When it came to assaulting fortresses, Ning’s famed and expensive cavalry had no role to play. But once the pass was broken — in the ten-odd li of canyon stretching behind Tiger Wall Pass — cavalry found its dominion.
The Shu soldiers retreating from the pass were running for their lives, but how could infantry ever outrun cavalry?
Great numbers of Shu troops were overtaken. Most chose to surrender.
The first ones out through the gate had been old Marshal Gao Guangxiao’s group. Whatever he wanted to say about fairness, it couldn’t truly be equal — they had horses, and they couldn’t give their horses to the common soldiers.
General Han Zai and his men escort the old marshal away, but they hadn’t gotten far before being overtaken.
Had they kept running straight to the end of the canyon, where the terrain opened into open plains, they might have died faster. Their cavalry numbered far less than the Ning army’s, and on flat ground, they were no trained horsemen — the Ning cavalry would have clung to them and surrounded them quickly.
So at this critical juncture, Gao Guangxiao made a decision: dispatch a squad of a dozen or so men riding hard toward Meicheng to call for reinforcements, while he stayed behind. He took the remaining troops up into the hills.
He ordered all the infantry to follow him. In the scramble, perhaps seven or eight thousand men made it up the slope with him.
The canyon below was filled with surrendering soldiers; only those who had run the farthest managed the hard climb up the mountain.
Gao Guangxiao reached the high ground and looked back toward Tiger Wall Pass. The Ning army’s red battle standards already flew from the walls, vivid and cutting to the eye.
In the canyon below, Ning cavalry moved back and forth at will, like fishermen hauling in nets, scooping up every last fish and shrimp they’d cornered.
Gao Guangxiao exhaled heavily and looked around. His men were watching him.
“We cannot retreat again.”
His voice was low.
Han Zai said, “The Marshal is right. We can’t retreat out of the canyon anyway — we’re cut off. Better to hold here and wait for relief. This ground is harder to attack than any pass. There’s only one narrow path leading up; if we use our bows and equipment sparingly, we should hold.”
Gao Guangxiao almost said: that’s not what I meant by ‘we cannot retreat again.’ But the words reached his lips and he swallowed them.
He couldn’t reproach someone who’d fought his way to save him. Was Han Zai a coward? Not at all. Had Gao Guangxiao not been present on that wall, Han Zai would have fought to the last. In Han Zai’s heart, the old marshal was both teacher and father — everything Han Zai had done, he’d done only to protect him.
So Gao Guangxiao said nothing more, and climbed higher to survey the terrain. The canyon walls on both sides were steeply precipitous, impassable in most stretches without climbing equipment. They had been fortunate to find this usable high ground — craggy rocks everywhere above, natural cover.
“Han Zai,” he said. “Take men and block the narrow path with stones. Then spread the troops along defensible positions and conceal them.”
Han Zai acknowledged and took men to carry it out.
Gao Guangxiao sat down on the high ground and sighed once more.
A lifetime of warfare, and in this final battle he’d been beaten this badly by someone half his age. If it got around, his lifelong reputation would be destroyed. He’d be a laughingstock.
Yet thinking back over the Ning army’s assault on Tiger Wall Pass, he still couldn’t see how it could have been stopped.
Because the Ning army had established *shi* — momentum, weight, inevitability. Nothing could have stopped it. Even if he and Li Chi had switched positions — Li Chi defending Tiger Wall Pass, him commanding the Ning army in the same assault — Li Chi wouldn’t have held it either.
But then, turning it over further — every tactical step Li Chi had taken had been outside his ability to anticipate.
On the rocky heights, the Shu soldiers squeezed into whatever space the jagged terrain offered — seven or eight thousand men, many forced to press together. This ground was hard for enemies to attack, but also precarious for his own men; one wrong step and a man could tumble down the cliff.
At night, there wasn’t enough flat ground for everyone to sleep.
The one piece of good news was that soldiers still had their emergency rations — and that too was because of Gao Guangxiao’s order. When preparing the defense, he’d required every soldier to carry three days’ rations on their person. If the Ning barrage grew too intense, the men defending the walls wouldn’t need to wait for food to be sent up. And he had thought about the possibility of retreat — soldiers carrying three days of food wouldn’t have to flee in complete disarray.
He’d thought of everything he could think of. He just hadn’t anticipated the defeat coming so quickly.
In the distance, he could see Ning infantry already filing out of Tiger Wall Pass — meaning the Ning army was already establishing a cordon around his position.
“Marshal,” Han Zai said, returning to Gao Guangxiao’s side, wiping sweat from his face. “The garrison at Meishan camp is only a three-day march from here. If we ration our supplies, and use the bark and wild fruit on the mountain, we should be able to hold until the relief force arrives.”
“Kill the horses,” Gao Guangxiao said quietly.
Their war horses were down below on the lower slopes — inaccessible now. Most would likely fall into Ning hands soon. Among them was Gao Guangxiao’s own mount: a horse he had raised with his own hands during his years in retirement. He’d cared for it himself from when it was a foal.
“Marshal, at least spare Guhong,” Han Zai said, standing up. “I’ll take men down myself and find a way to bring it up.”
He turned to go.
“Kill it…”
Gao Guangxiao shook his head slightly. “Don’t waste the effort. Kill it — it’ll feed the soldiers.”
“Marshal, not Guhong!” Han Zai’s face had changed.
“Because it’s my horse, it lives, while yours are slaughtered?” Gao Guangxiao looked at Han Zai. “What would the soldiers think?”
He looked at Han Zai again. “Kill it.”
Han Zai sighed deeply, then went down with the others.
After Han Zai left, the worry that finally showed on Gao Guangxiao’s face was deep and raw.
Meicheng lay beyond Meishan. The garrison at Meishan camp was the first line of defense protecting the city. Before coming here, Pei Qi had told him more than once that if the situation grew dire, he would immediately dispatch the Meishan garrison to reinforce.
But even if his messengers rode without stopping all the way to Meishan, the garrison commander there would never dare send troops without authorization — someone would have to ride on to Meicheng and report to Pei Qi. Two more days of delay, at least. Then Pei Qi’s approval, then the garrison marching out — a march at full military pace was nothing like a mounted courier’s gallop.
So Han Zai’s estimate of six days was simply impossible. Ten days, at the earliest.
Without killing the horses… they couldn’t last ten days. And even with the terrain’s advantage, even with full supplies, holding ten days against the Ning army’s assault was far from certain.
Tiger Wall Pass — how impregnable had it seemed? From the moment the Ning army began their trebuchet barrage to the moment the city fell: less than five days.
But none of these worries could be shared with the soldiers. Their hearts had so little hope left. He couldn’t make that hope vanish entirely — one careless word might snuff it out entirely.
From below the high ground came the sound of war horses crying out. Creatures that had been companions — now dying under their own riders’ blades.
About two hours later, Ning infantry reached the canyon from Tiger Wall Pass and began establishing defenses at the far end — both to intercept any relief forces and, though perhaps unnecessary before those reinforcements arrived, to ensure thorough containment.
Two or three li below the high ground, Li Chi swung down from his horse, found a usable slope on the opposite side, and climbed up to survey the Shu army’s position.
“The command banner is still there,” Li Chi said. “Gao Guangxiao is over there.”
From the many prisoners taken, the Ning army had learned the identity of the defending commander. From prisoner interrogations, they’d also learned that Gao Guangxiao was Yao Zhiyuan’s mentor — and the guiding teacher of many generals in the Shu army. His prestige was immense. Li Chi wanted to try persuading him to surrender.
A man with that kind of influence, if he came over to their side, would devastate Shu morale. If he could be convinced to then speak to other Shu commanders — the effect could be remarkable.
For Li Chi, no matter what territory was being contested, he would spare no effort at any method that could reduce casualties.
“Should I go?” Xiahou Zhuo asked.
Li Chi hadn’t said anything outright, but Xiahou Zhuo could read him clearly.
Li Chi shook his head. “I’ll go.”
Xiahou Zhuo said, “You going yourself might be giving them too much face — and it’s somewhat dangerous.”
Li Chi said, “If I go in person, Gao Guangxiao will at least consider it.”
He descended the slope with only a handful of personal guards carrying shields, and made his way toward where the Shu army was entrenched. At the base of the slope he called out, asking Gao Guangxiao to come speak with him.
Before long, Gao Guangxiao actually appeared within Li Chi’s line of sight, stepping out from behind a boulder.
“Old General.”
Li Chi cupped his fists first, then called out loudly: “Why will you not show mercy to your own men?”
Gao Guangxiao returned the salute. “Greetings, Ning King. Please return, Your Highness. It is not that I have no mercy for my comrades — but we are all soldiers, and soldiers must hold to a soldier’s resolve. To flee and to surrender are not the same.”
Li Chi said, “Has the old General ever considered the tens of millions of common people throughout Shu?”
Gao Guangxiao said, “That is not my concern to consider — it is the Ning King’s. Shu has never known the scourge of war. The Ning King comes speaking of benevolence and righteousness, but brings war in his wake. Please — do not use such words to persuade me.”
Li Chi said, “If I do not unify Shu now, the Central Plains will remain divided for a long time. Will there be any fewer wars to come?”
Gao Guangxiao nodded. “The Ning King is not wrong. But that too is not my concern. I serve under the command of the jiedushi. I act on his orders. The battle before me — I will fight. What comes after… is beyond my reach.”
Li Chi moved to speak further; Gao Guangxiao said: “Please return, Ning King. I am grateful for your good intentions. But my mind is set.”
He turned and walked back.
Li Chi knew further persuasion would be pointless. He had no choice but to return to his own lines.
Xiahou Zhuo said, “All the prisoners say the same thing about him — that Gao Guangxiao is upright, loyal, a man of high principles. He will not surrender.”
Li Chi said, “Still had to try.”
Xiahou Zhuo said, “Seal them in for a few days first. Even if they slaughter their horses, they won’t have much food.”
Li Chi nodded. “Take men to the other side of the canyon yourself. Collect stones and cut timber. In three days, build a stone barrier wall across the canyon mouth.”
Xiahou Zhuo agreed, then looked up at the mountain. “Gao Guangxiao is waiting for relief. But will Pei Qi actually send anyone to save him?”
Within three days, the Ning army had piled stone and timber into a fortified barrier at the other end of the canyon, garrisoned by a substantial force.
For those three days, the Ning army made no move against Gao Guangxiao’s position on the mountain. But Li Chi went himself, every day for three consecutive days, to the base of the slope to call out to the old marshal.
Gao Guangxiao simply would not appear. No matter how Li Chi called, he refused to come out again.
Two more days passed. On the fifth day, Li Chi stopped going to the slope to call out.
Sitting on the high ground, Gao Guangxiao waited until nightfall, then smiled to himself, bitterly.
The Ning King had stopped calling — not because he’d lost patience. It was because the Ning King had reached a threshold. If he came again, the Ning soldiers would feel it was beneath their lord’s dignity — and it would begin to affect their own morale.
“Make ready,” Gao Guangxiao said, rising to his feet. “Come tomorrow morning, the Ning army will likely attack.”