Chapter 37: The Map of Mountains and Rivers

The Taoist faith has many branches, and the Alchemical sect is but one among them. During the Wei and Jin dynasties, this sect wielded tremendous influence. Ge Hong was its great exponent, leaving behind the seminal work "Baopuzi" with both inner and outer chapters: the inner chapters explored the quest for immortality, elixirs, supernatural transformations, and spirits, while the outer chapters expounded on worldly gains and losses, and the art of governing a state.

Perhaps many are unfamiliar with Ge Hong himself, but mention his lineage, and few would not know. The founding master of the Alchemical sect was none other than Zuo Ci of the Three Kingdoms. From Zuo Ci to Ge Xuan, Zheng Yin, Ge Hong, and now to the current Daoist Shouyin, the sect has passed through but five generations. Shouyin claims his secular surname is Ge, a descendant of the immortal Ge Hong.

In troubled times, both Buddhist and Taoist factions seek to align themselves with powerful secular forces for representation, and their influence is eagerly courted by warlords. The Alchemical sect now sides with the ever-victorious Northern Iron Army, under Wang Gong, Governor of Qinggun Prefecture.

Eight thousand cavalry launched a surprise attack on five thousand infantry crossing a river, yet were utterly routed. Daoist Shouyin looked at the shattered spirit of Gao Yazhi, utterly perplexed, and muttered, “This young man is not fit for counsel.”

Soldiers had already helped Gao Yazhi to his feet. Gao Yazhi, always boasting of his refined and elegant demeanor, was now pale as death, speechless and lost. Daoist Shouyin, having lost all patience, rode to the front and addressed the assembled officers: “The battlefield is chaotic, General Gao was shocked and lost his spirit. I have performed an immortal spell upon him; he will soon recover.”

Most soldiers of the Northern Army were Taoist devotees, with particular reverence for the Alchemical sect. Thus, Daoist Shouyin’s words salvaged a measure of Gao Yazhi’s reputation; at least, it implied he was not a coward but had merely lost his soul by accident. In the superstitious Wei and Jin era, the officers regarded him with less disdain.

Daoist Shouyin had not spoken merely to save Gao Yazhi’s face, but to rally the army’s morale. “Never mind General Gao—has the Northern Iron Army, undefeated in every battle, now been routed by five thousand infantry? The army’s reputation is tarnished! How dare you return to Jingkou?”

During the Eastern Jin, “Jingkou” was the name for the Northern Army’s base, and thus it lent its name to the troops. Hearing Shouyin’s words, the officers felt ashamed.

“In truth, the Northern Army has not been defeated!” Shouyin continued loudly. “The battle is not yet decided. Generals, why not regroup the scattered troops, use the speed of cavalry to pursue the retreating enemy, and slay the man on the white horse to avenge our shame?”

The Alchemical sect’s influence ran deep in the Northern Army; the officers found Shouyin’s words persuasive. One called out, “Daoist, you are right. We shall rally our men. But General Gao is shaken; we ask you to command the army in his stead.”

Shouyin smiled faintly—for he cared little for the army’s reputation. His true aim was to ensure the rider of the white horse, the “Heaven’s Secret,” would not leave alive this day.

…

Zhang Chi and his companions had only traveled a few miles before seeing dust rising behind them. Zhang Chi, worried, said to Zhan Taiqi, “It seems the Northern cavalry are indeed pursuing us. Just where is this ‘hundred thousand strong’ army you spoke of?”

Zhang Chi did not believe the old Daoist truly possessed a hidden army, but, with no other options, he asked.

“Do not fret, young master. It lies just ahead; you will see for yourself soon,” the old Daoist replied mysteriously, stroking his beard.

The old Daoist’s words were as inscrutable as Zhuge Liang’s famous “the mountain man has his own stratagem,” enough to drive listeners to distraction. Zhang Chi doubted him inwardly, but could only follow, heading northwest.

The lands north of the Yangtze are dotted with low hills. As they journeyed northwest, they soon arrived in a mountain fold. The old Daoist abruptly halted and Zhang Chi asked, “Is this where your ‘hundred thousand troops’ are hidden?”

From the terrain, with low hills and nothing concealed, how could such a vast army be hidden? Thus Zhang Chi questioned him.

“Indeed it is,” the old Daoist nodded. “The Taoist branches are many, each with its strengths. Our Heaven’s Secret sect excels at divining fate, but we also have minor arts—such as the Qimen Dunjia formations. I foresaw calamity for you today, so when I came from Huainan to Jiankang, I laid a Five Elements formation here.”

“Where is the formation?” Zhang Chi looked around, finding nothing unusual.

“To form a battle array with men or objects is a minor art. The true way is to use the land itself, the mountains and rivers. This is a formation of the landscape—thus I call it the ‘Map of Mountains and Rivers.’”

“Map of Mountains and Rivers, fine. But I ask, where are your hundred thousand troops?” Zhang Chi, unimpressed by mystical claims, pressed the Daoist to answer.

“This formation turns the universe upside down, shifts yin and yang, and harbors unfathomable mysteries. Those trapped within cannot escape. With this array, I can resist an army of a hundred thousand,” the old Daoist boasted.

Despite his skepticism, Zhang Chi had no other recourse. At this moment, Du Ximing and Santong arrived with the rear guard as the Northern cavalry’s shouts drew near. Zhang Chi had no time to ponder and said, “Let us enter the formation first.”

The army moved into the hills; the path was smooth, and Zhang Chi saw nothing unusual. The region’s low hills held no strategic advantage. If the terrain were steep, the enemy might suspect an ambush and be deterred, but as it was, no stratagem could be played.

Looking back, Zhang Chi saw the Northern Army had also entered. “Daoist, your ‘formation’ does nothing to hinder them,” he said, emphasizing ‘formation’ to mock the Daoist.

The old Daoist, unabashed, chuckled, “That is only because I have sealed the array with a spell. Otherwise, ordinary folk would be trapped and die here. Let me lift the spell, and its power will show.”

Without dismounting, the old Daoist closed his eyes and muttered incantations. After a moment, he suddenly opened his eyes wide and cried out, “All restrictions lifted, by command!”

The shout startled Zhang Chi, and, as if by magic, dense fog rose and swiftly enveloped the entire mountain, obscuring all directions. Within moments, visibility shrank to less than five paces.

…

“This fog is the essence of my formation. Without breaking its seal, enemies trapped inside will never escape alive,” the old Daoist said with a smile.

The sudden change left Zhang Chi utterly astonished; he had never imagined the so-called Map of Mountains and Rivers could be so wondrous. Santong, newly arrived, was so awed that he began to worship the old Daoist as a deity, exclaiming, “Truly, celestial arts! Truly, celestial arts!”

Pleased by Santong’s praise, the old Daoist boasted, “This formation conceals eight gates: Rest, Life, Injury, Block, View, Death, Shock, and Open. Within, directions are lost, and the fog makes friend indistinguishable from foe—many will turn upon each other, unable to escape until death.”

He sighed then, shaking his head. “Taoists should not accrue too much bloodshed. I almost pity those trapped. Never mind, once we reach safety, I will break the formation and let them go.”

“They are the enemy; why not destroy them all? Why show mercy?” Santong asked, perplexed.

“Eradicating evil outright is one way, but it is the lowest strategy—a brute’s ploy,” the old Daoist said, stroking his beard.

Santong, now utterly devoted to the Daoist, was not offended but merely scratched his head and grinned.

Seeing the others still confused, the old Daoist turned to Ding Yizhi: “And you, young master Ding, what say you? Should I spare the Northern Army?”

“To let the enemy live spares us calamity; to kill them invites disaster,” Ding Yizhi replied with a smile. “The Northern Army holds sway over the realm’s fate. Their commander, General Gao Yazhi, is none other than the son-in-law of Liu Laozhi, the Iron Army’s foremost warrior. Liu Laozhi’s martial prowess rivals that of Lu Bu in former days. At the Battle of Feishui, he led the vanguard and won great renown—his influence is unmatched.”

So Gao Yazhi was thus connected; no wonder, Zhang Chi thought, that this young and delicate officer could command the army.

“My elder brother, being ‘Heaven’s Secret,’ is destined to vie for the realm. Huan Xuan, after years of cunning management, will soon become your greatest rival. If you do not kill Liu Laozhi’s son-in-law today, you can later pit the Iron Army against Huan Xuan, reaping the gains. But if you do, you will make Liu Laozhi your mortal enemy.”

Zhang Chi nodded; his cousin always thought far ahead. He was about to speak when dizziness overcame him. Lacking in physical strength, he had relied solely on willpower through the day’s battle, and was now exhausted and wounded, bleeding from several cuts. The sight of the Northern Army trapped in the formation signaled the battle’s end; as tension faded, his strength failed, and he nearly fell from his horse, if not for Daoist Xuan’s support.

“Brother Zhang!” Daoist Xuan caught Zhang Chi with both arms, exclaiming, “Brother Zhang has fainted.”