Chapter 17: The Black Mountain Army

Three against seven, and utterly defeated in eight moves. Unconvinced, they tried again on horseback, with even fewer—only six moves this time before losing again. Zhou Cang, red-faced and roaring, unleashed a flurry of wild punches at the group, and they all tumbled into a rough-and-tumble brawl.

Wang Bo pulled Yang Feng and Liao Hua aside, chuckling, and asked, “Well, what do you think?”

“Impressive fighting strength! With this method and formation, our odds of victory rise ever higher!” Both nodded in agreement.

Wang Bo’s tone grew sober. “Do you think I do not wish for open and honorable combat? But all my Yellow Turban brothers are poor and of humble origin—how could they compare to the sons of the Han court’s noble families, trained from youth by famous masters? I have chosen this path out of necessity, to spare my brothers from harm and extend their lives. Though it may lack the uprightness of the righteous way, to use our weaknesses to counter their strengths is not unworthy of a general or commander.”

All present listened, then bowed deeply. “Master, your care for us moves us deeply. We pledge to train diligently in this formation, to charge and fight for the Han restoration army, and ease your burdens!”

After some roughhousing, Wang Bo incorporated the now loyal Zhou Cang and Pei Yuanshao into the squads, both of whom had come around to his leadership. Zhou Cang, mighty and skilled in foot combat, was assigned to the sword-and-shield infantry, while Pei Yuanshao chose the long spear unit. As for Liao Hua, whose martial prowess and keen mind marked him as a capable leader, Wang Bo kept him close to help Yang Feng drill the troops and handle daily affairs.

Watching this gathering of martial men, who debated and occasionally broke into sparring, Wang Bo finally breathed a long sigh of relief, a broad smile spreading across his face: at last, a true talisman for survival! With “Tiger Fool” Xu Chu as well, he no longer feared losing his life in this chaotic world! Hmph! He would contest the Three Kingdoms! He would unite the martial world! He would become emperor! He would...!

He was daydreaming when Niu Da and Niu Er approached, travel-worn, and saluted. “Master! We have returned!”

“Well done!” Wang Bo glanced at Chen Rong, who followed close behind, and waved the brothers off to rest. He led the beaming Chen Rong back to his tent.

Before Wang Bo could gesture for him to sit, Chen Rong had already knelt, voice choked with emotion. “Master! I have found my nephew! Thank you for your help! This old man will follow you forever, to repay such kindness!”

“Please rise, Elder Chen! There’s no need for such formality among our own. Is your nephew well?”

“Thanks to your blessing, there was only a fright, no harm. All is well!” Chen Rong replied, settling into a seat.

“That is good to hear. May I ask, how old is your nephew now? What are his skills? How do you plan to place him?”

“I have been pondering this myself,” Chen Rong answered. He didn’t immediately return to his usual cheerful self or tend to logistics, but instead sat, brows tightly furrowed.

Wang Bo waited a while but heard nothing more, so he prodded, “Elder Chen, what troubles you? Why not share your thoughts with me?”

Chen Rong hesitated, then finally steeled himself. “My nephew may be fit for command.” Seeing Wang Bo tilt his head in mild confusion, he continued, “From youth, he’s favored spear and staff, and is fairly skilled! He is my elder brother’s only son, and I, being childless, have treated him as my own. I wish to entrust him to you, but I fear for his life on the battlefield—and would feel guilty for repaying grace with loss. So I...”

“Hahaha!” Wang Bo laughed. “Is that all? Elder Chen, you needn’t say such things! Please, let’s not speak of favors anymore, or we’ll seem like strangers. You’ve helped all our brothers greatly. I shall always honor you as a senior.”

“I dare not, I dare not! Master, you honor this old man too much!” Chen Rong waved his hands, but inside, he was delighted and deeply moved by Wang Bo’s words.

“Bring your nephew to me, and if he’s promising, I’ll add him to my personal guard. You may rest easy, Elder Chen!”

Chen Rong hurried out.

It wasn’t long before he returned, leading in a young man in grey.

The youth stood with his head slightly bowed, his face somewhat disheveled, and bore a look of desolation. But on closer inspection, sharp flashes occasionally flickered from the corners of his eyes, edged with a taste for blood, and his upright posture revealed a stubborn, unyielding spirit.

“Master, this is my nephew Chen Dao, courtesy name Shuzhi.” Chen Rong’s gaze was full of both kindness and pity. He said, “Shuzhi, come greet the master!”

Chen Dao said nothing, just raised his head and gave a faint clasp of the fist—a gesture of respect. Wang Bo, meanwhile, was inwardly overwhelmed with delight.

According to Wang Bo’s understanding, Chen Dao, like Zhao Yun, became one of Liu Bei’s personal guard generals. Though less renowned than Zhao Yun—mainly due to Luo Guanzhong’s emphasis in the Romance of the Three Kingdoms—both in history and legend, Chen Dao was the general commanding Liu Bei’s personal guard, whereas Zhao Yun was more of a super bodyguard. His martial skills may not have matched Zhao Yun’s, but his ability to command troops was certainly superior!

He led the White-feathered Guard, former elite troops from Danyang under the Eastern Han. Under Chen Dao, their formidable fighting power only grew, rivaling Gao Shun’s Camp Crushers and Qu Yi’s Vanguard Braves. They were one of the few infantry units in the Three Kingdoms able to stand against cavalry. His finest hour came at the Battle of Yiling, where, after the Shu army was routed and scattered by the Wu army’s fire attack, Chen Dao led seven hundred White-feathered Guards to cover the retreat at Baidi City, holding off over ten thousand Wu troops and withdrawing safely.

Composing himself, Wang Bo looked the youth up and down before speaking. “Hmm... Tall, long-armed, strong—a rare young talent among Han sons! But why so downcast?”

Chen Rong sighed deeply. “The tale is long. The Chen family hails from Chen state in Yu province. My brother and I inherited family medical skills, and set up a small clinic in the county, practicing medicine for three generations in harmony. But a few months ago, the Yellow Turbans rebelled in a neighboring county, and the government troops came to suppress them—chaos reigned. The soldiers, as bad as bandits, extorted us, and when my brother showed reluctance, they threw him down. My father stepped forward to reason with them, only to be beaten to death. My brother, enraged, fought back, and the soldiers, now truly bandits, slaughtered the family. Only my nephew and I survived by chance, for we’d gone to the mountains to gather herbs.”

“When we returned, neighbors told us what happened. In a rage, my nephew tracked the bandits to Zhongqiu and slew every last one, though he himself was wounded. I found him later, recovering in the home of an old friend from my days as a doctor. By chance, while gathering herbs to treat my nephew, I was captured by bandits—only your wise leadership saved us. Otherwise, we’d have been parted forever!” At this point, Chen Rong was weeping uncontrollably.

“I see.” Wang Bo sighed along with him, then comforted them, “Elder Chen, Shuzhi, do not dwell on grief. The dead are gone; the living must be cherished. If your kin in the afterlife knew, they would not want you steeped in sorrow.”

“Master speaks truly. Shuzhi, you must live in the present—what’s past cannot be undone, and mourning will not change things,” Chen Rong added.

Chen Dao nodded in understanding.

“Has your wound healed?” Wang Bo asked.

“It’s no longer serious,” Chen Dao finally replied.

“Good. Shuzhi, stay with your uncle and recover for a few days. When you’re well, come to me and serve as my personal guard.”

“Thank you, Master!” Chen Rong wiped his tears, and the uncle and nephew left after bowing.

Time passed as the generals of Xinghan Village drilled troops, raided local tyrants, annexed nearby bandit gangs, and the year turned to the second of Zhongping under Emperor Ling.

Near year’s end, Wang Bo announced: all soldiers and civilians of Xinghan, except scouts and sentries, would have ten days’ holiday, though morning runs were still mandatory. Cheers broke out, and everyone went off to relax with friends.

The soldiers were allowed a little more wine, and the logistics team increased meat supplies. With the northern march approaching, Wang Bo ordered the frugal Chen Rong to keep up the extra rations to build up everyone’s strength, lest the weak fall behind on the long journey.

With a rare break, Wang Bo wondered if he should visit Tian Feng again. After all, Liu Bei had visited Zhuge Liang three times! As a modern youth with ambition, he must have a thicker skin than Liu Bei. As Mr. Li Zongwu once said: to achieve great things, one needs a thick face, a black heart, and great courage. He would practice his thick skin on old Tian!

Just as he was pondering how to deal with Tian Feng, Niu Er entered to report that Du Yuan had returned.

Wang Bo was overjoyed. “Quickly, call him in!”

Du Yuan entered, travel-worn and thinner, but his eyes were still sharp. He saluted. “Master, I have returned!”

“Come, sit, sit!” Wang Bo smiled, pulling Du Yuan down. He glanced at the two men behind him. “And these are...?”

Du Yuan explained, “These two are envoys from Zhang Niujiao, leader of the Black Mountain Army. They’ve come by his order to deliver a message and traveled with me.”

“Black Mountain Army? Zhang Niujiao?” Wang Bo frowned.

He was familiar with the Black Mountain Army—an offshoot of the Yellow Turbans that, along with the White Wave Army, had turned northern Han upside down after the Zhang brothers’ deaths. Their leader was Zhang Yan, wasn’t it? Who was this Zhang Niujiao? A foster son of Zhang Jiao, perhaps?

Seeing Wang Bo’s confusion, Du Yuan explained, “Zhang Niujiao served the Great Teacher for a long time. Before our uprising, he was sent to command Yellow Turban brethren in Qing province. Later, when the Great Teacher ordered an eastward campaign, lack of supplies led to disagreement among the leaders, and the group split. Guan Hai returned to his home base, while Zhang Niujiao and Bu Yi headed for Ye city.”

“At Ye, they didn’t find the main Yellow Turban force. Bu Yi didn’t want to proceed, so he went north, but was defeated by government troops and his men scattered into the mountains of northern Ji. A month ago, they joined forces with Chu Feiyan of Zhen Ding, regaining some strength. Now they wish to unite the scattered Yellow Turban faithful, uphold the Great Teacher’s legacy, and have sent these two envoys.”

After Du Yuan’s account, Wang Bo said to the envoys, “You’ve traveled far. Please rest here for now. I’ll confer with my brothers and reply to you tomorrow.”

The two, seeing Du Yuan’s thorough explanation, took their leave.

Wang Bo sent Niu Er to summon everyone. After Niu Er left, he asked Du Yuan, “How did your journey go, brother?”

Du Yuan briefly recounted: he’d headed east, making inquiries, and finally found news of the “Saintess.” Zhang Ning had escaped government pursuit and was now with Guan Hai in Qing province. Relieved, Du Yuan returned, and on the road met Black Mountain Army scouts, then went up the mountain to see Zhang Niujiao, Yu Du, Sui Gu, and other old comrades, before traveling back with the envoys.

“Why are they called ‘Black Mountain Army’?” Wang Bo wondered.

Du Yuan smiled. “Our Yellow Turban leaders aren’t men of letters, and their unit names aren’t elegant. Since they’re based in Black Mountain, they called themselves the Black Mountain Army—nothing strange, just a bit crude, to amuse the master.”

“If they’re all warriors without strategy, won’t they repeat past mistakes? Only knowing how to raise armies and plunder, with no knowledge of military governance or management—how can they last? And with tens of thousands as a loose alliance, commands will be a mess—nothing will come of it. Did you discuss any of this with your old friends?”

Du Yuan sighed, gazing at Wang Bo. “I understand your meaning, Master! When I first arrived I had the same thought, but the Black Mountain Army is large and powerful now. Their fighting strength may be suspect, but the brothers are all proud and ambitious—they definitely won’t follow you north just yet. We must wait until the Xinghan Army secures a base in Yanmen, then speak of this again.”

“Indeed. Right now, Ji province is hollow. If they rise again, casualties won’t be too great—that’s just how it is,” Wang Bo sighed.

Just then, Yang Feng and the others arrived. Wang Bo explained the Black Mountain envoys’ mission and asked if anyone wished to answer their call.

Silence. After a while, Yang Feng spoke up, “We act only on your orders, Master—this is your decision.” The others nodded.

After pondering, Wang Bo shook his head. “I decide not to participate. We’ll stick to our original plan! Besides, if the Black Mountain Army rises, it’ll draw attention away from our northward march. When they launch their uprising, we’ll head north!”

Once the others left, Wang Bo had Tian Chou take dictation as he composed a letter to Zhang Niujiao. In it, he explained that the Xinghan Army’s goal in heading north was to seek a secure base, and that once settled, they’d respond to the Black Mountain call for revival, and so on. The next day, he gave the letter to the envoys to take back.

After everything was arranged, Wang Bo fell into thought: he’d hoped to delay heading north, waiting for that demon Lu Bu to leave Bing province before moving into Yanmen or Dingxiang. But the situation had changed so rapidly. If they didn’t head north soon, the Black Mountain Army would rise and, as always, gather bands to attack counties, burning and looting as they went, leaving ruin in their wake. The Han court would be enraged and send massive armies to suppress them, making escape impossible.

The Xinghan Army and the Black Mountain Army both sprang from the Yellow Turban legacy. The government and local warlords would never let them go. When the authorities came down, both would be crushed in the same sweep.

Only by heading north quickly, striking at the barbarians first, and showing the court they were not a threat, could they avoid destruction—who knew, maybe they’d even receive some favor.

Ah, old Tian—what a headache! Without a capable steward, there was so much to handle, and it was impossible to keep everything straight. Yang Feng was only a stopgap; if the operation grew, he wouldn’t suffice.

Should he visit Tian again? No, not for now. With such a stubborn man, the harder you push, the faster he’ll run. Better to wait.