The fire-birds crashing about were all blocked outside the gate. The garrison didn’t stop—they sprinted through the passage, dragging reserve water bags and splashing water onto the gate just in case.
Across the trench, the Biansha cavalry were furious at Zhuoli’s corpse. Zhuoli had been one of the four-legged serpents who followed Amur deep into Zhongbo seven years ago, a gift Amur had given to Hasen. It was precisely because of him that Hasen had been able to cut off Duanzhou’s outside contact within a few days.
“Drag him away!” a cavalryman shouted, looking at the gate. “That reckless, stupid waste… get yourselves together! Before Hasen arrives, we have to find a way across this trench!”
Yin Chang had removed the crossing planks and killed the infantry pushing the siege carts, forcing the Biansha cavalry into a brief stalemate at the trench and giving the garrison inside a chance to catch their breath. But Duanzhou’s trench wasn’t yet a true moat. The bricks at both ends hadn’t been firmly set to connect with the northern and southern trenches, so it couldn’t hold water for long. With all the sluice gates opened, the water had already drained—and even if it held, the Biansha cavalry would soon find a way across.
Before nightfall, the east gate would inevitably face a cavalry charge.
“Prepare the heavy stones,” Shen Zechuan turned his head and said to Qiao Tianya. “Push the bed crossbows up onto the wall!”
Below, the garrison worked together to push the bed crossbows upward along the broader passageways. The cavalry’s single-shot catapults continued to bombard. Heavy stones smashed into the wall, already breaking gaps in the eastern defenses. Crumbled bricks mixed with chunks of earth fell downward, and several crenels had collapsed. The soldiers had to duck and shield themselves, bracing their bodies against the sliding siege weapons.
They couldn’t hold the weight. A group of them was forced backward, heels scraping the ground as they slid. “Too heavy!”
Qiao Tianya leapt down the steps to help—but he saw a plain-clothed man sink slightly, raise both arms, and brace the sliding crossbow.
Ji Gang’s white hair was dusted gray. In a low shout, he said, “Up—!”
The garrison suddenly felt the pressure ease. Veins bulged at Ji Gang’s temples as he stepped forward, slowly pushing the weapon upward along the incline. When it was finally in place, his arms trembled, his back soaked through with sweat.
It was now midmorning. The sun blazed overhead. Sweat mixed with choking dust, coating faces. Soldiers ran everywhere. The archers atop the walls didn’t dare fire recklessly—the enemy might be baiting them into wasting arrows. They had to wait for the cavalry charge. The same went for the bed crossbows: these killing machines couldn’t be used lightly. They had to strike decisively—like Yin Chang killing Zhuoli—make the cavalry feel real pain.
“Garrison, split into ranks. Three units defend three gates. Let the Jin Yi Cavalry stand by at the east gate,” Shen Zechuan raised the hand holding his blade, wiping sweat from his face with the back of it. “Before nightfall, seal the other three gates completely.”
Duanzhou’s granaries were well-stocked. In a siege, cavalry could encircle and slowly drain its supplies, starving the city over a month. But Hasen wanted a quick victory. He wouldn’t adopt a prolonged siege. From last night until now, the cavalry had attacked relentlessly. If the east gate stalled, they would likely circle to the other three gates and attempt flanking assaults like they had at the west gate.
Shen Zechuan had lowered portcullises at the other gates, but this wasn’t a lasting solution. The cavalry had siege equipment—battering rams carrying thick logs could smash gates and then break through the portcullises, letting cavalry flood in.
“Fire oil, stones,” Shen Zechuan said. “Tear down the collapsed watchtowers inside the city. Let the garrison at the three gates bring anything usable up to the walls. The moment you see cavalry, sound the horns and throw everything down to block their charge.”
We need to find a way out again soon.
Shen Zechuan looked toward the southeastern horizon. The beacon tower there was silent.
The scholars were gathered at the horse grounds. The open space could hold several groups of civilians. Gao Zhongxiong finally recovered a bit, bending to rub his calves. “Just now… just now…”
He stammered again in his urgency.
Kong Ling reassured him, “It’s fine. Shenwei still tried to take Yuan Zhuo away—that already took courage. Back when I was in Dunzhou, once I heard cavalry had entered the city, nothing else mattered.”
Yao Wenyu clutched his sleeve. His thoughts were broken when a hand interrupted him. He looked up and saw the woman from earlier sending her child to return the handkerchief. Yao Wenyu raised his hand—but didn’t take it. His dust-stained fingers reached out, gently touching the child’s cheek.
Alive.
His chest rose and fell slightly faster.
Footsteps thundered along the edge of the horse grounds as garrison troops rushed past, heading for the walls.
“Send arrows to the west gate!” the young officer in front sheathed his blade, carrying debris with his bare hands. “The collapsed watchtower goes to us!”
“Not enough!” a soldier on the wall shouted back. “Only one tower collapsed—it’s not enough!”
Duanzhou had plenty of defensive equipment, but the armory had already been emptied—most of it went to support the east gate. The other three gates had to make do with scraps. Arrows had already been consumed earlier by Biansha infantry; now they had to resupply the west gate, which was blocked with cart-walls.
What to do?
A man suddenly stood up in the horse grounds, weighing an old hoe. “Can this be thrown?”
“If you throw it, you don’t get it back!” the young officer said.
“Then take it,” the man said in halting official speech. “The city’s surrounded. If we don’t kill the cavalry, keeping this hoe is useless. You short on people?”
The garrison didn’t answer—they had clashed with civilians earlier at the west gate.
Then more men stood up—able-bodied, carrying their farming tools—shouting, “Need people? If you do, we’re here!”
The bombardment continued until evening. The eastern wall was patched again and again, but even the reserve crenels were nearly gone. The cavalry showed no sign of stopping—they meant to smash the wall down completely.
“The catapults are all using stones,” Qiao Tianya crouched behind the wall, raising his voice. “They’re in open ground—they won’t run out. If this goes on two more days, even if they don’t cross the trench, the wall won’t hold.”
“Hasen won’t wait two days,” Shen Zechuan’s face was smeared with grime. “Before nightfall, they’ll charge.”
With Yin Chang gone, the cavalry would test the garrison’s strength. After a full day of bombardment, the defenders were exhausted—this was the cavalry’s opportunity.
“If they cross the trench, we open the gate,” Shen Zechuan said. “The garrison keeps defending. Let the Jin Yi Cavalry meet the charge.”
“I’ll go with Fei Sheng—”
“You go with me,” Shen Zechuan lifted his gaze. “We rotate. The moment we break their charge, we withdraw. Don’t linger.”
The cavalry far outnumbered them. Steel needles couldn’t face axes head-on. Shen Zechuan only needed to shatter their momentum to maintain the defense.
Qiao Tianya licked his lips, his expression serious. “You’re the Prefect, not a general.”
Shen Zechuan didn’t answer. He pushed himself upright, looking past the mass of cavalry toward the Chashi River. It flowed like a jade ribbon under the setting sun, reflecting brilliant clouds, falcons soaring above.
His gaze sharpened.
“I am Zhongbo’s Prefect.”
The rosy clouds over the river hadn’t yet faded when the wall beside him shook violently.
“Trebuchets!” the lookout on the tower shouted. “The cavalry’s trebuchets are here!”
The siege engines that had opened the battle the previous night, after resting all day behind the catapults, returned. The cavalry shifted formations, drums pounding as signals spread across the battlefield.
Shen Zechuan tore off his cumbersome outer robe, tightened his arm-binding, and descended the steps. Feng Tashuangyi waited proudly. He mounted and said to Qiao Tianya, “Watch the other three gates.”
Qiao Tianya saluted and shouted, “Prefect—great victory!”
Shen Zechuan turned his horse toward the passage. His striking face was smeared with blood and sweat, but his eyes still shone. Behind him, the Jin Yi Cavalry steadied their breathing—they too sought a swift end.
Beside them, another horse dipped as Fei Sheng mounted. He dragged his embroidered spring blade forward, eyes bloodshot, and said, “I am the Prefect’s guard.” After a pause, he raised his blade and shouted, “We are the Prefect’s shield!”
Shen Zechuan nodded slightly. Feng Tashuangyi stepped forward. As his figure entered the passage, in that moment of silence before the gate, he said, “I live and die with you.”
The gate opened again. Its heavy rumble welcomed the last light of day, weaving through countless hooves.
The rainbow eagle banner rose high in the afterglow. The cavalry leveled their lances and, after regrouping the infantry, brought them down with a shout in Biansha tongue: “Forward—!”
Fei Sheng’s loose hair was blown by the wind. His torn fingers gripped the hilt as he shouted with Shen Zechuan, “Great victory!”
Feng Tashuangyi burst forward.
The infantry discarded their shields, knelt in formation holding planks. As the cavalry approached, they laid narrow bridges. Sabers thundered across, clashing with the Jin Yi Cavalry beneath the walls.
The Biansha cavalry, rested all day, were full of strength—well-fed on milk tea and dried meat. They expected exhausted defenders. But the Jin Yi Cavalry had also rested, filling themselves with rations—there was no opening to exploit.
They collided like blade against blade, crashing together in chaotic hoofbeats.
Yangshan Snow never met sabers head-on. Shen Zechuan struck for throats with precision. His arm-binding grew heavy, blood soaking through and running down, staining half his body red.
The cavalry’s first charge lacked numbers. The hastily built bridges were too narrow to withstand the clash. They retreated, ending the assault hastily.
Shen Zechuan immediately turned back into the city. As he entered the passage, the gate slammed shut again. Torches were lit—it was already nearing midnight.
His right arm had grown sluggish. Even when he served in the Jin Yi Guard, he had never fought with such prolonged intensity. After coming to Zhongbo, he had neglected training due to illness—now the fatigue was undeniable.
His fingers were numb.
Raising his left hand, Shen Zechuan wiped the blood from his face without expression, switching positions with Qiao Tianya.
The Jin Yi Cavalry rested for less than an hour before the drums sounded again. The second charge came. This time Qiao Tianya led the defense, holding until the early hours before withdrawing.
“Rotating assaults,” Fei Sheng said from the wall, watching the torches move. “Each wave uses different cavalry. They can keep this up until dawn.”
“Hasen is holding back part of his forces,” Shen Zechuan leaned against the wall, stuffing a few bites of steamed bun into his mouth. “Otherwise Ce’an wouldn’t be silent.”
Before riding south, Xiao Chiye had planned with Lu Guangbai—his goal was to lure Hasen into battle. The sign would be reduced cavalry at the front lines. But reinforcements hadn’t come, meaning the main battlefield remained under heavy attack. Hasen had disguised his intentions well. Behind Amur, there might be more than just the six tribes.
Fei Sheng stared at the cavalry. “I have to bring the old man back.”
Shen Zechuan finished the bun, stood with Yangshan Snow. He hadn’t slept for a full day and night.
“We need a way…” he lifted his head slightly. “Next charge, Qiao Tianya doesn’t withdraw. We go out together.”
Fei Sheng turned.
Shen Zechuan’s gaze was dark as he said clearly, “Fuck.”
Fei Sheng’s stiff face loosened. For some reason, he suddenly laughed—laughed until he wiped tears, echoing the Prefect:
“Fuck.”