Traveling back to the Northern Song Dynasty: Picking up a princess as my wife

Li Zhen gently stroked the heavy secret report from Mongolia, his gaze deep as he whispered to the man beside him named Bu Liang: "Scholar, your classmate is truly a hidden dragon and crouching tiger, no ordinary person. In just two months, he has, like a hand that can turn the tide, helped the third prince of Mongolia rise to the pinnacle of power. But the situation in the north is far from peaceful. Do you know that Temujin is leading his tribal coalition army, stirring up a storm on the grasslands, repeatedly defeating the Mongol Khanate's iron cavalry? Now his army has grown into a formidable force of tens of thousands, a truly impressive sight."

Li Zhen pondered to himself, a worry he had never shared with anyone: he had been keeping an eye on Temujin for many years, determined to nip him in the bud to prevent him from becoming a major threat in the future.

The man stepped forward lightly, holding a cup of warm tea, and placed it steadily in front of Li Zhen. He spoke with a hint of respect in his voice: "Wan Hanzhong has traveled all over the country with his grandfather since childhood. His family is also very knowledgeable. His wisdom and talent are far beyond what ordinary people can achieve."

Li Zhen slowly raised his hand, his fingertips lightly touching the rim of the cup. He took a small sip, the aroma of tea lingering on his lips and teeth. He then said in a deep voice, "The matter of conscription is of utmost urgency. In addition to consolidating the military strength in the Northeast, I intend to establish a Mongolian expeditionary force to meet any unforeseen needs. This will leave a huge shortage of troops, which is a pressing problem that needs to be solved at present."

In the winter of 1136 AD, the cold wind of the northern grasslands swirled fine snowflakes, pressing the withered grass along the banks of the Onon River low. Temujin loosened the collar of his fur robe, gazing at the dust rising from the opposite bank, his fingers unconsciously stroking the wolf head pattern on the gilded hilt of his sword at his waist.

Three days ago, scouts reported that the vanguard of the Western Liao had crossed the Jinshan Pass, the armored cavalry of the Western Xia were gathering at Juyan Lake, and the Mongol Khanate, supported by the Han state to the south, was exchanging silk for their last iron ore.

"Great Khan, the crows of the Altai Mountains are all flying south." Borchu leaned down from his horse, the iron armor clanging softly. This daimyo, who had followed him into battle since he was thirteen, now had a brow so furrowed it could hold an arrow. Temujin knew what he was worried about—a proverb circulated on the steppe: when crows fly south, bloodshed is sure to follow.

After those twenty-odd Mongol tribes pledged allegiance to Temujin, they all supported him in establishing the Northern Mongol Han State and tried to compete with Batu Khan for control of the Mongol Empire.

A slight tremor suddenly came from the frozen ground on the riverbank. Temujin dismounted and pressed his ear to the ground. The sound of hooves came from the southeast, not the light cavalry typical of nomadic tribes, but the deep, muffled sound of iron-clad horseshoes. "The Iron Falcons of Western Xia."

He grabbed a handful of soil mixed with ice shards, watching the ice slowly melt in his palm. "They're looking for salt."

"The salt lakes of Juyan Lake can support 100,000 warhorses!" In the palace of the Western Xia Zhongxing Prefecture, Prince Li Anquan of Jin slammed his gilded riding whip heavily onto the sheepskin map. The candlelight flickered on the bronze animal-head lampstand, casting glimmers and shadows on the scars on his face. "Those Western Liao barbarians have seized the gold and iron mines, and Han merchant caravans are bribing the tribal leaders. We must act before winter—"

Before the words were finished, hurried footsteps suddenly came from outside the hall. The commander of the personal guards burst open the gilded door, his armor still covered with unmelted snowflakes: "Your Highness! The Iron Falcons have been ambushed in Blackwater City! It's...it's Temujin's Blue Wolf Banner!"

Li Anquan whirled around, the Hetian jade pendant on his belt hitting the edge of the table and shattering in two. He grabbed the secret report from the table; strange symbols were drawn in cinnabar on the parchment—secret messages from their spies planted in the Western Liao army. When he deciphered the meaning of the symbols, his pupils contracted sharply: "Husi Ordos's supply train...passing through Yehu Ridge at midnight tonight?"

In Crescent Valley at the northern foot of the Altai Mountains, twenty iron-clad oxcarts struggled through the snow. Yelü Ahai, the military supervisor of the Western Liao, incessantly berated the slaves driving the carts, his turquoise-inlaid scimitars gleaming coldly in the moonlight. These carts, laden with iron ore, were supposed to arrive at the armory in Husi Ordos before dawn.

"My lord, something's wrong with the snowdrifts ahead." The lieutenant suddenly pulled on the reins. Yelü Ahai looked in the direction of his whip, and the snowdrifts at the valley entrance gleamed with an eerie blue light under the moonlight. Before he could give the order to be on alert, a deafening roar suddenly erupted from the cliffs on both sides. Countless dark figures descended down the ropes, a rain of arrows mixed with burning pine resin balls pouring down.

Temujin, gripping his curved sword in reverse, leaped from the snowdrift, sparks flying as the blade sliced ​​across the cart shaft. Behind him, three hundred elite warriors charged like wolves into a sheepfold, hacking at the cart shafts. By the time Yelü Ahai finally organized a counterattack, the last cart of iron ore had already overturned with a crash, the tumbling ore leaving dark red tracks on the snow—a sign that it had been soaked in kerosene.

"Fire!" With Borchu's shout, the rocket plummeted into the valley like a meteor. The iron ore ignited upon contact with the fire, and the towering flames dyed half the night sky blood red. Seventy miles away, on the walls of Husi Ordos city, the defenders watched in horror at the strange phenomenon in the northern sky, as the tolling of bells shattered the tranquility of the grassland.

At this moment, the Western Xia Iron Falcons were locked in a fierce battle at the Juyan Lake salt lake. Their prized heavy armor had become a death sentence on the saline-alkali land, and Temujin's light cavalry circled the salt lake, continuously launching fire arrows. The brine in the salt field exploded upon contact with the fire, and the flying salt crystals mixed with sparks clung to the eyes of the warhorses. The maddened warhorses dragged their armored knights into the salt lake, and the splashing water froze into ice under the moonlight.

"Report—!" A messenger's voice, choked with sobs, burst into the Western Xia tent. "The salt lake...the salt lake is on fire!" Li Anquan's bronze wine vessel fell to the ground, the fine wine staining the wool carpet with bloody marks. He knew what this meant: without salt, warhorses would lose their stamina within three months, wounded soldiers' wounds would not heal, and even worse, the tribes would turn to the one who could provide salt and iron...

Before the embers of the Wild Fox Ridge had even cooled, Temujin appeared at the Tatar camp with the captured Western Liao military tally. When the old chieftain saw the seal "Husi Ordos Craftsman's Office" engraved on the tally, a glint of light flashed in his cloudy eyes. At dawn the next day, three hundred Tatar craftsmen, carrying their complete sets of tools, quietly disappeared into the mist heading towards the Altai Mountains.

Seven days later, when the Western Liao army finally cleared the way and arrived at the Jinshan Iron Mine, they found only collapsed mine shafts and the corpses of Han Chinese craftsmen scattered everywhere—or more accurately, steppe assassins dressed in Han clothing. Yelü Dashi's descendants would never know that true Han Chinese craftsmen, under Temujin's protection, had already built new iron smelting workshops on the southern slopes of the Altai Mountains.

With the acquisition of salt and iron by Temujin, more Mongol tribes joined his ranks, and for a time, almost the entire northern Mongolian steppe came under his control, giving him the ability to contend with the Mongol Khanate. Of course, this was contingent on the armored corps of the Xianghan Kingdom deployed in Ulaanbaatar not intervening.