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Jiacha’s Attack and the Aftermath

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Time went by, and on a bright full-moon night, a lone warrior dressed in white armor and riding a white horse appeared like a god of death. Without hesitation, he galloped straight down the White Road of Hor, charging into the camp of the Hor army.

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Sinba Meruze, watching from a distance, muttered to himself, A white rider on a white horse... it seems Gijum Yixi’s prophecy is coming true again. This must be Jiacha, and I’m afraid he will bring bloodshed like never before.

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The Hor camp was taken completely by surprise. The Sinba warriors noticed the commotion but were too confused to react to the sudden attack. Jiacha rode directly into the central camp of the White Tent King. He trampled tents, cut the flagpole into three pieces, and even sliced off a curtain from the White Tent.

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Had the White Tent King been inside his grand tent that night, he would have fallen to Jiacha’s blade. However, the cunning king had anticipated the possibility of a surprise attack by the Ling forces. His grand tent was merely a decoy, while he secretly slept in a different small tent each night. Unable to find the White Tent King, Jiacha vented his fury by killing eighteen cooks near the stoves. He then gathered all the horses grazing in the valleys, sunny mountains, and shady mountains and drove the herd toward Ling Gabu.

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After Jiacha’s departure, the leaders of Hor, led by the Yellow Tent King and the Black Tent King, gathered before the White Tent King to pay their respects and calm his nerves. Sinba Meruze seized this opportunity to speak, saying, “I’ve long heard the prophecy. My king, we should not make enemies of Ling Gabu. Remember the shepherd who attacked the camp before? Even I was injured by him. And now, this man is even braver! If even the nameless warriors of Ling Gabu are this powerful, imagine how strong their renowned heroes must be. My king, it is wise to withdraw the troops.”

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But the White Tent King, blinded by his obsession to claim the beautiful Zhumuo, refused to listen to any advice. He had no patience for anyone who tried to dissuade him and viewed them as enemies. Naturally, he had no kind words for Meruze: “You coward! You’ve ruined your reputation and now dare to shift the blame onto me. As for the stolen horses, they must still be retrieved. Sinba Meruze, you talk big like a tiger, but when danger comes, you’re no more than a yawning fox. I won’t trouble you with retrieving the horses this time!”

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Dongxuan’s Pursuit of Jiacha

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The White Tent King turned his attention to Dongxuan, a general from the Hor Benba tribe, and promised him great rewards. “If you succeed in this mission, I will grant you thirty fine horses and make you the chief of ten thousand households!”

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Dongxuan, eager to claim his prize, donned red armor made from ferret skin, strapped the “Blazing Flame Severing Blade” to his waist, and armed himself with a spear and bow. Leading his elite Flower Tassel Regiment, he set off in pursuit of Jiacha.

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Jiacha, having predicted that Hor would send soldiers after him, found a high hill and paused to rest. He thought to himself, When the enemy arrives, I’ll strike them down one by one and leave behind a legacy that Ling Gabu will remember forever. He dismounted and waited patiently.

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Before long, he saw a cloud of dust rising in the distance as the Hor cavalry approached. Dongxuan rode at the front of the formation, leading his troops. Observing their movements, Jiacha thought, Judging by their weapons and formations, these are archers from Hor Benba’s six divisions. I’ll let them come closer before I strike.

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Dongxuan, however, was no fool. He stopped his horse at a distance just beyond the range of a normal arrow and shouted, “White-faced man from Ling! You may appear fierce, but you’re only one man. Your horse may be wild, but it’s just a single steed. I’ll shoot you through with one arrow and drive the horses back to Hor!”

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Dongxuan’s words were followed by an arrow that flew faster than Jiacha had anticipated. It struck the seam between the upper and lower pieces of his armor. But Jiacha wore the divine purple sash gifted to him by the Lion King, rendering him immune to weapons. The arrow did not pierce his body.

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Jiacha pulled out the arrow, raised his shining Yas treasure blade, and shouted, “Is that all you’ve got? Your arrow couldn’t even scratch me. Women would be ashamed of such weak attacks! If you’re a real hero, face me in close combat and let’s see who’s stronger!”

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He spurred his white steed forward like a storm, charging at Dongxuan. Dongxuan, realizing the danger, quickly fired another arrow and turned his horse to flee. But Jiacha nocked an arrow to his white conch bow and shouted, “Coward! You can’t escape! My death arrow will pierce your back!”

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Jiacha’s Triumph and Adan’s Determination

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Jiacha steadied his aim and released his arrow with precision. It struck Dongxuan squarely between the shoulder blades, piercing through his back and exiting from his chest. Dongxuan fell from his horse, and Jiacha quickly caught up to him. Without hesitation, he decapitated Dongxuan, took his helmet tassels, and tied his armor, sword, bow, and other weapons onto Dongxuan’s horse.

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The thousand soldiers who had followed Dongxuan panicked. Some fired desperate arrows from a distance, while others shouted, “Run! Flee!” Jiacha charged at them with terrifying force, driving some into the roaring waves of the Yellow River and others off the edge of cliffs. Those who remained alive scattered like frightened chicks under the talons of a hawk, but most of them fell under Jiacha’s blade.

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Jiacha spared only one elderly soldier named Kakang, whom he ordered to deliver a message to the White Tent King. He gave him a horse stripped of its mane and tail and said, “Tell your White Tent King of Yellow Hor: If you dare to set foot in Ling Gabu again, we are ready with a hundred warriors to serve you tea. I, Jiacha, will personally await you at the side of Yarlasa Mountain. This time, along with the horses I drove away, you’ve also sent us a fine gift—1,000 sets of weapons and armor, 1,000 saddles, and 1,000 fine horses. They will all be brought back to Ling Gabu as spoils of war.”

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Ling Gabu erupted with admiration for Jiacha and Danma, whose heroic deeds were on everyone’s lips. Among those inspired by their bravery was Adan, the eldest son of Chaotong. Adan thought to himself, Jiacha and Danma have brought back so many fine horses, giving one horse to those who already own one and two horses to those who don’t. Only my father, Chaotong, received nothing because of his troublemaking. But he has no one to blame but himself. The Lion King treats Jiacha, Danma, and me equally without favoritism. If I can’t match their accomplishments and bring fine horses to the king, I’ll lose face, and Jiacha will be disappointed in me. I must seize at least as many horses from Hor as the two of them did. And no matter who in the divine tribes receives them, I will distribute the horses fairly to all.

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With this thought, Adan’s spirit burned brightly. Like a lion with a full mane, his armor and weapons glinted like the claws of a great beast. He mounted his steed, “Snow Mountain Soar,” and rode off like a king of beasts leaping down from the snowy peaks. He arrived at the Ling Gabu council gathering in Datang Chamao, where he declared his intentions to the leaders and his brothers. Without delay, he prepared to set out.

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The heroes of Ling Gabu, moved by Adan’s courage, silently vowed to follow his example and become lone-rider heroes themselves when Adan returned.

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Chaotong’s Departure and Ling’s Unease

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Despite Adan’s determination to bring glory to Ling Gabu, his father, Chaotong, was furious. He stormed in front of Adan like an old goat leaning against a crumbling wall, blocking his path. With a voice full of rage, he shouted, “You little fool who only knows how to cause trouble, shut your mouth! Heroes are everywhere, but the strongest ones are in Yellow Hor. Can you defeat Sinba and his mighty blade? Can you outmatch the arrows of the divine archer Ao’e? Do you have the strength of Duoqin? Can you stand against the White Tent King? Stay here and stop embarrassing yourself. Let me take care of this!”

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Chaotong’s words left the other heroes stunned. Though they disagreed with him, they couldn’t find a solid reason to stop him. The council leader, Rongchacha Gen, quietly thought to himself: This man is like a hammer that destroys the sacred peaks from the outside and an axe that ruins them from within. Nothing good will come of his actions! Whether he goes or not isn’t the issue—he’s a shameless braggart who doesn’t even know his own limits. If we don’t let him go, he might throw a tantrum like a black dog rolling on the ground. It’s better to just let him leave and face whatever consequences come.

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At that moment, Senjiang Zhumuo approached, offering tea and wine to Chaotong as a gesture of goodwill. She hoped to remind him not to disgrace Ling Gabu and began to sing a soft yet sharp song, her words wrapped in subtle scorn:

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Oh, Lord Chaotong of Mayu!
Please rein in your horse’s hooves.
Sit firmly upon your golden saddle,
And plant your feet steadily in the flowered stirrups.
I have words to say before you leave!

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Long ago, the Tibetan proverb said:
“Shepherds who prefer to walk alone,
Lose their sheep while they sleep.
Young merchants who travel alone,
Deliver their goods into the hands of thieves.
A small pack ox that strays to graze alone,
Will have its nose torn by wolves.
Uncles who go into battle alone,
Give their nephews into the hands of enemies.”

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This proverb is known by all.

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Oh, Lord Chaotong of Mayu!
Since the time of King Qupannabu,
Never once have we ceased our conquests.
The riches and horses captured are countless,
Yet no man was harmed, no horse was lost.

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The ancestral iron sword, the mighty “Thunderbolt Blade,”
Has never fallen into the hands of enemies.
We have not traded it for fatty meat when hungry,
Nor exchanged it for fine wine when thirsty.

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The thirty heroes of Ling Gabu,
Within the nation, they are like silk threads twisted into a rope.
Beyond our borders, they are like spears lined across vast plains.
When enemies attack, spearheads rise in unison.
When friends arrive, blades divide the feast.

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No elder boasts of being the firstborn,
No middle brother claims to be the strongest,
No younger brother prides himself on his swiftness.

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We pray to the five great dakinis,
To grant Lord Chaotong’s steed divine speed.
We call upon the four wrathful goddesses,
To protect our uncle on his campaign.

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May you meet the enemy as a tanner softens tiger hide,
May you face battle as a bow bends from the front.
May you catch wolves like hounds seizing prey from behind.

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Oh, long-lived uncle!
There is one unpleasant truth I must share,
“A glazed ceramic jar cannot be turned inside out.”
Uncle, do not forget this in your heart.
Reflect on what is right and wrong;
If my words offend, I beg your forgiveness.

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Zhumuo’s song struck a nerve and exposed Chaotong’s insecurities. By the time she finished, Chaotong had drained his tea and left half his wine untouched. His nostrils flared, and his beard bristled with anger. In a fit of rage, he poured the remaining wine onto the ground, turned his horse around, and snarled, “The root of all unrest between Hor and Ling, the reason for war, is you—this disgraceful fool! My mission is critical, and I must go, but you speak such venomous words. What is your true intention?”

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With that, he spurred his horse forward, leaving a trail of dust as he galloped away.

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