Chapter Fifty-Three: Holding the Line with Difficulty

On a hilltop about five hundred paces from the city of Tongguan, Cui Qianyou reined in his horse and gazed expressionlessly at the ferocious battle raging not far away, his heart weighed down by helplessness. This fortress, the forward watchtower of Tongguan, had been the target of his assaults dozens of times, yet each attack had ended in failure beneath its walls, yielding nothing but countless sacrificed soldiers.

It seemed likely today would be no different—after thousands more casualties, they might still reap no results. Deep down, he felt a growing fear toward this city, which, though dilapidated, remained formidable and awe-inspiring.

He had once believed that after the Tang army's disastrous defeat at Lingbao, with their morale shattered, he could seize all the passes of Tongguan and open the road to Chang’an. Yet, instead of a crumbling defense, he found himself still gnawing at a hard bone.

After their great victory at Lingbao, they had been optimistic—confident that bringing their army to the gates of Tongguan would force the Tang soldiers to either surrender or flee, allowing them to occupy the city with ease. Some generals even plotted a bloody slaughter of captured Tang troops to vent their months of frustration at being unable to breach Tongguan. Unexpectedly, despite riding on the momentum of victory, they were met with resistance as fierce and resolute as ever. The Tang army even dared ambush them en route, catching them off guard and inflicting thousands of casualties.

Fortunately, his generals agreed this was merely a delaying tactic by the Tang, meant to slow their advance and buy time for reinforcements. Surely, the garrison inside Tongguan must be weak; otherwise, they would not resort to such measures.

Yet the commander defending Tongguan had achieved his aim. The two ambushes had struck a blow and delayed the enemy's attack by half a day. Cui Qianyou regretted not pressing forward sooner, not storming Tongguan at all costs the previous day.

He believed that had they reached Tongguan by morning, this battered city would likely have fallen by now, their troops already at the gates of Sui Tongguan, perhaps even attacking it. Still, he knew the Tang defenders atop Han Tongguan were at the end of their strength; if he launched relentless attacks, sooner or later, the city would fall.

It all depended on whether today's final assault succeeded. Yet even if Han Tongguan fell, it was no great victory—beyond it loomed the far tougher walls of Sui Tongguan. Capturing Han Tongguan was but one step forward, and a modest one at that.

Without seizing Han Tongguan, they could not threaten Sui Tongguan. If they did take it, the morale of the Tang troops there might collapse, making their next assault easier—perhaps, under pressure, the defenders would abandon their posts.

After capturing this ruined city, they could attack Sui Tongguan by night—perhaps someone would even open the gates and surrender.

Though the terrain at Sui Tongguan was even more perilous, there were still flat expanses beyond the forbidden ditch where they could camp. They could march through the night to the city walls; if unable to attack immediately, they could at least encamp outside and exhaust the defenders with constant harassment.

As for the city before him, a war of attrition was necessary—deny the Tang soldiers any rest, and perhaps the city would fall by nightfall. With a cold face, Cui Qianyou dispatched order after order: the troops were to attack at any cost and capture Han Tongguan before night’s end.

But just as his soldiers were pressing the attack in waves against the east and south gates, bundles of dry grass were hurled down from the battlements. As the straw tumbled, scalding oil was poured after it.

Many soldiers on the ground were buried under the straw, while others suffered terrible burns—some even died from the boiling oil. Worse still, a terrifying spectacle followed: a barrage of fire arrows rained down from the battlements, quickly igniting the oil-soaked straw.

The wind fanned the flames, spreading them swiftly and ferociously. The besieging rebels, caught unprepared for such a scene, fell into chaos—nearly all turned and fled to escape the blazing dragon at the city’s base, desperate not to be roasted alive.

The raging fire not only inflicted heavy casualties but also shrouded the field in thick smoke, obscuring all vision. Soon, the entire city was enveloped in a choking haze, and even the defenders atop the walls could see nothing. The fire spread to shrubs and trees along the city’s edge—the damp wood adding even more smoke, causing Cui Qianyou to cough uncontrollably.

"Order the army to cease the attack, withdraw immediately—we fight again tomorrow!" Cui Qianyou issued the command in resignation.

How could they continue under such conditions? Forcing his soldiers to press the attack now would only consign them to the flames.

It seemed the Tang were determined to perish with Han Tongguan. They were willing to pay any price to halt his advance—a reality that filled Cui Qianyou with frustration as he gave the order.

The fire had halted their attack, but Cui Qianyou knew it must have wrought great destruction within Han Tongguan as well—perhaps even cracking or collapsing the walls, or warping and ruining the gates. This was a desperate, last-ditch measure by the Tang, burning their bridges for one final gamble. Let them have this fleeting success; come dawn, he was certain he would lead his troops to breach these battered walls and open the way to Sui Tongguan.

He ordered the entire army to withdraw three miles and make camp near the valley where the Tang had ambushed them earlier in the day, sending out patrols to guard against any surprise sortie by the defenders.

It was impossible to bivouac in front of Han Tongguan tonight—they had to retreat a few miles and find a defensible spot for camp. Otherwise, tens of thousands of men would have nowhere to rest, and a weary army could not possibly mount an effective assault the next day. The fire might spread even farther, and those who camped near the walls risked being caught in the flames. The valley where the earlier blaze had raged was now safe—there was nothing left to burn.

On the battlements, Li Fude and Pang Zhong, watching by the firelight, saw the rebels withdraw after throwing down hundreds more corpses. Both breathed sighs of relief. They were confident the enemy’s assault was over for the day—there would be no night attack. They had fulfilled Yang Xi’s orders: delaying the rebels at Han Tongguan. Now, it was time for their own forces to retreat.

The smoke-blackened defenders atop the walls shared their relief. Some, their bodies and minds finally relaxing, slumped down where they stood, not even caring that the stones beneath them were still hot.

After half a day of bloody fighting, Han Tongguan’s garrison of just over two thousand had suffered two or three hundred casualties, but the bulk of their force remained. They would withdraw to Sui Tongguan by night, rest and recover, and be ready to fight again at dawn.

After hurling more straw to keep the fire blazing outside the walls, Li Fude and Pang Zhong immediately ordered preparations for withdrawal. Once the rebels had fully retreated, the entire garrison would quietly slip out of Han Tongguan and fall back to Sui Tongguan.

Of course, before leaving, they would set many traps within the city to ensure the invaders suffered dearly the next day.

Most crucially, the withdrawal had to remain undetected by the enemy. Some men would have to stay behind as sacrifices, or all their efforts would be wasted.