Xiao Chiye had been away from Zhongbo for three days, and all contact with Danzhou had been completely severed. After Achi’s decisive victory, they vanished into the snow, and Tantai Hu’s scouts could no longer find any trace of them. That vanguard unit seemed to have disappeared into thin air.
Xibei cavalry had set up a blockade on the western side of the Chashi River. The vanguard had already fallen into encirclement, trapped on the river by Achi. Tantai Hu could not reach the battlefield; in anxious waiting, he had no choice but to relay the situation truthfully to Dajing and Cizhou.
If anything had happened to Xiao Chiye, then Wu Ziyu would immediately notify Guo Weilie in the Sand Three Battalion. They would have to move south to seal off the gap at Luoshan, or the consequences would be unimaginable.
Shen Zechuan did not take a carriage. Instead, he rode Feng Ta Shuang Yi. By the time he reached Luoshan, it was already deep into the night. Wu Ziyu hurried out to meet him, noticing the pale, frostbitten look on the governor’s face—devoid of any expression.
“Governor,” Wu Ziyu did not dare waste words as he followed Shen Zechuan into the camp. “The encirclement is set in the southeast of Danzhou. It is mainly to block Tantai Hu still stationed in the west, preventing us from gathering intelligence. Because of this, Second Master must still be in the southeast.”
Snow covered Shen Zechuan’s shoulders. Standing at the camp entrance, he asked, “Who is accompanying him?”
“Gu Jin, Yin Chang, and Hai Ri Gu,” Wu Ziyu replied. “Second Master only left Tantai Hu behind.”
“Master,” Fei Sheng said from behind him, “why not send the Jinyiwei to Tantai Hu’s camp? We can act as scouts. By tomorrow night…”
Shen Zechuan had already turned away. He mounted again in a single motion and said to Wu Ziyu, “Write to Yu Xiao Zai and Kong Ling. Tell them to immediately block all horse routes west of Zhongbo, and make all merchants heading to the mutual trade market detour through Cizhou.”
Yan Heru had just dismounted from his carriage and had not even settled his backside when he heard Shen Zechuan’s words. He still wanted to do business with Fan and Deng states—both were currently short on grain and clothing! He hurriedly ran after the horse, shouting up, “Governor, there’s room for negotiation! What about the grain shipments from Hezhou to those two regions? If they can still pass, then maybe—”
“They can pass,” Shen Zechuan said coldly.
He leaned down from his horse and lightly tapped Yan Heru’s face with his whip.
“Except for grain—without my approval—if your caravan dares to smuggle anything east of Zhongbo, I will hang your head on the Hezhou city gate.”
The remnants of bandits in Fan and Deng had not yet been fully eradicated. No one knew whether Yan Heru would resort to tricks again. Shen Zechuan had no time to watch him closely—but he had plenty of ways to make him obedient.
Yan Heru did not dare move. He swallowed hard, not even daring to blink, until Shen Zechuan turned his horse away. Only then did he realize his legs were trembling.
A hunting falcon skimmed through drifting snow, circling along the banks of the Chashi River. At dusk, the sky was dim and heavy; the closer one got to the ground, the more the snow resembled crushed grains of rice, sticking uncomfortably to the temples. The Gobi stretched endlessly. Bayan sat on horseback with a book tucked in his arms, gazing ahead.
“There will be a blizzard tonight,” Bayan murmured in the Xibei tongue.
At this moment of bitter cold, even wrapped in furs, Bayan struggled against the chill. Achi, however, was crouched on the ice of the Chashi River, washing his face in water drawn from a hole cut through the ice. He scrubbed his fingers clean, staining the water a bloody red.
“I will send you across the river tonight,” Achi said. A scorpion tattoo wrapped his right arm. His dark face had a rough, almost honest look.
Bayan was Hassen’s strategist. He had originally served under Huhe Lu but had been reassigned to Achi to observe the Danzhou front—he was Hassen’s eyes here.
Seven days earlier, Xiao Chiye had arrived in Danzhou. The siege had failed. The Xibei cavalry had already learned to use siege equipment inside the city and held the advantage of terrain, leaving Xiao Chiye outside the gates to be worn down. Three days ago, Xiao Chiye launched a surprise attack; Achi pursued him out of the city and, near the Chashi River, annihilated the left flank of the Northern Iron Cavalry.
Bayan turned back. “Perhaps I should stay a few more days.”
“Hassen needs you,” Achi said as he stood, lifting a severed Northern Liang head in his arms. Facing the scorpion-marked soldiers along the bank, he declared, “The Northern Iron Cavalry has reached its end. These wolves are powerless against us. Last night proved it—they are as weak as they were a year ago.”
He threw the head aside.
“The Iron Cavalry is no longer our emblem. They are not worthy.”
Among the troops were scorpion-marked soldiers. They hissed in response, tossing discarded heads and helmets by their saddles, even using captured Northern Iron Cavalry helmets as chamber pots in the wilderness.
Achi turned to Bayan. “We are the elite of the Scorpions. Rusuyi’s placement of us in Zhongbo was a mistake. If I kill Xiao Chiye, you must tell Hassen to send me to the northern battlefield—that is where I belong.”
This unit was the elite left behind in Danzhou by Amur. Achi had replaced Hai Ri Gu as the leader of the Black Scorpions, and after Gida’s death he had become the undisputed ruler of Danzhou. If he wanted land, he needed merit in battle, which was why he was dissatisfied with Amur’s decision to keep him here.
“You are the natural enemies of the wolf packs,” Bayan said calmly. “Rusuyi and Rihe have their own considerations.”
“His consideration is to make room for Hassen,” Achi said darkly. “Hassen is stealing the Scorpions’ achievements.”
Bayan could not afford confrontation. He suppressed his anger and watched as Achi mounted, leading the Scorpions onto the frozen surface of the Chashi River.
In winter, the Chashi River froze solid. The ice could bear the weight of cavalry. In the past, they preferred to cross in winter, cutting straight across instead of taking long detours. The narrowest point of the river lay near Gedale; a fast ride could cross in a single night.
Snow began to fall harder. Bayan tucked his book away into his fur bag. Even though he wore a fur hat and a thick collar covering his face, his exposed ears were still burning red with cold.
“Spring had better come soon,” said the rider beside Bayan. “So many people starved in Gedale this winter. They gave all their grain to the northern front.”
“This war is the path for Xibei to become a true lion. We have too little land,” Bayan said muffled. “The desert cannot feed us. Only expansion westward allows survival. Zhongbo is a good land… you don’t have to hate it so much.”
“If my troops lay down the hammer, we will become slaves to the tribes again,” Achi said. His bloodstained hammer hung at his side. “We will not farm.”
As leader of the Scorpions, Achi had once negotiated with Amur. The Scorpions wanted land and identity, to be incorporated into the Twelve Tribes and no longer serve as tools. But Amur refused, demanding that they first crush the Northern Liang Iron Cavalry completely before any consideration would be given.
Bayan understood Amur’s intent. By withholding recognition, Amur kept the Scorpions tightly under control—only the desperate truly fight.
The convoy moved across the ice for two hours. Blizzard swallowed all direction. Achi followed markers left by Xibei cavalry and did not stop. He intended to send Bayan across first, then return to eliminate the remaining Northern Iron Cavalry and clear the Danzhou battlefield.
Xiao Chiye was nameless in status, but he was a true young wolf. Hassen had failed to bring back Xiao Fangxu’s head—an enduring regret for Xibei. Achi had locked onto Xiao Chiye, intending to use his head to renegotiate with Amur. The war against Northern Liang was relentless; they were growing tired of its stalemate in the north.
Bayan lifted his collar and drank a few mouthfuls of water. The wind and snow made it impossible to keep his eyes open. Through the cover, he shouted, “Stop! Rest here—the snow is too heavy!”
The falcon could no longer fly and had landed on its master’s shoulder. Snow on the ice was blown into slanted ridges; every step crunched sharply. Achi dismounted to scout, brushing ice from a marker when he suddenly found footprints.
In such heavy snow, footprints remained only for two reasons: either the traveler was heavy enough to compress the ice beneath, or they had passed very recently and were still nearby behind the curtain of snow.
“The wolf is here,” Achi said, measuring the depth of the prints. He raised his voice. “The Iron Cavalry has been here!”
Bayan knelt in the snow and examined them. “But they were heading west—that leads back toward Zhongbo.”
The footprints pointed in the direction they had come from.
“Three days ago you killed the Iron Cavalry’s left flank,” Bayan said. “But the vanguard is not dead. Xiao Chiye may have led them onto the Chashi River ice—they are trying to find their way back.”
“Or it is a diversion,” Achi said, brushing away snow. “They could be walking backward to lure us into an ambush.”
Bayan shook his head. “Heading east offers them no advantage. That is our territory.”
Achi quickly cleared the snow along the trail. The prints clearly moved west. He knew how Xiao Chiye had defeated Huhe Lu—deception, ambush. The more obvious the trail, the more he suspected an enemy ahead.
“We detour,” Achi said. “Even if Xiao Chiye is on the ice, they must drink water. They will leave traces. Follow them.”
Bayan felt the night was unsuitable for battle. He followed after Achi. “If we cannot rest here, then we should keep heading east. Achi, there is a saying in Da Zhou: do not pursue a desperate enemy. Do not be led away by them. Let us return to Gedale and regroup.”
Achi shoved him aside. The scorpion tattoo on his arm was exposed, his eyes filled with killing intent.
“The wolves are right in the snow. Letting them go is the real problem. You do not understand warfare. If we leave Xiao Chiye on the Chashi River, by tomorrow my troops could be ambushed!”
Bayan watched as Achi mounted again and could no longer restrain himself.
“I advised Huhe Lu the same way—he did not listen either, and in the end not even his body remained!”
“Is that how you advise Hassen?” Achi turned his horse, sneering. “No wonder he lost the Wolf King’s head just to survive.”
With that, Achi galloped toward the southeast.
“Achi!” Bayan chased after a few steps and spat fiercely into the snow. “You bastards—you can’t even tell direction once you leave the markers!”
Achi rode on without looking back. He could not read direction clearly—but neither could Xiao Chiye. The difference was that he knew the Chashi River far better.
The wolf was nearby.
And Achi intended to catch him.