Chapter Thirty-Eight: Bestowing Skills

"Mounted combat is fundamentally different from fighting on foot," Yang Deqing explained in a measured tone. "You must pay attention to controlling your horse, the enemies around you, and the overall situation of our forces."

"Riding atop a horse isn't like infantry combat, where you can advance or retreat at will. Horses are difficult to control. That's why a good warhorse is half a cavalryman's life. During battle, you can't give the horse many commands. You rely on the horse's instincts," he sighed. "Warhorses are hard to train but easy to lose. Cavalry spend most of their time training new mounts. After every campaign, it's back to the beginning—no one is busier than the cavalry."

"You must always be aware of your surroundings." His tone grew stern. "Don't think you can ride alone and break through a thousand men. Unless absolutely necessary, make sure your comrades cover your flanks and rear. So long as your brothers are with you, never, ever fight alone!"

"Those who do so usually end up dead!"

Indeed, charging into enemy lines alone might seem heroic and unrestrained, but such men are always the first to fall. In battle, formation is everything—the cover of comrades left, right, and behind ensures even if wounded, you can retreat into friendly lines. Stray too far from your formation, and you'll be surrounded and slaughtered by superior numbers—unless you have the arms of a god, you won't survive the chaos.

Yang Deqing's face broke into a smile. "My favorite is when a thousand archers loose together at a lone horseman, turning him into a porcupine!"

"I like that too!" Feng Xiaobao echoed.

"Great minds think alike!" Yang Deqing laughed heartily.

Yang Deqing's influence on Feng Xiaobao was profound. He not only taught him the spear but, through subtle guidance, imparted many principles of war: always mass forces to overwhelm the enemy when possible; when not, create the conditions to do so.

...

Fighting on horseback is not easy—it's easy to lose track of something. Either the horse runs wild, or you overreach for a throat strike and miss because the horse jostles you, or worse, the mount is distracted by grazing. Every possible mishap occurs.

Even with his prodigious comprehension, it took Feng Xiaobao three days just to get his horse running smoothly. After that, he practiced thrusting at wooden dummies from horseback. Handling the spear was one thing; controlling the horse was as hard as making it dance ballet.

He started by picking a wooden dummy to strike, then had to hit one after another along the path. As Yang Deqing shouted commands, he controlled the horse's speed. At a gallop, there was only one chance to strike. At first, he often missed, stabbing at empty air.

Only with repeated practice and Yang Deqing's guidance did he begin to find his rhythm—charging past at full speed, he could strike a throat with one decisive thrust.

Once his accuracy improved, he was told not to aim only for the throat—such a single point of attack was too limiting. Other targets had to be struck as well.

"Mind your technique!" Yang Deqing bellowed. He had someone hang a slab of pork on a post. Feng Xiaobao spurred his horse forward, aimed for the red circle on the meat, and drove the spear in!

His posture was flawless—yet Yang Deqing rebuked him sharply.

He had thrust too hard; the spear sank deep into the meat and was stuck fast. The pork was lashed tight, and even with his prodigious strength, he couldn't pull the spear out. He had to abandon it immediately; otherwise, both he and the horse would be in danger.

Before this, Feng Xiaobao had already learned the secret of spear-thrusting from horseback: the key is not to pierce through, but to slash diagonally, letting the spearhead ride the force of the horse to penetrate armor. A twist of waist and arm at the right moment turns the thrust into a slash, opening a deep, bleeding wound and possibly destroying internal organs, while centrifugal force helps to fling the enemy's body away.

Never thrust so hard you impale someone and get stuck; that would leave a corpse hanging on the spear, unbalancing the horse and sending both rider and mount crashing to the ground.

The advantage of a throat thrust is that it kills without the spear getting stuck.

Sometimes, blades or spikes were fixed beneath the spear's tip; upon entering the enemy's body, a quick twist would widen the wound, making it easier to retrieve the spear.

It sounds easy, but in practice it's hard. Feng Xiaobao's first attempt at the pork failed because the horse sped up suddenly, and he misjudged the force.

From practice dummies to pork, then to live infantry, and finally to cavalry combat.

Layer by layer, he fought his way upward. Feng Xiaobao found his days full and rewarding.

Since Yang Deqing had decided to make him his true disciple, he spared no effort—beyond spearmanship, he taught him to use Tang military arms.

The Tang saber, for instance, was a killing blade developed for the army, with eight essential techniques: sweep, chop, parry, slice, block, rake, cleave, and thrust. The moves were simple, direct, and deadly—a martial arts school could never teach such ruthlessness.

With the curved saber Yang Deqing gave him, Feng Xiaobao found it excellent for mounted combat. The curved blade could be dragged to recover quickly after a strike, making it easy to attack again—well worth mastering.

And then there was the "Mo Dao," the ancient horse-cleaving blade—seven feet long, with a three-foot blade and four-foot handle, tipped with iron and weighing ten kilograms. In the hands of a strong man, a waist-driven swing could shred anything in its path.

Its power in single combat was extraordinary. Its wide, sharp blade struck terror into enemies—splitting skulls, beheading, piercing through to the back, or cutting a man in half, severing limbs as easily as slicing sugarcane.

A massed charge of these blades, wielded by fierce warriors, was a sight to make the bravest cavalryman flee in terror.

Laughing aloud, Feng Xiaobao swung the blade like the wind, reducing wooden dummies to splinters.

Where he had struggled with the spear, the saber came naturally—one lesson and he excelled, soon leaving the ground littered with wood chips.

Yang Deqing and Yang Chengxian watched, dumbstruck. Yang Deqing hesitantly asked his son, "Do you think he's more suited to be an infantry captain or a cavalry commander?"

Yang Chengxian replied, crestfallen, "He could do anything. You can't help but admire him!"

Comparisons are indeed maddening—Yang Chengxian was a master of the throat-locking spear, Cheng Boxi a virtuoso with the horse lance, but if they switched weapons, each would be lost. Their strengths were distinct. Feng Xiaobao, however, was proficient with every weapon, and now with the Mo Dao, he was achieving mastery.

Besides weapons, shields had to be mastered—to block enemy arrows and withstand attacks.

Archery, unfortunately, was Yang Deqing's weak point, and with little time, that would have to wait.

...

As a true disciple, Feng Xiaobao received instruction not only in foot and mounted combat, but also in marching, logistics, military organization, strategy, tactics, and battlefield formations.

"In simple terms," Yang Deqing explained, "our army's field operations can be divided into two broad categories: with and without cavalry. When we have cavalry, as Emperor Taizong favored, we probe for the enemy's weakest point, then concentrate our superior numbers—His Majesty would personally lead ten thousand horsemen to charge and break the foe in one stroke!"

"Imagine it—Emperor Taizong at the head of ten thousand horsemen, covering the mountains and valleys, the enemy scattering in panic!" Yang Deqing shook his head in admiration.

The founding emperor's martial prowess inspired awe. But now, with the current emperor—Gaozong—weak and ailing, shut away in the inner palace, the contrast was lamentable.

"Without cavalry, we rely on the Mo Dao formation, advancing like a rolling tide—nothing can withstand it!" As he spoke, Feng Xiaobao could almost see the ranks surging forward, blades raised, striking terror into the enemy.

"But the enemy isn't always foolish. Only madmen or idiots would dare face our Mo Dao formation head on—anyone with sense would flee!"

"So you have to provoke them into fighting."

"Exactly!" Yang Deqing related an army anecdote: "The army has 'taunt squads'—men with loud voices and strong lungs, chosen to learn the local dialect wherever we march, then insult the enemy lord's ancestors as crudely as possible. If that fails, they throw women's dresses over the walls..."

Such shamelessness was hard to ignore—the insulted defenders would open their gates in fury, only to face the terrifying Mo Dao.

"Ha ha ha ha!"

...

"As for ordinary soldiers, they needn't learn too much. As officers, we can't teach them anything too complicated—many can't tell left from right. Few have your knack for picking things up, Xiaobao—you're a born warrior," Yang Deqing said.

Feng Xiaobao blushed and demurred.

"There are plenty of idiots in the army—so slow you want to kill them, though of course you can't. To get through to them, you have to beat it into their heads," Yang Deqing said grimly. "Beat them until they remember!"

With no compulsory education, illiteracy was rampant and the people's minds were largely unformed. Many soldiers were blockheads, hopeless to teach by words alone. The whip and the staff were standard-issue; beatings were an everyday occurrence.

"Oh, I see!" Feng Xiaobao was hearing all this for the first time, rapt with interest.

"Ordinary soldiers are taught only two things: saber techniques for close combat, and spear techniques for use in formation against cavalry and charges. The saber has eight basic moves—simple and deadly, no unnecessary flourishes. Spear work... heh, it's just three moves: a chop, an upward flick, and a thrust. That's all. Nothing as elaborate as what you've learned!"

He explained the use of the spear in formation: the ranks are packed tight, with no room for maneuver—unlike single combat, it's all about collective action. The chop comes down from above to block, the upward flick lifts enemy weapons or men, and the thrust is for killing men or horses.

With just these three moves, a hundred spears striking as one, even the greatest martial artist could not prevail against such a wall.

One ordinary soldier against a martial artist, and the martial artist wins. But a thousand ordinary soldiers against a thousand martial artists, and the soldiers might well triumph.

Infantry are easy to train; cavalry are costly. Only the smartest, most capable men are chosen for cavalry, archers, or Mo Dao troops.

...

Feng Xiaobao trained under Yang Deqing for half a year, until winter set in and he gradually stopped going to the general's residence, choosing instead to practice on his own. He remained diligent, training even as snow fell thick and fast.

He had now moved into the Princess's residence, which had a small training ground—originally used by Princess Qianjin for polo, but now convenient for his exercises.

As the year drew to a close, all trades took stock, and Feng Xiaobao reviewed what he had learned. In six months, he had acquired so much that he felt transformed. Yang Deqing declared he was fully qualified to be a captain.

His success was due partly to his own efforts, partly to Yang Deqing, whose skills as a trainer and teacher far surpassed those of Master Cheng. The Cheng family was illustrious, but already in its second generation—its founder had won glory, but the descendants merely enjoyed the fruits, lacking the founder's spirit.

Yang Deqing, by contrast, was still in his prime, a veteran with peerless skill and deep experience. Feng Xiaobao benefited enormously.

Nor was Yang Deqing unrewarded—besides gaining an excellent disciple, he received a promotion!

A court edict came: "Yang Deqing, loyal to the throne, skilled in drilling troops, diligent in royal service... is hereby promoted to Grand General of Huaihua!"

Grand General of Huaihua was a prestigious third-rank military title, higher than his previous post as Deputy General of the Left Guard, which was only a subordinate third rank.

Such a promotion was a clear signal from the court that he was being groomed for a substantive third-rank command—once the honorary title was raised, a real appointment would follow.

To rise from general to grand general was a great leap; many officers never surpassed the rank of general. As Grand General, Yang Deqing might command an entire campaign—his prospects were bright indeed.

This promotion was Feng Xiaobao's gift to Yang Deqing. Of course, Yang Deqing was an officer promoted by Empress Wu, with Princess Qianjin's recommendation. The empress, pleased to oblige, advanced Yang Deqing's career—had he belonged to a different faction, it would not have been so smooth.

Naturally, Feng Xiaobao never claimed it was the princess's doing, and Yang Deqing never voiced his gratitude. It would hardly do to say one owed promotion to a disciple's lover. Everyone understood without words.

To be with Xiaobao was to gain wealth or rank—one or the other!