The world was a vast expanse of white, fierce winds scouring the plains, sending snow grains crackling like sand. The horse paths had collapsed severely, and supply wagons could not reach the battlefield. Xiao Chiye left Lang Tao Xuejin at Bianbo Camp and spent two days digging through the snow with his men.
Wu Ziyu tightened his collar against the biting wind, rubbing his frostbitten hands together, grumbling, “Damn it, a nap’s worth of time and it’s blocked again—when will this ever end?”
Chen Yang never drank on duty, yet now he was forced to gulp horse-ready liquor, his stomach burning, exclaiming, “The farther northeast we go, the colder it gets. Fortunately, the lord sent winter clothes before October, or how many brothers would have frozen to death?”
“In this cold,” Gu Jin squatted, shaking his head, “the armor’s heavy, the warhorses can’t take it.”
The Li Bei horses were not as hardy as the short breeds of Biansha; come winter, maintaining the stables at the front lines was exhausting—they suffered more than men did.
“Keep digging,” Xiao Chiye commanded, “tonight we must reach the battlefield.”
His exhaled breath vanished in the gale, his greatcoat flapping wildly. The blocked northern horse path stretched endlessly ahead; he had to detour through the three main camps of Liuyang to reach the front. Sha Second Camp’s supplies had run out, relying on Sha First Camp to provide support. Both camps bore responsibility for operations at the battlefield. Equipment consumed quickly; after October, a group of military artisans had gathered, totaling over fifty thousand men. The logistics requirements were staggering, and Xiao Chiye had to maintain uninterrupted dual-line supply.
Yet the most difficult stretch was Chaohui, west of the Tudalong Banner. Continuous snowfall had rendered a previously collapsed horse path completely useless. The wooden path Xiao Chiye had repaired could not bear the heavy snow, and the supply wagons were too weighty to risk. He had to wait for a few days before circling from the battlefield to Tudalong Banner with the wagons.
Gu Jin rubbed his palms, stood, and shouted, “Keep digging!”
The supply team had gone three months without rest, yet no soldier complained, for neither did Xiao Chiye. They traversed the entire Li Bei region like a continuous circuit. He now knew the fastest routes blindfolded. His energy was astonishing; even while transporting heavy loads, he continued right-arm training. A few days prior, before departure, he had strung the Overlord Bow at Bianbo Camp—the shrill snap left the Li Bei cavalry stunned.
Xiao Chiye arrived at the battlefield during the early hours, just as Xiao Fangxu had withdrawn from the field. Father and son looked equally disheveled before the dimly lit tent.
Xiao Fangxu removed his helmet, sweat streaming despite the bitter cold. He took a hot cloth to his face, nodding to Xiao Chiye before bending into the tent. Inside, Generals Zuo Qianqiu and Jiang Sheng were present, along with the deputy commanders and skirmishers of the two camps—exhaustion evident on all faces.
“Damn it,” Xiao Fangxu threw the cloth on the table. “Even their short-bred horses are dragging their butts on the ground, yet they move this fast in deep snow?”
“Regardless, we can’t retreat any further,” Zuo Qianqiu said, pointing at the southeast corner of Tudalong Banner on the map. “Another retreat here and it falls. Chaohui’s only supply line will be cut off, and Hansen could wear them down over the winter at Tudalong Banner.”
Spring comes late to Li Bei; this snow would last at least until March. Even with stockpiled food, the permanent garrison could not sustain full equipment usage, and lacked large groups of artisans.
“According to military reports,” Jiang Sheng kicked off his boots, letting snow water spill, “Hansen has been harassing Chaohui’s troops, calculating that supplies are temporarily stalled to wear down Chaohui first.”
Xiao Chiye sat in a corner, eating pastries with milk tea, listening to every word of their discussion.
Xiao Fangxu studied the map in silence. “Hansen’s exhausting Chaohui is a prelude to a raid,” he said.
Xiao Chiye nodded.
Hansen’s depletion strategy aimed to tire Chaohui; Li Bei cavalry relied heavily on equipment. Winter horses were no match for the short Biansha breeds. With collapsed horse paths, Sha First Camp’s reinforcements were insufficient, and the rear garrison lacked additional support. When Guo Weili was stationed here, the Liuyang camps had served as Chaohui’s reinforcements. Now Chaohui was at the front, with only the remaining troops guarding the northeast supply paths, delayed by snow.
“Our logistics have reached here,” Xiao Fangxu said, looking to Xiao Chiye. “Hansen will likely strike within the next two days.”
Any further delay meant Xiao Chiye would have to march north, and Hansen would miss his chance.
“Tomorrow morning, I’ll lead three squads to ambush,” Xiao Fangxu traced points on the map. “Qianqiu holds the camp, old Jiang flanks from the rear. We form a net here, at least to stop Hansen’s advance. This boy fights both skirmishes and siege; we cannot let him find cover. We must trap him in the snow.”
The cavalry acted like a moving wall, pinching from both sides. Slowing Biansha cavalry was like crippling them. Once grounded, Li Bei cavalry still formed a wall; curved blades and spiked lances could not break through.
After the meeting, Xiao Chiye stayed behind.
Zuo Qianqiu came over, patting Xiao Chiye’s right arm. “Is it healed?”
Xiao Chiye moved his arm. “No problem gripping a blade or drawing a bow.”
“Come New Year, we must properly thank Lanzhou,” Zuo Qianqiu said with a smile. “This winter clothing is real cotton; previous years from Qudu were rubbish. Your sister-in-law wrote she’ll personally cook to show gratitude.”
Xiao Chiye glanced at Xiao Fangxu, humbly replying, “It’s her duty, no need for thanks. She even sent word that the New Year’s gifts are ready.”
Xiao Fangxu, sprinkling fine salt into his bowl, seemed not to hear.
Zuo Qianqiu said, “Your father praised her for days. At New Year—”
“I didn’t, never did,” Xiao Fangxu interrupted firmly.
“Yes, yes, yes,” Zuo Qianqiu winked at Xiao Chiye, “all my praise!”
Xiao Fangxu asked Xiao Chiye, “Why aren’t you sleeping yet?”
Finishing his milk tea, Xiao Chiye asked, “Tomorrow you go on the ambush—will you wear heavy armor?”
“How else can we stop Hansen?” Xiao Fangxu put down his bowl. “He fights better than Amur.”
“Then remove the helmet,” Xiao Chiye said. “Hansen’s troops might have scorpions too.”
“No helmet, how’s that an iron wall? Blocking them in snow requires this alone,” Xiao Fangxu warmed his hands, pondering. “Scorpions are few; against Li Bei cavalry now, even Hansen’s scorpions can only fight as scattered troops.”
“The cavalry is too heavy,” Xiao Chiye observed. “Next spring, we must change the Li Bei cavalry. To push Biansha cavalry east, we must anticipate all possibilities.”
“You want to weaken the cavalry,” Xiao Fangxu turned, “but you can’t match their speed.”
Xiao Chiye fell silent.
“You trained infantry in Qudu, relying on Lu Guangbai’s experience for cavalry, but Li Bei lacks Bianjun’s geographical advantages. Walls come only through heavy armor.” Xiao Fangxu tossed a few coals into the fire. “Your brother reduced the Li Bei cavalry’s weight, yet we still couldn’t breach the eastern line.”
Xiao Fangxu stared into the flames.
“Amur’s reforms are incredibly fast. He has studied Li Bei cavalry for decades. Simple tweaks cannot resist Biansha cavalry; our cavalry needs unprecedented changes.”
Li Bei cavalry’s predicament was dire. Amur had trained scorpion units—their hammer was Li Bei’s nemesis. But is removing helmets enough? It meant cracks had formed in their heavy armor. Xiao Fangxu was helpless yet had no choice but to take the risk; this was Li Bei cavalry’s only remaining advantage. Lose it, and they couldn’t stand against ordinary Biansha cavalry.
Amur was a genius. Hansen was also formidable. Biansha now showed vigorous potential. Xiao Fangxu foresaw that by next winter, Amur could unite all twelve divisions, making the entire eastern front of Great Zhou a battlefield.
This explained why Qi Zhuyin refused to march north and antagonize Li Bei—she had seen this monster at Qidong. She could not pressure Li Bei over Qudu disputes; in the future, they would inevitably fight on the same battlefield. The external enemy had grown terrifyingly strong.
What to do?
Xiao Chiye lay on his arms, pondering in the black night.
They had the best artisans in the world, in overwhelming numbers, yet they were powerless against Amur. The humiliation was unbearable.
Amur was not invincible.
Biansha cavalry had weaknesses, hidden by their speed. He had to uncover them, find a new breakthrough. But Xiao Chiye now clearly felt unfamiliar with his own forces; his experience against Biansha cavalry was too limited. His strategies were theoretical—he could no longer imagine from afar through clouds and mist.
Unable to sleep, Xiao Chiye rose, donned his coat, and stepped outside. In the camp, he saw Xiao Fangxu speaking with soldiers. Xiao Fangxu patted a spot beside him; when Xiao Chiye sat, he handed him a bowl of milk tea.
“Marching tomorrow, lack of sleep is a grave mistake,” he said.
“When I was your age, I could go three days without sleep and remain full of vigor,” Xiao Fangxu replied. His coat was old, edges frayed, patched repeatedly by Lu Yizhi, yet he refused to replace it—it was made by his wife.
Xiao Chiye sipped the tea, frowning. “That was many years ago.”
The fire crackled as father and son sat side by side for some time.
“Feeling the strain?” Xiao Fangxu asked.
Xiao Chiye did not reply.
After a moment, Xiao Fangxu said, “You wanted to fly before, so you fought to the death. Now you want to win, and you still fight to the death.”
Xiao Chiye sighed. “Whose fault is that?”
Xiao Fangxu laughed. “Not mine. It’s your mother’s.”
Xiao Chiye traced the rim of his bowl, pausing for a moment, and said, “You were defeated by Amur at twenty-three. I was defeated by Hansen at the same age.”
“I spent seven years reclaiming that debt,” Xiao Fangxu’s face was bathed in the flickering firelight, making him look striking and authoritative, even more so than Xiao Chiye. “You know that feeling—when I lost to him, I couldn’t see my path forward. I even thought I lacked the talent to become a commander. At Luoxia Pass, I saw many exceptional generals, some true prodigies. You wouldn’t know,” Xiao Fangxu’s lips curved into a smile, “back then, the focus was on Qi Shiyu. He turned Qidong into a strong force. The commander of five prefectures was truly formidable. Seeing him, seeing them, I felt I had no talent and could never stand on the same battlefield.”
The firelight flickered, shadows dancing with echoes of iron and warhorses. The banners whipped as if about to tear, yet here, it was peaceful—like the calmest corner of the world.
Xiao Fangxu spread out his right hand, eyes lowered, and said, “In that battle, I lost my first warhorse. But the Biansha cavalry gave me little time—they forced me to rise from that low point quickly. I couldn’t wait for others, nor indulge in self-pity. Standing at the front, I realized one thing: I didn’t want to lose. I only wanted to win.”
Win.
That ambition sustained Xiao Fangxu, granting him endless drive and ultimate glory. For seven years, he dared not rest for a moment. Every day, he gazed toward Wild Goose Mountain, understanding his own heart. It was a swift and relentless transformation—he overcame every obstacle, even offending former generals, building stables at Luoxia Pass. This alone took three full years. By the time he truly completed it, he was twenty-eight.
Xiao Fangxu studied the lines on his palm. “You returned to Libei, focusing your attention on the ‘Iron Cavalry’ and ‘Imperial Guard,’ yet you never studied the commanders. Guo Weili wounded Gu Jin, and you bore a grudge, but Guo Weili’s merit is real. At the garrison, he served as your elder brother’s vanguard, holding Tuda Dragon Flag as if it were an iron bucket. Jiang Sheng is an elder, seldom seen in the limelight, yet his Sand Second Camp is the keystone of our border. Whether moving north or south, he holds everything together.
“Aye, Ah Ye, you possess more than just those soldiers. You hold the accumulated experience of countless troops. When you went to Zhongbo, you met Lu Guangbai, yet now back in Libei, you refuse to learn anew. The people most familiar with the Libei battlefield stand before you, and you’ve wasted too much time.”
Xiao Chiye clenched the tea bowl.
“You want this position,” Xiao Fangxu slowly tightened his fist, asking both Xiao Chiye and himself, “but are you truly qualified?”
Before returning to Libei, Xiao Chiye had been rejected by the commanders. It was hard to describe the feeling—he had indeed been injured. Later, he avoided disputes with them, and they parted ways. Now, back in Libei, the Imperial Guard remained the same, but when he stood in the command tent, the difference between him and the commanders was stark. He didn’t need them to tend to his wounds; they were distant, disconnected, and he couldn’t integrate with them.
The tea on the fire bubbled and hissed. Xiao Chiye felt like a wolf on the edge of a pack—seemingly back, yet still standing in place. He watched these people fight, yet there was no place for him among them.
“You don’t need seven years to defeat Hansen,” Xiao Fangxu stared at him. “But you must learn tolerance.”
At the辰 hour, Xiao Fangxu left the camp. The snow fell heavier; without a helmet, one’s eyes could easily be blinded. Before donning his helmet, he whistled to Xiao Chiye. Xiao Chiye approached the horse and watched as he roughly tousled his hair.
“Snowy night marches are dangerous. Depart at卯 hour tomorrow,” Xiao Fangxu said, voice muffled by the helmet. “We’ll discuss the detailed route when I return.”
“At the latest, before丑 hour,” Xiao Chiye replied, “the snow is too heavy—later, we’ll lose our way.”
“Situational,” Xiao Fangxu tightened the reins. “Let’s go.”
Xiao Chiye watched him lead the troops north. The hoofbeats tore through the snow like a coiling dragon, disappearing in the blizzard. He stood for a moment before returning to the tent to catch some sleep.
This sleep was deep, only to be interrupted by hooves. Groggy, he realized evening had already fallen. Dressing, he stepped outside to find the camp in full alert—Morning Sun and Gu Jin were gone.
He grabbed one of the soldiers. “What’s happening?”
“Second Camp is under attack!” the soldier replied, hastily suiting up. “Reinforcements are being sent south immediately!”
Xiao Chiye dashed to the command tent. Left Qianqiu was already armored, heading out. “Jiang Sheng hasn’t returned?”
Left Qianqiu rode briskly, face grave. “No, he’s likely delayed. This is a lure. Hansen’s real target isn’t Tuda Dragon Flag—it’s to ambush Sand Second Camp.”
The road between Second and Third Camp was blocked by snow. Jiang Sheng had detoured north to join Xiao Fangxu for the ambush. With the garrison weakened, only First Camp could support it.
“Ah Ye,” Left Qianqiu said before mounting, “you must hold the camp. There’s still food here.”
“I have no authority to command troops,” Xiao Chiye said.
“You can’t lead the transport north,” Left Qianqiu turned his horse. “Wait for your father!”
As the words fell, the horse bolted.
Xiao Chiye stepped back, letting the riders pass. Spotting Morning Sun amid the chaos, he asked, “Where’s Gu Jin?”
“Gu Jin went north to deliver the message,” Morning Sun hurried over. “The snow is heavy. Meng can’t fly—only Gu Jin can navigate the blizzard.”
“When did he leave?” Xiao Chiye asked.
“Half an hour ago,” Morning Sun checked. “He’ll return at卯 hour.”
“丑 hour has passed?” Xiao Chiye inquired.
“It’s丑 hour, third quarter,” Morning Sun worried. “Tracks are covered by snow. The three squads are likely still in the fields. Jiang Sheng is out there too. Master, your father’s forces outmatch Hansen’s. He’ll return by卯 hour.”
Anxious, Xiao Chiye could only wait—he lacked command authority, and First Camp’s remaining troops were insufficient.
Why?
He studied the map, tracing the lines Xiao Fangxu had drawn, feeling unease. He seemed transported back to the rainy night at Tuda Dragon Flag, facing Hansen across the downpour.
Second Camp’s provisions were still at First Camp. Xiao Chiye arrived only last night; Jiang Sheng didn’t even have time to transport them. The southern route from Second Camp was blocked by snow. A raid on Second Camp couldn’t seize supplies nor threaten Third Camp.
Why?
Time dragged. Xiao Chiye paced, crumpling lines on the map. He stopped following Xiao Fangxu’s routes, placing himself in Hansen’s perspective.
Hansen was a seasoned hunter. He knew Libei’s roads, proven at Tuda Dragon Flag. He exhausted Chaohui, using the blizzard as cover, moving freely across the snow.
Xiao Chiye stopped, repeating that thought. A chill shot up his spine, fingers freezing.
A skilled hunter never reveals his goal; patience is key, weaknesses are cleverly disguised. Hansen’s ease in the snow meant he had complete knowledge of the northern routes, knowing which were ideal for ambush.
It was a trap. Hansen had ensnared Xiao Fangxu, just as he had Xiao Chiye. He never intended to raid the garrison in the snow—Second Camp wasn’t his target. The true aim was Xiao Fangxu.
Xiao Chiye flung open the tent flap and collided with Morning Sun.
Morning Sun staggered back. “Gu Jin has returned!” he exclaimed.
Outside, not only had Gu Jin come back, but Jiang Sheng had too. Xiao Chiye rushed forward, parting the Iron Cavalry, searching—but Xiao Fangxu was nowhere.
Jiang Sheng was severely injured, carried back. Seeing the smashed helmet, Xiao Chiye’s expression darkened. “Damn!”
“Scorpions,” Gu Jin croaked, wiping his face. “Master, they hid behind armor, wearing our waist tags, posing as Libei cavalry, deceiving everyone at the old Tuda Dragon Flag station!”
“My father?” Xiao Chiye gripped Gu Jin’s coat, asking each word deliberately.
“…attacked,” Jiang Sheng, face half-bloodied, murmured. “It was sudden, too fast…”
Gu Jin’s lips whitened. “I couldn’t find him, Master…”
Xiao Chiye shoved Gu Jin aside, whistled sharply, then remembered he hadn’t brought Langtao Xuejin. He ran to the stables, mounted a horse.
Wu Ziyu tried to stop him. “You have no command authority! Reckless northbound action could cost your post! We must send a dispatch to Second Camp first—”
Xiao Chiye ignored him. The whip cracked, and he shot forward like an arrow.
“Damn!” Wu Ziyu fell, throwing off his helmet, shouting, “Go warn Second Camp!”
Xiao Chiye galloped through the boundless snow. Wind tore at his sleeves. He tracked northwest by the faint smell of the storm, traversed a devastated battlefield, and by nightfall, found Xiao Fangxu.
Fingers numb, Xiao Chiye covered his eyes, hurriedly wiping something, but a sound escaped his throat uncontrollably. The wind from Wild Goose Mountain whipped through his hair. Helpless, he stood there, finally breaking down into tears.
“Give him back to me…” Xiao Chiye fell to his knees, grief-stricken, choking out his words to the empty battlefield, “Give him back!”
Hansen had taken his father’s head.