Dawn of the Empire

Chapter 22: A Day at the 9th Armored Unit

November 30, Year 30 of the Republic In Lingxi, as soon as December began, heavy snowfall covered the sky almost without cease. Looking out from inside the house, the sky and earth blended into one, with nothing but a vast expanse of white as far as the eye could see. Even the vast forest in the distance was draped in its winter garb, with not a trace of any other color visible. Inside the large wooden house at the center of Village No. 9 in Anxi Garrison, an auxiliary soldier was constantly adding firewood to the hearth. The roaring fire warmed the entire room, keeping the bitter cold at bay. Gazing out the window at such a magnificent snowy landscape from the warmth of the log cabin, if one were a celebrated poet of the Empire, one might well have composed a masterpiece destined to be remembered for centuries. But Yang Gudai had neither the talent nor the inspiration to write poetry. To him, snow was simply a part of daily life—nothing out of the ordinary. Yang Gudai was a Mohe, originally from the Far North—a region even farther north than that of the Jurchen—which the Empire had since renamed Haibei Road. Back in his home tribe, snow meant cold and frozen seas. And a frozen ocean meant greatly increased opportunities to hunt seals and polar bears. Although dangerous, this was usually the tribe’s most bountiful season, determining whether the tribe would go hungry in the coming year. So he actually quite liked snow. But not now. Because this wasn’t Haibei—it was Lingxi. Snowfall meant the chances of finding game were already slim—no caravan liked to travel through the great forest in such deep snow. And if he couldn’t find prey, he wouldn’t be able to complete his mission. Yang Gudai knew full well just how much his master, Huang Qianzong, valued this mission. If he returned empty-handed, he would certainly face severe consequences. His target this time was the merchant caravan from the Oak Empire that had once passed through here, as he’d learned during their last sortie. He needed to eliminate them and capture as many prisoners as possible to extract more detailed intelligence. Currently, Huang Qianzong was maneuvering to secure a promotion to Regional Military Commissioner and to have Huang Junxian appointed as Commander of the 9th Armored Unit; if he could achieve victory this time, those plans would be set in stone. Yang Gudai was effectively Huang Qianzong’s personal guard; during the last campaign against the Di and Qiang tribes, he had been one of the shield-bearers Huang Qianzong had personally led into battle. Because his performance had consistently been excellent, his master had personally promised that if this mission was carried out successfully, once Huang Qianzong’s eldest son became a Company Commander, he would be transferred to serve under Huang Junxian as captain of the personal guard. Furthermore, Huang Qianzong would personally intervene to revoke his status as a slave and elevate him to commoner status. Conversely, if he failed to secure the Thousand-Captain’s promotion to Colonel and if Huang Junxian’s appointment as a “Pai Jia” were to hit another snag, he could figure out even with his heels that his fate would certainly not be a pleasant one. The so-called “9th Jia” had not yet been formally established. For the time being, this is merely the name given by the people of Anxi Garrison to the original site of the Di-Qiang tribe they conquered two months ago. Huang Qianzong hopes to settle the “9th Jia” in this village, which already has a solid foundation. Come early spring, he can have his eldest son and the slaves designated for establishing a new household move in there; perhaps they’ll even be able to take advantage of the imperial court’s recruitment of able-bodied men for border “Pai Jia Village.” If they wait any longer, they’ll have to wait another year for this opportunity to be provided by the state. So now, Yang Gudai was like a bear locked in an iron cage, pacing restlessly back and forth in the hall. A month ago, Huang Qianzong estimated that the Orc caravan would be returning soon. He therefore dispatched Yang Gudai to lead a force and set up an ambush here. Originally, Huang Junxian was supposed to lead this mission personally, but he had accompanied Ou Yang, Liu Chenyong, Song Wenmu, and others to the Lingxi Road to report on the situation and had not yet returned. Huang Qianzong himself, however, had to remain in command at Anxi and could not personally stay here waiting for the enemy for such a long time. This gave Yang Gudai an opportunity to take charge on his own, but it also placed immense pressure on him. “Please take a seat, Commander. There’s no use getting anxious if that barbarian caravan doesn’t show up.” The speaker was a burly man sitting cross-legged on the large heated bed at the head of the room. He wasn’t wearing a hat indoors, revealing his short hair; amid a room full of bald men, his hairstyle made him look more like an Earthling from another dimension. However, he wore a brand-new cotton jacket with chain mail over it, a style more in line with the local dress of Lingxi. At that moment, he was carefully polishing the broadsword in his hand with a small piece of leather—this was none other than Heheli, the commander of the 8th Company, who had since adopted the Han name Tong Zhongjian. Yang Gudai was panting heavily as he turned his head to glare at the other man with bloodshot eyes. But Tong Zhongjian paid him no mind at all, keeping his eyes down as he continued to polish his blade. The atmosphere in the room grew tense, and the gazes of several non-Han soldiers shifted back and forth between the two men. It seemed they were prepared to quickly pull the two apart should a fight break out. In the past, the Jurchen and the Mohe had been sworn enemies. Living in close proximity in the same bitterly cold lands, mutual slaughter and enslavement were commonplace. Although most members of both tribes were now slaves under the Han, the hatred ingrained deep in their bones still affected many. In the end, however, Yang Gudai did not step forward to argue. He stopped in a huff and, mimicking Tong Zhongjian’s posture, sat cross-legged at the other end of the large kang, brooding in silence. This time, Huang Qianzong assigned Yang Gudai twenty non-Han soldiers and recruited another twenty to serve as auxiliary troops. Fearing that the numbers were insufficient and their combat strength lacking, Huang Qianzong borrowed quite a few men from several of his subordinate squad leaders. But this was not a military order; it was merely a campaign undertaken for the sake of Huang Qianzong and his son’s future. For the platoon commanders, lending men was a matter of goodwill, but refusing to do so was their right. Consequently, only Liu Chenyong—who belonged to Huang Qianzong’s faction—and Ou Yang, who for some reason was the most eager to fight, sent men. This Tong Zhongjian was the commander of the 8th Unit’s expedition. Since the operation was a joint effort between a Thousand-Chief’s unit and two Unit Commanders’ units, although Yang Gudai was the commander designated by Huang Qianzong, Tong Zhongjian—being a commoner politically, a full two social classes above Yang Gudai—and commanding troops loaned by the 8th Unit, had absolutely no need to kowtow to the commander’s whims. Yang Gudai was completely powerless against him. Seeing that he had cornered Yang Gudai to the point where he was gasping for breath and unable to speak, Tong Zhongjian let out a cold, sarcastic laugh and said, “The New Year is just around the corner; we can’t keep all these men waiting here indefinitely. It may not matter to you, Yang Gudai, but I have a family to think of. Magistrate Ou will likely be returning from his travels soon, and I must return to his office to receive my orders.” He wasn’t particularly interested in this operation; after all, it was originally a matter for Huang Dexia and his son to handle on their own. Even if it succeeded, Ou Yang wouldn’t gain much from it. Besides, he was also somewhat concerned about the few scouts he’d sent out. These scouts were all from the 8th Company; while the others were fine, Hamuha was far too young. Lurking and scouting in such heavy snow made it all too easy for something to go wrong. Tong Zhongjian’s Han wife had a soft heart; even before Ou Yang arrived in Lingxi, she had taken great care of the young Quanrong boy who was raising his younger siblings on his own. Influenced by this, he had been the most friendly non-Han member of the 8th Company toward Hamuha at the time. After Ou Yanglai arrived in Lingxi, he not only selected this teenager—who could barely be considered a full-fledged soldier—as a combatant, but also had others—sometimes Tong Zhongjian himself—provide Hamuha with special training. Consequently, Tong Zhongjian was deeply reluctant to see this rising star, whom Ou Yanglai had taken a special interest in, meet an untimely end under his watch. Yang Gudai leapt to his feet from the kang, unable to bear it any longer. Pointing at Tong Zhongjian, he shouted, “This is Huang Qianzong’s order, and the Ou-Pai Company has agreed to it as well. Do you dare defy orders?” This time, it was Tong Zhongjian’s turn to be speechless—he would absolutely obey Ou Yang’s orders. The non-Han commander sent by Liu Chenyong, however, grumbled, “Who knows if that barbarian caravan will even show up? Are we supposed to spend the New Year here? Are you, Yang Gudai, the one in charge of distributing the soldiers’ bonuses?” The Spring Festival was not part of the Di Yi people’s traditions, but it was the most important day of the year for the Han Chinese. On this day, masters would give gifts to their commoners and slaves to mark the occasion. The slave soldiers were all looking forward to this day. Yang Gudai had temporarily silenced Tong Zhongjian by invoking Ou Yang’s authority, but he dared not provoke the collective anger of the group. Besides, there was some truth to what Tong Zhongjian said. With such heavy snowfall, if the beastmen’s caravan didn’t arrive, their group of a hundred or so couldn’t just keep waiting here indefinitely. To avoid being discovered, they hadn’t even dared to send anyone out to hunt small game to supplement their rations; for over a month now, they had been living off their reserves. Yang Gudai calmed his restless heart and said gloomily, “Then let’s wait another ten days. If the barbarian caravan still hasn’t arrived by then, we’ll all go back to our homes.”