It was three quarters past the hour of the Rooster, the sun sinking in the west.
Huhelu and Luhu were eating. Huhelu, the commander of Biansha’s southeastern outpost, had come from the Changjiu Tribe and was nearing forty, in the prime of his strength. After Amur assumed command of the four divisions, Huhelu became not only Amur’s adopted son but also one of his most capable generals. By coincidence, nine years ago it had been Huhelu’s troops that were ambushed by Xiao Chiye on the Eastern Mountains.
Huhelu had a violent temper and a narrow mind, but he was remarkably sharp and tactful in battle. Guo Weili had suffered defeats at his hands, and the two had often hurled insults at each other across the battlefield, spitting in each other’s faces. Amur had assigned him to the southeast both because the Tuda Dragon Banner had already been taken and because Huhelu excelled at open-field warfare—he once trapped Guo Weili in a swamp for a full day and night, crushing his main force and demoralizing the garrison troops.
“Osu and Ri want me to treat the Li Bei army craftsmen well, but these men refuse to submit. Keeping them is just wasting rations,” Huhelu said, picking at the lamb and speaking in the Biansha tongue to his deputy. “I intend to take all their equipment and supplies, then execute the craftsmen. The remaining men and mounts of the Changjiu Tribe in the east can temporarily hold the provisions for Osu and Ri.”
“Before you leave, Osu and Ri specifically instructed that the craftsmen not be harmed,” his deputy, Bayin, a dark-skinned man of some age who had long served under Huhelu without promotion, cautioned. “They place great value on these craftsmen. Don’t provoke them.”
Huhelu tossed his dagger onto the tray, wiped his hands with a cloth, and peered out from the tent flap.
“But they’ve provoked me,” he said, leaning slightly, eyes fixed on the craftsmen tied out in the open, “You understand the Dazhou language. They called me ‘Pushe,’ butcher of the Eastern Mountains, and even insulted my mother.”
Bayin advised, “They’ve been exposed to the sun for four days without food or water. Even Liao Ying troops’ falcons need nourishment by now. In Dazhou tactics, to make them submit, you must inspire fear and then gratitude. You’ve made them fear you; next, give them water, food, and loosen their bonds. Then they will respect you—and Osu and Ri.”
Huhelu stroked his stubble and followed the advice. But the water he offered was spilled, and the curses continued until the hour of the Pig. Sleep-deprived and frustrated, Huhelu abandoned the Dazhou method and resorted to his own: he had the offending craftsmen skinned and hung on racks in the open.
“Xiao Fangxu is going hungry on the battlefield,” Huhelu said, standing in the open, gesturing at his belly, speaking in Dazhou tongue. “How can you fight on empty stomachs? You’re fat enough—dry you out and send you to him. Two birds, one stone.”
He whipped the craftsmen, regarding the combat-incapable men as worthless. In his eyes, keeping them was a burden; killing them would resolve matters permanently. He hung the head of the commander of Sha Third Camp on the watchtower and slaughtered captured warhorses. If not for caution towards Amur, he would not have lingered in Sha Third Camp—he had already taken it and wanted only to push forward, aiming to be the first of the twelve Biansha divisions to break through the northeastern supply routes.
At the hour of the Ox, three quarters, the world was silent.
The night raid on Bianbo Camp by the Liao Ying detachment had failed. Furious, Huhelu punished the Liao Ying troops—no food, no sleep, only watch duty. Soldiers atop the watchtower were exhausted, eyes blank with fatigue.
The night air was still, the wind brushing lightly. Soldiers squinted at the faint torchlight, seeing grass swaying in the distance. Sha Third Camp’s walls were tall and solid, the watchtower’s view limited; the ground below was obscured. The soldiers, yawning, heard a rustling sound.
At first, they thought it was the wind through grass, but the sound grew denser, like a tide surging in their ears.
Ears pricked, a soldier leaned over the railing, peering outside. In the dark, arms suddenly emerged over the battlements, followed by a line of bodies climbing over. Both sides froze in surprise.
The Liao Ying troops reacted quickly, blowing long whistles. The alarm rang through Sha Third Camp. Huhelu, awakened, quickly put on his boots.
He pulled back the tent flap to mount, but arrows rained from the wall. Furious, he shoved Bayin aside. “Bianbo troops are useless! The Li Bei cavalry isn’t stationed here! They’re trying to ambush under cover of night to disrupt my plans. Mount up—the Li Bei mounts can’t outrun us!”
“The orders from Osu and Ri haven’t arrived!” Bayin yelled, gripping Huhelu’s reins. “This is too strange! Bianbo has no elite troops, yet they dare attack—there must be a trap! Stay inside; the fortress can’t be broken from outside!”
Huhelu hesitated only a moment. Then, arrows erupted from the wall. Enraged, he spurred his horse, dragging Bayin along, swinging his curved saber, cursing into the night.
Only five hundred of the scaling troops, but they occupied the battlements with longbows, preventing the Biansha soldiers from climbing. Huhelu’s sharp eyes noticed the ropes and the continuous flow of unfamiliar soldiers scaling the walls.
“They’re not Li Bei cavalry!” Bayin shouted, leaping onto his horse and chasing Huhelu.
But Huhelu ignored him. He had fought Guo Weili, one of Li Bei’s finest, along the Tuda Dragon Banner’s edge. He had taken Sha Third Camp and believed himself divinely favored—a godly general. He felt he could take on even Xiao Fangxu’s main force.
The camp’s heavy gates thundered open. Huhelu led his elite out, only to meet not gentle night air but a fire-tipped arrow.
Dry grass had been spread along the roadway, set aflame. Smoke and flame blocked the path. Choked, Huhelu could not drive his horse forward. Biansha cavalry fell into disarray in the smoke. Darkness obscured the way, and fearing ambush, he veered across the grassland.
Almost immediately, hooves sank into hidden pits. Swift-footed horses of the Gouma Tribe tripped, toppling the front riders; those behind collided in chaos. Riders and mounts went down in a tangle.
Huhelu crashed into the grass, spotting newly dug pit traps and iron caltrops—familiar defenses from Sha Third Camp, silently moved underfoot.
“Retreat!” Bayin shouted. “It’s an ambush!”
Huhelu scrambled up, hearing a roar. Hidden in the grass, Dantai Hu drew his sword, and over a thousand Jin troops surged forth like waves, clashing with the stunned Biansha cavalry.
Dantai Hu fought with the fury of his name, unrecognizing Huhelu but aware of the horses. In the dark, the Jin troops’ strikes were brutal and precise. Without heavy Li Bei armor, they matched the cavalry in speed and ferocity.
Yet Huhelu quickly realized the enemy was scattered, unable to encircle him. Dantai Hu fought with nothing but passion; in the vast grassland, no reinforcements came. The supposed ambush was only the pit traps.
Fury rose in Huhelu. He hacked at one attacker, clashing with Dantai Hu, shouting, “Just a few rats!”
Dantai Hu, wounded, kicked Huhelu aside, wiped blood and sweat, and pressed on. The more Dantai Hu fought, the more Huhelu saw no reinforcements arriving, confirming his isolation.
After nearly half an hour, Dantai Hu retreated, pressed by numbers, unmounted, and fleeing through the grass.
Huhelu, enraged, reorganized his horsemen and gave chase, swinging his saber, cursing into the night.
Dantai Hu, bleeding and exhausted, ran without glancing back, shouting curses across the open grassland.
Then, from the horizon, war drums thundered, deafening in the night. Huhelu sensed danger, reined in his horse, and looked around. The grass swarmed with hidden troops, torches lighting up in a line as far as he could see—like a long dragon. The drums pounded relentlessly, making Huhelu realize he had walked into the main force of the Li Bei army, far outnumbering his own.
“Retreat!” Huhelu shouted, pulling his horse.
His mount surged forward. Out of the darkness, leading the charge was Langtao Xuejin, the first horse in the line. Huhelu turned and nearly had his heart stop—he almost thought it was Xiao Fangxu. But Xiao Chiye, taller, with eyes unlike Xiao Fangxu’s, glinted with a predatory greed that chilled Huhelu’s spine.
The horse panicked. Huhelu’s riders broke formation as panic spread. He tried to call for Bayin, but before he could, the world spun—his head was severed, rolling onto the grass.
Xiao Chiye had cut through the cavalry, his Wolf Fang Saber swinging blood through the night, wiping a smear of it off his cheek with the thumb adorned in finger rings, all while driving the charge. Huhelu’s horse galloped on, carrying the unmounted, decapitated body toward the camp, rolling to a blood-soaked halt.