Volume Three: Heroes Silent as the World Grows Old 1. Guan Duo I

Liaoyang has long been a vital stronghold in the Guandong region. As early as the Warring States period, the Yan people built a city here. Over a thousand years of storms and strife, countless battles have been fought on this land, witnessing myriad human tragedies and joys. Through many trials, this mighty city has endured.

During the Liao dynasty, the city saw several periods of development and was even elevated to a secondary capital, spanning thirty li in territory. The Jin and Yuan dynasties all relied on this ancient fortress. The Mongol Yuan, ruthless and lawless, threw the world into chaos. When the Young Ming King rose in rebellion and led a northern expedition through the central route beyond the frontier, just before the new year, hundreds of thousands of Red Turbans crossed into Liaodong. Fierce battles raged beneath the walls of Liaoyang, the siege stretching for dozens of li and lasting over ten days. Once the city fell, the banners atop the walls changed—since then, this city has borne the name of the Song.

On an early afternoon in September, the sun shone brightly, and a gentle breeze blew softly—warm but not hot.

Though the city was under wartime alert, it was harvest season, and many common folk still came and went through the East Gate of Liaoyang. In times of chaos, grain is worth more than gold; none could afford waste. Ragged farmers lined up under the watchful eyes of soldiers, their hands empty as they left the city, but returning with bundles of wheat stalks or foraged wild vegetables and horse fodder.

Occasionally, mounted soldiers on swift horses joined the throng. They charged through, cracking whips and brandishing sword sheaths to carve a path. They were either patrolling outside the city or bearing urgent military reports. The villagers who were struck accepted their misfortune, blaming themselves for not yielding sooner.

The gate guards, familiar with some of the scouts, checked the credentials of those entering and leaving without neglecting to loudly call out, asking for any news. Rumors of an approaching Yuan army had circulated for months, yet no sign had appeared, leaving many uneasy.

Though inquiries were made, returning scouts never uttered a word; Commander Guan’s strict discipline ensured his executioner's blade was not idle. Yet today was an exception. A returning scout shouted from afar, “Clear the way, you sons of dogs! Let me through! Let me through!”

Such fiery scenes were common at the gate, each scout’s return marked by similar cries. No one paid much mind. A few who knew him jeered, “You bastard, just going home…” Before they could finish, the scout shouted again, “Hurry, clear the crowd! Close the city gates! Close the gates!”

His anxious face startled the guards, who instinctively asked, “Are the Tatars coming?” The scout replied, “Not the Tatars. They claim to fight under our Great Song banner, but who knows if they’re real or fake? I must report to Commander Guan immediately.” Raising his whip, he cracked it against the pressing crowd. Realizing the gravity, the guards seized their weapons and pushed forward to clear a path.

The crowd at the gate erupted in chaos. Regardless of friend or foe, survival came first; everyone hurried to enter. The crush created a frenzy—shoes were stepped on, cries erupted, the weak were trampled. Luckily, the supervising soldiers suppressed the disorder with force, restoring order.

The guards had no time to verify all credentials and could not admit everyone. Two captains drew their sabers and slashed through three or four individuals to force the crowd to divert to another gate, escorted by soldiers. It took some time before quiet returned to the city gate.

The drawbridge was raised, the iron gate slowly closed, and the guards hurried to arrange defenses. The gate captain ascended the battlements to observe. Soon, a military column appeared in the distance. At nearly ten li away, the banners were indistinct, and the horsemen halted after a short distance. Moments later, two riders separated and galloped forward.

As they drew near, their identities became clear. One was dressed in red, hand resting on his sword, and he shouted, “General on the walls, listen! I am under General Deng of the Twin Cities Command, commander of ten thousand troops. By order of our lord, we come from Goryeo to aid in the fight against the Tatars. To avoid disturbing the city, our main force camps ten li outside.”

The gate captain had heard of General Deng of Twin Cities, aware of his recent exploits in Goryeo. He asked, “Who are you? Where is General Deng?”

The rider answered, “I am Captain Yang among the ten thousand troops, and this is Lord Fang Buzhen. Our general commands that without orders from Commander Guan, no rash action is to be taken. We await instructions. I am sent to deliver this message.” Fang Buzhen had formerly served under Guan Duo, following Yao Haogu to Goryeo, then assigned to Jiashan to assist Zhao Guo with civil affairs. Deng had to come with a familiar face, so Yao Haogu sent him along.

“Someone has already gone to report. You may return now. I am responsible for defending the city and cannot admit you without military orders.”

Captain Yang spoke briefly with his companion but did not leave, instead turning his horse slightly aside. Knowing their origins, the captain ignored them and looked back, expecting Guan Duo’s orders soon. Deng was a minor commander, so Guan Duo did not personally greet him, but the official sent held a respectable rank.

His name was Mao Jujing, Marshal of the Liaoyang Provincial Military Headquarters, the nominal supreme commander of Liaoyang City, two ranks above Deng.

Mao Jujing and Fang Buzhen were long acquainted. Meeting—one atop the walls, the other below—they exchanged brief words, not delving deeply in Yang Wanhus’s presence. Mao immediately ordered the gates opened, the drawbridge lowered, and led a dozen officials out to greet them.

As Guan Duo’s trusted confidant, Mao clearly understood why Deng had been sent.

Chatting casually, Mao approached Deng’s troops.

Thousands of cavalry and supply wagons stretched for miles. Soldiers wore gleaming armor and carried sharp weapons; ranks were orderly and imposing. Amidst a forest of banners stood about a dozen mounted officers.

One, relatively young, wore a gilded iron helmet and chainmail armor, a red cloak billowing behind him, revealing a sword at his waist—the scabbard stained with unknown blood.

His helmet’s brow guard was long, shadowing his face. Judging by his attire, this was Deng. Indeed, at twenty or thirty meters, he dismounted, shook his cloak, and strode forward.

Removing his helmet revealed a youth no older than eighteen or nineteen. Mao noted Deng’s youth, feeling a twinge of surprise and thinking, “Still wet behind the ears.” He dismounted with a smile and greeted, “Are you General Deng?”

“It is I, Deng of Twin Cities. I pay respects, General. Thank you, Marshal, for coming to meet me. I am unworthy of such honor.” Deng lacked fame and was affectionately called Brother She by his intimates.

After Deng’s formal salutations, Mao helped him up: “No need for such formality. I am Mao Jujing, Marshal of the Liaoyang Military Headquarters, here by order of Commander Guan to welcome you.” He smiled. “You have come far, General. Was your journey free of trouble?”

“Following Commander Guan’s orders, I arrived safely. His reputation is far-reaching; the Tatars in Shenyang and Gaizhou dare not show their faces.”

Mao nodded. “After your letter, Commander Guan intended to dispatch forces to meet you, but you arrived so swiftly…” He looked over Deng’s troops. “How many have you brought?”

“Six thousand.” Before departure, Chen Hu and Wen Huaguo insisted on adding a thousand more. The troops weren’t all Lisu; half had been replaced by Han soldiers.

Mao frowned. Six thousand men—what good were they? Though discontent, he recalled Guan Duo’s orders not to offend Deng and suppressed his feelings. “You may not know, but Liaoyang garrisons over a hundred thousand troops. There is no room inside the city. Fortunately, there is open ground outside for a camp. Commander Guan asks if you prefer to camp inside or outside the walls.”

Deng understood there was no choice. “If there is no space inside, then outside will do. I am here to fight the Tatars, so it matters little where we camp.” He glanced at Mao. “What arrangements has Commander Guan made for me?”

“General Deng is both wise and brave. Rest assured, Commander Guan has great plans for you, but there is no rush. A banquet will be held in your honor to wash away the dust of travel. General Deng, please enter the city first; further matters can wait.”

Whether or not he had a grand role, Deng was well prepared. He sensed Mao’s coolness, likely a Guan Duo loyalist, but did not mind. “Marshal’s praise humbles me greatly.”

Both mounted, they returned to the city. Deng took only a hundred personal guards; the main force was led to the camp outside by others. Yang Wanhus and He Guangxiu accompanied them.

Since receiving the imperial edict, Yao Haogu had pressed him daily. Deng delayed a few days under the pretense of selecting elite troops. After meeting with Goryeo envoys and concluding a treaty—to show goodwill—Deng released dozens of recently captured Goryeo officials and local notables who had resisted surrender. Those like Li Chunfu, who surrendered early, or Jin Depei, who was executed, were excluded.

Goryeo traditionally styled itself “Little China” and regarded itself as a gentlemanly kingdom, understanding the rites of reciprocity. They sent a grand gift, unexpectedly presenting thousands of women, hoping to establish marital ties with Deng’s forces. The envoy Zhu Sizhong said, “We wish to marry our troops to those of the Great State, to foster bonds like kinship.”

Since the Goryeo king had no daughters, they offered three or four royal clan women as a token of goodwill. Deng accepted without pretense. Besides the clan women, the rest were handed to Hong Jixun, who trained them as performers and secretly sold them.

Initially suspicious of deceit, Deng later learned that after Pyongyang fell, news reached the capital, and the Goryeo king nearly fled to Tamna Island in panic. Such desperation explained the lavish gift.

After receiving the royal daughters, assigning palace maids to generals, and arranging autumn harvests, naval formations, new troop expansions, trade routes, Sinicization efforts, and local pacification, Deng set out. The situation in Liaodong was said to be increasingly tense, though details eluded him. Seizing a moment, he asked Mao, “Marshal, I heard from Supervisor Yao that the Tatars’ assault intensifies daily, yet on the road I saw no signs of movement. What is the true situation? How fares Lord Bianliang? Any changes?”

“The Tatars’ advance is indeed urgent. The lack of activity in Shenyang and Gaizhou is because the scout cavalry under Suosijian remains stalled a hundred li away, hesitant to advance. Alone, they dare not act rashly. The main battles currently rage in western Liaodong,” Mao sighed. “As for Bianliang…” He shook his head, unwilling to elaborate. “Fortunately, General Deng’s arrival brings new strength to Liaoyang. We hope it will help shift the tide.”

Deng’s assessment matched that of Hong Jixun. The Yuan’s strategy was defensive in one direction, while building strength in three others. Their overall power exceeded Liaoyang’s; once they acted, it would be on a grand scale.

Guan Duo found himself trapped in this predicament, cautious and hesitant. Advancing would lead to encirclement from all sides; abandoning Liaoyang to retreat toward Goryeo meant pursuit by Yuan forces from multiple directions and blocked by enemy fortresses ahead—a death trap.

It was like a pool of stagnant water, needing only a single stone cast in. But how that stone was thrown mattered greatly. Thrown right, waves would collide and whirlpools form, gradually wearing down the Yuan forces. Thrown wrong, Liaoyang would become the vortex’s center, and no matter how strong the city, it would be shattered.

It was this very situation that emboldened Deng to come forward. Twin Cities lay beyond Liaodong yet echoed Liaoyang’s position; properly employed, it was more than a mere escape route. He could see it, and believed Guan Duo could as well.

Yet why did Mao hesitate to speak of Bianliang’s situation? Deng’s doubts deepened but he did not press. Instead, he followed Mao’s lead: “If the Tatars gather but dare not advance, their cowardice has reached this point. Though numerous, they likely cannot withstand Commander Guan’s strike.”

Then cautiously: “With Bianliang in peril and our lord awaiting, we must fight bravely. Though I may be unworthy, I will die before failing my duty if commanded.”

Mao glanced at him but remained tight-lipped about Bianliang, responding perfunctorily, “General Deng’s loyalty will surely comfort our lord. Commander Guan will be pleased.” He could not help but ask, “I heard you commanded tens of thousands in Goryeo. Why bring only six thousand?”

“Pyongyang must be firmly garrisoned. Bringing six thousand is, frankly, all I could spare.”

“Have you pacified the regions north of Pyongyang?”

Deng feigned ignorance but answered truthfully: “All south of the Cheongcheon River is secured; north of it, about seventy or eighty percent. A few strongholds resist, not easily dealt with for now.” The treaty with Goryeo clearly set boundaries along the Daedong River and Dingzhou line. Most northward cities had fallen, but a few stubborn pockets remained. Hong Jixun and Qing Qianxing would handle them gradually.

“General Deng, with your strong troops, a few small cities should be no challenge. You are too modest,” Mao laughed and spurred his horse, leaving Deng behind.

Mao’s hurried demeanor only deepened Deng’s suspicions. After watching him ride off, Deng turned to Fang Buzhen and saluted. “We must not keep Commander Guan waiting. Lord Fang, please quicken your pace.” Not well acquainted, Deng knew Fang’s temper was peculiar and dared not neglect him, mixing courtesy with respect.

Fang, a purely civil official, was unskilled on horseback, swaying as he rode, unable to go faster. His pale eyes, dark only in small part, rolled in a way that seemed like eye-rolling. Deng avoided looking, to prevent misunderstanding.

Captain Bi Qianniu raised his whip and pointed ahead. “General, we are near.”

Deng lifted his head. Liaoyang came into view: a majestic city standing proud on the plain beneath the blue sky.

—

1. The Yan people built the city here.

“Yan had the virtuous general Qin Kai, who struck down the Donghu and drove them a thousand li away. Yan also built the Great Wall, establishing the counties of Shanggu, Yuyang, Youbeiping, Liaoxi, and Liaodong to fend off the barbarians.” Liaodong’s seat was Xiangping, the old city of present-day Liaoyang.

2. Territory of thirty li.

“In the fourth year of Khitan Shenche, the old city of Liaoyang was repaired and called Iron Phoenix City, built by Han settlers from Bohai as Dongping County. In the third year of Tianxian, residents from Dongdan were relocated there, the city elevated to the Southern Capital, named Tianfu City. Its territory spanned thirty li, with eight gates; the palace city lay at the northeast corner, with three gates to the south, fortified with towers and corner bastions spaced two li apart. The outer city was called Han City. In the thirteenth year of Tianxian, it was renamed Dongjing Liaoyang Prefecture. The Jin and Yuan dynasties all followed the old city’s legacy.”