"ENEMY ATTACK!"
The scream tore through the cold morning air.
Huo Jun did not even flinch.
The man practically slept in his armor. Most people would complain about bruises and sore shoulders, but Huo Jun seemed to think a full suit of lamellar armor was more comfortable than a mattress.
The instant the alarm rang out, he rolled off his cot, landed on his feet, and charged out of the tent before his guards had even finished fastening their swords.
He climbed the nearest watchtower, glanced toward the horizon, and immediately understood what was happening.
No hesitation.
No heroic speech.
Just orders.
"Break camp!" Huo Jun bellowed. "Fall back through Xie Valley! We'll make our stand at Xieyu Pass!"
Below the tower, Wei Yan was already moving.
He didn't waste time asking questions or confirming details. He simply turned and sprinted through the camp, roaring the orders until every squad leader had heard them at least twice.
This was not a panicked rout. This was a highly choreographed retreat.
See, the Wuzhang Plains camp had a direct hotline to Hanzhong. Fa Zheng sent letters almost daily, and Pang Tong dropped highly opinionated personal missives every few days. Thanks to their obsessive intelligence gathering, Cao Cao showing up with a massive army was not a surprise. It was literally in the itinerary.
When they had wargamed this exact scenario a few weeks ago, Pang Tong's advice had been beautifully simple. Run.
Wuzhang Plains was a fortress if the armies were evenly matched. Shu Han tactics were superior; they could poke, prod, and starve out a siege.
But if Cao Cao arrived with overwhelming numbers, tactics went out the window. Cao Cao would not bother with clever sieges. He would just cut off the Bao Xie road, sever their supply line to Hanzhong, and sit back to watch them starve.
To make matters worse, it was the dry season. The rivers were basically shallow puddles right now, making it ridiculously easy for Cao Cao's forces to cross.
Pang Tong had literally crunched the numbers on a piece of paper. Enemy estimate: 30,000 infantry, 4,000 elite cavalry. Han forces at Wuzhang: a few thousand guys with pointy sticks. The math was brutally, hilariously simple.
So, when the enemy actually showed up, Huo Jun did not hesitate to pull the plug, and Wei Yan executed the evacuation like a well-oiled machine.
Which is why, when the vanguard of Cao Cao's army finally crested the hills and marched down to the banks of the Wugong River, they did not find a terrified, disorganized mob.
They found a perfectly disciplined Shu Han army marching away in neat little rows. And as a parting gift, the entire Wuzhang Plains camp was already burning to a crisp behind them.
"They are awfully decisive, are they not?" Du Xi muttered.
Sitting atop his warhorse, the commander of the Cao vanguard stared across the river, his face twisting into a look of profound disappointment. It was the exact expression of a man who had just realized the girl he was chasing had run off with his best friend before he could even make a move.
For the past year, Liu Bei's forces in this region had been an absolutely annoying. Knowing full well that the Cao army was starving and could not launch a full-scale offensive, the Han troops had gotten incredibly cocky. They had spent the last twelve months launching endless, highly irritating guerrilla raids.
Thanks to this constant trolling, Cao military intelligence had built a very specific psychological profile of the enemy commander. Everyone was convinced Wei Yan was just an arrogant, hot-headed meathead with a massive ego and zero impulse control. The brass fully expected him to plant his feet, puff out his chest, and fight a glorious, suicidal last stand. They had even prepared a eulogy for him in advance.
Now, the Cao army had finally scraped together enough grain to launch a massive counter-offensive. They had marched out ready to crush the cocky upstart into dust.
Instead, the guy just ran. And worse, he ran with terrifying, professional efficiency. He did not even hesitate to burn a heavily fortified camp they had spent months building. Not a single grain of rice left behind. Just a giant middle finger made of smoke.
"General," a colonel riding nearby chimed in. "Since they are retreating, we need to force a crossing of the Wugong River right now. We need to bite their tail and scramble their formation."
The colonel pointed toward the distant valley.
"If we let them reach the mouth of the valley and set up a defensive line, digging them out is going to be a massive pain in the ass."
Du Xi turned and looked at the colonel with a look of approval.
"Derong," Du Xi said softly. He used the man's courtesy name. "You could have stayed in the capital. You could have lived a comfortable life as the Governor of Jingzhao in Chang'an. Yet, you insisted on taking a military commission to ride into battle with the vanguard. Your dedication to the state is truly commendable."
Du Xi paused to stroke his beard.
"Furthermore, your tactical suggestion is extremely sound and based on solid reasoning. It is a very good plan."
Du Xi took another pause.
"Therefore, you may pass down my orders. We shall cross the river, pursue the enemy, seize the mouth of the valley, and drive out these rebel thieves!"
Zhang Ji, known as Derong, stared at his commanding officer in silence. He was completely speechless.
He suddenly felt that Du Xi was entirely unsuited for battlefield command. Giving an order should be simple. Why was the man delivering a long speech during a critical tactical window?
Oh, for heaven's sake, Zhang Ji thought, the enemy is running for the hills, and this man is delivering a commencement address. Just say "charge" and let us move.
Zhang Ji yanked hard on his horse's reins. He was done listening to this nonsense. He prepared to lead the charge across the water himself.
"The General has issued his orders!" Zhang Ji roared to the men. "Pursue the enemy!"
Before he could spur his horse forward, Du Xi suddenly remembered a specific instruction he had received in a recent letter. He raised his hand, cleared his throat, and launched into another speech.
"Derong, wait! Hold your horses! Before you charge off into glorious battle, I must remind you of something of great importance. A matter that cannot be overlooked. When you defeat the rebel forces, and I have every confidence that you will, given your exceptional martial prowess and tactical acumen, you must ensure you take one or two of them alive. Do not slaughter them all in your righteous fury. We need prisoners. Living, breathing prisoners who can answer questions. We must interrogate them thoroughly to determine if the young son of the Sima family from Hedong has fallen into their hands. This is a matter of utmost urgency. Do you understand, Derong? Do you comprehend the gravity of this request? I trust you do, for I have explained it in great detail."
Zhang Ji stared at his commanding officer for a long, painful moment.
Fuck.
Then he just threw a lazy wave over his shoulder and spurred his horse down the muddy embankment without saying a single word.
He immediately spurred his horse down the muddy embankment to direct the soldiers crossing the river.
Finally, Zhang Ji thought. Now I can actually do my job instead of listening to poetry recitals.
Du Xi gathered a small group of personal bodyguards and rode up to a high ridge overlooking the battlefield.
From there, he watched the chaotic beauty of a massive army in motion. The Cao forces spilled forward like quicksilver flowing down a hill.
The Wugong River slowed their momentum slightly, but the shallow water could not completely halt their advance. The soldiers splashed through the freezing currents and scrambled up the opposite bank.
It did not take long. The vanguard of Cao Cao's army slammed directly into the rear guard of Liu Bei's forces.
The morning air was biting cold. The sharp clash of steel on steel did not travel very far in the heavy winter atmosphere. The sounds of weapons striking shields were muted. However, the piercing, guttural screams of men dying cut through the air with clarity.
Those specific screams triggered something dark in Du Xi's mind. They reminded him of the brutal siege of Xi'e County. He remembered the desperate cries of the civilian militia he had led against Liu Biao's forces years ago. So many innocent people had died in that slaughter.
Now, that very same Xi'e County was occupied by these rebels. The political landscape was a twisted nightmare.
During the massive campaign in the Jingzhou and Xiangyang regions, it was at Xi'e County where Guan Yu had cornered and executed Cao Cao's own cousin, Cao Hong.
Before the new year arrived, Cao Cao had dispatched a diplomatic envoy to meet with Guan Yu. The request was simple and rooted in basic human decency.
Cao Cao wanted the corpse of his cousin returned for a proper burial.
Guan Yu had delivered a response dripping with contempt. He claimed he had personally decapitated Cao Hong with his own blade. He stated that digging up a fresh grave would bring bad luck. He suggested that Cao Cao should send one of his young nephews down to the frontline to dig through the dirt and handle the funeral arrangements themselves.
The diplomatic mission had collapsed.
The insult was unforgivable.
Guan Yu had essentially told Cao Cao, "Come get him yourself."
Standing on the ridge, Du Xi finally understood the grand strategy. Cao Cao wanted revenge. He wanted to personally carve a path of destruction straight into enemy territory.
This year, the flames of war were igniting in the Guanzhong region first.
Du Xi looked at the tactical map in his mind. He felt pessimistic about this entire operation.
If they pushed south, they had to bleed their way into Hanzhong. The only ways through the mountains were the treacherous Bao Xie road and the Chencang narrow paths.
If Liu Bei felt threatened, he could simply set fire to the wooden plank roads built into the cliffs. The Cao army would be trapped in the mountains with nowhere to go.
If they tried to pivot west, they would be marching into the barren wastelands of Yongzhou and Liangzhou provinces. Those territories were controlled by Ma Chao and Han Sui. Their armies were composed almost entirely of Han cavalry veterans and fierce Qiang nomadic riders. They moved like the wind. Trying to catch them was like trying to punch a hurricane. You would just end up tired and embarrassed.
Du Xi shook his head. He needed to focus on the battle in front of him.
He made a rapid tactical decision.
Cupping his hands around his mouth, Du Xi bellowed down to the reserve commanders. "Lu Zhao! Zhu Ling! You two take a detachment! Move further south down the riverbank! Find a shallow crossing, get to the other side, and hit the enemy rear!"
Lu Zhao and Zhu Ling were former warlords who had surrendered to Cao Cao.
Last year, they had been handed command of an expeditionary force sent to chew up the western provinces. The campaign had been an unmitigated catastrophe. Ma Chao had turned them into a cautionary tale on the battlefield, and they had crawled back in disgrace, tails tucked so far between their legs they practically needed a chiropractor.
Now, they were desperate men clawing for any chance to scrub the stain off their records.
The two disgraced generals bowed so deeply from their saddles they nearly pitched face first into the mud. Then they started screaming at their officers, pulling a detachment of infantry away from the main force, and marching rapidly south along the river.
With the army split into two prongs, Du Xi had exactly zero reserve units left to play with. All he could do was sit on his horse, wrapped in his heavy cloak, and watch the unfolding violence below like a man reviewing a particularly stressful tax audit.
"The commander leading this rebel army is a genuine military talent," Du Xi murmured to himself.
He watched the engagement with narrowed eyes. Zhang Ji's aggressive pursuit was not achieving a damn thing. The Han army was retreating, sure, but their formation stayed tight as a drum. Their speed was controlled, deliberate, insulting in its calm. Du Xi could not help but offer a word of praise.
What truly snagged his attention, though, was the specific tactical maneuver the enemy was pulling.
They were retreating, but not in the traditional way. No giant, slow moving square trudging backward like a tortoise with a shell problem. Instead, the enemy commander had split his rear guard into two distinct, highly mobile units.
These two units were executing a flawless leapfrog maneuver. One unit would plant their shields, brace their spears, and eat the pursuing Cao soldiers' charge. Once they broke the momentum, they would fall back. The instant they moved, the second unit stepped forward to absorb the next wave.
They covered each other constantly.
They swapped defensive duties with a rhythm that was hypnotic to watch. Shields locked. Spears braced. Then a step back. Then the next rank stepped forward, fresh and unbroken. It was like watching a machine built entirely of iron and human will.
Du Xi studied the bloody dance for a long, uncomfortable stretch, his jaw tightening with each failed charge.
The conclusion was obvious: Zhang Ji was just feeding men into a meat grinder. The vanguard was making precisely zero progress. Every assault collapsed against that wall of shields, and every time the Shu Han lines simply reformed, tighter than before, like a wound that refused to stay open.
The only hope for a breakthrough rested entirely on the flanking maneuver.
Du Xi turned his head south.
Zhu Ling and Lu Zhao had successfully reached a bend in the Wugong River. They were currently screaming at their men to wade into the freezing water and cross, which was going about as well as you would expect.
Down in the valley, Huo Jun possessed eyes like a hawk with a personal grudge.
He immediately spotted the secondary column of Cao troops attempting to ford the river on his right flank.
His brain shifted into overdrive. Decision made.
"Wenchang!" Huo Jun shouted, using Wei Yan's courtesy name. "You take full command of the main retreat! Keep the formation tight! Do not let the lines break!"
Wei Yan simply nodded.
The two commanders had spent months running the Wuzhang Plains camp together. They knew how the other thought, covered each other's blind spots like an old married couple navigating a dinner party.
The messenger soldiers, completely accustomed to these rapid shifts in command structure, instantly fanned out, screaming Wei Yan's orders to maintain the leapfrog retreat.
With the main body secured, Huo Jun drew his sword. The cold steel caught the pale morning light.
"Sons of Zhijiang!" Huo Jun roared, his voice cutting clean through the din of battle. "Step out of formation! Follow me to repel the enemy!"
A massive roar answered him. Seven hundred elite soldiers, Huo Jun's own personal retinue, heavily trained in his specific, deeply unpleasant brand of warfare, broke away from the rear guard. They did not hesitate. They followed Huo Jun in a dead sprint directly into the shadows of the Xieyu Pass.
On the southern banks of the river, Zhu Ling watched the enemy formation suddenly split.
He had absolutely no idea what was happening.
His brain, operating on the generous assumption that the universe owed him a win after the Ma Chao disaster, concluded that the intense pressure of the retreat had caused a breakdown in enemy discipline.
The rebel army was fracturing.
A grin spread across Zhu Ling's face. Pure, unadulterated joy. He violently whipped his horse and screamed at his freezing soldiers to move faster through the icy water. Victory was practically being handed to him on a silver platter. Wrapped in a bow. With a little note that said sorry about last year.
His joy lasted exactly thirty seconds.
The seven hundred men who had vanished into the pass suddenly reappeared. They came surging back out of the rocky valley mouth in a full sprint, heading directly toward the river crossing.
Zhu Ling's smile vanished like it had never existed. They were coming to intercept his troops while they were vulnerable in the water.
A scowl darkened his face. Every junior officer understood the basic military principle of attacking an enemy while they were half crossed over a river. It was textbook strategy. Page one. However, attempting to execute that strategy with a mere seven hundred men against a force of thousands was, by any reasonable calculation, absolute suicide.
Riding next to him, Lu Zhao possessed slightly better eyesight. The blood drained from his face so fast he looked like he had seen a ghost.
"Brother!" Lu Zhao screamed in full panic. "They all have crossbows!"
Because both men were surrendered generals operating in a hostile political climate where one wrong word could get them executed, they stuck together for survival. They had formed a tight bond and frequently referred to each other as brothers, which was either touching or deeply codependent depending on your perspective.
"Stop panicking!" Zhu Ling barked harshly. "They only have a thousand crossbows at most! They can fire maybe three or four volleys before we reach the bank! What are you so afraid of?"
Zhu Ling was a veteran of the northern campaigns. The armies of the Hebei region utilized heavy crossbowmen frequently. He was familiar with the weapon's capabilities. He made a rapid calculation based on his years of experience, and the math looked perfectly fine.
Lu Zhao's face remained twisted in fear. The fundamental weakness of a crossbow was common knowledge. It took a massive amount of physical strength and time to crank the string back and load a new bolt. The fire rate was agonizingly slow.
However, that slow reload speed was the trade off for devastating stopping power. A crossbow bolt could punch through standard infantry armor like it was made of wet paper.
Even if you commanded elite troops, charging a line of loaded crossbows guaranteed heavy casualties. Men were going to die in the mud. Lu Zhao deeply, profoundly did not want to become a nameless ghost pinned to the riverbed by an iron bolt. He had plans. Vague ones, but plans nonetheless.
Zhu Ling maintained a facade of cold indifference. He watched the enemy unit close the distance.
The Shu Han soldiers sprinted all the way to the muddy edge of the riverbank. They did not stop to catch their breath. The moment their boots hit the mud, they raised their weapons.
A sharp, unified mechanical clack echoed across the water. A dense swarm of black iron bolts rained down upon the crossing troops.
This was the fundamental difference between standard archers and crossbowmen. If a unit of archers sprinted a hundred yards, their heart rates would skyrocket. Their breathing would turn ragged. If they tried to draw a heavy bowstring while panting for air, their accuracy would go straight to hell.
A crossbow did not care about your heart rate. Once it was loaded, you just pointed the wood and pulled the trigger mechanism. Simple. Elegant. Deeply unfair to the people on the receiving end.
Zhu Ling completely ignored this tactical reality. He ignored the horrific screams of his vanguard troops. He did not look at the soldiers who took bolts to the chest and slumped lifelessly into the rushing water, their blood staining the river red. He simply began counting in his head.
The second volley hit.
The third volley tore through his ranks.
Zhu Ling watched the enemy soldiers at the front of the line raise their weapons once again. He felt a surge of adrenaline. He believed, truly, deeply believed, he had calculated the exact moment of victory.
The fourth volley of iron bolts shredded the air.
"The enemy is out of ammunition!" Zhu Ling roared at the top of his lungs, his voice echoing over the splashing water. "All units, charge the bank!"
A wave of relief washed over Lu Zhao. He grinned wildly, spurred his horse forward, hooves clattering loudly onto the wooden planks of a hastily constructed pontoon bridge. He raised his sword, ready to lead the glorious slaughter of the defenseless enemy.
The Han army answered Zhu Ling's command with a fifth volley.
There was no pause. There was no desperate scrambling to reload. No fumbling fingers cranking strings.
The soldiers in the first rank simply stepped back. The soldiers in the second rank stepped forward, their weapons already loaded and aimed. The soldiers in the third rank were already cranking their strings back. It was a flawless, terrifying cycle of mechanical death. They were firing in structured ranks, unleashing a steady, uninterrupted stream of iron.
The sixth volley fired.
The seventh volley fired.
Lu Zhao did not even have time to register the mistake. He threw his head back as a heavy crossbow bolt punched cleanly through the center of his throat. The impact tore him from the saddle, his sword spinning from his grip as his lifeless body tumbled backward and splashed heavily into the freezing, blood soaked river.