If Li Huaidao had been given more time to analyze the situation, he would have realized that the Western Tribes cavalry used short horses, while the Jianping cavalry rode tall, powerful steeds. The two breeds differed greatly in size and strength. Even if his own skills matched those of Zhong Zhiwei, his mount could not sustain prolonged combat. Originally, in the Dan and Tai regions, short horses had the advantage in mobility. However, the Jianping cavalry, equipped with stirrups and horseshoes, could gallop fearlessly across fields of rubble, charging through enemy ranks with remarkable stability, never losing balance or falling.
The sheer pressure of a heavy cavalry charge represented a technological supremacy in this era. Even if Li Huaidao had not been forced to cross the river overnight and had meticulously maintained his army’s formation, he would still have been unable to withstand the terrifying onslaught of this iron-clad monster in a head-on confrontation.
Knowing he could no longer afford to engage Zhong Zhiwei, Li Huaidao shouted orders, attempting to rally his troops and retreat. These soldiers were mostly locals from Western Tribes, with a significant portion hailing from the Li and Lao clans. Bound by kinship and regional ties, they were typically more disciplined than conscripted troops from other areas. Unfortunately, he now faced the Iron Armor Battalion. Before this cavalry force, the cohesion Li Huaidao had always prided himself on was utterly shattered.
Zhong Zhiwei’s methods of training soldiers were inherited from Wen Yanran, who hailed from a modern society. Moreover, these cavalrymen ate, lived, and trained together in the Northern Park, forging bonds so close that they moved as one solid, unbreakable force.
The guards shielded Li Huaidao as they retreated. Though these soldiers were fierce and brave, they were no match for Zhong Zhiwei. Seeing his comrades being slaughtered, a young officer from the Li clan couldn’t hold back. He spurred his horse forward, gripping his halberd with both hands and mustering all his strength to block Zhong Zhiwei’s silver spear. Yet, upon impact, his entire body trembled violently, and his arms went numb with pain. Unable to maintain his balance, he was thrown directly from his saddle.
Without pausing, Zhong Zhiwei gave a slight forward thrust with her spear, piercing straight through his chest. She looked ahead from her horse and saw that Li Huaidao, now surrounded by his guards, had already distanced himself a hundred paces away. Rather than giving chase, Zhong Zhiwei took down the mulberry-wood horn bow bestowed upon her by the Emperor herself from her back. She stretched her ape-like arms lightly, drew the bowstring to its fullest, and loosed an arrow that shot like a shooting star toward the enemy commander.
While retreating, Li Huaidao kept weaving and dodging to avoid arrows. Yet, he never expected Zhong Zhiwei’s archery skills to be so refined. An arrow struck him in the chest, missing his heart by only two inches. He cried out in pain and instinctively yanked the reins. His startled horse whinnied sharply, nearly throwing its rider off.
The guards panicked. “General!”
To steady his troops’ morale, Li Huaidao gritted his teeth, broke the arrow shaft, and shouted, “I’m fine! It’s just an arm wound!”
Those by his side now were all clansmen of the Li family, each willing to lay down their lives. Through sheer sacrifice, they finally escorted their commander beyond the range of Zhong Zhiwei’s longbow. To their immense relief, the general from Jianping, for reasons unknown, did not pursue them with full force. Instead, she advanced in fits and starts, allowing them precious time to regroup their scattered soldiers.
An advisor riding beside Li Huaidao seemed to suddenly realize something, his face paling. He urged his horse closer to his commander and said urgently, “General, you must immediately remove your helmet plume and lower the banners!”
In this era, ordinary soldiers primarily relied on the plumes on their commander’s helmet and the unit banners to identify their position and formation. If these were removed, the Western forces, left without clear leadership, would surely descend into chaos.
Upon hearing this, Li Huaidao was momentarily stunned, then his expression changed dramatically.
It suddenly struck him: Given the sheer power of these black-armored cavalry, was it truly possible that they were unable to break through his remaining guards? The enemy had deliberately allowed them time to regroup for one reason only – to encircle and annihilate them all at once.
With Li Huaidao’s abilities, he should have realized this earlier. Yet, from the start of the engagement until now, everything had gone too smoothly for him. Never before today had he been forced to view himself from the perspective of the hunted.
Li Huaidao realized he had overlooked someone he shouldn’t have: Tao Jia, the very target of his river-crossing pursuit tonight.
Though he grasped the situation now, it was already a step too late. Just as his advisors hurriedly lowered the banners, loud battle cries erupted from both flanks. The forces originally under Tao Jia split into two groups, closing in like an iron net to cut off their retreat. A seasoned commander, Tao Jia always considered every detail carefully. He knew his troops were not as formidable as the Ironclad Battalion and had no intention of meeting the enemy head-on. The cavalry he dispatched only served to harass and prevent the enemy from scattering. His primary means of attack was the archers he had stationed in the forests on both sides of the road. Now, with the surviving Western troops all clustered together, the target area was vast. Even if his archers closed their eyes, their arrows were bound to find marks.
Ever since deploying his forces, Tao Jia had bided his time, holding back. Now, at last, the opportunity for a full-scale counterattack had arrived!
Li Huaidao’s personal guards rallied around their commander. Accustomed to relying on and supporting each other, they refused to abandon their comrades. Yet, at this moment, that very habit became a fatal disadvantage, turning them into a massive target exposed to the enemy’s onslaught.
The cacophony of clashing blades and agonized screams merged together, surging like a violent tide against the Western army. Witnessing this scene, Li Huaidao suddenly froze in place. In a flash of clarity, he understood – Wang You’s earlier orders had been correct. He had indeed advanced too far from the rear forces, leaving his unit isolated with no hope of rescue. All the elite cavalry of the Li clan would now be doomed because of his recklessness.
To resist Jianping, Western Tribes had mustered a total of 160,000 troops: 30,000 cavalry, 50,000 infantry, and 80,000 militia responsible for logistics and supply, publicly boasting an army of half a million. Of the 30,000 cavalry, the most elite 10,000 were split equally between Li Huaidao and Wang You.
Today’s battle, seemingly just a single defeat, had in fact cost Western Tribes half of its finest troops!
At this realization, Li Huaidao felt a pang of agony so sharp it seemed to wrench his heart. The blood from his arrow wound, which had stopped flowing, began to seep out again. He ceased retreating and instead charged toward the enemy commander. Seeing this from afar, Zhong Zhiwei let out a silent sigh, spurred her horse forward, drew her long spear, and engaged him. After a dozen exchanges, she dismounted the exhausted and death-seeking Li Huaidao with a thrust of her spear.
With their commander dead, the remaining soldiers lost the will to fight. Some wept bitterly, others chose to end their own lives with their blades, but the majority, following the lead of surviving junior officers and company commanders, chose to lay down their arms and surrender.
Tao Jia sighed with emotion, “Her Majesty is truly wise and resourceful. Our great victory today is entirely due to her divine and decisive judgment.” He then added, “Li Huaidao left some forces at the camp ahead. Should we seize the momentum and attack them now?”
In truth, he had long been inclined to attack, but out of respect for Zhong Zhiwei’s special status as the Emperor’s trusted confidante, and being prudent by nature rather than prideful about his seniority, he chose to discuss the matter with her.
Hearing this, Zhong Zhiwei smiled and retrieved two silk pouches from within her robes. She opened the first one, which contained a slip of paper inscribed with the words: “Pearl Amidst Fish Eyes.”
Tao Jia understood immediately – for reasons unknown, the Emperor took great pleasure in storing strategies within silk pouches. The name of this tactic should have been “Passing Fish Eyes for Pearls,” but the young Emperor, with a touch of playful mischief, had deliberately altered it.
Zhong Zhiwei acted decisively, immediately selecting a group of soldiers to don the uniforms of the Western army. Under the cover of night, they successfully crossed the small river and swaggered into enemy territory. By the time the garrison realized something was amiss, it was too late to turn the tide. She captured the camp – which Li Huaidao had seized just three days prior – with barely any bloodshed.
Unfortunately, the subsequent encampments were not as easily taken.
Zhong Zhiwei and Tao Jia, however, were in no rush. First, they carefully rounded up the surrendered troops to prevent further unrest, then allowed the entire army to rest for half a day. It was only after nightfall the following day that they stealthily approached the now-alerted enemy camp and launched their attack, seizing the opportune moment.
Though they also chose a night assault, Zhong Zhiwei and Tao Jia were far more cautious than Li Huaidao had been.
Near the forest outside the main camp, a Western soldier on guard duty noticed a fellow soldier in similar attire walking calmly toward him. Finding it odd, he was about to ask the other’s purpose when he suddenly realized the man’s face was unfamiliar – not someone he knew.
The Western soldier felt a jolt of alarm and was about to raise a warning cry, but before he could act, an enemy who had silently crept up behind him slit his throat.
Fresh red blood splattered on the ground, mingling with the rainwater and silently seeping into the soil. Within this veil of fine, gauzy rain, the outer sentries of the Western army were quietly eliminated one by one. The Jianping forces took their positions, encircling the enemy camp.
Zhong Zhiwei personally went to the front lines to oversee the battle. She positioned archers and crossbowmen, instructing the soldiers to tie pieces of oil-soaked cloth to their arrows, ignite them, and shoot them into the camp.
Bright flames tore through the night as burning arrows fell like a meteor shower. The stables and the common soldiers’ quarters caught fire the fastest, turning into a blazing inferno in moments. Warhorses neighed in panic, stampeding and crashing about. Soldiers jolted awake from their sleep, running and shouting frantically. Perhaps because the fire erupted too fiercely, perhaps because they were still disoriented from sleep, or perhaps because the psychological strain of opposing the imperial court boiled over in this moment of defeat, the camp descended into the dreadful chaos known as “camp terror.”
“Camp terror” referred to a situation where soldiers suddenly lost all control at night, acting in disorder and attacking each other. During such an outbreak, the commander’s authority plummeted to its lowest, and orders became nearly impossible to convey. In the ensuing pandemonium, a member of the Lao clan responsible for managing this camp was trampled to death by the terrified horses.
For Zhong Zhiwei and the others, the camp terror was unexpected, but the roaring flames before them were not.
Before this expedition, the Emperor had allocated a large amount of supplies from the Imperial Household. Knowing that Dan and Tai provinces were often rainy, she specifically ordered an extra stock of felt cloth made from animal hides. These felt sheets were soaked in oil, nominally for waterproofing, but their actual purpose was to serve as flammable material under special circumstances.
Beyond these special supplies –
Zhong Zhiwei sighed, “It is indeed a southeast wind.”
The southeast wind blew from the southeast toward the northwest. She watched as the fire spread all the way westward from their position. By the light of the raging flames below, Zhong Zhiwei opened the second silk pouch. Inside, the slip of paper bore only four clean and decisive characters: “Burning the Linked Camps.”
Before the expedition, Zhong Zhiwei had once sought the Emperor’s guidance on how to employ the tactic of “burning the linked camps.” After all, the populations of Dan and Tai were not large, so the Western army wouldn’t necessarily need to pitch their camps too close together.
The Emperor, however, explained that those linked camps were not for Western Tribes to build, but for them to build themselves. When the time for battle came, they would first feign weakness, then invite the enemy into the trap.
When Li Huaidao and his men happily occupied the camps previously established by Jianping, they had, in fact, already walked right into a fatal snare.
And the one who chose to act tonight was not Zhong Zhiwei alone.
Tao Jia had been forced back step by step from the foot of Lai’an all the way to this place. The vanguard he led had nearly been routed by Li Huaidao several times. However, he also used these opportunities to disperse some small units under the pretext of them being lost or fleeing in disarray. One such unit was led by Tao Jing.
After separating from the main force, Tao Jing and his men had lain low in the dense forests. Unaware that the game system could provide detailed maps, Tao Jing strongly suspected that the Emperor had actually been preparing for war with Western Tribes long in advance. Otherwise, it would be difficult to explain how she could have selected the precise locations for constructing the camps in such a short time. He had meticulously studied the map and determined that, if built according to the Emperor’s instructions, once these camps caught fire, the blaze would easily spread uncontrollably. Moreover, the areas surrounding the camps were all conducive to concealment.
Tao Jing privately admired her. For generations, the Tao clan had dedicated themselves to gathering intelligence about the western regions, yet their understanding seemed less comprehensive than that of the Emperor alone.
The days spent in the forest had left Tao Jing somewhat weakened. If not for the mild wine and the alum to purify water that he had brought along, he might have already fallen ill and lost his combat effectiveness. His concealment was not difficult – because Li Huaidao and his troops had advanced too smoothly in the campaign, they never had time to sweep the surrounding areas, giving Tao Jing’s unit the perfect opportunity.
Tao Jing received a verbal message from a courier: Captain Zhong had arrived. The scattered forces also needed to prepare for the counterattack.
A personal guard asked with excitement, “Will you personally lead the charge today?”
Tao Jing smiled. “After waiting this long, of course I’ll go myself.”
The guard sighed with feeling. “Captain, you have truly endured much hardship these past days.”
Only those within their own ranks understood the real reason Tao Jing had been dispatched to the rear. It was never simply to escort provisions, but to guard against surprise attacks. They were meant to suffer defeat, but not a complete rout. While withdrawing, they had to ensure the core strength of the army remained largely intact.
Tao Jing did not refute his guard’s words. In truth, the waiting he referred to was not just this period in the forest, but the long years spent in Jianping.
The Tao clan had been in decline for a long time. Only now, because of the Emperor, had he finally gained the chance to cleanse the shame of his ancestors. How could he not take action himself?
The place where Zhong Zhiwei and Li Huaidao clashed was called Menqu Slope. Although Wen Yanran could not see the enemy’s situation on the [War Sandbox], she could accurately track the movements of her own forces.
From the moment the battle began below Lai’an, the system had been frantically spamming notifications.
[System:
[Battle][Battle of Lai’an] Failed. Cavalry reduced by 43. Infantry reduced by 231. Militia reduced by 549. Total provisions reduced by 5220kg. Morale decreased by 5 points.
Victory and defeat are common in war. Please continue your efforts, Player.]
[System:
[Battle][Battle of ××] Failed…]
Wen Yanran was momentarily surprised – from the time of her transmigration until now, this was the first time she realized her game system could assert its presence with such high frequency, behaving like a completely different system compared to the unresponsive one she had poked at before…
In the dead of night, the rear government office was still lit.
The Emperor, who should have been asleep, had suddenly thrown on her robes and sat down by the window where she usually played chess. The attending eunuchs, aware of the recent unfavorable war situation, dared not offer any advice. They immediately sent someone to urgently summon Chi Yi and Zhang Luo while carefully tending to the Emperor.
Wen Yanran wasn’t suffering from insomnia. However, when receiving important messages, the game interface would vibrate, intentionally disrupting its host’s sleep quality. She calculated the time and felt it was about right, so she simply got up.
The Emperor, draped in a dark outer robe, leaned against the armrest and opened the panel visible only to her. She skipped past the flood of defeat notifications and directly selected the latest one –
[System:
[Battle][Battle of Menqu Slope] Victory.]
Fifteen minutes later, the wording of the system notification changed –
[System:
[Battle][Battle of Menqu Slope] Decisive Victory.
Player has achieved the accomplishments [Victory Against the Odds] and [Masterful Stratagem].]
