“Where are the scout riders!”
“They’re dead,” the garrison troops who had been jolted awake followed closely behind Yin Chang. “All the surrounding sentries have been wiped out—no one came back.”
Yin Chang filled his wineskin and hung it back at his waist. As he slid his blade in, he spat, “Damn that Hasen.”
The relay station was silent, the sentries were all dead, and the news couldn’t get out—reinforcements wouldn’t come.
“Reform the scout unit,” Yin Chang said. “Look for a chance to break out. Before dawn we must light the wolf-smoke towers—only then can Libei, Dunzhou, and the border prefectures get the message.”
Duanzhou had once suffered a massacre because its scouts couldn’t outrun the Biansha horses. So when Shen Zechuan established Duanzhou’s network of roads in all directions, he modeled it after the border prefectures’ ten-thousand-li beacon towers. As long as these three lines were lit, all sides would know Duanzhou was in crisis.
Yin Chang had just lifted the tent flap when he heard the “thump-thump-thump” of war drums outside the city.
The cavalry had begun to beat the drums!
Yin Chang broke into a run toward the wall, shouting at the top of his lungs as he ran, “Prepare—!”
The archers between the crenels drew their bows in unison, holding their breath as they stared beyond the walls.
On both sides of the Biansha cavalry’s horses were fixed tubular drums. As they were struck, the sound shook the night—this was the prelude to a charge. When the drumming was about to cease, the horses snorted hot breath and surged forward.
Yin Chang waved his hand at once and shouted, “Loose!”
But the charging cavalry suddenly split into two wings, revealing the shield-bearing infantry behind them. The infantry moved swiftly, advancing toward the gates under the rain of arrows.
Duanzhou faced east, with open terrain and close to the Chashi River. Shen Zechuan had dug canals and trenches here, intending to build a moat. But time was tight this year—only the trench at the eastern main gate had taken shape, and water hadn’t yet been diverted from the Chashi River. Before riding south, Xiao Chiye had warned Shen Zechuan, so Shen Zechuan removed the paving bricks at the trench bottom and replaced them with Libei Army iron caltrops.
The city gate opened. Yin Chang led the Duanzhou garrison out, removing the crossing planks over the trench before the Biansha cavalry could charge. Without the planks, the cavalry couldn’t leap the trench to reach the gate.
As the arrow rain from the walls ceased, the fire-oil jars were lit.
Dragging the planks as he retreated, Yin Chang shouted, “Smash the jars!”
The jars atop the battlements shattered in unison with sharp cracks. Firelight flared instantly as the soldiers leaned out and hurled them down. The oil splashed across the infantry’s shields and burst into flames. But Yin Chang didn’t feel relieved—he saw the infantry spread out, clearing a path for the covered siege carts behind them.
Damn it!
This kind of siege cart was originally used to cover trench-digging. It had a screen shield in front and a canopy at the rear, with a central carriage that protected the sappers from arrows. It also had another function—extinguishing fire. Infantry hidden inside could lift the top, cut open water-filled leather bags, and instantly douse the flames from the oil.
Yin Chang saw through their plan. Hasen had used the infantry to exhaust the garrison’s arrows and fire-oil jars, then pushed them to the trench—preparing the ground for the cavalry waiting behind.
“Archers, prepare—”
The moment Yin Chang spoke, the infantry raised their shields again. But Yin Chang had no intention of ordering arrows now. He drew his blade and charged forward with the garrison, sprinting to the trench and, under the stunned gaze of the Biansha soldiers, leapt like an old lion.
“Fill the trench!”
Yin Chang landed heavily against the trench wall, his feet sliding downward. He grabbed the edge, kicked, and climbed up, leading the garrison straight into the infantry ranks.
“Loose!”
A sudden rain of arrows fell, and the infantry, unable to free their hands to raise shields, dropped in rows.
“Who’s that?” A burly man on a small horse leaned forward, spotting Yin Chang’s white hair through the crowd. Stroking his curved blade, his bare arm tattooed with a four-legged serpent, he said in Biansha tongue with interest, “Looks like a hero.”
“The strong Zhuoli doesn’t recognize him,” said the cavalryman beside him. “He’s the commander of Cizhou’s garrison—the old general who took Fanzhou for Shen Zechuan. His name is Yin Chang.”
Zhuoli mimicked the Great Zhou speech, repeating, “Yi… Yin… Chang?”
“It means flourishing prosperity,” the cavalryman said, calming his restless horse.
“He has the courage of a lion,” Zhuoli continued, watching Yin Chang. He pressed his legs to the horse’s belly, moving forward unhurriedly amid the swaying. “I want to fight him.”
The cavalryman glanced back at the rainbow eagle banner and advised, “Hasen’s orders haven’t come yet. Now isn’t the time for Zhuoli to engage.”
Zhuoli flexed his powerful arms, drew his curved blade, and said, “Hasen wants a swift battle. I’ve already waited long enough.”
Inside the city, the garrison gathered the civilians. They had to send them to the west gate, where the roads led to Dunzhou. If the east gate fell, they would still have a chance to escape before the slaughter began.
People arrived in waves, dragging families, their faces tense. The occasional cry of an infant was quickly stifled. As the crowd grew, and with the booming from the east gate, suppressed breathing filled the air.
The scholars were already there, carrying crude bundles stuffed with case files—their life’s work. Gao Zhongxiong’s pale face had yet to recover. Clutching his bundle, he stood squeezed among the crowd.
Kong Ling pushed Yao Wenyu, a pouch hanging from his chest holding the restless Hu Nu.
As Yao Wenyu’s four-wheeled chair passed the civilians, he heard someone sobbing and turned his head to look.
“Sir… sir,” a widowed mother holding a child alone covered her mouth and nose, choking as she whispered, “Is it… is it going to be another massacre…”
The young gentleman’s gaze was gentle. He raised his hand, offering his handkerchief, and said, “No.”
But sobbing spread all around, and his words held no weight against the sounds of battle ahead.
“If the city falls, people can’t outrun horses—we’ll die, all of us!” A man tugging his last donkey crouched by the wall, speaking in a rustic accent. “I shouldn’t have come to Duanzhou!”
“Where’s the garrison?” Someone pressed to the gate, pounding it. “Open it now and let us run to Dunzhou—whoever can escape before the fall, escapes!”
The crowd grew chaotic, surging toward the west gate. Unease churned in the night. Gao Zhongxiong was pushed forward, clutching his bundle, squeezing toward Kong Ling.
“Don’t step on it!” Gao Zhongxiong shielded his bundle, raising his head. “Everyone, don’t—”
No one could hear him. Someone’s elbow struck his stomach. He lost his grip, watching his papers scatter across the ground, and bent to pick them up. But there were too many people—before he could gather them, his brush was snapped underfoot.
“Don’t step on the brush, don’t step on it!”
Kong Ling was shoved off balance. Yao Wenyu’s chair made movement difficult—if it got swept into the crowd, it would be disastrous! Holding Hu Nu with one hand and the chair with the other, Kong Ling shouted, “Where are the guards? Come quickly—protect Yuan Zhuo!”
Yao Wenyu’s wheel struck something hard and jolted violently, nearly tipping over. He turned his gaze, looking at the people. The moonlight was inappropriately calm, sliding from his sleeve to the ground.
The pounding on the gate intensified—cries of “Open the gate!” rang everywhere. The memory of Duanzhou’s massacre ran too deep. They saw no hope. The fiercer the battle ahead, the less secure they felt.
“Hey!” Gao Zhongxiong angrily waved his sleeve, abandoning his brush, stretching his arm to grab the chair and pull it closer, blocking the surge. “Stop pushing! You’ll crush someone! What’s the rush—the city hasn’t fallen yet, the Prefect is still at the front!”
Voices erupted at once:
“Where is the Prefect?”
“Where is Shen Zechuan?”
“No troops, no guards—did he run?”
Gao Zhongxiong didn’t expect this. He hurriedly said, “The Prefect is—”
“Shen Zechuan ran!” someone stomped angrily. “We haven’t seen him!”
The atmosphere ignited. The suppressed sobbing burst through the crowd. Panic surged wildly. The pounding turned to battering. Hysteria spread.
The hidden danger called “Shen Wei” finally erupted. Like a sword hanging over Shen Zechuan’s head, it embodied Zhongbo’s rejection of him. Even after gaining the six prefectures, it could not be erased. Shen Wei had abandoned the city before—Duanzhou and Dunzhou became seas of corpses. Now that Shen Zechuan had not appeared, the Shen clan must have fled again.
“Open the gate… open it…” someone wailed.
The gate bulged outward, a crack forming. The remaining garrison couldn’t hold back the crowd.
“Stop pushing!” they shouted hoarsely.
It was useless—the crowd had already lost control.
The garrison panted, not daring to open the gate. All eastern scouts were dead. If cavalry had circled west, no one would know. Opening the gate now would be stabbing Duanzhou in the back—that would truly mean the city’s fall.
Using brute force, the garrison shoved the civilians back, drawing their blades with a hiss. “Who the hell pushes again!”
Kong Ling immediately said, “This is bad.”
Sure enough, the moment the blades were drawn, everything exploded. Bundles and fists rained down. The crowd surged forward, shouting, “Open the gate!”
The garrison couldn’t actually kill them. Shielding their heads as they retreated, they felt someone grabbing for their blades. “Try taking my blade and I’ll start cutting!”
The gate shook violently. Before they could steady themselves, a massive force struck from behind. With a dull boom, the gate was smashed from the outside by a battering ram!
“Damn it!” The garrison soldier scrambled up after being trampled, kicking civilians aside as he shoved them back, roaring at his men, “Block the gate!”
“Cavalry!” the crowd screamed, scrambling backward. “The cavalry broke in!”
The garrison braced their backs against the collapsing gate, shouting in unison with dozens of soldiers, trying to push it closed again. But the massive ram struck once more, numbing their backs.
Yao Wenyu gripped the handles. Gao Zhongxiong and Kong Ling each held one side, trying to push him away. Kong Ling’s scalp tingled with dread—through the half-broken gate, he heard the long-absent thunder of hooves.
“I’ll take Yuan Zhuo through the alleys!” Kong Ling said, pushing Yao Wenyu. “Shenwei, run!”
Gao Zhongxiong’s hands trembled. “I—I’ll stay with sir—”
The gate shattered completely. Debris flew. The garrison couldn’t hold. Cavalry leapt over them, charging in, curved blades slashing toward Gao Zhongxiong.
A garrison soldier lunged like a wolf, blocking the blade, shouting over his shoulder, “Run! Report to the Prefect—West gate is broken, we’ll hold—”
Before he finished, his head fell.
Gao Zhongxiong screamed. His legs gave out as he clung to the chair. Yao Wenyu saw the blade coming again—his back soaked with sweat. Suddenly he twisted the chair, placing himself in front of Kong Ling and Gao Zhongxiong.
A light cavalry rider cut through the crowd, swift as mercury in the night. A thrown sword pinned the rider’s throat with a hum. Before the body hit the ground, he had already arrived.
Qiao Tianya reined in his horse, drew his sword, sheathed it, breathing hard as he looked at Yao Wenyu. He shouted to Ding Tao behind him, “Take the gentlemen and go!”
Yao Wenyu didn’t move. Gripping the handle tightly, he looked past Qiao Tianya and saw Feng Tashuangyi rearing and neighing, Shen Zechuan on its back with sleeves flying. Yangshan Snow roared like a furious dragon—when it passed a throat, it was clean and decisive, like lightning, too fast to see.
Feng Tashuangyi leapt over heads, rushed through the gate. Behind it, the Jin Yi Cavalry swept into the Biansha riders, sparks bursting in the cold wind.
Qiao Tianya was about to go, but Yao Wenyu looked at him, veins faintly rising on the back of his hand, and said in a low voice, “Bring the Prefect back!”
Shen Zechuan was ill. His right hand had already been ruined in Dunzhou. Now he was lord of six prefectures—if he died on the battlefield, all of Zhongbo’s efforts would turn to nothing.
Qiao Tianya said nothing.
Yao Wenyu looked at him pleadingly, saying word by word, “A ruler of ten thousand chariots does not court danger.”
Shen Zechuan flicked the blood from Yangshan Snow, reining in at the open ground. His chest rose and fell as the wind hit him; his right fingers throbbed faintly. He stood at the very front, gazing into the gray expanse. He was not strong—but he would not fall. In the light he was both drifting sand and a blade nailed before Duanzhou.
He was cunning, ruthless, vengeful.
He was not fit to be emperor.
But—
Qiao Tianya bent down and lightly flicked Yao Wenyu’s forehead. Just as Yao Wenyu thought he would comply, he turned his horse and roared, “Swear to follow the Prefect to the death—kill the enemy!”
Light tore through the sky. The vast darkness vanished in an instant. Shen Zechuan’s blade brushed his thigh before shooting forward in brilliance. Feng Tashuangyi, like its master, only moved ahead.
Forward!
The Jin Yi Cavalry roared in unison, “Swear to follow the Prefect to the death—kill the enemy!”
In their eyes, he was the sovereign who split heaven and earth apart!