Encountering a Snake - Chapter 31

v2c31

 

Ji Jiu’s judgment was not wrong. At the start, the Xiongnu army was eager for quick success, launching one siege battle after another, with a fight every two days during the first month. Ji Jiu was happy to see this situation. If it were possible, he would have preferred these enemy troops to foolishly crash into the city walls until they were battered and bloodied. His troops, especially the longbowmen trained over the years to number 8,000, were well-prepared. Though not every one of them could hit the bullseye at a hundred paces, they could maximize their effectiveness in a siege defense. Not to mention the spearmen, whose specially made extra-long spear shafts allowed them to fight off attackers with a one-to-ten advantage.

 

Thus, whenever the Xiongnu paused their attacks, Ji Jiu would send out troops to harass them, hoping to provoke another assault.

 

In truth, while it seemed that Ji Jiu was passively defending the city, he was actually the one most eager to fight.

 

However, as the battle dragged on, the Xiongnu began to sense the trap. They realized that brute force was not cost-effective and that the commander inside the city had no intention of engaging them head-on, aiming only to exhaust them. Once they recognized this, the Xiongnu army retreated fifty miles, set up camps, and reconsidered their strategy.

 

Ji Jiu watched their retreat and listened to the scouts’ reports. He frowned but said nothing.

 

With the army taking a break, Ji Jiu also found himself temporarily idle, wandering around aimlessly. One moment he would be in the stables, the next in the fodder storage. Most outrageously, he climbed into a haystack and slept for an entire day.

 

The generals searched everywhere but couldn’t find him. Only Shen Jue followed his instincts, tracking Ji Jiu to the fodder storage and digging him out of a tall haystack, where the general was sleeping like a log.

 

Shen Jue knew Ji Jiu was utterly exhausted. Despite appearances, the dark circles under his eyes told the truth. So Shen Jue simply sat with his sword on another haystack, quietly standing guard.

 

When Ji Jiu woke up, he immediately sensed Shen Jue’s presence. Without opening his eyes, he pulled some hay over himself as a makeshift blanket and lay still. It seemed like he was lost in thought, but since his eyes were closed, Shen Jue couldn’t tell.

 

After a long while, Ji Jiu finally asked, “What’s Shen Hai’s background?”

 

Shen Jue hadn’t expected this question and hesitated, unsure whether to answer. Ji Jiu didn’t even open his eyes, tossing out his own guess instead, “A descendant of the Shen family?”

 

Shen Jue felt cold sweat breaking out on his forehead. Wiping his brow, he said, “Yes.”

 

“Tell me about it,” Ji Jiu said.

 

Shen Jue began recounting the story.

 

Shen Hai’s great-grandmother had been a maidservant to Shen Qingxuan. When rumors spread about Shen Qingxuan and Yi Mo, two other maids left in disgust, fearing the scandal and convinced that Yi Mo, being a demon, might eat them. Shen Qingxuan’s household had only three maids to begin with, and with the departure of the other two, only a thirteen-year-old girl named Qingping remained. Shen Qingxuan told her that if she was afraid, she could leave and take ten taels of silver as severance. But Qingping refused and stayed, loyally serving Shen Qingxuan and a young Shen Jue.

 

After Shen Qingxuan passed away and Shen Jue was taken away by Yi Mo, Qingping stayed behind to care for the empty house, cleaning and maintaining it daily. When Shen Zhen, Shen Jue’s uncle, returned, he saw her loyalty, gentleness, and decent looks. Despite her age, he took her as a concubine. Qingping bore him two sons.

 

Later, when the Shen family faced calamity, Yi Mo saved them, and they changed their surname to Shen.

 

Shen Hai was Qingping’s great-grandson. Having heard these stories since childhood, he knew his real surname was Shen and that his ancestors had once been prominent. Determined to clear the Shen family’s name, Shen Hai used every means to become a trusted advisor to the emperor.

 

Ji Jiu remained silent for a long time before finally asking, “Does the emperor know?”

 

Shen Jue replied, “He does.”

 

“Then stay away from Shen Hai in the future,” Ji Jiu said.

 

“Why?”

 

Ji Jiu opened his eyes, sat up with hay in his hair, and replied while tidying himself up, “He’s too ambitious. The emperor uses him but doesn’t trust him and certainly won’t fulfill his wishes. He’ll never succeed in clearing the Shen family’s name during his lifetime. If you care, advise him to ensure his descendants enter officialdom. Perhaps the emperor will grant his wish through them.”

 

Shen Jue said nothing.

 

Ji Jiu laughed. “What is it? Are you asking why I won’t help him? Honestly, I can’t. If the emperor didn’t know his intentions, I might have been able to lend a hand. But since the emperor is aware that Shen Hai is seeking justice, I can’t.”

 

Saying this, Ji Jiu stood up, fastened his cloak, and headed toward the barracks. There were other things he didn’t say and didn’t plan to.

 

The Shen family’s downfall had been a casualty of imperial struggles for power. The current emperor himself had risen through such struggles.

 

This was a sore spot for the emperor. He wouldn’t reopen old wounds for the sake of someone like Shen Hai. But if Shen Hai persisted, perhaps the next emperor might clear the Shen family’s name.

 

After all, the current emperor had only one heir, the crown prince.

 

Perhaps one day, the emperor would explain this to Shen Jue himself, but only when he fully trusted him. Not now.

 

Ji Jiu stopped concerning himself with Shen Jue’s affairs. What did Shen Jue’s relationship with the emperor have to do with him? Since they were willing, they could leave it to fate.

 

Winter was still in full force as the two armies faced off in a stalemate.

 

Down below, Xiongnu soldiers hurled insults, aided by the blaring of horns. They called the defenders cowards, afraid to come out and fight.

 

The soldiers on the walls retaliated with insults of their own, mocking the Xiongnu for their broken promises, reminding them how they had boasted about entering the city by year’s end but were still huddled outside.

 

Verbal sparring was a form of warfare, as both sides knew the importance of morale. Sensing the bitter fight ahead, both commanders maintained remarkable composure.

 

The Chinese New Year was approaching.

 

The defenders added festive taunts, asking if the Xiongnu were thirsty or hungry, if they craved dumplings with golden wrappers filled with fragrant pork and scallions. They even teased about aged wine that would make them dream of fair maidens.

 

Hearing this, the defenders burst into laughter. The more lively ones began singing bawdy songs about love and flirtation.

 

It wasn’t even the New Year yet, but their spirits soared. Initially, only one soldier traded insults, but soon more joined, their voices echoing. The Xiongnu, frustrated, sent a dozen more to hurl insults back, but their poor grasp of Chinese turned their curses into unintelligible gibberish. The entire scene on both sides became a chaotic spectacle.

 

Ji Jiu, hearing the commotion, climbed the walls to observe. Having lived among the Xiongnu for two years, he understood some of their language. When one of them cursed his ancestors, Ji Jiu calmly took his iron bow—a heavy black weapon weighing thirty pounds—nocked an arrow, and let it fly. The arrow whistled through the air and struck the offender’s throat, silencing him instantly.

 

The defenders stared for a moment before erupting into cheers. Their cries of “Mighty!” echoed as thousands of voices joined in unison, shaking the very earth.

 

The Xiongnu quickly retrieved the corpse and retreated.

 

There were no more sieges.

 

On New Year’s Eve, Ji Jiu distributed wine, one cup per soldier. It wasn’t much, but it was enough to lift spirits. He told them, “When the war is over, the emperor will reward us with wine. Tonight, this cup is all you get.”

 

Returning to his quarters, Ji Jiu pulled out a gourd of aged spring wine gifted to him, a forty-year-old vintage. Even a small sip would get him drunk.

 

He drank a mouthful, savoring the cool liquid as it warmed in his mouth before swallowing. It was sweet yet bitter.

 

Reluctant to drink more, he stopped after two sips.

 

He wanted to save it, to drink it only after finishing what he had to do, when he could finally let himself truly rest.

 

The winter stalemate dragged on into spring, with no change.

 

Sitting on the steps of the city wall, Ji Jiu seemed preoccupied. Shen Jue approached to ask what was wrong. Ji Jiu, seemingly out of nowhere, remarked, “Something feels off,” but didn’t elaborate.

 

Too quiet.

 

This kind of quietness was not what Ji Jiu wanted, nor was it typical of the Xiongnu army’s style. Throughout history, countless generals had set out to subdue them, but most returned empty-handed. They were a nomadic people—if they could win, they fought; if not, they retreated. They didn’t need to farm or raise silkworms, and they had no burdens. As long as there were lush pastures and water, they could migrate with their entire tribe.

 

Ji Jiu sat motionless, lost in thought.

 

Shen Jue stood for a while before sitting down beside him. Looking at the soldiers on the wall, he waited a moment before asking, “General, what are you thinking?”

 

Ji Jiu said, “Over these years, while we’ve been sharpening our weapons and preparing, the Xiongnu have been consolidating their tribes. This time, the Right Wise King has personally led the campaign, but why did he bring only a mere 60,000 soldiers?” Turning to Shen Jue, Ji Jiu asked seriously, “Do you believe they’d come to conquer the Central Plains with less than 100,000 troops?”

 

Shen Jue quickly caught on and asked, “Reinforcements?”

 

Ji Jiu nodded. “There must be more forces, but we don’t know where they are.”

 

Shen Jue leaned closer to his ear and asked, “Should I investigate?”

 

Ji Jiu shook his head. “No need.”

 

“Why not?”

 

“Even if we know where they are, with 60,000 troops in front of us, how can we fight our way through?” Ji Jiu said calmly. “If I were him, I would ambush a large force behind the front army, waiting for us to recklessly attack so they could encircle us.”

 

As he spoke, Ji Jiu suddenly smiled and murmured, “I originally just wanted to wear them down, but it seems holding back and not launching a reckless attack was the right choice.”

 

Back at the camp, Ji Jiu unfolded a map and changed his plan. Pointing to a location, he told Shen Jue, “Follow this mountain range and investigate. Five days should be enough.” After a slight pause, Ji Jiu added, “If it’s unsafe, return immediately.”

 

Shen Jue smiled and said in a deep voice, “I may not be particularly skilled, but this task won’t trouble me.” With that, he hurried away.

 

Five days later, Shen Jue returned, his expression grave. He rushed into Ji Jiu’s tent and whispered into his ear, “There are about 80,000 cavalry lying in ambush. Adding the 60,000 outside the city, that makes 140,000 in total.”

 

Instead of alarm, Ji Jiu felt reassured by this news. The Xiongnu had reorganized their tribes and sharpened their weapons for this decisive battle. If they won, their iron cavalry would sweep into the Central Plains, claiming the wealth of the region as spoils. The newly enthroned Chanyu’s prestige would soar, ensuring loyalty from tribes that had only nominally submitted. This battle was not merely a hunt but a matter of honor and survival for the Xiongnu royal court.

 

“General,” Shen Jue asked behind him, “to fight or not to fight?”

 

Ji Jiu replied, “Fight!”

 

The decision to fight was inevitable, but the strategy was the real question. Facing 140,000 cavalry—highly mobile and skilled in horseback archery—meeting them head-on would result in heavy casualties for Ji Jiu’s forces.

 

A losing deal is something merchants avoid, and generals on the battlefield must avoid it even more because their currency is human lives.

 

A month later, spring arrived, and flowers bloomed.

 

The city gates, which had been tightly closed for months, suddenly opened wide. A massive wave of black-armored troops surged out, led by a figure clad in pitch-black armor, sitting calmly on horseback. Behind him, banners fluttered with a large character: “Ji.”

 

The Marshal had personally taken to the field. Xiongnu scouts rushed back to report the news.

 

Ji Jiu led 30,000 elite troops straight into the Xiongnu camp. After a day of fierce fighting, his forces retreated westward to a hill known as Fengming Ridge. The ridge, covered in scattered rocks and sparse trees, resembled a phoenix craning its neck in song from afar.

 

Ji Jiu’s troops retreated to the ridge and lit beacon fires at night. The countless torches illuminated the ridge, painting the night sky red and casting an eerie, otherworldly glow on their banners, as if the phoenix was undergoing a fiery rebirth.

 

Standing at the highest point, Ji Jiu looked down at the soldiers who had followed him and asked, “Are you afraid?”

 

“Not afraid!”

 

“We have provisions for one month, but there’s no water source here,” Ji Jiu said, curling his lips into a smile. “Are you afraid?”

 

“Not afraid!”

 

“If they dare attack, we’ll drive them back!” Ji Jiu declared. “No meat? Slaughter their horses to eat. No water? Drink their blood. Agreed?”

 

“Agreed!”

 

Ji Jiu laughed.

 

Being isolated and outnumbered is a nightmare for any commander, as it usually means death. Yet Ji Jiu calmly placed himself in this dire situation.

 

The Xiongnu army surrounded the ridge, launching repeated assaults only to be repelled each time by archers. The rocky terrain, unsuitable for horses, was laced with hidden traps that tripped and maimed their cavalry. Riders often fell from their horses, only to be pierced by volleys of arrows.

 

Half a month passed. Corpses piled up at the foot of the ridge, and the number of crippled horses grew.

 

That night, Ji Jiu tallied his remaining forces. Of the 30,000 troops who had left the city, half remained. Yet the Xiongnu forces below still outnumbered them two to one.

 

The soldiers were unyielding, their gazes turning increasingly ferocious, glinting with a bloodthirsty light. War transforms men into wolves.

 

Ji Jiu was waiting—for the Right Wise King, Yelü De’e, to act. The ambush of 80,000 cavalry, originally meant to encircle his forces, now left Yelü De’e hesitant.

 

While gnawing on hard rations by a boulder, one of his officers asked, “What if the Right Wise King doesn’t move?”

 

Ji Jiu replied, “He will.”

 

“Why?”

 

“He can’t afford to lose face,” Ji Jiu said with a smile. “Yelü De’e is their champion. Now, with the opposing commander only a hundred miles away on a hill and guarded by fewer than 15,000 troops, if he doesn’t dare to attack, the shame will haunt him forever.”

 

“Even knowing it’s a trap?”

 

“Even knowing it’s a trap,” Ji Jiu said. He set down his hard biscuit and poked at the fire, speaking softly. “At this stage, there’s no room for deception. By reaching Fengming Ridge, the trap becomes an open secret. Your concern about his inaction is valid, but…”

 

“But what?”

 

“But the likelihood of him attacking is too great. I can’t think of a better reason to forgo this opportunity,” Ji Jiu said.

 

After all, with the enemy commander in plain sight atop a lone ridge, the temptation was irresistible—so great that even Ji Jiu admitted he would take the risk if their roles were reversed.

 

No general ever fights with absolute certainty. As long as the odds are even, the gamble is worth it. Sometimes, it’s worth betting on a one-in-a-thousand chance. Every commander is a gambler—Ji Jiu, and Yelü De’e alike.

 

Ten days later, Yelü De’e made his move.

 

Eighty thousand cavalry joined forces with the remaining 40,000 troops, encircling Fengming Ridge so tightly that not even water could seep through. This was the essence of a ten-sided ambush.

 

The real battle had begun, steeped in blood.

 

Ji Jiu didn’t need to give detailed commands. The soldiers on Fengming Ridge knew this was a fight to the death. Any lapse would be fatal. They fought with every fiber of their being—every arrow aimed at an enemy’s heart, every boulder rolled down to crush a skull, every spear thrust to pierce a chest.

 

Most of them were ordinary soldiers, with no ranks or titles. Yet in this brutal battle, none flinched. No single individual, not even Ji Jiu, could tip the scales. They were just ordinary people, defending their homeland, sacrificing themselves for it.

 

Because retreat was not an option. The townspeople needed them. Their wives and children at home needed them. Their parents, who had raised them with hardship, needed them.

 

The greatest meaning of life may lie in the conviction to protect.

 

“Sharpen my spears; stand with me against the foe!”

 

At dawn, a distant drumbeat began. The rhythm was intense and stirring, accompanied by the synchronized march of thousands of soldiers, so powerful it seemed to shake the earth.

 

Both sides paused their battle instinctively, turning to look in unison toward the sound.

 

Black-armored troops surged in from all directions, their movements orderly as they closed in on Fengming Ridge. The overwhelming sight of the black cavalry was like a nightmare looming over the Xiongnu forces.

 

The drumbeat continued, each beat striking fear into hearts. Ji Jiu stood atop a protruding rock, looking mockingly at Yelü De’e, who had pushed his forces to the ridge’s midpoint. His voice, ghostly and chilling, proclaimed:

 

“You’ve lost!”

 

As his words echoed, the final drumbeat sounded. Among the encircling generals, Shen Jue drew his sword, pointing its gleaming edge at the surrounded Xiongnu army. Raising his arm, he shouted:

 

“Kill!”

 

No mercy, no retreat.