Chapter Fifty-Seven: The Stratagem of the Empty City

Dawn broke swiftly.

Yet a thick mist rose among the mountains.

The ever-deepening fog shrouded both Tongguan cities, and the peaks of Mount Hua loomed and vanished in its folds, creating a scene of enchanting beauty.

But almost no one nearby paid any heed to the mist-veiled splendor of Mount Hua. At such a critical moment, who had the leisure to admire the scenery?

Two miles to the rear, the rebellious troops under Cui Qianyou began their preparations at first light. Their plan was to launch an assault on Han Tongguan before the sun rose fully and the heat of the day set in, determined to take the city by overwhelming force, then press on to the gates of Sui Tongguan. There, they would concentrate all their strength for a relentless attack, aiming to capture Sui Tongguan within a single day and thus open the last gateway to Chang’an.

Breakfast was taken amid the din and commotion. Cui Qianyou ordered two of his colonels, Li Qian and Cheng Wei, each to lead four thousand men as the vanguard, launching a continuous assault on the southern and eastern gates of Han Tongguan.

The night before, although Cui Qianyou had not commanded an overnight assault, he had sent many soldiers to lie in ambush near Han Tongguan, observing the situation atop the city walls—whether the Tang had reinforced the garrison or attempted a night raid, all intelligence Cui Qianyou needed.

According to reports from the hidden sentries, the first half of the night was lively on the city walls; sentries patrolled constantly, as if fresh troops had arrived, the defenders seemed more numerous and vigilant. By the latter half, things quieted somewhat, torches and lanterns became scarcer, but shadowy figures still moved about the battlements, their numbers waxing and waning, and warning arrows were loosed to probe the darkness beyond the walls.

Piecing together these reports, Cui Qianyou judged that the Tang had indeed reinforced the city by night, though the exact numbers were unclear. That the Tang had not launched a sortie suggested the reinforcements were not many.

From observations the day before, Cui Qianyou estimated that Han Tongguan was defended by little more than two thousand men; with the reinforcements, the garrison could not number more than four thousand.

With only about four thousand enemy inside, Cui Qianyou was confident that, commanding more than fifty thousand men, he could, by launching assault after assault, surely take that battered city.

Thus, he ordered Li Qian and Cheng Wei to attack with all their might, no matter the cost.

Li Qian and Cheng Wei, tasked with leading the charge, were filled with dread. They knew all too well how grim the task was—perhaps it would cost them their very lives. The carnage of the previous day’s assault was fresh in their minds, and the same tragedy was sure to play out today among their own ranks. Yet they dared not disobey and could only accept their orders and march forth.

Han Tongguan still lay hidden in the mist; even those lying in ambush nearby could see only the vague outline of the city, not the defenders on the walls. Li Qian and Cheng Wei carefully led their troops toward the city, hoping to strike before the fog lifted, catching the defenders unawares and seizing the initiative.

Again and again they warned their soldiers to remain quiet, to avoid alerting the enemy on the walls.

The mist had begun to rise before dawn—at first it was but a thin haze, but as morning approached, it thickened steadily. This was a common sight in summer around Mount Hua: every morning brought mist, though its thickness varied. On days following rain, the humidity made for lighter fog, but this was not always the case—indeed, today’s mist was much heavier than yesterday’s.

Yesterday, the thin mist had dissipated completely before sunrise, but today, it seemed unlikely to do the same.

The two forces groped their way forward, taking nearly half an hour to cover two or three miles of mountain road. Guided by the hidden scouts, they finally reached the base of Han Tongguan, and still the defenders on the wall had not noticed them; not a sound came from above, nor did any arrows fall.

Li Qian and Cheng Wei, leading the assault, were overjoyed and immediately ordered their men to hurry and set up scaling ladders against the walls.

Yesterday, despite heavy casualties, not a single soldier had reached the top of the wall, and very few ladders had even been put in place.

Today, to be able to approach so easily and set up their ladders—they owed it all to this dense fog, which had robbed the Tang defenders of their vigilance and their ability to react in time. Ladder after ladder was raised, and at the order, shield-bearers led the way up, followed closely by swordsmen who climbed swiftly behind under the cover of those shields.

But just as the ladders were set, piles of rocks and heavy logs were suddenly hurled down from several points, crashing onto the soldiers as they climbed. Those struck screamed and toppled backward, falling onto the men below and triggering a chain reaction: soldiers tumbled down the same ladder in a cacophony of cries.

“The Tang are attacking!” someone shouted.

Yet strangely, the Tang defenders used only rocks and logs—no arrows. Could it be they had exhausted their supply the day before?

No battle cries could be heard, and not all ladders were met with resistance; several were left unscathed, and the rebels on those ladders made it to the battered battlements with ease.

The ladders that had been knocked down were quickly righted by those coming after, and more soldiers continued their ascent.

Soon, the resistance on the walls waned, then ceased altogether, puzzling the attackers.

As they scrambled over the battlements, the rebel soldiers charged, blades drawn, to hack at the Tang defenders—only to discover, to their astonishment, that the “defenders” atop the wall were merely wooden dummies and straw men clad in Tang armor.

Had the Tang truly abandoned the city? Every rebel who reached the top was seized by the same doubt.

But the thick fog still cloaked the wall, leaving the attackers unable to see clearly.

In their confusion, the rebels blundered about, some even attacking each other in panic, causing accidental deaths and injuries.

“The Tang have fled!” someone at last shouted the conclusion aloud, and the call was quickly taken up by others.

“Get down there and open the gates!”

A loud, authoritative voice issued the order.

“Yes!” soldiers responded, making their way swiftly toward the city’s interior.

But almost at once, screams of agony rang out.

It was the soldiers trying to rush down the stairs who cried out.

In the dense fog, unable to see clearly and caught up in the excitement, those who had reached the wall instinctively dashed down the stairways—never imagining that every set of stairs or ramps leading down had either a length cut away or had been slicked with oil. Unprepared, the soldiers tumbled headlong, rolling straight down from the high walls to the ground below, many meeting their deaths in the fall.