At dawn the next day, the blizzard still raged. The brazier inside the command tent had long gone cold. The generals gathered around the map on the table, waiting in the candlelight for Xiao Chiye to speak.
The battle at the Chashi Sinkhole had not been difficult, but it had been extremely dangerous. Xiao Chiye had taken advantage of the blizzard, luring Achi away from the southeast across the ice and into the relatively weakly defended sinkhole. Achi’s reinforcements had arrived so quickly because there was still a relay station nearby—but he had shifted his focus to the southeast and was helpless against Xiao Chiye’s Libei cavalry. That gave Tantai Hu, who had been watching Duanzhou closely, the chance to provide support from an oblique angle.
Xiao Chiye had already removed his armor the night before. After the military physician left, he flexed his shoulders slightly, then looked around at them.
“We didn’t come here to win battles,” he said. “We came to take Duanzhou. Now that Achi is dead and the main forces are still stationed in the southeast, there are fewer than ten thousand troops left inside the city. This is our chance.”
Fei Sheng brought medicine to Shen Zechuan, stealing a glance—today, the Prefect seemed in decent condition.
“Quite a few cavalry escaped yesterday,” Yin Chang said, pressing a finger onto the southeastern region of Duanzhou on the map. “Once the main forces there get word, they’ll suspect we’re targeting Duanzhou and will definitely move to intercept us first.”
During military discussions, the old man feared no one. He tied up his messy beard carelessly, though he still dared not drink in front of Shen Zechuan and Xiao Chiye, relying instead on strong tea.
Xiao Chiye did not respond immediately, leaving the opportunity to Tantai Hu.
Over the past two years, Tantai Hu had begun to develop some insight of his own. Guessing Xiao Chiye’s intention, he pointed to Duanzhou on the map.
“We’re currently at the Chashi Sinkhole, some distance from Duanzhou. If the southeastern forces come here to intercept us, then the troop count inside Duanzhou won’t change.” He glanced nervously at Xiao Chiye, then continued when he saw no objection. “At that point, Wu Ziyu, who’s stationed at Luoshan, can circle to the west gate and launch a surprise attack.”
Xiao Chiye nodded—he was correct.
Gu Jin’s expression darkened slightly. Looking toward the Chashi River, he said, “We can act as bait and draw all their forces to the sinkhole. But, my lord, the Chashi River is behind us. If Amuer takes the chance to launch a sneak attack, or if Hasen shifts south, we’ll be attacked from both sides. And with Wu Ziyu circling west, we’ll have no reinforcements.”
“That hurts the morale of the battlefield,” Xiao Chiye said lightly, still watching Shen Zechuan finish his medicine. Then he added, “Isn’t the Third Sand Battalion our reinforcement?”
Gu Jin paused, then shook his head. “I don’t trust Guo Weili.”
Xiao Chiye did not pursue that topic. He simply raised a hand and patted Gu Jin’s back.
“My brother sees the bigger picture. Duanzhou is ours to take. With Lu Guangbai and my teacher holding the frontline, the three main war camps will certainly keep Hasen pinned down. As for Amuer…” Xiao Chiye gave a faint smile. “The only troops he can urgently mobilize now are the Qing Mouse Tribe.”
Qi Zhuyin had wanted to attack them, but the Empress Dowager and the Ministry of War had refused. Did that mean she had no options left?
“The Qidong army’s provisions are supplied by the Yan family,” Shen Zechuan said, bitterness lingering on his tongue. “The supply wagons were already on the way to Ce Commandery three days ago. By now, the Commander-in-Chief should be well fed.”
And once Qi Zhuyin was fed, she would dare to play her own games with Qudu.
“Cavalry moves slower in a snowstorm,” Xiao Chiye said. “We still have time to prepare. The camp is crude—tonight, the Dunzhou garrison will dig trenches across the field. Night watches will rotate, and the hawks will be released. The Imperial Guards and Libei cavalry have fought hard for days—rest whenever possible. We need to recover and buy Wu Ziyu enough time.”
The snow made sending messengers by horse too slow. Fortunately, the Libei cavalry all had their own hawks—messages could reach the northwest within hours.
Everyone acknowledged the orders. As discussions continued, Xiao Chiye reached into his coat. Shen Zechuan set aside the medicine bowl, holding his folding fan—when suddenly something dropped into his sleeve.
It was a piece of candy wrapped in oiled paper.
Xiao Chiye, as if nothing had happened, continued studying the map with a serious expression.
Wu Ziyu was asleep in Luoshan when he was woken in the middle of the night. By candlelight, he opened the message delivered by hawk—and instantly sobered. He didn’t dare sleep again, quickly donning his armor.
“Where’s Yan Heru?” he asked.
Before the words finished, Yan Heru popped his head in from the tent flap. “Here!”
Wu Ziyu clenched the letter. “Are all my men dead? Who let him wander in like this?”
“Hey, don’t be mad,” Yan Heru said, clutching his little gold abacus as he stepped in. “The Prefect told me to stay here, so I stayed. What else can I do? You’re too cautious, Lord Wu.”
“This is war, not trade,” Wu Ziyu said. “One mistake costs lives.” He tucked the letter away. “We’re moving out immediately. Luoshan’s bandits were just cleared—I don’t feel safe leaving you here. Pack up. You’re coming with me.”
Yan Heru had done business with Biansha before. Leaving him unattended here felt wrong.
Yan Heru’s face turned pale. “Weapons have no eyes, Lord Wu! Why bring me? My whole business depends on me—I can’t afford to die! You know about Qidong’s grain? I’m in charge of that now! Let me stay behind—or send me back to Cizhou!”
“With this many troops, you think we can’t protect you?” Wu Ziyu bared his teeth. “After the battle, I’ll send you back with the Prefect. You won’t lose anything.”
Without waiting for an answer, he ordered his guards to stuff Yan Heru into a carriage and tie it into the column.
Standing at the tent entrance, Wu Ziyu exhaled deeply. The sky was still dark. He pulled out the wrinkled letter again, staring at the word “assault” for a long time.
The surprise attack on Duanzhou was tied to Xiao Chiye’s safety. This battle had to be both fast and steady. Two key figures were still at the Chashi Sinkhole—losing either would be unforgivable. He had to carry that weight.
But I’m just a supply officer.
Wu Ziyu frowned deeply. His thoughts drifted back to when he first met Xiao Chiye.
“Aren’t you Libei cavalry?”
Even now, he had never answered that question. He had resigned himself to logistics—but he was unwilling. Once, he had been punished by Xiao Jiming and sent to the frontier camps. He had watched others rise, while he remained behind.
Wu Ziyu spat into the snow, shoved the letter back into his chest, and suddenly leapt, punching the air.
If Xiao Chiye dared to entrust him with this chance, then he would gamble everything to win this battle.
By evening, the snow had begun to lighten.
Xiao Chiye donned his heavy armor in the tent. It had been damaged by Achi’s hammer—the worst was on both arms, especially the left, which was slightly dented.
“Wu Ziyu has reached the western side of Duanzhou,” Xiao Chiye said. “Hold through tonight, and by morning, we’ll attack from both sides.”
Standing in armor, he seemed even taller, blocking all light before Shen Zechuan.
Shen Zechuan sat on the wooden bed. His presence here meant more than it seemed—Xiao Jiming’s full support for this campaign was not only because of Xiao Chiye, but also because Shen Zechuan was here. This was Libei’s show of trust.
“Fei Sheng will follow Hairigu with the Embroidered Uniform Guard to make up for the lack of scouts,” Shen Zechuan said. “If you don’t return tomorrow, the remaining troops will also be committed.”
Those troops were meant to protect Shen Zechuan. If anything happened, they would escort him north, where the Third Sand Battalion would meet him.
Xiao Chiye paused, understanding. At Shen Zechuan’s gesture, he knelt on one knee before him.
Outside, snow fell softly. Voices drifted in—the clamor of soldiers, the crackle of fire, the sound of armor moving in unison.
“You stay here and wait for me,” Xiao Chiye said, his gaze sharp.
“I would go if I could,” Shen Zechuan replied, tilting his head, gripping Xiao Chiye’s chin. “But I don’t have that ability. So I can only stay here as your housebound wife.”
Xiao Chiye laughed.
Hearing Gu Jin outside the tent, Shen Zechuan took the helmet and placed it on Xiao Chiye’s head. In that brief moment, separated by steel, they shared a kiss.
“After tonight,” Xiao Chiye said, his cold armored fingers brushing Shen Zechuan’s cheek, “my Lanzhou will be the ruler of Zhongbo.”
Xiao Chiye had tested his new blade on Achi—but it was far from enough. He was hungry enough to swallow the entire battlefield. Every fight was a trial—he would sharpen his blade here.
The southeastern Biansha forces numbered twenty-five thousand. Only five thousand were Scorpions; the rest lacked horses and fought as infantry. Leaderless and cut off from news across the Chashi River, they were forced to intercept Xiao Chiye to protect Duanzhou.
And that was exactly what he wanted.
Once those twenty-five thousand moved, the western side of Duanzhou would be left exposed—Wu Ziyu immediately launched his assault. Shen Zechuan’s strategic advantage showed itself: Duanzhou had no reinforcements. Supplies had been sent to Achi’s army, leaving the eight thousand defenders starving.
As battle erupted in Zhongbo, night deepened in the frontier.
News of Achi’s defeat had not yet reached the Qing Mouse Tribe. Their patrols roamed near the border. Their commander, Su Meng, had once served under Hasen. Because his tribe was weak, he had missed the chance to march north and was left here.
Tonight, the frontier was snowless and eerily quiet.
Uneasy, Su Meng doubled the patrols, watching the eastern front for a surprise attack.
Later, as the patrols warmed themselves by a fire, eating dried meat with melted snow, one rider said, “The Scorpions keep winning. If they join the Twelve Tribes, will we still get food?”
Su Meng shook his head. “Rus and Ri won’t allow it. The Scorpions are slaves of the Liaoying Tribe.”
Their mothers were from Great Zhou, and traitors like Hairigu existed. Even victories would not win them full acceptance.
“If Gedale provides for us,” another rider said with a grin, “we won’t starve anymore.”
Su Meng said nothing.
As the fire burned low, a rider spotted several wild dogs circling them, drooling with hunger.
“Drive them away,” Su Meng ordered.
The rider stood, waving a branch and drawing his blade—but before he finished speaking, the dogs lunged wildly, dragging him down and biting into his arm.
The patrol rushed to pull him back. Seeing the dogs’ strange red eyes, Su Meng ordered, “Shoot them!”
Just then, faint quail calls echoed in the night. The dogs suddenly fled west. The riders pursued, arrows flying.
A wounded dog limped ahead. A rider leaned down to finish it—
A long arrow shot from the west.
He was thrown from his horse, dragged across the ground.
Something’s wrong.
Su Meng pulled his reins. “Fall back!”
But torches suddenly flared ahead, illuminating everything.
“Qi Zhuyin!” Su Meng shouted in the language of Great Zhou. “You cunning woman—!”
Qi Zhuyin stood before her assembled troops, stepping on the snow casually.
“Light the beacons,” she said. “Tell Qudu—the Qing Mouse Tribe has crossed the border.”
The Qidong garrison raised their shields as blades flashed.