Chapter Forty-Eight: An Unexpected Encounter

Yang Lian had not yet spoken when Chen Tie, always bold, said, "Lord Grand Marshal, Chen Decheng first stole a horse, then Lei Zhen provoked us. Though he was injured, he brought it upon himself. Why should we apologize?"

"And you, who are you?" Li Zhenggu narrowed his eyes at Chen Tie. This lad was another reckless youth—how could he not understand Li's good intentions?

Yang Lian quickly intervened, "Grand Marshal, this is my subordinate, Chen Tie. He is honest by nature and sometimes speaks without thinking. I beg your pardon. Today's incident was due to my momentary impulse and has nothing to do with anyone else."

Li Zhenggu stroked his beard and nodded repeatedly. "Good. You dare to take responsibility and speak with integrity. That is the mark of a true man."

From the subtle cues in Li Zhenggu’s words, some hints were already apparent, though many could not understand why the Grand Marshal seemed to be shielding Yang Lian. True, Chen Decheng and Lei Zhen were not blameless, but Yang Lian’s actions had gone too far—brawling openly in the garrison had serious repercussions.

Zhu Kuangye, on the other hand, remained calm with his hands behind his back, knowing that speaking now would only worsen his position. After all, Chen Decheng and Lei Zhen were his men, and the crime of horse theft could be viewed as serious or minor depending on the Grand Marshal’s judgment.

Yet Li Zhenggu clearly wanted to play the peacemaker. Although the Privy Council held military authority, this was his first time commanding troops; his main duty was supervision. Since the late Tang, there had been too many cases of officers rising from minor posts to military governors, and from military governors to emperors or kings—Li Bian, for instance, had ascended to the throne in just such a way. Chastened by history, Li Bian had reformed things, often assigning the Privy Council to command or supervise armies. But in Li Bian’s time, things were quieter; now, with the emperor frequently launching campaigns to expand the realm, the situation was different—though luck still played its part.

Yang Lian had beaten Lei Zhen but was only required to offer a simple apology. To many, it seemed Yang Lian had gotten off lightly. Li Zhenggu, seeking to settle matters quietly, resolved the issue, leaving Zhu Kuangye humiliated and resentful, though powerless to act—he could only wait for another opportunity.

Gao Shensi, eager to see the matter blown over, heartily agreed with Li Zhenggu’s approach.

For now, the incident was suppressed, but rumors swirled through the ranks. Yang Lian’s reputation soared—everyone now knew he was a hothead, not to be trifled with.

The army stayed in Changzhou for two days. Reinforcements of three thousand men arrived from Runzhou, bringing ample supplies. With the local garrison of Changzhou, Li Zhenggu’s forces now numbered over fifteen thousand.

Two days later, the grand army of Southern Tang set forth for Suzhou, traveling with drums beating and gongs clanging. In Wuyue, Qian Wenfeng, the military governor of Central Wu, had already received word. Though the two states had stationed troops on the border the previous year, peace had prevailed. In winter, with supply lines strained, both sides had withdrawn their forces. Now, with Southern Tang dispatching troops again, Qian Wenfeng dared not be complacent—he personally led his troops to oversee Suzhou’s defenses while sending reports to his superiors.

Five days passed before the Southern Tang army reached the border and halted. The region around Suzhou and Changzhou had few natural defenses, only a network of rivers. Qian Wenfeng had thus built many fortresses along the border, planting countless trees to bolster their defenses. Suzhou’s terrain was flat, so these measures were necessary.

Upon reaching Wangting Town, Li Zhenggu did not rush to attack the fortresses but sent out scouting parties instead. This gave Qian Wenfeng precious time. He personally led ten thousand troops and halted west of the Qinbo Canal, holding firm to his camps and sending numerous scouts to probe the enemy daily.

By rights, the Southern Tang army should have taken the initiative, but other than routine scouting, Li Zhenggu simply stayed in camp, inspecting the troops and appearing even more composed than Qian Wenfeng. Not only was Qian Wenfeng baffled by Li Zhenggu’s attitude, but even the Southern Tang soldiers found it strange.

Yet Qian Wenfeng had no choice but to keep his army stationed there, blocking the Southern Tang forces. If they broke through into Suzhou’s heartland, the economic damage would be tremendous. It was the start of spring, the planting season, and if the fertile fields of Suzhou were disrupted, Wuyue’s grain supplies would be drastically reduced the following year. National strength would suffer, and this was precisely why Qian Wenfeng chose not to defend the city itself.

Though neither side had formally declared war, their skirmishes were frequent. Scouts ventured out daily, bringing back both information and casualties.

Both Southern Tang and Wuyue lacked good horses, so cavalry was scarce; many so-called warhorses barely stood taller than a man’s waist—one reason Chen Decheng had coveted Yang Lian’s fine steed.

With so few warhorses, those who had them were typically captains and their personal guards, or wealthy officers. These men were temporarily formed into scouting parties to gather intelligence.

Yang Lian, with his impressive horse, was conscripted and even appointed temporary squad leader over a dozen soldiers.

On this clear day, Yang Lian went out scouting with Lin Renzhao, Chen Tie, and others. Qian Yuanliao and Qian Wenfeng had managed Suzhou for over three decades, and the way was lined with fortresses and newly planted groves, using the river’s course for defense. Suzhou’s level terrain meant that only such measures could strengthen their position.

As Yang Lian patrolled, he sketched on a white cloth. Lin Renzhao approached and saw that Yang Lian was drawing a map—Suzhou, Changzhou, and Changshu to the northeast, all marked. Yang Lian was meticulous, even using scale, and marked lakes and mountains with different symbols.

Limited by the era’s technology and his own inexperience, Yang Lian could only do so much for now, but he pondered how to improve. War required understanding the land and the weather; if one could fully grasp the terrain—water sources, wind direction, climate—one could direct the battle from a commanding position. These details, seemingly minor, were in fact crucial. Success or failure hinged on them. This was Yang Lian’s first campaign, and he was determined to learn all he could.

Lin Renzhao was surprised by Yang Lian’s diligence and saw him in a new light. Though he himself had fought in battle, he had never thought of this, and felt a bit ashamed.

The group, twenty in all, moved slowly along the Qinbo Canal, stopping frequently to survey the land. Yang Lian halted by the canal.

The Qinbo Canal had existed since the Spring and Autumn and Warring States periods and later became part of the Grand Canal. After the chaos of the late Tang, it suffered much damage. For strategic reasons, the Wuyue people had blocked part of the canal within their territory, foiling the Southern Tang’s hopes of using it to transport grain.

The canal had not been dredged for a long time and was choked with silt. On clear days, one could see the water was only two or three feet deep, making it impossible to navigate; using it to move troops or supplies was out of the question.

After about a quarter mile, they came upon a stone bridge, its surface covered with the scars of blades and axes. One could imagine the fierce battles once fought here, the ground littered with corpses, the river running red with blood.

Yang Lian waved his hand. “Come, let’s have a look.”

Lin Renzhao, as leader of another squad, readily agreed, and the group cautiously crossed the bridge, entering Wuyue territory.

Wuyue’s Suzhou covered a vast area—not only present-day Suzhou, Kunshan, and Changshu, but also parts of Wuxi.

Crossing the bridge and traveling another seven or eight miles, Yang Lian saw a stone stele ahead, inscribed with the name Changshu.

They had traveled a considerable distance—over fifty miles—deep into enemy territory. As the sun began to sink westward, Yang Lian waved his hand. “Let’s head back.”

They turned their horses and started back. After three miles, they saw a mountain in the distance. It wasn’t tall—perhaps seventy or eighty zhang high, no more than a hill. But in Suzhou, with its flat terrain, this counted as a high point.

One soldier remarked, “This place is called Yu Mountain, I think.”

Yang Lian nodded. Yu Mountain—the name seemed familiar, though he couldn’t recall why. Perhaps he’d heard of it as a tourist long ago. He hadn’t expected it to exist already.

Yang Lian narrowed his eyes, surveying the area. Though not tall, from here one could overlook the surroundings—a good spot for an outpost.

As he pondered, a group suddenly appeared ahead—twenty or thirty men, armored in the style of Wuyue soldiers.

The Wuyue soldiers were equally startled to see Yang Lian’s party. Before they could react, Yang Lian drew his long blade and shouted, “Brothers, charge with me!”

He squeezed his horse’s flanks, brandishing his sword and charging forward.

“Charge!” Chen Tie bellowed, wielding a long spear. Lin Renzhao and the others surged forward as well.

The Wuyue troops had not expected to encounter Southern Tang soldiers so deep in their territory and were momentarily flustered. Yet, outnumbering their foes, they quickly formed a wedge formation under the direction of a scholar-like officer, preparing to fight.

The thunder of hooves resounded at the foot of Yu Mountain as the soldiers met in fearless combat. As Yang Lian drew near, he saw the enemy raise their bows, ready to unleash a volley.

Yang Lian sneered, sheathed his sword, and nocked an arrow. Though not a master archer, at this range, with so many targets, it was hard to miss.

Lin Renzhao readied his bow as well. As the two sides came within range, both launched volleys of arrows almost simultaneously.

A clangor of arrows filled the air. Without pausing, Yang Lian drew his sword and slashed down the incoming shafts. Glancing back, he saw several comrades struck—some thrown from their horses, others wounded in the shoulder or thigh. Thus, an unexpected encounter erupted into a fierce battle.