Chapter One Hundred Eleven: The Eagle-Raising Prefectural Army

Yun Hao had originally assumed that Li Yuan would not survive the ordeal, and he had even gone to the trouble of having the Li brothers tie their father down. In truth, Yun Hao had overthought the situation. Those whose names are etched in history are rarely ordinary men. Though Yun Hao’s hands had trembled as he cut, once Li Yuan let out that initial roar, he did not utter another sound. He gritted his teeth and endured it, a level of resolve that surpassed even Guan Yunchang. Yun Hao was finally convinced that this founding emperor of the Tang possessed truly extraordinary qualities.

The wound, which had been the size of a copper coin, had been carved out by Yun Hao to the size of half a fist. By the time all the suspicious tissue had been excised, a dark red cavern marred Li Yuan’s chest, a sight enough to make one’s scalp crawl. A nameless anxiety suddenly welled up in Yun Hao; if he accidentally killed this future emperor, his two sons would likely have his entire family buried along with him.

The one doing the cutting was drenched in sweat, and the one being cut was cold with it. When the final incision was made and he was certain no necrotic tissue remained, a wave of exhaustion washed over Yun Hao. His body went limp, and he collapsed to the ground, so startling Li Er that he shook the oil lamp in his hand, spilling burning oil that caused a piercing, heart-wrenching pain.

"Brother Hao, are you alright?" Chai Shao scooped Yun Hao into his arms, though it was unclear whether he was asking after Yun Hao or Li Yuan.

"Use cloth boiled in water, soaked in alcohol, to wipe the area. Remember! Wipe it every three hours. I am feeling terrible; find me a place to rest." Yun Hao’s face was ashen, and these words cost him nearly all his remaining strength. Having not eaten since morning, the surgery had drained his spirit and physical reserves; his small body could no longer hold up.

Yun Hao slept as if the world had turned to darkness, and when he finally awoke, the sky was bright with daylight.

"Brother Hao, you're awake!" A homely face appeared before him—it was Lai Shun, grinning with large front teeth, looking for all the world like Bugs Bunny.

"Why are you here?" Yun Hao remembered that Lai Shun had been an apprentice under Zhang Wenzhong; how had he made it to Huozhou?

"You were snatched away by the Second Master, so your lady wife begged my master. Thinking the Second Master was in Huozhou, he sent me and Qi Biao. You had us worried sick; you've been asleep for three days!"

"What? I’ve slept for three days?"

"Yes! How are you feeling?"

"Hungry!" Yun Hao felt as though his stomach had shriveled into a knot—a sensation he had tasted in the year of ’60, and one he never expected to taste again.

A bowl of millet porridge, served at just the right temperature, appeared before him, along with two boiled eggs. Seeing Yun Hao devouring the food like a starving ghost, Lai Shun added two scallion pancakes.

Yun Hao drank the porridge and ate an egg, but he left the pancakes untouched. Those who have been starved for too long cannot eat their fill, or they risk death. He had once read a story about the Battle of Shangganling: four hundred soldiers were hoarded in a cave, and only six came out alive. During a relief meal, four died of overeating. Yun Hao had no desire to die of starvation, nor of gluttony.

After lying down for three days, his bones felt soft. Yun Hao forced himself to stand, and with Lai Shun and Qi Biao supporting him, he went to visit Li Yuan. Given their low status, Lai Shun and Qi Biao were not permitted into the main tent, so they remained ignorant of Li Yuan’s condition. Yun Hao had asked several times without getting a straight answer, so he decided to see for himself.

The Li brothers were absent, and Chai Shao was attending to Li Yuan with his hair in disarray. His red-rimmed eyes made it clear he had been keeping watch for a long time. For a son-in-law to show such devotion was nearly equal to that of a son.

"How is the Duke?" Yun Hao asked in a low voice, casting a glance at the sleeping Li Yuan.

"The fever has broken, and his spirit is quite good. He just fell asleep!" Chai Shao whispered back, the two of them looking for all the world like conspirators in a secret meeting.

Yun Hao lifted the gauze to inspect the wound. It was excellent; a layer of fascia had already formed. The surrounding muscle was pale from the alcohol, but there were no signs of infection. As long as there was no infection, all was well. Winter’s cold kept the bacteria far less active than in summer. Furthermore, the central command tent had adopted Yun Hao’s method, spraying every corner with alcohol. Everyone entering or leaving had to undergo strict disinfection; the practice of soaking in saltwater had been upgraded to spraying alcohol over their bodies. Good heavens, how much alcohol must that have consumed? It seemed Chai Shao had not ceased the production of alcohol for a single moment.

Seeing that Li Yuan was stable, Yun Hao withdrew. As long as he was safe, all was well; the Yun family needed a patron. Li Yuan was an excellent choice, primarily because this old man was destined to become the emperor.

Li Yuan’s constitution was robust, and after only half a month of recuperation, the wound had scabbed over, though the large hollow still presented a shocking sight.

Once re-armored, Li Yuan looked as imposing as ever. Save for a slight pallor, he seemed no different than before.

Yun Hao vehemently opposed Li Yuan taking the field, but Li Yuan was insistent, and there was nothing to be done. He could only warn the Li brothers that if the wound burst, their father would die. Only under the earnest persuasion of Li Er and Li Jiancheng did Li Yuan agree to merely observe the battle.

The sound of war drums echoed, each beat striking against the heart. Yun Hao felt his own heart racing in rhythm. He finally had the chance to witness an ancient battlefield, a grand scale engagement with tens of thousands of soldiers. To Yun Hao, the enemy appeared as numerous as the sea, a dark, suffocating tide of murderous intent surging toward the heavens.

For the past half-month, the Li brothers had led their cavalry to systematically annihilate the remnants of Wu Duan’er’s mounted troops. Despite the enemy’s numerical superiority, they were now trapped like turtles in a jar. In open plains, cavalry held an incomparable advantage over infantry. No matter how fast they ran, two-legged men could never outpace four-legged horses.

The "Li" banner, with its black characters on a red field, snapped in the cold wind. Li Yuan stood atop a small hill. At its base, soldiers were drawn up in neat formations. These were the Yingyang garrison troops. They wore sturdy armor and gripped a variety of weapons. According to the laws of the Great Sui, they were exempt from corvée labor. Under the leadership of their commanders, they practiced martial arts regularly, and they provided their own armor and weapons when called to kill.

The price for this exemption was that whenever the Emperor went on campaign, they became his soldiers, tasked with butchering his enemies. When fathers, sons, and brothers chatted in their spare time, the talk was always of where, when, and how many they had killed. Some would delve into the techniques of killing, emphasizing stability, precision, speed, and ruthlessness, striving for perfection—aiming to kill as many as possible while avoiding being killed themselves. The highest honor was the number of heads taken; those who achieved a "hundred-man kill" could boast to their home villages and win titles and offices.

Compared to these professional killers, the soldiers of Wu Duan’er appeared quite wretched. Armor, being an expensive commodity, was scarce; apart from the commanders, the rank-and-file had none, and their weapons were largely homemade. The most popular style was the *shu*, which was essentially a heavy club, sometimes fitted with a metal head or collar. Those with more strength used thicker ones, while the weaker used thinner ones.

Such weapons were easily sourced, cheap, and effective for mass arming. They were absolutely the essential choice for staying home, traveling, or rebelling against the state. In the age of cold steel, rebel peasant armies were almost universally equipped with them.

Li Yuan sat solemnly beneath the commander’s banner, with Yun Hao standing by his side. The thick, murderous atmosphere made him afraid to even breathe heavily. Seeing a cold-weapon battlefield for the first time, Yun Hao’s heart hammered against his ribs.

There were no superfluous words. Of pre-battle deployments or strategic doctrines, Yun Hao knew nothing. A series of horns sounded, followed by the deep, rhythmic thrumming of war drums.

The soldiers on both sides seemed to react as if linked by a single mind; a formation from each side broke ranks and surged forward.