Chapter Eighty-One: A Chain of Snares

Li Gan was in the midst of a killing frenzy, having already taken two cuts to his body. Though the wounds were not deep, blood flowed ceaselessly, and the scent of it only heightened his excitement. Now, seeing that the leader among the Xiongnu cavalry, surrounded by his men, had broken through the Han encirclement, his anger flared. He spat out, “Useless!” and called his subordinates to pursue.

Of the five hundred Xiongnu cavalry who had come to raid the camp, half fell in the melee, the other half fled. The battle raged on until, in the end, just over a hundred Xiongnu riders managed to break out. There was little to be done; when they attacked, the Xiongnu had stationed a hundred riders outside as support. The Han, unwilling to let them escape, sent a detachment of heavy cavalry in pursuit.

Yet heavy cavalry is never swift. After chasing for dozens of miles, they fell behind, and fearing the Xiongnu might have set an ambush, Ma Dashan, commander of the lead detachment, reluctantly recalled Qin Cheng’s warning and called off the pursuit, returning with his men to camp.

A headcount revealed that the Han had taken nearly three hundred heads, though their own casualties were not insignificant. Still, it had been a planned ambush, and the surprise caught the Xiongnu off guard, so their losses were not great.

But as the numbers were tallied, a grave issue came to light.

“Has anyone seen Li Gan or his men?” the report from the soldiers startled Qin Cheng and Li Guang.

“I seem to recall seeing the Young General with the first wave of pursuers,” said Ji Zhu, who had just come to report on the firefighting efforts. “The situation was chaotic, so I couldn’t be sure, but now it looks likely it was indeed the Young General.”

Qin Cheng, hearing this, was about to summon Ma Dashan, since he had led the final pursuit. But Ji Zhu added, “The Young General was with the first group, not with Commander Ma.”

The Xiongnu had first covered the escape of their leader, then the rest held the rear before breaking through. Ma Dashan had chased those rear guards. If Ji Zhu was right, Li Gan had followed the Xiongnu leader—meaning he was now likely trapped between the two Xiongnu groups that had broken out one after the other.

Night had deepened. Li Guang’s heart was ablaze with worry, yet he could not send the whole army to rescue Li Gan. He was torn.

Qin Cheng, unable to bear the sight of Li Guang’s distress, said, “Do not worry, General. I will take men and bring the Young General back!”

He was about to gather a rescue party when Li Guang seized his arm. “Li Gan disobeyed orders and acted without leave. If he dies, it is his own doing. You, as Cavalry Captain, must not risk yourself for one mere squad leader and endanger the army. Say no more, Qin Lang!”

Qin Cheng knew these were empty words. Which senior officer in the army did not know how dearly Li Guang loved his son? In truth, Li Guang longed to go himself.

“General, I must disagree,” Qin Cheng replied firmly. “This is not about one man. If we abandon the Young General today, what will we do when another commander falls into peril? His rescue concerns not just you, but the morale of the entire army.”

He spoke the last words with emphasis. These past days at Xiaohua Fortress, the Xiongnu had harassed the nearby villages, and the Han army had not responded. Morale was already wavering, for the common soldiers understood only the immediate situation and could not see the greater plan Qin Cheng kept secret. Some believed Qin Cheng was weak and indecisive, blaming him for the suffering of the people and the nation.

Though Li Gan had left his post without orders, who in the camp did not wish to pursue? If they now watched him perish without lifting a finger, the army's spirit would truly falter.

Li Guang heard the unspoken meaning in Qin Cheng’s words. Though he wished not to make trouble for the entire force over his son, he could not refuse. “If a rescue is needed, let Li Hu lead it. Why must you go yourself?”

“I must go in person,” Qin Cheng answered. “After so long maneuvering against the Xiongnu, I wish to probe their true strength and intentions.”

After a moment's silence, Li Guang finally agreed. “How many will you take?”

“My own bodyguards will suffice. Too many men will only alert the enemy.”

Li Guang wanted to object, but in the end said nothing, only clapping Qin Cheng on the shoulder.

Qin Cheng set out into the night with over forty bodyguards. No one knew which way the Xiongnu had fled, but he had his methods: among his men were skilled trackers, and even in darkness, hoofprints offered clues.

Reports of Xiongnu raids had come in constantly from the neighboring villages. Qin Cheng surmised their forces had not yet gathered, and with his elite escort, he was confident he could retreat if necessary. Without that certainty, he would never have left to rescue Li Gan.

Still, Qin Cheng was irked; Li Gan was more a hindrance than a help.

“Horses!” someone called after they had ridden some distance.

Under the moon, atop a grassy hill, a lone warhorse stood, head bowed, uttering a low, mournful whinny.

It runs alone through sand and snow, lost, gazing east and west.

They hurried up the hill and saw the scene below—a sight that sobered every face.

Corpses strewn across the field, silent and unmoving.

Dozens of bodies lay there, most Han cavalry by their dress. These were Li Gan’s men.

Daring not to light a torch, they dismounted and searched carefully, but found no sign of Li Gan among the dead.

“Do the number of heads and bodies match?” Qin Cheng asked.

“Not one missing,” Qin Qingzhi replied.

“Then Li Gan must still live,” said Liu Mu.

“Mount up!” Qin Cheng ordered.

The forty-odd riders remounted and left. As for the dead, they would have to wait until morning; it was not safe now, and Qin Cheng sent no one back to report, for the roads at night were perilous.

They searched on, riding half the night, and finally, before dawn, found where the Xiongnu had stopped.

To Qin Cheng’s relief, the enemy camp was not the size of a thousand men—no sign that the Xiongnu bands had yet joined forces, at least not yet.

The camp, likely prepared beforehand, was well chosen: backed by a rising hill covered in maples, open ground before it.

The Xiongnu had already pitched their tents. Scouts patrolled the perimeter, and within, only a few faint lights flickered, no doubt for concealment.

Qin Cheng led his men in a wide circle, approaching the camp’s rear, and hid their horses in the maple woods.

“Qingzhi, hold here and await our return. Liu Mu, you and two others come with me,” Qin Cheng said, having studied the camp and chosen a route.

“General, there’s no need for you to risk yourself in such a small matter. Let me take two men instead,” Qingzhi urged.

Qin Cheng smacked him on the back of the head. “Enough. That was an order, not a negotiation.”

“Yes, sir,” Qingzhi replied, resigned.

Qin Cheng looked at Liu Mu, then chose two agile soldiers. “Any objections?”

“None!” they answered.

To find Li Gan in the well-guarded Xiongnu camp and extract him without a sound would not be easy. Worse, they could not be sure Li Gan was even alive, nor whether the Xiongnu, having learned his identity, had already set a trap for his rescuers. Qin Cheng was certain Li Gan had revealed who he was, for he could not imagine otherwise.

Yet rescue was their only choice.

In the central tent, the heart of the Xiongnu camp, sat three men—the commander and two lieutenants. The commander, a lean horseman, showed no sign of distress, as though the failed assault on the Han camp had never happened.

“These past days, we have repeatedly raided the Han border villages, burning homes and fields, yet the Han force at Xiaohua Fortress has not stirred, just as you predicted,” rasped one subordinate, bowing to the commander. “Tonight’s raid also went according to plan, and the Han’s response matched your expectations exactly. Shall we now send the signal to assemble the other three cavalry detachments?”

“Though tonight’s action was planned, it cost us over two hundred brave souls,” the commander replied, his face stricken with grief. “That is my failing. But since the time has come, send the signal now.”

“Commander, do not blame yourself. To die in battle is the glory of our people—the god Kunlun will welcome them. You bear the burden of this southern campaign and must not let small matters weigh on you.” The subordinate offered comfort, then ordered the signal sent. “Tonight, we feigned retreat to lure the Han, and even Li Guang will not believe we have so few men.”

“These three thousand Han soldiers have watched as fewer than two thousand of ours have burned and pillaged on their land. Their frustration is at its peak, their fury blazing within. One more provocation and they will erupt, and then our final plan can begin,” said another, eyes gleaming. “They will have no choice but to fall into our trap.”

“Do not underestimate Li Guang and Qin Cheng,” the commander said coolly. “They are not easily deceived.”

“All the more reason to fan the flames, so the Han’s anger burns hotter still,” rasped the first, casting a sly glance at the commander. “Your stratagems are truly masterful. Even the wisest Han generals can only dance to your tune.”

The commander only smiled, neither confirming nor denying.

“Speaking of Li Guang, we captured his son today. What are your orders for him?” the subordinate asked.

“Since he is Li Guang’s son, keep him alive. He will be useful to us yet,” the commander replied.

“Yes, Commander.”