Gu Jin had been lying prone on the ice for half an hour. The blizzard mixed with shards of ice, striking his armor with sharp crackling sounds. He did not move at all—if not for the occasional blink of his hawk-like eyes, Yin Chang would have thought he had already frozen to death.
Yin Chang huddled in the snow, taking small sips of liquor. Before long, the wineskin ran dry. He gave it a shake and coaxed the last few drops into his mouth. Snowflakes like scattered petals lashed against his face. The old man’s beard and hair were completely white with frost; only his nose remained red.
The wind howled through the night like ghosts crying and wolves wailing, numbing the tips of the Imperial Guards’ ears. Their rations were nearly gone. After lying still for so long, their limbs had stiffened, yet very few of them moved.
Yin Chang glanced back at the Imperial Guards, inwardly amazed.
A few days ago, when facing the Scorpions, they had not even blinked. Without Xiao Chiye’s command, they would never act on their own. Who would have thought these were the same rogue soldiers who used to do hard labor in Qudu? If the garrison troops of Cizhou could achieve this level of cohesion, forget Duanzhou—even Gedale, Yin Chang would dare to attack.
Unfortunately, they were not his soldiers.
Yin Chang smacked his lips regretfully and tucked the empty wineskin back at his waist.
Snow had piled up across Gu Jin’s back. He wore no helmet, and the melting snow seeped down his neck in icy streams. Amid the raging wind, he strained to catch the faintest movements—the ice fragments skittered across the snow with a soft hiss. Suddenly, the hand he had pressed into the snow clenched into a fist. His gaze pierced through the storm like flying sand, locking onto something in the darkness.
“They’re here!”
Yin Chang flattened himself further, steadying his breathing as the sound of hooves drew closer. Sweat dampened his palms. He counted silently, afraid his excitement would make his legs tremble.
The swirling snow in the sky churned into thick clouds. The ponies’ hooves nearly trampled his face. Yin Chang let out a roar—before the echo even faded, he had already leapt up.
But the enemy horse stopped!
Yin Chang had not even drawn his blade when the Scorpion’s iron hammer swung past his face. He did not have Li Xiong’s brute strength and dared not block it, rolling into the snow in a clumsy dodge.
“Damn you and that strength!” Yin Chang cursed as he steadied himself.
Behind him, the Imperial Guards burst out of the snow. They had intended to follow Yin Chang with a dramatic leap, but seeing the old man stumble, they abandoned the idea and simply drew their blades instead.
The moment the Scorpion’s hammer struck against them, he realized he had fallen into a trap. These were not Libei cavalry at all—just a group of helmeted impostors!
“Take off your helmets!” Gu Jin seized a galloping pony, clinging to the saddle as it dragged him forward, his feet scraping through the snow. He smashed the hilt of his blade against the Scorpion’s side, flipped onto the horse, and barked again, “Take them off!”
Helmets clanged as they hit the snow. The Imperial Guards surged into the cavalry ranks like rats, unconcerned with how the Biansha riders fled—as long as they could spook the horses. The snow beneath the hooves was loose; nets were cast up, toppling many riders.
Snow and grit blasted into faces. Achi’s men rolled in the drifts, swallowing mouthfuls of ice.
The Imperial Guards’ blades were short. Once they closed in, the Scorpions’ hammers became unwieldy—whether extending or retracting, they could not keep up with the speed of the short blades.
Gu Jin quickly scanned the battlefield. Not seeing Achi, his heart sank. Before he could warn the others, a cavalry unit suddenly burst out from the left, so fast he could not evade.
The Imperial Guards were like prey seized by a beast out of nowhere, their formation instantly split apart. This cavalry unit did not use hammers—in their fierce charge, they slammed Gu Jin off his horse. As he hit the ground, a horse shrieked and sprayed him with hot blood.
“Cunning!” Achi rebuked Gu Jin in the language of Great Zhou, flicking his curved blade and splattering blood across him. “But that’s all it amounts to.”
Achi’s elite Scorpions wielded larger curved blades than ordinary Biansha riders—thick, gleaming hooks that spelled death for any man or beast caught by them.
Achi had sensed something amiss during the pursuit. The trail had been too obvious, as if inviting him here. The wind-cleared chill in his mind sharpened his judgment; he sent a vanguard to probe, and sure enough, it flushed out the Imperial Guards.
Gu Jin tilted his head, wiping blood from his face, and spat lightly. “Is that so?”
On the other side, Yin Chang gave up resisting. Surrounded by cavalry, he spread his arms, crouching as if to lift something, and shouted, “Up you go—!”
The ice beneath the horses’ hooves trembled violently. The riders thought the Guards had broken the surface and instinctively reined back in alarm. But as they retreated, they saw Yin Chang and the Guards roll low, dart out from between the hooves, grab their blades—and run.
They’d been tricked!
Achi’s fury surged. He cursed in a mix of Great Zhou and Biansha tongues, yet he did not give immediate chase, still wary of another trap. By the time Yin Chang and the Guards had run far, Achi finally realized—
They were really fleeing!
“Split up and chase!” Achi snapped his whip. “Cut off their heads!”
The cavalry divided into two wings, with Achi holding the center. From above, the formation resembled a claw, closing in to seize the Imperial Guards. The wings moved first, circling ahead—once they met, they would form an encirclement. Then Achi’s center would crash in from behind, turning the curved blades into tools of slaughter.
Seven years ago, Amuer had used this very formation to drive the Duanzhou garrison into the Chashi sinkhole. Inspired, Achi favored it greatly. Just days earlier near Duanzhou, he had used it to shred the left wing of the Libei cavalry.
The wings surged like tigers, overtaking the Guards and circling ahead. They turned their horses, winding inward like long serpents, ready to seal off the escape.
But at the center stood a familiar figure.
In the night, the warhorses did not neigh. Their steaming breath spilled through iron muzzles, and the black armor looked especially ferocious in the darkness. The cavalrymen sat unmoving in the raging snow, their silence cutting off the chaos of battle.
The vanguard of the two wings had fought them before. Unafraid, no one called for a halt. Ponies charged through the snow haze from both sides, and the Scorpions at the front simultaneously switched weapons.
They would strike at the moment of collision—hammering the Libei riders off their saddles as they had done countless times before, crushing helmets with hooves and brute force.
Xiao Chiye sat astride his horse, Langtao Xuejin pawing the ground. Encased in heavy armor, his face hidden by steel, no one could see his expression. Amid the roaring battlefield, he stood like a stabilizing pillar, anchoring the morale of all.
The moment Gu Jin saw Xiao Chiye, he exhaled deeply. Almost at the same time, he and Yin Chang halted, then turned together in the swirling snow, facing Achi’s pursuing forces.
The Biansha cavalry swept across the field like a storm. Their curved blades and iron hammers had driven the men of Great Zhou—from Libei to Zhongbo—beneath their hooves without survivors.
A breath of heat slipped from Xiao Chiye’s lips.
At the instant of impact, the Scorpions swung their hammers—then the sharp reek of gunpowder burst into the air. Fire flared within the blizzard. Completely unprepared, the Scorpions were blasted off their horses by firearms. The startled mounts crashed into one another.
Smoke rose from the muzzles. Xiao Chiye had brought only thirty firearms—useless against the full Biansha army, but at this moment, they were the key to blowing apart the heads of the two wings. The close-range power stunned the riders instantly; those behind had no time to react.
Xiao Chiye moved first. Behind him, the Libei cavalry bared their newly sharpened fangs. Like wolves released from cages, eyes gleaming with hunger, they formed into columns and leveled their long blades in unison.
Achi’s center was blocked by the Imperial Guards, but he had already seen the Libei blades. The Scorpions on the wings could no longer bring their hammers to bear in time. Horses reared, trampling bodies, and sprays of blood splashed across the armor.
The rear of the wings surged forward to reinforce, but Xiao Chiye immediately compressed the Libei cavalry into a “war chariot” formation and charged. With blades jutting on all sides, the structure made it impossible for hammers to approach. When the cavalry ran, they were like battering rams plunging into the battlefield—Xiao Chiye at the tip, unstoppable in their unity.
Achi yanked his reins and shouted from afar, furious, “Swing the hammers!”
As long as they had hammers, even the Libei cavalry could be crushed like tofu.
From the flank, a Scorpion swung his hammer at a rider’s head. There was no time to dodge—but with a heavy clang, Hairigu leapt onto the Libei rider’s horse and blocked the strike with his own hammer!
“Traitor!” Achi snarled. “Hairigu, you’ve become a slave to Libei!”
Hairigu moved swiftly, locking weapons and throwing his opponent to the ground. As the man fell, still cursing, Hairigu dropped with him and brought his hammer down with deadly precision, smashing the man’s skull.
Achi’s center was now trapped. The two wings he had sent forward had been severed, reduced to headless chaos. His commands were buried amid the obstruction of the Imperial Guards—he could no longer recall his forces.
Bayin arrived nearby, gasping in the snow. Knowing Achi’s importance to Duanzhou—how all remaining Scorpions in Zhongbo followed his command—he could not abandon him and flee alone.
Riding hard toward Achi, Bayin shouted, “Achi! Dismount and withdraw—Libei cavalry can’t catch us!”
If they retreated west along the markers, they could reach the heavily fortified southeastern sector of Duanzhou by dawn. At that point, Xiao Chiye would still be doomed.
Achi pulled hard on the reins, his whip cracking through the air. He did not argue. Leading the remaining Scorpions, he broke away from the Imperial Guards’ entanglement.
He knew what mattered. If he were defeated here by Xiao Chiye, Amuer would punish him severely. Acting rashly would cost him dearly. Losing soldiers was one thing—losing Duanzhou through negligence would mean death even if he made it back to Gedale.
This battle did not count.
Achi lashed his horse forward viciously.
He had merely been tricked—that was all.