What happened?
A day later, the same question surfaced again in everyone’s hearts.
By now, they had left behind the warmth of their homes; the haze of yesterday’s wine had long since faded. Standing atop the fortress, Xu Maoxiu gazed down at the dense mass of enemies below.
Countless banners, painted in garish colors and strange characters, swayed like a forest in the wind. To the border soldiers, they were all too familiar.
They belonged to the elite troops commanded by the Western Warlord’s own uncle.
“So this is what that old bastard’s formation looks like,” Xu Bangchui spat at the side. His face, already smeared with a mix of blood and dirt, looked almost comical. Grinning wide, he said, “At last, we finally get the chance to see it for ourselves.”
Yes – at last, a chance to see it for themselves.
In the past, they would never have had the slightest chance of crossing paths with such elite soldiers.
Xu Maoxiu’s expression was grave. He said nothing, only stared silently at the enemy forces before him, counting their numbers in his head.
The mass was vast, endless as the sea – an innumerable tide of troops blanketing the land. Beyond the soldiers standing at attention, the dreaded cavalry of the Western bandits thundered back and forth, hooves rolling like unceasing thunder, as if at any moment a storm might break.
Countless or not, they still had to be counted.
Xu Maoxiu forced himself to finish.
“How many?” Fan Jianglin asked.
“Six thousand,” Xu Maoxiu replied.
The moment he spoke, the faces around him all changed.
“Damn it! That Zhao bastard said we’d strike from the rear, catch the Western bandits off guard. But who the hell is catching who off guard now? Where the hell did this information come from? How is the enemy’s main force here?” a general cursed from behind, pacing back and forth as he repeated the words. “What’s going on? Did he set us up on purpose? Why is the enemy’s main force here?”
“General,” Xu Maoxiu stepped forward and called out, “this isn’t the time to argue. What we need now is for you to decide what to do.”
The officer stopped pacing and looked back at the fortress. Aside from the few hundred men he had brought with him, there were fewer than a thousand soldiers garrisoned inside, plus about two hundred laborers. Altogether, barely two thousand. Then he recalled the enemy’s numbers just reported, and his face grew darker still.
“Have the beacons been lit?” he asked.
“Yes, sir,” his attendant answered.
“Then… then we should withdraw,” the officer said.
“But General, if we pull back now, won’t the rear be caught unprepared?” Xu Maoxiu pressed.
This fortress guarded the most perilous pass into Longgu City. Once it fell, the enemy could charge straight through. And those forces ordered to prepare for battle on the other front would, without doubt, be leaving their backs nakedly exposed to the enemy.
The officer of course understood this terrifying consequence – but he also knew the horror of staying behind.
“That disaster comes from Zhao Cheng’s blunder in judgment,” he said through clenched teeth. “In any case, the greatest blame will never fall on me.”
Xu Maoxiu hesitated for a moment.
“General, why don’t we hold them off a little longer? The messenger has already been sent, the beacons are lit – I believe one hour is enough time for General Zhao and the others to prepare,” he said, stepping forward a few paces and pointing beyond the fortress walls. “Besides, if we fall back and defend the fort, fighting from behind the walls, we’ll already have half the advantage.”
That was true. Unlike the Western bandits who excelled at thundering cavalry charges, the northwestern troops were at their strongest in siege defense.
It was both a challenge and an opportunity – an opportunity to win great merit, just as Old General Zhu had done when he held Longgu City.
The officer’s eyes lit up. “Yes! Back then, Old General Zhu defended Longgu City with barely two thousand men. Why can’t we hold our own fortress as well?” he declared loudly. “What’s more, we only need to hold out for one hour. Even if our numbers are few, we’ll show these Western bandits that Han soldiers’ lines cannot be broken, and our fortress cannot be taken!”
…
“General! General!”
In the north of Longgu City, Liu Kui paced like a trapped beast. At last, spotting an officer, he rushed over to him.
“Can we send reinforcements now?”
The officer’s face darkened; he shot Liu Kui a glare full of irritation.
“Reinforcements? What reinforcements! Get back to the walls and hold your post!” he barked.
“But General, those guards…” Liu Kui said urgently.
“Them? They’ve already lit the beacon fire. And they still don’t know to run?” the officer snapped, flinging his sleeve as he strode away.
Liu Kui stared at his retreating back, anxiety etched into his face.
“I’ll watch them. I’ll keep my eyes on them. I won’t let them run,” he muttered to himself. Clenching his teeth, he turned and dashed off.
“I don’t think they will.”
At that moment, inside the command tent, Zhou Liu-lang rose to his feet.
Every gaze in the room turned toward him.
Across the way, one officer gave him a warning look.
“Sit down, Liu-lang,” he muttered under his breath.
But the leading general was not displeased. Instead, he chuckled.
“So this is one of the Zhou family’s young men. Not bad, not bad.” Nodding with a smile, he said, “Go on, speak.”
“I believe Assistant Commander Fang and his men won’t abandon the fortress so easily,” Zhou Liu-lang said. He drew a deep breath, then reached out to point at the sand table before them. “The distance here is too great for beacon fires alone to give us enough time to prepare. The Western bandits know this, and Assistant Commander Fang and his men surely know it too. That’s why they’ll hold the fortress – to buy us time.”
“But the messenger said the Western bandits number more than four thousand, while they have fewer than two thousand,” one officer said.
Zhou Liu-lang straightened his chest.
“We Han sons have never feared being outnumbered,” he declared.
And those men hungry for glory certainly wouldn’t fear it either. This was a grand opportunity – an opportunity to make their mark, to win honor and fame. Don’t let it slip by, you fools! Don’t let it slip by! Hold on!
At his side, Zhou Liu-lang’s hanging hand clenched tightly into a fist.
Bows drew and arrows flew – feathered shafts rained down like a storm. At the very front, six men loosed shot after shot, hands never still. Their powerful volleys pierced through the shields at the base of the fortress walls, dragging cries of agony in their wake.
“The archery of those brothers from Maoyuan Mountain truly is formidable…” Assistant Commander Fang stood atop the gatehouse, murmuring. It almost seemed possible they might hold for an hour.
But before the words had even left his mouth, a sharp arrow whistled up from below, aimed straight at his face.
His bodyguard at once raised his blade to deflect it, while Assistant Commander Fang threw his head back and staggered a step away. The arrow clattered to the ground, striking his leg in passing and leaving behind a sharp sting.
A fine shot!
Truly worthy of the Western Warlord’s elite troops.
Assistant Commander Fang’s face paled as he looked upon the cheering, shrieking Western cavalry thundering about below the gate. Casting his eyes farther, at the sea of enemy troops stretching endlessly into the distance, sweat began to bead in his palms.
Perhaps… an hour was too long to hope for.
Because of the fierce rain of arrows, the wave of siege troops below the fortress rolled back like the tide.
Xu Bangchui burst into loud laughter.
“Little bastards, now you know your grandpa’s might!” His eyes reddened as he looked at the corpses piling beneath the gate. “It’s a pity we can’t drag them off later – just think how much merit that would be.”
“Don’t worry, Bangchui. There’ll be plenty more Western heads for you to hack,” one of his brothers-in-arms said with a grin.
But even before the words had faded, the beating of war drums rose again from below – the signal for a new round of assault.
To fail at even taking such a small fortress – how could they call themselves elite troops? Clearly, the enemy thought the same, and they came now with an even fiercer onslaught.
Arrows rained down once more, stones flew through the air, forcing the defenders on the walls to duck low, unable even to raise their heads.
“…How much longer?” Fan Jianglin shouted loudly.
“Almost!” Xu Maoxiu called back. “Half an hour more!”
Half an hour more…
“Why does this one hour feel like a whole day…” someone muttered.
Even so, seizing the pause in the enemy’s assault, they raised their bows and shot back.
“Any arrows left? Give me arrows!” Xu Maoxiu cried.
No one answered. When he turned, he saw that there were scarcely any men left standing on the gatehouse.
The figure of Assistant Commander Fang, who had been commanding at the center, was nowhere to be seen.
Xu Maoxiu froze in shock.
“General Fang has fled!” others, turning back as well, shouted aloud.
The cry instantly threw the gatehouse into chaos.
Two soldiers turned and bolted, but were struck by a flying stone, their skulls shattered, brains bursting out.
“Damn it, that coward!” Xu Bangchui roared.
“Don’t panic! If you run now, you’ll never outrun the Western cavalry!” Xu Maoxiu shouted, holding back the panicked soldiers. “We still need to buy time!”
“Buy time how? There aren’t enough of us left!” others shouted.
Xu Maoxiu looked down at the surging enemy below, then at the ceaseless hail of arrows and stones raining overhead.
“We burn the fortress!” he said.
The storeroom was kicked open in a frenzy, dust and broken baskets crashing out. Fan Jianglin raised his arm to shield himself, spitting twice.
“Is there oil in here?” he shouted.
Xu Maoxiu rushed inside and began rummaging around. The other three followed, searching as they went and cursing Assistant Commander Fang with every breath.
Because Assistant Commander Fang had fled early, the soldiers and laborers in the fortress had all run off with him, leaving the four of them struggling to find anything useful.
“Hurry, hurry! Bring out anything that can burn – we’re out of time, out of time!” Fan Jianglin urged.
Soon, oil jars were set at the gates, and oil was splashed over the surrounding houses and streets.
“Go, go!” Fan Jianglin shouted as soon as he judged it enough.
The handful of defenders who had been waiting impatiently on the gatehouse dashed down. In the rush, three or four were struck by arrows and stones, dying on the steps of the gate tower.
The Western bandits had already begun battering the gates, each crash pounding against the heart of every man left inside.
“Set it alight! Set it alight!” Fan Jianglin shouted as he hurled down a torch. Flames roared up at once – yet out of the corner of his eye he saw Xu Maoxiu rushing toward the wall.
“Third Brother, where are you going?!” he cried.
“No – it’s not a full hour yet! I’ll hold them off a little longer. We can’t waste all our effort and fall short at the very end!” Xu Maoxiu shouted back. As he spoke, he climbed up the wall, laying out the scattered crossbows in a row.
Fan Jianglin gave a shout and stamped forward to follow. Xu Bangchui and the others, who had already ridden off with the retreating men, turned back at the sight – and without hesitation came running after them.
One by one, ten heavy crossbows were set in place atop the wall.
“Die, you bastards!” Xu Bangchui roared, loosing his bowstring.
At the same moment, Xu Maoxiu and the rest released theirs as well. With a fierce twang, a storm of bolts tore down in unison.
Cries of agony erupted beneath the gate, and the pounding of the battering ram faltered to a halt.
“Go, go!” Fan Jianglin shouted.
But before the words had even faded, Xu Maoxiu, standing at his side, suddenly grabbed him and shoved him away.
“What – what’s wrong?” Fan Jianglin cried out as he stumbled to the ground. Looking up, he saw Xu Maoxiu staring back at him, eyes wide, filled with disbelief.
What’s wrong? What happened?
“Third Brother!”
The heart-wrenching cry rang out as their comrades rushed toward him.
To Xu Maoxiu, everything around him seemed to slow. He lowered his gaze to the arrow jutting from his chest – the bloodied head of a Western bandit’s shaft, cruel and barbed.
The last time, it had been this very kind of arrow that wounded him, the one that festered into a poisonous sore during their retreat.
The last time… and now again…
Yet a faint smile touched Xu Maoxiu’s lips.
A sickness, yes – but not a death sentence. Wasn’t it curable?
So this must be fate.
If his destiny held no glory, no grand achievements, then it held none – no matter how hard he struggled.
To die on the battlefield, to die like this – that was already enough.
“Tell her… don’t grieve.”
Xu Maoxiu’s voice was a murmur as his vision blurred, the faces of his brothers swimming before him. Then, leaning back, he toppled from the wall.
