Chapter 137: It Does Not Lie in Causing Greater Harm

The six northern commanderies were Tianshui, Lueyang, Fufeng, Shiping, Wudu, and Yinping. Zhang Chi’s strategy was straightforward: whether the northern campaign to seize these six commanderies succeeded or not was not the main concern. What mattered was capturing Hanzhong to control the Sichuan and Shaanxi regions. Centered on Hanzhong, he aimed to carve out a territory amid the mountains spanning Gansu, Sichuan, and Shaanxi.

Surrounded on all sides by natural barriers, the situation seemed to place him among enemies, yet every direction was easier to defend than to assault. With the Ba Mountains below and the Qinling Mountains above, Zhang Chi, a seasoned traveler, understood well. Just as Zhu Yuanzhang had thrived in chaotic times by “building high walls, delaying proclaiming kingship, and storing abundant grain,” so too could he leverage natural defenses.

Occupying Hanzhong would mean being encircled by mountains acting as his highest natural fortress, bypassing the need to build walls. He could station troops directly and, when the realm descended into chaos, command routes to the Central Plains in the north and the Ba-Shu region in the south. The rugged terrain resembled towering walls on all sides; guarding the gates would make it almost impregnable.

If he could also conquer one or two of the six commanderies, all the better.

The Yinping path they planned to take had significant historical relevance. Yinping Path lay between Yinping and Pingwu. Its northern end started at Yinping, crossing Motian Ridge southeastward into Sichuan and leading straight to Pingwu. This path was famed for its role during the Three Kingdoms period.

When Wei general Deng Ai launched a surprise attack on Shu, he took this very route. At the time, Jiang Wei defended Jianmen Pass—a formidable stronghold—keeping Wei forces at bay. It was only when Deng Ai secretly crossed through Yinping that Shu fell, marking a monumental achievement.

Now, Zhang Chi intended to retrace this ancient path from Pingwu, seeking to create his own legend.

The timing of Zhang Chi’s northern campaign was impeccable. Yao Shuode’s large army had just suffered defeat, and no one expected Shu to strike north so soon. Even Yao Shuode himself was unprepared, let alone the garrison at Yinping.

Jianmen Pass still held heavy defenses, but this secret route stretched over seven hundred li without a single soldier stationed along it. If just a small force had ambushed at Motian Ridge, the most perilous point, Zhang Chi’s tens of thousands could have been trapped without escape.

The path wound through dense mountains and precipitous cliffs, mostly composed of plank roads—walkways carved into sheer rock faces, connected by bridges and pavilions. These were old and broken in places.

Soldiers scaled cliffs to traverse the gaps, the army moving like a great dragon suspended between the cliff and clouds. Zhang Chi marveled—though modern people enjoyed sightseeing and he himself had seen many famous mountains and rivers, few had witnessed such breathtaking and perilous scenes firsthand.

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The Yinping commander, Gu Beicheng, was asleep as night fell, unaware that Zhang Chi’s forces had already stormed into the city.

When the soldiers reported and roused him from his dreams, the southeastern gates of Yinping had already fallen.

Gu Beicheng could not fathom how an army had suddenly appeared, and from Shu no less. Logically, if Shu’s forces attacked, Jianmen Pass would be the first destination. Even if Jianmen fell, messengers would have warned Yinping, allowing them to prepare. Yet here was an army right beneath Yinping’s walls, opening gates swiftly.

Though not as defensible as Jianmen Pass, Yinping was no weak fortress. Well-manned and supplied, Gu Beicheng was confident of holding out for a month even if surrounded.

In truth, the fall of the two southeastern gates was less due to Zhang Chi’s troops’ prowess and more thanks to the “Hanmen” sect.

Hanmen’s martial skills were exceptional. After pledging to aid Zhang Chi in Shu, one member had ventured north alone. The “Hanmen” sect was largely composed of displaced refugees—people displaced by warfare, most fleeing the northern barbarian invasions.

The barbarians had slaughtered many and seized the six northern commanderies, fueling widespread resentment. Hanmen had established deep roots there.

Hanmen was a branch of Taoism, which since the Eastern Han had been involved in governance and armed uprisings, never abandoning its ideals. Different sects had different approaches.

For example, the Five Pecks of Rice sect had openly rebelled, but Hanmen had not.

The Five Pecks of Rice sect was numerous but infamous for relying on talismans and charms to deceive the common folk, promising protection from harm and healing. Their tricks ranged from minor illusions to sleight of hand, trickery that preyed on the poor and uneducated. Their followers were mixed in quality, mostly impoverished and unskilled in either literature or martial arts. Their strength lay in numbers, and when they revolted, they quickly became a significant force, shaking the imperial court. But when the government mobilized its armies to suppress them, they were thoroughly crushed.

Hanmen was different. It pursued the martial path within Taoism. While individual branches might not stand alone against Hanmen disciples, Hanmen had deep roots in the Sichuan region dating back to the end of the Han dynasty. After centuries of growth, if Hanmen were to rise in rebellion, their strength might rival that of the Five Pecks of Rice sect. Thus, enlisting Hanmen’s support to help Zhang Chi seize strategic passes was an effortless task.

As Zhang Chi arrived beneath Yinping’s walls, fires flared atop the ramparts and the southeastern gates stood wide open. His army surged forward.

“Shoot the horse first if you want to shoot the man; capture the leader to capture the bandits,” Zhang Chi instructed Du Ximing as the troops entered.

Though unfamiliar with military affairs, he understood this simple principle: the priority was to seize the prefect’s office, controlling the city’s highest commander to swiftly disarm the defenders.

Experienced and decisive, Du Ximing ignored the chaos inside and led the main force straight to the prefect’s office, located on the city’s central north-south axis.

Gu Beicheng, panicked, fled hastily without donning full armor, only to be captured by Qin Bo just outside the rear gate.

Already shaken by the surprise attack, the defenders scattered in confusion. With their commander seized, the tens of thousands of troops within Yinping lacked cohesion and surrendered without a fight.

Before dawn, the fighting ceased. Soldiers patrolled the streets with torches raised high, while fires from the battle illuminated Yinping like daylight.

“The barbarian soldiers have been disarmed and are under our control. Please, young master, rest at the prefect’s office,” Du Ximing reported.

Though invited to rest, Zhang Chi could not. The battle was fresh, and many tasks awaited. The group gathered in the prefect’s office hall to discuss the next steps.

The first matter was how to deal with Gu Beicheng, the captured Yinping commander.

San Tong shouted angrily, “The barbarians slaughtered our people, and this traitorous general served them, killing our own. I say we kill him outright!”

Many agreed; the Chinese had never been lenient with traitors.

Yet Ding Yizhi took a broader view. “This man may still be useful. Killing him would be a waste.”

“What use could he have?” San Tong doubted.

Ding Yizhi smiled. “Our success came from surprise. If Yinping had been prepared and our forces were few, the siege would have been costly. Now, though we hold Yinping, what about other fortresses? If we keep him, we can use him to deceive enemy soldiers into opening gates by donning barbarian armor and raising their banners. Wouldn’t that be ideal?”

Zhang Chi, though silent, was impressed. His cousin was indeed a gifted strategist, planning ahead.

San Tong, still seething, retorted, “The barbarians lost. Surely some escaped to warn other cities. How can we still pretend to be barbarians?”

Silent till now, An Ren coldly stated, “Rest assured, Hanmen has agents placed along every route outside the city. Any escaping barbarians carrying news will be shot dead. No one will know Yinping has fallen.”

“Excellent!” Zhang Chi exclaimed. Hanmen had been a great help.

San Tong had no answer and asked, “If we spare the general, what about the surrendered barbarian soldiers? They killed our people; they’re useless. I say we kill them all.”

Historically, this was common. Whether barbarians or Han, after a city fell, massacres served to intimidate and eliminate untrustworthy prisoners. Though disarmed, large numbers of prisoners could organize uprisings, posing great danger.

Zhang Chi, educated in modern ideas, saw no heroism in slaughtering unarmed captives and found it hard to order their execution.

Seeing Zhang Chi’s hesitation, Du Ximing urged, “Young master, our northern campaign has limited troops. We must still attack other cities. If we spare these prisoners, they may become future threats.”

Dao Xuan, a compassionate monk, counseled, “These people are unarmed. The Buddha teaches repentance. Brother Zhang, if they truly surrender, we should give them a chance.”

San Tong could not accept this mercy. “What woman’s compassion is this?”

“I seek only to avoid needless killing,” Dao Xuan replied calmly, “not out of weakness.”

Their frequent bickering was well known.

San Tong snapped, “No mercy. If you spare them, they’ll harm us later. If not us, then who? You and Buddha can go to hell; we won’t.”

“Enough, enough. Let young master Zhang decide,” Du Ximing interjected.

Both San Tong and Dao Xuan respected Zhang Chi’s judgment and fell silent.

Zhang Chi was torn. To kill was cruel; to spare risked future danger.

“Come on, Brother Zhang, just kill them,” San Tong urged.

Before Zhang Chi could speak, Dao Xuan said, “Why argue? Don’t you heed Brother Zhang’s words?”

“Of course I listen,” San Tong grumbled, “he’s the one I respect most. By the way, that poem you recited when we breached the gate was spot on.”

“What poem?” Dao Xuan asked, unaware amidst the chaos.

“‘Shoot the horse first if you want to shoot the man; capture the leader to capture the bandits,’” San Tong said eagerly. “In war, killing is necessary. Shoot the horse first because it’s easier; then the rider falls. Capture the commander first, then the soldiers. That’s the key. The rest should be executed on the spot.”

Zhang Chi smiled at San Tong’s misunderstanding. The poem was actually by the Tang dynasty poet Du Fu, unknown in their era.

He laughed and interrupted their quarrel.

“San Tong, you’ve misunderstood. The poem is longer,” he said, reciting slowly:

“To draw the bow, draw it strong;
To use the arrow, use one long.
Shoot the horse first to shoot the man;
Capture the leader to capture the band.
Killing has its limits,
For nations have boundaries.
If one can stop invasion,
Why care for killing more?”

All listened and repeated the final line.

“Yes, killing must be limited. The barbarians wantonly killed our surrendered soldiers and civilians. If we do the same, how are we different from them? If a dog bites you, you shouldn’t bite back. Besides, these prisoners are but pawns of their rulers. Even if there are hidden dangers, I cannot bring myself to kill unarmed men. Otherwise, we become executioners, no different from those we hate.”

His words were just and reasonable. Even San Tong, who hated the barbarians most, had no argument.

Zhang Chi looked around and saw tears in An Ren’s eyes.

Though he knew little of An Ren’s background, Zhang Chi sensed his hatred for the barbarians rivaled San Tong’s. Yet he also knew that wanton slaughter was not the best revenge.

“I must lay down one more military rule,” Zhang Chi said solemnly. “We shall be a righteous force in chaotic times. From now on, no killing of those who surrender!”

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