Chapter 2: Blackstone Pass

Ling Chuan reached Heishikou Pass as the sun dipped west. The snow had stopped, but the wind hadn't.

The fort was wedged into a gap between two mountains. Its stone walls stood twenty feet high, with piles of cornstalks heaped at the base, half of them rotted away. The main gate was halfway open, the entryway deserted.

He led his horse inside and spotted a soldier crouching by the wall, dozing off while clutching a spear. The rust on the spearhead was thick enough to scrape off in layers.

"Hey."

The soldier jolted awake. "Who's there?"

"From the Beacon Tower. Delivering a message." Ling Chuan flicked the reins. "Where's your Hundred-House Officer?"

"Main hall." The soldier pointed inward, adding, "Don't take the horse inside. The officer hates the smell."

Ling Chuan tied the horse under the eaves and patted its bay neck. The horse snorted white steam, lowering its head to nibble on the cornstalks by the wall.

A brazier was burning in the main hall. Seven or eight men were huddled around it throwing dice, the smoke having blackened the ceiling beams. In the center sat a dark-faced man in his thirties. One arm rested on the table, sleeve rolled up to the elbow, revealing an old scar that climbed from his wrist to his joint.

Ling Chuan handed over the Old Xiao Wei's orders.

The dark-faced man took the paper and read it by the light of the brazier. He looked up. "Old Xiao Wei sent you?"

"Yes."

"Anything else he say?"

"That half the men at Heishikou are old slackers, and the other half are fresh conscripts."

The room went quiet. The hands throwing dice froze mid-air.

The dark-faced man folded the paper and tucked it into his tunic. "I'm Cao Zhen. I run this fort. What else did the Old Xiao Wei say?"

"That I should stay here for half a month to help keep an eye on things."

"Keep an eye." Cao Zhen gave a small, unpleasant smile. "Keep an eye on how my sixty-seven men are supposed to stop three hundred Northern Di cavalry?"

Ling Chuan didn't answer.

Cao Zhen kicked a stool over from the brazier. "Sit. First, tell me—how many columns of Wolf Smoke can the Beacon Tower light?"

"Three. One column for a hundred riders; three for three hundred or more."

"And when you came in today, did you see any smoke on the northern ridge?"

"No."

"No." Cao Zhen grabbed a wine bowl from the table, didn't drink, and set it back down. "The north has been quiet for half a month. Eerily quiet."

"How so?"

"Every year when winter hits, the Northern Di always test the waters at the pass. This year, not a peep." Cao Zhen looked at him. "You tell me: did they decide not to come, or do they just not want us to see them coming?"

Ling Chuan asked, "Can I take a look at the drill ground?"

"Go ahead," Cao Zhen waved him off. "It's not like there's anything to do."

The drill ground was at the west end of the fort, a flat stretch of rammed earth with snow covering half of it. About thirty men stood around in a loose scatter; some had their hands tucked in their sleeves, some leaned against the wall, and some crouched on the ground drawing circles with twigs. A dozen straw dummies stood along the edge, their straw spilling out to reveal the wooden frames.

Ling Chuan walked a lap and stopped at the bow rack. Out of thirty bows, twenty had loose strings. The arrows were tied in three bundles; he pulled a few out and found the shafts varied in thickness, the fletching a mix of chicken and goose feathers.

"Who's in charge of these arrows?"

A tall, thin man stepped out from the crowd. He looked to be around forty, with a permanent smirk on his face. "Me. Qian San. Ordnance is my department."

"Why aren't the strings tightened?"

"No point," Qian San shrugged. "Less than twenty men in this fort can actually draw a bow. The rest can't even pull them halfway."

"And the arrows?"

"That's all we've got. I filed a request for replacements last month. The Guard Agency said to wait."

Ling Chuan pulled out an arrow and held it up to the light. The shaft was warped.

"Can you hit anything with an arrow like this?"

Qian San grinned. "Can't hit a thing. That's why I never shoot them."

Someone in the back burst out laughing.

Ling Chuan didn't laugh. He slid the arrow back in and turned to the thirty men. "Who's the best shot among you?"

Silence.

Qian San spoke up. "Shitou's the best. That one."

He pointed to a youth of fifteen or sixteen. The boy shrank back, his face flushing red.

"Shitou, come here."

The boy shuffled over, still clutching half a steamed bun in his hand.

"How far can you shoot?"

"Si... sixty paces," Shitou whispered. "If the target is big."

"Show me."

Shitou looked at Qian San, who nodded. The boy ran to grab a bow, but as he pulled the string—*snap*. It broke.

The crowd erupted in laughter.

Ling Chuan asked, "The string broke. Why didn't you replace it?"

"No strings," Qian San said. "We have to get sinew from the Guard Agency. I've requested it three times."

Ling Chuan was silent for a moment, then turned around.

"I'm not an officer, so my word doesn't carry weight," he said. "But I spent three years guarding the Beacon Tower. I've seen how the Northern Di sneak past sentries. Two nights ago, seven scouts crept right up to the base of the tower. They took the leeward slope; not one of the eight sentry posts noticed a thing."

The laughter died.

"Seven men dared to sneak to the foot of the Beacon Tower," Ling Chuan said. "You have sixty-seven men at Heishikou and twenty-foot walls. If three hundred Northern Di riders actually show up, how do you plan to stop them?"

Cao Zhen had appeared at the edge of the field at some point, watching in silence.

Qian San asked, "Then you tell us. How do we stop them?"

"My opinion doesn't matter," Ling Chuan looked at him. "But I'll make a bet with you. Three days. In three days, these thirty men will be able to fire three synchronized volleys, and every arrow will hit the straw dummies at thirty paces. If they can't, I'll carry horse fodder for three days."

"And if they do?"

"You replace the strings on all thirty bows."

Qian San stared at him for a while, then suddenly laughed. "Deal. You're on. But a word of advice: horse fodder is heavy."

*

That night, Cao Zhen came to the drill ground carrying a jug of wine.

Ling Chuan was crouching on the ground, drawing a diagram with a twig.

"What are you drawing?"

"Trenches," Ling Chuan said, pointing at the ground. "Three of them, running across the northern slope. The first one is shallow—just to trip the horses. The second one is deep, so if a man falls in, he can't climb out. The third one is for our own men to stand in and fire from."

Cao Zhen crouched down and studied the ground for a long while. "Sixty-seven men. You think they can finish digging that?"

"They can't."

"Then why bother drawing it?"

"We dig even if we can't finish." Ling Chuan snapped a twig. "Every foot we dig slows the Northern Di down by one step."

Cao Zhen handed over the wine flask. "Take a sip."

Ling Chuan took it and took a small swallow; it was so spicy it made him choke.

"Let me ask you something." Cao Zhen stared into the brazier. "You're just a guy guarding a Beacon Tower. How do you know how to drill troops?"

"There are only eight of us at the Beacon Tower," Ling Chuan replied. "But eight people still need training. If we aren't trained, we won't even be able to light the Wolf Smoke."

Cao Zhen let out a short laugh and didn't ask further.

"If the Northern Di actually show up, what do you plan to do?" Ling Chuan asked in return.

"What can I do?" Cao Zhen downed the rest of the wine in his bowl. "Behind Heishikou Pass is Willow Ditch, behind Willow Ditch is Qingshi Town, and past Qingshi Town is the open plains. Once the pass breaks, three hundred cavalry can reach Qingshi Town in a single day."

"The Guard Agency isn't sending anyone?"

"They will," Cao Zhen sneered. "By the time they arrive, the chickens in Qingshi Town will have all been eaten."

*

The next morning, before dawn, the drum sounded.

It was a beat-up oxhide drum from the fort; Ling Chuan had Shitou beating it.

"Listen to the drum," Ling Chuan commanded, standing before the line. "One beat: stand ready. Two beats: nock your arrows. Three beats: draw full. Four beats: release. Five beats: crouch and reload. Six beats: stand up. Again."

The first round was a complete disaster.

Some men fired on the second beat, some crouched and never got back up, and one soldier dropped an arrow right on his own foot and started hopping around clutching it.

Ling Chuan didn't yell. He just told Shitou to beat the drum again.

The second round was still a mess.

By the third round, Ling Chuan called a halt.

"It's not that you don't know how to shoot; it's that you don't know how to listen," he said. "You're the ones firing the arrows, but you don't fire just because you feel like it. Thirty men firing individually and thirty men firing as one—that's a difference of thirty lives."

"Again."

By the fourth round, they could barely keep up with the beat.

On the fifth, thirty arrows flew out simultaneously, landing a dozen paces in front of the straw dummies, sticking into the ground in a jagged, crooked line.

But they had hit the ground at the exact same time.

Someone on the sidelines let out a surprised "Huh."

Ling Chuan split the thirty men into six squads. Shitou was the leader of the first squad, and Qian San was shoved into the fourth.

"Qian San, you're the squad leader."

"Me?"

"You're a veteran. You know which way is north."

Qian San grinned and didn't argue.

For the next three days, Ling Chuan did only three things: organize squads, drill to the drum, and dig holes.

The digging took place on the slope north of the fort. Ling Chuan led the men in digging three shallow trenches, each one deeper than the last. They buried sharpened wooden stakes in front of the trenches and strung tripwires between them.

Qian San grumbled as he dug, "The Northern Di cavalry aren't idiots. You think they'll just charge straight into a pit?"

"They won't charge," Ling Chuan said, tossing a shovel of dirt aside. "They'll detour. And detouring takes time. One step slower for them means one more volley for us."

"How do you know they'll detour?"

"I don't," Ling Chuan said. "But I know they'll send Scouts first. The Scouts see the pits, they go back and report, then the commanders have to discuss it. While they're discussing, they're stopped. Every time they stop, we get a moment to breathe."

Qian San stopped talking and put his head down to dig.

By the second day, Shitou's hands were raw and blistered. Ling Chuan told him to rest, but Shitou refused, wrapping his hands in cloth strips and continuing to dig.

On the evening of the third day, Ling Chuan lined up the thirty men to test their aim.

A row of straw dummies stood thirty paces away.

The drum sounded, and the arrows flew.

Thirty arrows hit the dummies; twenty-two were bullseyes, eight were off.

Cao Zhen stood on the sidelines, watching for a long time.

"Twenty-two," he said. "Heishikou hasn't seen a number like that in a year."

"Not enough," Ling Chuan said. "I want all thirty to hit."

"How many days do we have left?"

"As many as the Northern Di give us."

Cao Zhen didn't respond and turned to leave.

Shitou crouched by the straw dummies, pulling out the arrows and counting them one by one. When he hit twenty-two, he looked up at Ling Chuan, his eyes shining.

"Counted them all?"

"Yeah. Twenty-two."

"Tomorrow, I want thirty."

"I... I'll do my best."

"Not your best. Thirty."

Qian San crouched on the ground, replacing his bowstrings one by one. As he reached the nineteenth string, he looked up. "Ling Chuan."

"Yeah."

"Two nights ago, I was on night watch on the wall. I saw firelight in the mountain hollows to the north."

Ling Chuan's hand paused.

"When?"

"Third watch. It just flashed once, then went out. I thought it was ghost fire."

Ling Chuan stared at him. "Which hollow?"

Qian San tilted his chin and pointed north. "Over by Dry River Gully. About twenty li from the fort."

Ling Chuan gripped the arrow in his hand tightly.

Three days ago, the original owner of this body had also gone to the northern hollows. He had brought something back and hidden it in a crack in the wall of the Beacon Tower stables.

He didn't have time to dwell on that now.

"Qian San."

"Yeah?"

"Tomorrow's test. I want thirty."

Qian San pulled the last string tight, letting it snap with a loud *twang*. "Fine. If you win this bet, I'll admit it."

*

The fourth morning, before the light had fully broken.

Three horn blasts echoed from the northern ridge.

Long, long, short.

It wasn't a Da Zhou signal. Da Zhou was two longs and one short.

Ling Chuan was on the training grounds when he heard it and looked up.

Cao Zhen had already charged out of the main hall, fastening his armor straps as he ran. "North!"

Someone on the wall shouted, "People on the ridge! A dozen or more!"

In a few strides, Ling Chuan was up on the wall.

A line of black dots descended from the northern ridge. They weren't moving fast, stopping every few paces to crouch and scout the terrain.

"Scouts," Cao Zhen said.

"Not just scouts." Ling Chuan pointed further out. "Over there."

Cao Zhen narrowed his eyes.

Along the snowline of the distant ridge, a black streak was moving, like a crawling insect. Slowly, the line began to fan out, splitting into a dozen different columns.

Cao Zhen gripped the battlement, his knuckles turning white.

"Three hundred cavalry," he said. "It's three hundred cavalry."

Ling Chuan didn't answer. He looked back at the training grounds.

Thirty men were already in position, arranged in five files of six. Shitou stood at the very front, clutching his bow, his face as white as the snow. Qian San stood in the fourth file, stringing his bow with a steady hand.

"Hundred-House Officer Cao," Ling Chuan said.

"Speak."

"Close the gates of Guan Bao Fort. Pull everyone back from the trenches on the north slope."

"What are you planning?"

Ling Chuan rolled up his sleeve, revealing a slender arm.

"I won the bet," he said. "Now, let's show them what happens when thirty men loose their arrows at once."

Cao Zhen stared at him for two beats, then spun around and roared down toward the courtyard, "Close the gates!"

The fort gates slammed shut with a thunderous boom, the sound of the heavy bolts dropping echoing dully.

On the northern snowline, the black streak began to accelerate.