Word Number：428 Author：闲穿径竹 Translator： Release Time：2025-06-27

　　In the western circuits of Hexi and Longyou, the military governor Geshu Han had long disregarded the counsel of Court Physician Feng. Despite warnings, he persisted in his indulgence—rich meats by the platter, wine by the flagon—until the wind-pain afflicting his limbs worsened beyond relief. Soon, the once-proud commander could no longer rise from his bed, his body a prisoner to his appetites.　　With the execution of Gao Xianzhi, the imperial court found itself bereft of seasoned generals. Desperation compelled Emperor Xuanzong to consider unlikely candidates. Though once wary of Geshu Han’s impetuousness, the Emperor now remembered that the man had long held enmity for An Lushan. That enmity, he reasoned, might serve the throne well. And so, with the stroke of a brush, Geshu Han was appointed Deputy Marshal of All Armed Forces, entrusted with command over eighty thousand troops, and tasked with bringing the traitor An Lushan to heel. A great imperial edict was issued: the forces of the realm were to converge on all sides and launch a coordinated assault upon Luoyang.　　Though afflicted by illness, Geshu Han sought leave from command, yet the Emperor would not permit it. In his stead, he appointed Tian Liangqiu as acting Marshal of the expeditionary force, with Xiao Xin as his aide-de-camp. Reinforcements were summoned from afar—tribal horsemen led by Huoba Guiren of the Tujue and others, each spurring their battalions toward Tong Pass with haste. Confined to his sickbed, Geshu Han had little choice but to entrust the reins of military administration to Tian Liangqiu. Yet Tian, wary of overstepping his station, refrained from making independent decisions. Cavalry was placed under the command of Wang Sili, while the infantry fell to Li Chengguang. The two men, locked in a petty rivalry, vied incessantly for supremacy, rendering the army fractious and ungovernable.　　Geshu Han, ever stern in matters of war, was a commander who brooked no dissent, nor showed patience for the trials of lesser men. He neither inspired affection nor offered relief. Under such rigid command, the troops grew slack and dispirited, their will to fight all but extinguished.　　As Liu Chengyuan galloped toward Hangu Pass, the wind tearing at his cloak, a distant cacophony reached his ears—the unmistakable clash of weapons, sharp and metallic against the silence of the hills. A chill pricked his spine. Could it be? he wondered. Has An Lushan’s horde already locked horns with the Tang defenders here? Urging his horse onward, he followed the sound, each hoofbeat a note in his rising apprehension.　　But when