Tudalong Banner lay along the eastern range of the Hongyan Mountains, northwest of the Sha One Camp. Traveling east from there led straight to the Twelve Divisions of Bian Sha. Before this year, it hadn’t been a contested spot, but as the Northern Li front steadily receded, it became a strategic point above the battlefield. Hu and Lu’s forces had smashed the forward outposts and watchtowers, leaving the garrison camp holding its position west of Tudalong Banner. The two sides frequently hurled insults across the swampy terrain surrounding the banner.
Xiao Chiye approached from the Bianbo Camp and was now directly south of the garrison. But with the collapsed road blocking the usual route, the right side opened only to Tudalong Banner itself. Hansen’s troops frequently patrolled this area; if Xiao Chiye refused to abandon the supplies, he would have to face them head-on. The supply wagons were too heavy, Wuziyu’s iron cavalry struggled in the mud, and the imperial guards lacked enough light cavalry for interference. Under such circumstances, turning toward Tudalong Banner was perilous.
Wuziyu opened his mouth to protest, but Chen Yang and the others had already swung their mounts around. It was the kind of trust impossible to describe in words—they obeyed Xiao Chiye without question, even at the edge of life and death. The mere order from him was enough for them to act immediately. Wuziyu, in the midst of it, shivered involuntarily.
It was now the first quarter of Shen hour, the sky darkened by the storm. Gu Jin, familiar with these paths, guided the convoy into Tudalong Banner. The wagons groaned as their wheels sank into the muddy ruts; a single misstep could trap them. Everyone held their breath, wary of the slightest miscalculation.
Xiao Chiye intended to hide the supplies here.
Even Bian Sha’s most formidable cavalry would hesitate to enter Tudalong Banner; the swamps posed the same threat to them. The rain affected not only Xiao Chiye but Hansen as well—without visibility, the falcons couldn’t scout. Both sides had to rely on their understanding of the battlefield. Yet this delicate balance lasted only in the downpour; once it stopped, Xiao Chiye’s current force could not withstand Hansen’s assault.
“Wuziyu, stay with the wagons,” Xiao Chiye ordered quickly. “Have the iron cavalry hook up the heavy chains to form a protective perimeter.”
The surrounding roads were muddy and rain-soaked; heavy cavalry could easily sink into the mud, making it ideal to leave them with the supplies. The chains, devised by Xiao Fangxu, could attach to their armor, effectively turning the mounted ironclads into a mobile shield around the wagons. Even if Hansen breached the skirmish lines, the iron cavalry would form an immediate barrier.
Xiao Chiye stood, briefing the imperial guards. “Hansen commands the Viper Division—they’re fast and hard-hitting. We cannot chase or block them directly. But the eastern thickets give us cover; the rain blinds their scouts. This is our chance.”
With the disparity in strength clear, he could not allow Hansen’s troops to remain in full formation. He divided the imperial guards into small units to fan out across the swamps surrounding Tudalong Banner, setting snares and ropes to unseat the unsuspecting Bian Sha cavalry. Any cavalry that fell would lose their advantage.
“Gu Jin, bypass Hansen’s troops and speed toward the battlefield,” Xiao Chiye instructed. “The Chaohui forces haven’t arrived; the northern situation may be worse than we anticipate. We must request reinforcements.”
Gu Jin, who had been injured at Tudalong Banner before, knew the terrain intimately. He immediately acknowledged, leading a contingent of light scouts ahead.
“Tiger, take northeast,” Xiao Chiye continued. “Chen Yang, hold here. No matter what, ensure the supplies reach the battlefield.”
Chen Yang ran alongside, aware of every cache and supply line. If Xiao Chiye failed, he would release the eagles at dawn to redirect the northern supply lines immediately—there could be no further delays. The convoy’s survival was secondary to the supplies.
Near the Hongyan Mountains, the rain showed no sign of stopping. The guards lay low in the mud, enduring bone-chilling cold. Their undergarments clung to them, soaked through. Hands and feet soon stiffened in the frigid water.
The autumn rains of Li Bei cut like knives. Though early August, the air felt as cold as impending snow. The convoy hadn’t switched to heavier clothing, so Xiao Chiye had them drink warmed spirits to stave off the chill—a vital measure on this exposed frontier.
Xiao Chiye crouched in the mud, sipping the spirits. In Li Bei and Bian Sha, conflicts rarely lasted past August or September; winter brought snow and harsh conditions. Artisans in Li Bei worked overnight to repair armor, while Bian Sha drove herds south. Only in the third year of Xian De had the Viper Division’s unexpected advance along the Chaoshi River relieved Bian Sha of significant supply pressure.
For some reason, Xiao Chiye had a premonition: this winter would see no ceasefire. Amur’s offensive was too fierce. Whereas spring had been about seizing supplies, now Amur sought to suppress Li Bei entirely, showing no intent to retreat. By sending Hansen here, Amur deployed his strongest forces to the Li Bei front—a stark contrast to previous minor skirmishes.
Suddenly, hooves splashed through the rain. Xiao Chiye stowed his water flask, signaling the guards to remain prone. He pressed his face nearly to the mud, eyes scanning the underbrush, wolfish blade at the ready.
The cavalry drew closer, hooves flinging mud. Xiao Chiye observed silently, waiting. The lead horse whinnied suddenly, its front hooves snared in the trap. It toppled forward; mud splashed onto Xiao Chiye’s face. The wolfish blade left its sheath; his strike cut cleanly into the cavalryman’s neck, blood mingling with the mud. The following riders faltered, formation collapsing.
Xiao Chiye gave no chance for regrouping. The imperial guards pressed the attack, driving into the Bian Sha cavalry. Mud and blood soaked him, the spirit of the spirits warming his core.
The assault was swift, leaving small units scattered. Once the cavalry recovered, the imperial guards vanished as mysteriously as they had appeared.
All surrounding Bian Sha units suffered similar attacks. Any attempt to counter or regroup met only harassment, forcing them to halt at the swamps outside Tudalong Banner. Each pursuit triggered ambushes. Repeatedly, the cavalry grew frustrated, disoriented, and trapped—like headless flies, beaten down by the guards’ constant pressure.
Xiao Chiye remained hidden in the rain, his presence indistinguishable. The imperial guards did not carry Li Bei’s heavy armor, allowing them to melt into the surroundings, appearing and disappearing at will.
By Xu hour, the spirits of his horse-based rations ran low. Darkness fell completely, yet Bian Sha cavalry remained blocked at the edge of the swamps, unable to advance or retreat. Victory tilted in Xiao Chiye’s favor, and he seemed to control the rhythm entirely, never letting their feints dictate his actions. Yet Hansen had still not appeared.
The night grew colder; pitch black. Mud filled Xiao Chiye’s boots. Rain made his grip treacherous, so he wrapped his hands with cloth to secure the wolfish blade, replacing the soaked cloth with fresh strips.
Such tug-of-war battles demanded constant vigilance; nerves could not slacken. Xiao Chiye needed a moment’s breath, eyes closing briefly, shaking his head to stay alert.
Suddenly, rustling approached in the underbrush. Gu Jin emerged, face grim, kneeling quickly. “Master,” he whispered, “the route to the battlefield is blocked! Hansen’s elite forces lie to the southeast, cutting off my path!”
Xiao Chiye’s heart sank immediately.
He understood in an instant: they had walked into a trap.
A skilled commander knows how to strike without overcommitting. Xiao Chiye’s streak of victories from Qudu stemmed from always holding the initiative. But he had forgotten—Hansen was the same type of general.
This rain was no accident.
It was a meticulously planned encirclement.
From the moment Xiao Chiye turned toward Tudalong Banner, Hansen had woven a net for hunting this lone wolf. What Xiao Chiye had thought was control had been blinding himself—the true trap was already set.
The sound of hooves rose again.