General Chen, you seem confident. Perhaps you already have a plan?”

“I do have some ideas,” Chen Ying replied, “but I will need your assistance.”

“Alas, I fear that even with the will, I lack the power to help you,” Pang Yu answered with a bitter smile. “All the men left in Shizhou number less than three thousand—of those, barely a thousand are fit for battle.”

“A thousand will suffice,” said Chen Ying. “With the right strategy, within three days, Pang Qidi will meet his end at our hands.”

Pang Yu nodded, neither approving nor denying. “Confidence is good, but don’t let it blind you.”

Pang Qidi was no minor threat—he commanded over forty thousand, though most were a motley rabble. Still, he had at least ten thousand strong, more than ten times Chen Ying’s force.

Pang Yu was somewhat disappointed by Chen Ying’s youthful bravado, but he knew the young general was unlikely to listen to advice. Besides, though Pang Yu outranked him, Chen Ying was a man of Li Jiancheng—best not to provoke him.

Thus, the two men, each with their own concerns, exchanged a few more polite but empty remarks before Pang Yu took his leave with his personal guard.

They agreed that Pang Yu would lend a thousand troops, temporarily placing them under Chen Ying’s command.

Yet plans never keep pace with change. Before Chen Ying’s scheme could be set in motion, a new and unexpected twist arose.

…

Let us now turn to another thread in this tapestry.

Wang Xiugu was bitterly disappointed by Chen Ying’s indifference. Dejected and lost, she wandered away from the camp, and before she knew it, she had reached a village. Only after regaining her senses did she realize the place was utterly deserted—worse, the air was thick with the stench of death.

The village was a wasteland of shattered walls and scattered ruins. Here and there stood a few mud-brick houses, their thatched roofs long since burned to ashes, leaving only four crumbling earthen walls.

As daylight broke, Wang Xiugu realized she had stumbled into an earthly hell. Corpses lay strewn everywhere amid the charred remains of homes. Once home to two or three hundred souls, the village was now nothing but desolation.

A suffocating despair seized Wang Xiugu’s heart. On a wooden bed, she saw the corpse of a woman, limbs stretched grotesquely, her hands nailed to the bed frame, bones twisted at unnatural angles.

As a woman herself, Wang Xiugu could imagine the horrors that had unfolded here. Pang Qidi’s rebels had not only slaughtered everyone but had subjected the women to inhuman torment before their deaths.

Fury welled within Wang Xiugu when, beneath the bed, she noticed a tiny, darkened head, scarcely larger than a fist—a murdered infant.

Her own family’s massacre still raw in her memory, Wang Xiugu resolved on a desperate course: Pang Qidi must die.

What she did not know was that Pang Qidi had already discovered her attempt to betray him to the Tang army. Barely had she returned to the rebel camp when Pang Qidi seized her by the hair, dragging her across the ground as he cursed, “Wretched woman! How dare you return?”

Wang Xiugu’s face turned ashen with terror. It seemed her fate was sealed, with little hope of survival.