Chapter 96: When the Heart Wavers, the Spirit Falters

“Lord Bo, you may not realize how desperately the Great Tang lacks salt. Although the Turkic tribes are in turmoil under your assault, they still hold a tight grip on the salt routes, preventing any salt from reaching our lands. Relying solely on salt from coastal evaporation and salt wells is nowhere near enough for the Great Tang. Countless soldiers grow weak and unable to hold their weapons simply because they lack salt!” Gan Xinda spoke with tears welling in his eyes. His elderly mother had suffered from goiter due to salt deficiency and had ultimately taken her own life in agony.

“I am well aware of that,” Cai Cong replied coldly, pouring the now-cold tea onto the muddy ground, his expression unreadable. “But what does this have to do with your current actions?”

Gan Xinda’s voice trembled as he explained, “Our vast Great Tang never truly lacks salt, but most of it is poisoned. If you, Lord Bo, could truly turn this toxic salt into pure salt, the Great Tang would no longer suffer from deficiency. Yet if this technique becomes known, many enemy states, especially Tubo, could also acquire salt.”

Gan Xinda’s face was etched with genuine concern for the nation and its people.

“Who would have thought you, Gan Xinda, would be so patriotic and knowledgeable!” Cai Cong sneered. After scrutinizing him for a moment, he asked, “You work for His Majesty, don’t you?”

Startled, Gan Xinda lifted his head to meet Cai Cong’s gaze briefly before biting his lip and lowering it again in silence. His fingers dug deeply into the mud, scraping the skin, the raw flesh rubbing against the coarse earth.

“Silence is acceptance. Get up. I do not blame you. With my military strategies, His Majesty would never allow me to act recklessly. If not you, there will be others.”

With a series of frantic bows, Gan Xinda finally stood weakly, head bowed, wordless. Cai Cong was a charismatic leader, and Gan Xinda sincerely wished his true allegiance would never be exposed.

“Enough. Since you say this is so important, I will give you the technique. Return now. We will head straight back to Chang’an. You will go back to His Majesty.”

Cai Cong’s spirit faltered. He was certain there were others around him—perhaps men loyal to Li Shimin, nobles, or cunning ministers at court.

Gan Xinda led a hundred men along the outermost edge of the formation. The others looked at him coldly. Loyalty to His Majesty was unquestioned; their creed was unwavering loyalty. But secretly spying on Lord Bo marked him as a traitor, despised by all.

Du Yunlong’s men were closer to the center of the formation, and even Gan Xinda’s own subordinates distanced themselves from him. Were it not for him, they would have been among the elite guarding Lord Bo at the core.

“Heh, is this what it means to be forsaken by all? I do not regret it, but why does my heart ache so?” Gan Xinda muttered in despair, his eyes vacant as he stared ahead.

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The atmosphere grew tense as the procession entered a narrow mountain pass barely two meters wide, flanked on the left by steep cliffs and on the right by sheer drops. Such terrain was a natural trap in warfare; armies typically sent scouts to the high cliffs to survey ahead.

But today, Cai Cong was shaken, sitting in his carriage dazed. As for Gan Xinda, no one paid him any heed—few even glanced his way.

The high cliff was strewn with rocks, behind which lay cold-faced archers clutching bows, their quivers gleaming ominously.

Mr. Zhuge sneered inwardly. No matter how clever Cai Cong was, he was still but a child. When he struck, it would be like slaughtering a dog.

“Wait until the main body is halfway through the pass, then strike. Push rocks from both sides to divide their formation into three parts so they cannot support one another. Kill that wretched Cai Cong, then we leave. No entanglements with these heroes.”

Zhuge’s voice was icy as his men pressed against the boulders, ready to hurl them down on command.

“Wait a little longer... now! Push them down!” Zhuge shouted, eyes fixed on the passing troops.

With a heave, the rocks tumbled down, crashing through the silent valley like thunder. Everyone looked up, horrified, as massive boulders rolled relentlessly toward them.

Panic erupted. Some, terrified and desperate, leapt off the cliffs. The two men carrying Cai Cong’s stretcher abandoned it and fled, cursing their own legs for not having more speed.

“Protect Lord Hou! Quick, protect Lord Hou!” a captain shouted, but before he could finish, an arrow pierced his forehead, and he collapsed, lifeless.

“Where’s that traitor? Shoot him!” Zhuge’s sharp eyes caught sight of Cai Cong and ordered his archers to kill him.

Despite wounds on his hands and feet, Cai Cong nimbly leapt behind a boulder that completely shielded his small frame.

“Damn it! He’s hidden! Kill the others first, then finish off that bastard. Split forces to block any reinforcements from front or rear—no one must reach that traitor!” Zhuge growled.

Gan Xinda, maddened, tried to climb over the rocks, but arrows rained down relentlessly. Several pierced his shoulder and thigh, and he tumbled down.

“Forget me! Charge! Shoot those archers! With their front and rear cut off, Lord Bo has too few men. Move quickly!” Gan Xinda shouted, dragged behind cover by his men.

Others, eyes bloodshot, raised their blades and charged upward. Arrows dropped uselessly midair. With no choice, the archers discarded their bows and drew swords to charge. Blood stained the entire valley.

Cai Cong’s heart burned with hatred. Knowing an ambush awaited him yet still being careless—how many lives would be sacrificed because of his momentary lapse?

“Hide first. Wait for them to come down, then fight!” he screamed hoarsely, but his faint voice was drowned out by screams.

Watching one by one his defenders fall like spiked hedgehogs after valiant charges, his eyes reddened.

Gan Xinda yanked arrows from his flesh, dragging his bloodied body down the cliff. Clutching at stones with only his hands, he climbed over the rocky wall below.

When he finally reached the top, the ground was soaked crimson, littered with corpses—many he knew by name.

“Ah... my fault! Lord Bo! Lord Bo, where are you?” Gan Xinda wailed, tears of blood streaming down his face.

The arrow storm had ceased. Only a few dozen remained alive. Over a hundred enemies had surged down from the cliffs.

Gan Xinda raised his blade, screaming to charge, but Cai Cong’s men restrained him.

“Lord Bo, my fault. If I hadn’t unsettled your mind, you wouldn’t have forgotten this deadly place. I caused the death of our brothers,” Gan Xinda sobbed, kneeling and bowing his head repeatedly, tears flowing like rivers.

On the way here, Cai Cong had reminded him to scout this pass both going and returning, but they had forgotten on the way back.

“Now is not the time for groveling. Take your men and slaughter these beasts! Avenge our brothers! Their arrows are nearly spent. Reinforcements from both sides will arrive soon—do not let them escape!” Cai Cong roared.

Wiping away his tears, Gan Xinda led his men into the fray against the executioners.

In the era of cold steel, battles were always brutal and bloody. Blades clashed, blood sprayed skyward, bodies tumbled over the ground, and vibrant lives faded away amidst the struggle.