At dawn, Shen Zechuan stared at the scattered footprints and asked Fei Sheng, “Are these grain carts?”
The wheel tracks were distinct, clearly bearing heavy loads.
“Heavier than grain carts,” Fei Sheng said, kneeling on one knee to inspect them. After a moment, he added, “It looks like they’re transporting some kind of heavy equipment. Master, they went out of their way to reach Li Bei—could they be planning another ambush?”
“Shā Third Camp is well-manned now, with Guo Weili stationed there. This place is also close to Bianbo Camp. Without strong troops behind them, an ambush wouldn’t gain them anything,” Shen Zechuan said, facing south. “Besides, they came from Dunzhou. Perhaps they’re transporting something to the Chashi River area.”
But what could Dunzhou possibly have?
The granaries in Dunzhou had long been emptied by bandits, and there were no garrisons in the area. Why bother taking a detour?
Shen Zechuan pondered carefully, reviewing all his memories of Dunzhou. Recalling the stone-throwing siege engines used by the Bian Sha cavalry in their attack on Bianbo Camp in June, he followed the wheel tracks a few steps and suddenly said, “Heavy supplies… grain—military equipment.” He turned back. “After Zhongbo’s defeat, the Ministry of War didn’t retrieve the armories in the Six States. They intended them for the rebuilt garrisons, but later Qu Du neglected patrols, and those armories were left unattended.”
Fei Sheng stood, ignoring the mud on his knees. “Many of them are siege weapons. If they fall into the hands of the Bian Sha, Duanzhou will be in grave danger.”
“Keep following them,” Shen Zechuan instructed.
The wheels sank into the mud, and the horses couldn’t pull.
Liu Er, bundled in a coat and wearing a border drum hat, tried to huddle but failed. A Bian Sha man posing as a merchant grabbed him by the ankle, dragged him off the cart, and whipped him awake. “Get up! Push the cart!”
“Ouch,” Liu Er yelped, quickly scrambling to push, hobbling with each step. His trembling old hands and sore feet nearly sent him to his knees. Many bandits traveling with them had their knives confiscated by the Bian Sha, forced into labor under the whip.
After the failed raid in Cizhou, news spread that Lei Jingzhe had been exposed as a spy of the imperial army. Luoshan bandits fractured into over ten factions, each vying for dominance. Figures like Liu Er and Ding Niu tried to reclaim Lei Changming’s glory but were crushed by Bian Sha forces in Duanzhou, captured, and made prisoners.
Ding Niu refused to transport grain for the Bian Sha and was killed at the end of July. Liu Er, valuing his life, dared not resist and now transported grain for them.
Hunched like a monkey, Liu Er’s long eyebrows quivered as he moved. He blended into the crowd, careful not to slack under the watchful eyes of the Bian Sha men, but still suffered the whip. His coat was shredded, exposing tattered lining; his legs, like bundles of straw, shivered violently in the cold.
The Bian Sha men prepared to eat, leaving the bandits to huddle in the cold. Liu Er, exhausted and starving, squatted to rest.
“When will this damn trip end?” muttered a comrade, shifting his bundle to his waist. “They’re whipping us like animals!”
Liu Er tried to light some tobacco, remarking, “They don’t read; they treat us like beasts. The markings on their bodies are of wild beasts, and they drink raw blood.”
A comrade spat. “Had I known, I would’ve joined the imperial army back in Cizhou. At least we wouldn’t have fallen into Bian Sha hands.”
“Stop your nonsense,” Liu Er muttered, tucking away his tobacco. Through others’ legs, he spied the Bian Sha men. “We’re all bandits. Joining the imperial army leads to no good end—we’d just be traitors. And the weapons they’re moving will be used against Li Bei and Zhongbo. Perhaps even the emperor in Qu Du will end up a prisoner—we’d be kneeling before the Bian Sha emperor.”
Before he finished, a comrade roughly pulled him upright. Liu Er’s legs trembled as he stood, eyes darting around nervously.
A Bian Sha man named Jida, clean-shaven and muscular with a scorpion tattoo, passed by, eyes locking onto Liu Er.
This night, Jida didn’t bother them but led his men forward to the heavy carts carrying bed crossbows. The Bian Sha were fascinated by these massive siege engines.
The bandits rested where they were, their rations soggy and musty. Liu Er, teeth yellowed from tobacco, ate what he could. A few huddled for warmth, grateful the night remained dry—otherwise, more would have frozen to death.
Liu Er, old and weary, dozed leaning against a wheel.
“The escort has so few troops?” Fei Sheng crouched, studying the tracks. “Mostly bandits pushing carts, very few Bian Sha cavalry.”
The guerrilla, helmeted, sat atop his horse like a statue. Nudging the reins, he murmured, “They disguise themselves to avoid drawing attention. Likely, there are still insiders in Luoshan; otherwise, they wouldn’t dare penetrate this far with so few men. Master, to find out who’s aiding them, we must intercept them before they enter Luoshan.”
Though the Li Bei cavalry escort was small, they were all elite troops, battle-hardened under Xiao Fangxu. With the support of the imperial guards on this frosty night, stopping this small group would be no problem.
Shen Zechuan glanced at the darkness. “Ding Tao stays here. Fei Sheng, follow the Li Bei cavalry.”
Liu Er awoke from the cold, rubbing his feet, feeling half his life frozen away. He lifted his head and saw the Bian Sha cavalry gathered around the bed crossbows. Such weapons required multiple people to operate and were typically reserved for siege defense. The Li Bei garrison knew them well.
Liu Er didn’t call for help but crawled under a cart, hugging the ground to stay unseen. When he reached the rear, he practically leapt forward, scrambling away.
Jida, wiping arrows, caught sight of him in the corner of his eye and shouted in Bian Sha, “Someone’s running!”
The cavalry immediately mounted, cracking whips as they gave chase.
Liu Er hadn’t expected Jida’s vision to be so sharp. Even in the deep night, from such a distance, he was seen. He considered stopping under the pretense of urinating, but the curved blade was already drawn—tonight, not running meant death.
In a panic, Liu Er tightened his belt and lost a shoe in the mud. He fell, then scrambled up, visions of Ding Niu’s dead face flashing before him.
They had risen in Luoshan under Bian Sha protection; now, the same force determined their fate.
Liu Er muttered prayers to every deity he knew, trembling, crying, and eventually wetting himself in the icy mud. He had no comprehension of the Bian Sha words, only able to plead desperately.
The cavalry spat phlegm on his face and struck his back with scabbards, forcing him to drink filthy water while prone in the mud. His long eyebrows lifted by the curved blades, Liu Er panicked, crying and laughing simultaneously.
Jida stood by, one leg raised, revealing the bed crossbow. He ordered Liu Er dragged away to serve as a test subject.
Liu Er, hearing the mechanisms of the massive weapon, felt his courage evaporate. He spat curses through gritted yellow teeth, tears streaming, choking as if death were imminent.
Once a bandit with family, Liu Er now faced only terror, recalling the massacre at the Chashi Pit when the Bian Sha cavalry had destroyed the Duanzhou garrison.