Chapter 01: The Forgotten Ones

Between the vast desert and the grasslands, clumps and patches of gray-green grass stood proudly upright in the swirling dust and sand. Some of the grass tips had red buds like matchstick heads, while others had already bloomed with white flowers. This plant was called the wolfsbane flower.

In the piercing wind, under the afterglow of the setting sun, the flowers stubbornly sparkled with dazzling luster. It was said that this was the last line of scenery before the grasslands transformed into desert. Some said it was more poisonous than wolves, bringing people the threat of fear and death.

However, people also knew that those who came from the desert, upon seeing it, would see hope, knowing that behind it lay life and victory. Only this plant could survive tenaciously in the harshest environments and miraculously bloom and bear fruit.

Yun Ye didn’t particularly like the wolfsbane flower. He preferred the potentilla, which also grew at the desert’s edge. The brilliant golden potentilla was much more pleasing to the eye. Na Rimu would ride her horse galloping across the meadows, and whenever she saw potentilla, she would bend down to pluck them. Even as she did so, her warhorse continued galloping, earning thunderous cheers from the soldiers.

Yun Ye didn’t like the wolfsbane flower, and Wang Cai didn’t either. Its mouth was severely swollen, drool continuously dripping down. It kept using its hooves to trample a clump of wolfsbane flowers beneath it into pulp before stopping. Earlier, out of curiosity, it had taken a bite of a wolfsbane leaf. Yun Ye had hastily pulled it from the horse’s mouth and washed its mouth with clean water, but then its mouth had swollen up anyway. This was already the best outcome—wolfsbane flowers were highly toxic.

After half a month of traveling through the desert, the soldiers were exhausted, both men and horses. Finding a rare oasis, Yun Ye ordered them to rest here for three days. Some merchant caravans that had stopped here to rest saw the army and habitually prepared to present gifts, but they couldn’t even get through the camp gates. Yun Ye had no intention of letting his soldiers become greedy parasites.

This meadow wasn’t large, no more than three li in circumference. In ancient times, this place might have been a large lake. Now it had dried up, but the abundant groundwater still nourished this oasis, stubbornly maintaining its greenery.

Marching through the desert was exceptionally difficult. The horses from the Central Plains were not very familiar with this terrain. The sun-scorched ground often caused warhorses to neigh and collapse with a thunderous crash, preferring to be burned on their bodies rather than letting their iron-shod hooves touch the scalding sand.

It was only late April, and Yun Ye dared not imagine what the desert would be like in midsummer. The merchants all brought camels, which, though slow-moving, were reliable. For crossing the desert, horses were not the most suitable.

“General, our horses have already suffered five percent losses, and we’ve only traveled a thousand li. If we reach Loulan, we might lose ten percent of our livestock,” Fan Hongyi said, watching soldiers slaughter fallen warhorses with great concern.

“Now you understand why Emperor Wu of Former Han had to mobilize the entire nation’s strength to campaign in the Western Regions, don’t you? Fortunately, our Great Tang’s national power is a thousand times greater than Former Han’s. Otherwise, we definitely wouldn’t have it this easy. I really don’t want to see a single battle determine a nation’s fate—that would make the nation far too fragile.”

“Wei Qing traveled this road, and Li Guangli did too. However, the two men produced two different results. Wei Qing achieved great victory and returned with all his forces intact, while Li Guangli brought thirty thousand of Former Han’s most elite soldiers to fight here, ultimately exhausting every last soldier. He himself surrendered to the Xiongnu because his conspiracy was exposed and the Emperor had executed his entire family.”

“So you see, Old Fan, this land is filled everywhere with the heroic spirits of our people. We dare not lose face and can only move forward. We cannot turn back because of a little difficulty. To be honest, there’s no way back to take anyway.”

“This subordinate understands. This place is only four hundred li from Loulan. Why doesn’t the Commander press forward in one go? Once morale slackens, the soldiers will never dare to cross this sea of death again.”

Fan Hongyi chewed on a blade of green grass. He was always worrying—one moment about livestock, the next about supplies, and now he was starting to worry about morale.

“A battle will fix things,” Yun Ye replied with a smile, though his eyes held no mirth, only killing intent.

Fan Hongyi sprang to his feet and asked Yun Ye word by word: “This is an uninhabited wasteland. I wonder whom the Commander intends to fight, and how?”

Yun Ye pulled out a letter from his chest and handed it to Fan Hongyi, then walked toward Na Rimu. At this moment, Na Rimu wore a flower crown, her beauty surpassing the flowers. Laughing and giggling, she was chasing the reluctant-to-move Wang Cai. Yun Ye grabbed her hand and led her to a verdant hillock where they sat back-to-back for a brief rest.

“Brothers, we’ve finally got ourselves a battle to fight!” Fan Hongyi was nearly ecstatic. As a soldier who hadn’t fought a battle in nearly ten years, how could he bear it? Now that he finally had this opportunity, he felt his blood surging toward his head.

Every April was the best season for Western Regions camel caravans to travel between the Caliphate and Chang’an. At this time, countless bandits would appear, including many who spoke Tibetan. They numbered anywhere from several hundred to four or five thousand. Wherever they passed, not a blade of grass remained—only corpses strewn across the ground. This year was no different. Di Renjie had specially arranged for a caravan to deliver to his master the location and timing of the bandits’ planned attacks.

Hei Feng had completely lost his last trace of love and respect for his people and ancestors. He only wanted to quickly finish these ten years. As long as he accumulated enough merit, he could move inside the Pass. He planned to open a small winery in Chang’an, specializing in grape wine, and live out the rest of his life peacefully.

So he had told Di Renjie about the time when that gang of Tibetan bandits arrived each year and where they assembled. In previous years, the Loulan people had provided those bandits with grain and supplies.

This year, those bandits sent people again. Di Renjie had Hei Feng continue providing the bandits with information and supplies. The overjoyed Cheng Chumo had originally wanted to swallow this gang of bandits in one gulp, but discovered that this year the bandits were behaving very abnormally. They were actually assembling—whether large bands of bandits or small bands, they were preparing to join forces. His own three thousand troops were simply not enough. He could only transmit information to Yun Ye, hoping Yun Ye could reach Ruoergai when the bandits appeared.

The source of information was not just one place. Di Renjie knew this, and so did Yun Ye. They tacitly agreed to attribute the credit to Hei Feng. The Han man who sold mutton soup in Shanshan City near Loulan was simultaneously erased from this credit by the master and disciple. Now was not yet the time for that person to appear.

The Shanshan Kingdom had been destroyed by the great general Wan Dugui during the Northern Wei Dynasty. Now only this Shanshan City remained. Cities on the wasteland were originally ownerless. When people inhabited them, they were called cities and kingdoms. When uninhabited, they became ghost domains. Due to the reopening of the Silk Road, this great city had begun to have human habitation again after being desolate for over a hundred years, and its population was growing.

When people gathered in large numbers, something would appear—something called heroes and champions. This thing was always born alongside crowds of people. One who defeated ten men was a hero, one who defeated a hundred was a champion, one whose strength matched a thousand was a grandee, and one who could match ten thousand was naturally an outstanding figure. So after these heroes and champions went through a bout of fighting, this city naturally had a master and a city lord. Everything was exactly the same as before Wan Dugui arrived.

At the north gate of Shanshan City was a mutton shop. The shop owner was a Han man who, it was said, had failed in business and was too ashamed to return to Han territory. He could only open a mutton soup shop in Shanshan City to barely maintain his livelihood.

The shop owner was a good-tempered person and very kind, good at making friends. No one knew in which year his luck had turned—he married a wild woman from Nanzhao as his wife, and now they had two children.

The mutton soup he made was absolutely outstanding. If the city lord didn’t have a bowl of mutton soup each day, he would scratch his ears and cheeks, unable to fall asleep. Under the city lord’s protection, this shop’s business had always been the best.

“Jian Niang, we don’t have much worry-free grass left. Just make sure to add this stuff to the city lord’s meat soup. Don’t add it to other people’s soup. This is an unconscionable method—better to use it sparingly. Go fish out the pine stick from the meat soup. Then this pot of soup will be ready. Don’t bake so many flatbreads. There haven’t been any merchants passing through these past few days. The ones coming to eat are all freeloaders wanting to run up tabs.”

A refined young woman acknowledged and fished the pine stick out of the pot, carefully putting it away. This was the secret of their business. The reason their mutton soup was better than others’ was because of this stick.

The short-bearded Qu Zhuo skillfully ladled out a large scoop of mutton soup from the pot, mixed some shredded mutton into the soup, and when the bright green sand onions were floating on the soup, Qu Zhuo took out a mung bean-sized black pill from his chest and dropped it into the soup. He rubbed his face, put on a smile, and carried the food box outside, handing it to a seductive foreign dancing girl.

A silver coin slapped into Qu Zhuo’s palm. The dancing girl laughed coquettishly, scratched Qu Zhuo’s palm with her finger, twisted her plump buttocks, and left the shop. Jian Niang stood in the inner room, seeing everything clearly, and couldn’t help but snort.

Returning to the inner room, Qu Zhuo casually tossed the silver coin into the rattan basket hanging overhead and began kneading dough on the cutting board. His technique was very practiced. He had been in this trade so long that he had almost forgotten he was still a seventh-rank official of the Great Tang Empire.

Many times Qu Zhuo wondered whether Chang’an had already forgotten his existence. The initial order had been for him to collect intelligence on the movements of various Western Regions countries. Now the materials he had collected had filled three large chests, yet no one had come to retrieve them.

Until six months ago, when an elegant young noble came to Shanshan City and sat in his small shop drinking a bowl of mutton soup. When paying, he used a wooden plaque. At that moment, Qu Zhuo nearly cried out with joy—someone still remembered him.

That night, he got thoroughly drunk. Holding Jian Niang, he said countless times: “They haven’t forgotten me. They need me.”

Jian Niang knew the bitterness in his heart. She held him, listening to his murmuring, listening to him weep, shedding tears of happiness for her husband.