Chapter Twelve: The Perilous Front Lines at Tong Pass

Yang Xi, already clad in light armor, rode out accompanied by Yang Guozhong to the front of what Yang Guozhong claimed was the most elite force left in Chang’an. He intended to deliver his orders before leading the troops out. The three hundred household guards of the Yang residence had also assembled nearby under Yang Guozhong’s command, ready to depart as Yang Xi’s escort. These private soldiers belonged personally to Yang Guozhong—men of unwavering loyalty, led by Yang Dong, the chief of household security.

These three hundred men were the claws and teeth of the household, responsible for guarding the estate, serving as enforcers—ruthless men, hardened by brawls, bloodshed, and deeds best left in shadow. Their training and pay far exceeded those of ordinary soldiers. The Yang residence boasted more than four hundred such guards; entrusting most of them to Yang Xi for this mission revealed both Yang Guozhong’s affection and the weight he placed on this venture. All knew that, at critical moments, a commander’s life was most often saved by his own private troops. In giving Yang Xi into their charge and issuing strict orders that no harm was to befall him under any circumstances, Yang Guozhong quite literally entrusted his son’s life to their hands.

Yang Guozhong spurred his horse to the front of the assembled three thousand, delivering a stern address. He informed the generals Li Defu and Liu Guangting, along with their subordinate officers, that his fourth son Yang Xi would be leading the army eastward at full speed to rescue Tong Pass in its dire hour. He commanded strict adherence to Yang Xi’s orders, without error.

Once Yang Guozhong had finished, Yang Xi advanced, sitting tall in the saddle, his face cold as he surveyed the disciplined ranks. In a voice of daunting authority, he thundered, “Brothers, Tong Pass is in peril and needs our immediate aid. I will not waste words—only this: obey my orders without fail, fight to the death, and if any man hesitates, disobeys, or falters in the charge, he will be put to death without mercy!”

With that, he drew his newly fastened sword with a ringing metallic sound and, in a swift movement, slashed through the banner held by a nearby officer. Without so much as a glance aside, he sheathed his blade and roared, “By my order, the whole army will march at once!”

The murderous aura radiating from Yang Xi in that moment made both Li Defu and Liu Guangting, loyal retainers of Yang Guozhong, shiver involuntarily. Even Yang Guozhong, standing at his son’s side, felt a chill—a startling realization. When had his son acquired such a presence? Yet now was not the time to ponder this. The decisiveness and cold ruthlessness Yang Xi showed set Yang Guozhong at ease; with such resolve, he was no longer worried about whether his youngest son could command the generals—so long as this was not all an act.

At Yang Xi’s order, Li Defu and Liu Guangting immediately acknowledged and galloped off to relay the command, leading the way. In an instant, the thundering of hooves filled the streets outside the palace, racing toward Tonghua Gate.

Watching the troops depart, Yang Xi turned his horse, saluted his father, and said, “Father, please return. I must be on my way. I will not fail His Majesty’s expectations nor bring shame to you. I will reach Tong Pass with all speed, bar An Lushan’s rebels from the city, and spare the Tang and our family the calamity that looms.”

Tears welled in Yang Guozhong’s eyes as he gazed at his son with deep affection. Choking back his emotion, he said, “Xi’er, be careful in all things! If Tong Pass is truly desperate, you must put your own safety first! Your mother doesn’t know you are going—if she finds out, her worry will be boundless!”

“Rest assured, Father. Await my good news!” Yang Xi saluted again, wheeled his horse, and with a shout, sped after the departing troops. Yang Dong led the three hundred household guards close behind.

The elite troops Yang Guozhong had praised proved themselves indeed. It was the height of a sweltering summer day, the sun blazing and the ground searing, yet the three thousand soldiers pressed east at top speed, none daring to slacken.

Setting out from Chang’an, by sundown after about three hours, the force had nearly reached Weinan—a distance of almost a hundred li. In the oppressive heat, few soldiers fell behind, and the horses endured well, which gave Yang Xi some relief. Weinan was still about a hundred and sixty li from Tong Pass. The remainder of the march would be at night—though slower than by day, the coolness would spare men and horses much discomfort. To cover a hundred sixty li in a night should not be too difficult.

Yang Xi ordered a brief rest, acquired fresh horses in Weinan to replace those exhausted, but the soldiers did not halt; they ate and drank in the saddle as they pressed on. This puzzled and even drew some silent complaints from Li Defu and Liu Guangting, but under Yang Xi’s strict instructions, they dared not protest and kept the men moving.

After nightfall, the road from Weinan to Tong Pass became a river of torchlight, a long line snaking swiftly east. Along the way, Yang Xi encountered several couriers racing from Tong Pass toward Chang’an with urgent pleas for aid. This reassured him somewhat—so long as messengers could still reach Chang’an and there were no fleeing soldiers, Tong Pass must still be holding out under Geshu Han. If the pass were already lost, retaking it with just three thousand men would be nearly impossible—unless the rebels, in their euphoria, neglected to fortify the place and left an opening for a surprise assault.

“May Heaven aid me, and let me reach Tong Pass before it falls,” Yang Xi prayed silently as he rode.

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It was nearly dawn. On the walls of Tong Pass, torches still blazed and patrols paced ceaselessly. Geshu Han, having retreated with the remnants of his force, ordered his battered troops to strengthen their defenses against the rebel attack he knew would come.

He had sent messenger after messenger to the court, pleading for reinforcements—six contingents already in all. Geshu Han knew that with less than ten thousand battered survivors, holding Tong Pass alone was a near impossibility. Yet as a veteran commander, he relied on more than hope for imperial aid; even if the court dispatched reinforcements the moment they received his plea, they would not arrive for two days. The rebels, flush with victory, would surely attack before then. Defending the city until relief arrived was a severe test—one he could not afford to fail.

Geshu Han understood well the vital importance of Tong Pass to the defense of Chang’an. This was why he had so stubbornly insisted on holding the pass rather than sallying forth to fight. His plan was to keep the rebels at bay, wear them down, and wait for loyalist forces to arrive, thus preventing a swift march on the capital. But the court, swayed by shortsighted schemers—chief among them Chancellor Yang Guozhong—had repeatedly pressed the emperor to order an attack outside the walls. The disasters that befell Feng Changqing and Gao Xianzhi had not deterred the court. After three formal protests failed, Geshu Han was at last compelled to lead the bulk of his forces out to battle.

Cautious to the end, he divided his army of nearly two hundred thousand and advanced in several detachments to guard against ambush. Yet fate was unkind. Despite all precautions, the army fell into a rebel trap in the mountain pass. Geshu Han, having anticipated such dangers, ordered carts to the fore to break through and strike behind the enemy lines, hoping to crush the rebels with superior numbers. But the enemy set fire to the valley—flames and smoke blocked the way, arrows, logs, and stones rained down from above, and the vanguard collapsed. With only one route of retreat—the road they had come by—panic swept through the ranks. Tens of thousands of fleeing soldiers crashed into those behind, plunging the rear into chaos. The rebels attacked in waves, and Geshu Han lost all control. In the end, with only a few hundred cavalry loyal to him, he escaped via Mount Shouyang, crossed the Yellow River to the west, and circled back to Tong Pass.

Fortunately, he had left three thousand troops to hold the pass, or it would have been lost entirely. When the numbers were counted, fewer than eight thousand of the original two hundred thousand had made it back.

Outside Tong Pass, the defensive moat—once several fathoms deep—was now filled with the corpses of Tang soldiers. Many of those who managed to return did so by crossing the bodies of their comrades.

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To lose two hundred thousand men in a single day drove Geshu Han to the brink of despair. Yet he did not give up. He resolved to hold the pass with his battered survivors, sending out parties to gather any scattered troops in the area.

He still believed that if reinforcements arrived in time, Tong Pass could be held. But the moat, now filled with the bodies of the retreating soldiers, posed a grave problem. Once it had been a formidable obstacle; now, with the corpses forming a grisly bridge, the rebels could storm right up to the city walls. How could a handful of survivors possibly defend the pass?

Geshu Han ordered a detachment to clear the moat through the night and sent others to gather stragglers in preparation for the assault he expected at dawn. The tasks assigned, he was exhausted and in pain—wounded again in the chaos, suffering from old battle injuries, and weakened by the summer heat. He reclined on his couch, eyes closed, wrestling with desperate plans.

Suddenly, a commotion erupted outside—sharp voices, the sound of a group approaching, and shouts of alarm from the guards. Geshu Han frowned, displeased that his men should panic with the enemy not yet at the gates. He was about to rebuke them when a voice called, “Marshal, it is I!”

A burly armored general swept into the room, followed by several officers and soldiers. This was Huo Ba Guiren, one of the ten generals of Longyou, a high official, governor of Huoba Prefecture, and prince of Yan Mountain—handpicked by Geshu Han himself. He had returned to Tong Pass an hour earlier than Geshu Han and, a few hours ago, had been assigned to defend the southern wall.

“Prince of Yan Mountain, what brings you here?” Geshu Han snapped, displeased that Huo Ba Guiren had left his post at such a critical time.

Huo Ba Guiren bowed and replied, “Marshal, because of the meddling of incompetent officials at court, our army has been utterly routed—two hundred thousand men lost. We cannot stand against the rebels any longer. I have come to ask one thing of you!”

“What is it?” Geshu Han’s frown deepened.

“Marshal, we cannot resist the rebels. Tong Pass is doomed. If the pass falls, Chang’an is lost and An Lushan will surely seize the empire. The court cannot stand against him. Would it not be better to abandon this lost cause, submit to the Great Yan, and beg for clemency from the Emperor of Yan? We could then preserve our rank and fortune.” Huo Ba Guiren spoke with utmost respect as he made his request.

“What?” Geshu Han started in shock, leaping from his couch.