In the thirteenth year of the Tianbao era: I became Yang Guozhong's eldest son.

Yang Xuan walked the short distance of a dozen steps with ease.

When he stepped out of the sword array and stood before Dormon, the entire valley fell into a deathly silence.

The native warriors who had been so fierce just moments before now looked at Yang Xuan with a complex emotion that was a mixture of hatred and awe.

In their original beliefs, those who could face a barrage of swords without fear were warriors favored by the gods.

"Now, can I talk to you about business?" Yang Xuan asked, his tone still calm as he looked at Duo Meng, whose forehead was covered in sweat.

Duo Meng swallowed hard and subconsciously took a half step back. His hand holding the Miao knife even trembled slightly.

"What...what do you want to talk about?" Dormon's voice lowered involuntarily.

Yang Xuan turned around, walked to a mule car loaded with refined salt, drew the horizontal knife from his waist, and casually cut open the seal of the sack.

"Splash..."

The snow-white, fine salt cascaded down like a waterfall, shimmering in the sunlight.

Dormon and the native warriors stared wide-eyed, their breathing quickening.

In the mountains of Shiwan, salt is more precious than gold.

They usually eat bitter, toxic rock salt, and sometimes they even have to lick the salt and alkali on the rocks to replenish their strength.

They had never even seen such pure, white salt before.

"The knives in your hands are too dull. The poison darts you shoot are only good for hunting." Yang Xuan pointed to the pile of refined salt on the ground, his voice echoing in the valley. "These thirty cartloads of salt are just a small gift. I want to use them to exchange for the Yunnan horses you have and the medicinal herbs from your mountains."

Duomeng looked at the salt, then at Yang Xuan, his eyes filled with a mixture of greed and doubt.

"Tang officials never keep their word," Duomeng said through gritted teeth. "You give us salt today, and tomorrow you'll bring an army to take it back!"

"I'm not here to rob you; I'm here to show you a way to survive." Yang Xuan looked at him coldly. "Helan Jin of Yaozhou Zhechong Prefecture has already blocked all trade routes. He won't let us live, and he won't let you have an easy time either. Do you want to hide in these dark mountains and forests for the rest of your lives, eking out a living like wild beasts?"

Upon hearing the name "Helan Jin," a deep-seated hatred flashed in Duo Meng's eyes.

The army of Zhechong Prefecture has massacred many of their people on the border.

"What are you going to do?" Dormon's tone finally softened.

"Open up this ancient road." Yang Xuan pointed south. "I will provide refined salt, cloth, and ironware; you will provide warhorses, medicinal herbs, and... your scimitars."

Yang Xuan stepped forward, his eyes blazing: "As long as we join forces, Helan Jin's word will no longer count in Yaozhou. I guarantee that from this day forward, your tribe will never again have to eat bitter salt mixed with sand, and your warriors can wear the iron armor of the Tang people!"

Duo Meng stared intently at Yang Xuan, his chest heaving violently.

It was a devil's temptation, and an offer that was impossible to refuse.

a long time.

Duo Meng slammed the Miao knife in his hand into the ground with a deafening roar.

"Fine! I, Duomeng, will trust you this once! If you dare to lie to us, I'll chase you all the way to Chang'an and rip your heart out!"

Yang Xuan looked at the tribal chief who had finally submitted, and a slight smile appeared on his lips.

The first move has been made.

These thirty cartloads of refined salt brought him not only life-saving warhorses, but also the confidence to completely overthrow the Zhechong Prefecture.

"Go!" Duomeng pulled the Miao sword from the ground and shouted to his men.

The native warriors immediately put away their weapons and took the initiative to clear the way ahead.

Lei Laohu wiped the cold sweat from his face. Only now did he feel like he had come back to life.

He watched Yang Xuan's retreating figure, his eyes filled with an overwhelming sense of awe.

This county magistrate was not only able to manipulate events in the officialdom, but in this unreasonable and barbaric jungle, he was even more tyrannical and terrifying than the barbarians.

"My lord, do you really trust them that much?" Pei Zhao walked to Yang Xuan's side and asked in a low voice.

"A bond of shared interests is more reliable than any oath." Yang Xuan mounted his horse, his gaze fixed intently on the depths of the dense forest ahead.

The wind along the ancient Nanzhao Road seemed to have become even more biting.

......

Deep within the ancient Nanzhao Road lies a valley with a relatively open terrain.

This is a hidden camp of a branch tribe of Mengshezhao.

The village was surrounded by walls made of thick logs, and on the towering watchtowers, several local archers with painted faces were watching the uninvited guests warily.

A huge bonfire burned in the center of the camp, its light illuminating the greedy yet hostile faces of the natives.

Yang Xuan sat on a large rock by the campfire, calmly warming his hands.

Around him, Pei Zhao and twenty salt guard soldiers formed a tight defensive formation. The triggers of their crossbows were already fully engaged, and their swords were drawn half an inch from their sheaths. They were ready to launch an attack at any moment if there was any unusual movement.

Opposite them, Duomeng sat on a wooden chair covered with a striped tiger skin.

Although the chieftain was intimidated by Yang Xuan's courage in breaking through the sword formation, once he returned to his own territory, his inherent wildness and arrogance regained their advantage.

Before him sat a bag of cut-open refined salt, which he regarded as a rare treasure. He even couldn't resist dipping his rough fingers in it and putting a little in his mouth.

"Salt, it's good salt."

Duo Meng smacked his lips; the salty and savory taste stimulated his taste buds, making his bloodshot eyes shine frighteningly.

He suddenly raised his head and stared at Yang Xuan. "But, Tang official, your appetite is too big. You think you can exchange these thirty cartloads of salt for the strongest Yunnan horses in our tribe?"

Lei Laohu quickly stepped forward and translated it in the local dialect.

Yang Xuan glanced at Duomeng indifferently: "Thirty cartloads of salt are just a deposit. What I want is not only horses, but also a safe trade route, and a continuous supply of medicinal herbs and furs from your tribe."

"Trade routes?" Duomeng seemed to have heard the biggest joke in the world. He suddenly stood up and pointed at the armed native warriors around him. "In these Hundred Thousand Mountains, no one but us from Mengshe Zhao can leave safely! What right do you, a Tang official, have to talk to us about trade routes?"

No sooner had Dormon finished speaking than a giant, bear-like native warrior leaped out from behind him.

The warrior's body was covered with scars from the bites and claws of various wild beasts, and he carried a bone-chopping broadsword that was twice as wide and thick as an ordinary Miao sword.

He let out a deafening roar at Yang Xuan, pounding his hard chest as if to demonstrate his strength.

"Your Excellency, this is the foremost warrior under Duomeng, named Gutu." Lei Laohu lowered his voice, his tone trembling. "Duomeng says you can discuss business, but you must first prove that you Tang people are qualified to negotiate with them. He wants his warrior to fight you!"

"A duel?" Yang Xuan raised an eyebrow slightly.

"Yes! A duel!" Dormon roared. "In our rules, only the strong deserve salt and horses! If you win, you can name your terms; if you lose..."

Dormon licked his lips, a cruel glint in his eyes. "This salt, and the armor and weapons you wear, are all ours! And you will become our sacrifices to our gods!"