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Rinagu, the Qiang tribal leader, pounded his chest with a resounding thud, repeatedly declaring that whether his gifts were lost or not was unimportant and not the core issue. The real problem was the utter lack of discipline and organization in this act, which disrupted normal trade procedures and violated laws, threatening to undermine the sincere bond between the sons of the White Stone and Fei of Shangjun. This, in turn, could jeopardize the friendly trade relations between the Qiang tribes and the Great Han Dynasty—an outcome that the Eastern Qiang, who valued border stability and friendship with the Han, absolutely could not tolerate.
To express his strong disgust and condemnation of this lawless act of violently seizing others' property, Rinagu summoned the most experienced hunters in his tribe to conduct a thorough, inch-by-inch search of the crime scene.
Soon, a collection of bizarre items sprouted up like mushrooms after rain, laid out before Rinagu and Fei Qian.
"What's this piece of cloth?" Fei Qian crouched down, picking up a small scrap of fabric that had lost its original color. The cloth was so saturated with grease that it seemed almost solidified, its fibers completely clogged with oil. When held up, it was so stiff that even the wind couldn't move it.
Rinagu called over one of his men and muttered something before explaining, "Fei of Shangjun, this scrap was found caught on a nail in the wagon's wood. It must have been torn from the sleeve of one of those thieves while they were moving the cargo!"
"Oh, and what's this?" Fei Qian set the cloth aside and sifted through the pile of miscellaneous items, pointing at a small piece of wood.
The wood was no larger than half a palm, bearing traces of carving as if someone had started shaping it into something but only managed a rough outline.
"This was found in that grove," Rinagu said. "It might have been dropped by someone lying in ambush there."
Fei Qian picked up the piece of wood and examined it closely. It didn't seem to be a human figure, as the proportions were off—not humanoid at all. It resembled some kind of four-legged animal.
"Is this meant to be a horse?" Fei Qian handed the wood to Rinagu.
Rinagu turned it over in his hands, inspecting it before muttering, "Doesn't look like a horse… Look at this belly—too skinny. A horse's belly should have some fat…"
Suddenly, Rinagu slapped his thigh and stood up, roaring furiously. Several Qiang tribesmen responded immediately, mounting their horses and galloping north in a whirlwind.
"I know who did it!" Rinagu waved the unfinished carving, his face a mix of anger and urgency, as if he couldn't wait to hunt down the culprits. "Look at this! It's a Chena! I knew the sons of the White Stone wouldn't do something so dishonorable! It's those damned Chena Gutu! They're the ones behind this!"
Chena Gutu?
Fei Qian, having heard Hu languages for some time, had picked up a few terms. Chena meant "gray wolf," and Gutu meant "descendants" or "sons." So, the sons of the gray wolf?
The Qiang revered the White Stone and followed a nature-based polytheistic faith, with the white sheep as their totem. They would never carve a wolf. The only groups with a wolf totem were the Xiongnu and the Xianbei.
The Xianbei lived farther north in the Hetao region and occasionally ventured south, but they mostly stayed in the northern deserts. Only the eastern Xianbei were constantly locked in a love-hate struggle with General Gongsun in Youzhou.
Thus, the prime suspects were likely the Southern Xiongnu, who had previously come to the Beiqu camp to "reap the autumn harvest." The question now was: where had these Xiongnu gone?
Could the Qiang track them down?
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Fei Qian had clearly underestimated the Qiang's determination in this matter, as well as their tracking skills on the grasslands. The Qiang quickly followed horse tracks and caught the Xiongnu's trail.
Indeed, only the Hu truly understood the Hu.
If Fei Qian had relied solely on his own men to search, they might have wandered the grasslands blindly, unfamiliar with the terrain, like blind men groping an elephant.
With the Qiang leading the way, things became much simpler. The Qiang were intimately familiar with the grasslands and water sources in the area. Following a few key water sources northward, they soon cornered the Xiongnu band in a valley.
Having a guide made all the difference.
The Xiongnu in the valley spotted the sudden appearance of Fei Qian and Rinagu's combined forces and descended into chaos. Some scrambled to lead horses, others hurriedly packed goods, with shouts and whinnies filling the air in a frantic bustle.
Fei Qian recalled the days when Emperor Wu of Han pursued the Xiongnu into the northern deserts. General Li Guang, that unfortunate soul, always seemed to get lost, miss deadlines, or get ambushed by the Xiongnu on the way. His bad luck was legendary, despite his bravery and skill as an archer. He repeatedly missed out on joining the main force's attacks due to one mishap or another. Eventually, even Emperor Wu knew of this unlucky general's storied history and specifically instructed Wei Qing not to let Li Guang lead the vanguard, citing his lack of fortune.
If Li Guang had had a group of Hu guides back then, his terrible luck might not have been entirely avoided, but the chances of getting lost would surely have been greatly reduced.
Rinagu, with a probing tone, pointed his whip at the Xiongnu forming ranks in the valley and said, "Fei of Shangjun, the thieves are all here. Will you handle it, or shall I?"
Fei Qian assessed the Xiongnu in the valley. There weren't many—perhaps just over a hundred, two hundred at most. This wasn't likely the main Southern Xiongnu force but rather a detachment or a band out foraging.
Fei Qian could guess Rinagu's intent. Martial prowess wasn't everything, but without it, nothing else mattered.
Huang Cheng, eager to prove himself, said, "Lord Fei, let me test the mettle of these Xiongnu!"
Before he could finish, Ma Yan suddenly leaned over and grabbed Huang Cheng's reins.
"Shuye, let me take this fight!" Ma Yan said with a faint smile, a mix of three parts excitement, three parts cruelty, three parts longing, and one part subtle pride. He gently caressed his long spear. "This spear hasn't drunk Hu blood in years—it's positively thirsty…"
Ma Yan's gesture of stroking the spear sent a slight shiver through Fei Qian, but he figured Ma Yan likely didn't know the modern connotations of such a phrase. Understanding Ma Yan's current mood, Fei Qian suppressed the slight unease and clasped his hands, saying, "In that case, I leave it to you, Brother Chengyuan!"