Chapter 45

This was a colossal battle involving nearly a million men, the main forces on both sides brought to the brink of open confrontation. Once engaged, there was no delay; with the most ferocious force, they charged at each other. The thunderous sounds of war erupted, shaking the very earth as if mountains and seas roared together. The tumult surged like a tidal wave, the heavens and earth changing color, the very ground trembling beneath their feet. The cries of battle shook the sky, resounding through the mountains, reverberating in the hearts of every man.

Even from a great distance, the roar of the battlefield could be clearly felt. Xie Ci led forty-three thousand Hu cavalry and infantry, galloping at breakneck speed. They were racing against time! Several segments of the Liangshui River had been breached, and the Hu tribesmen from several prefectures, summoned by emergency conscription, surged forth in force. Their aim was to strike the Great Wei army from behind! The arrow was nocked; the assault was imminent. They had to arrive before the battle reached its climax, before the Northern Rong seized their perfect opportunity.

The cavalry and infantry pressed forward at full speed. Wei Zhen and Chen Huang led the vanguard, doing everything in their power to cut down the Northern Rong’s scouts. They could not allow Hu Yan De to discover them until they were at least thirty li from the main battlefield.

Layer by layer, from top to bottom, everyone gave their utmost. At last, they managed to conceal their movements and arrived perilously close—thirty li from the battleground. The terrain was rolling hills covered with low woods; the sounds of the titanic struggle, shaking mountains and earth, were now upon them. Every man felt the thrilling tremors, the deafening cries and the clash of arms.

Xie Ci suddenly pulled his horse to a halt. The warhorse reared, neighing at the sky, its forehooves thudding onto the earth. He tugged the reins, turning to face his men. The clamor of battle was overwhelming. He shouted, “Soldiers!” His gaze swept across the dense ranks of armored cavalry and infantry, lingering on the Hu troops from Guiyi Prefecture—many without armor, panting but filled with unyielding spirit.

Xie Ci declared, word by word, “From this day forward, as long as I live, I will stand with Guiyi Prefecture.” As long as Guiyi Prefecture stood, so would he; together, until the last moment of his life. In that instant, He Yuan and the others were moved to tears. They believed him, for this was Xie Ci, son of the Xie family’s great general.

A thunderous response erupted, sweeping across the ranks like a storm. Tears streamed down the faces of the Hu tribesmen as they raised their weapons and cried with all their might, “We swear to follow the general to the death! We will lay down our lives for the general—”

“Good!” Xie Ci answered loudly. He turned, his golden-bladed saber pointing toward the battlefield of the Qingshui Plain. He roared, “My brothers! My soldiers! Advance with me at full speed—”

With a long, piercing neigh, his horse leapt forward. Forty-three thousand men erupted in a tidal wave of shouts, surging forth with unstoppable resolve! Among them were Qin Guan, Chen Huang, Wei Zhen, Chen Lang, and even Chen Lang gripped his weapon tight, shouting as he charged. Go forth and die, Northern Rong!

Hooves and boots thundered like drawn swords, cleaving forward. At the very front, Xie Ci leveled his long saber, his eyes sharp and resolute. From this day forth, he would not only be the son of Xie Xinzhong; he would be his own name.

Victory or death—nothing less.

With a fierce cry, leading forty-three thousand men, Xie Ci followed the established route of Guiyi Prefecture and plunged into the maelstrom of battle!

At this moment, the battle on the Qingshui Plain had reached its fevered peak. No one spared a thought for anything but the slaughter—kill, kill, and kill again. In the deadlock, the secret plan that Hu Yan De, the new king of Northern Rong, had prepared for years was finally set in motion.

This king, just thirty, in his prime and as fierce as a wolf king of the steppe, always led his iron cavalry from the front—wherever he swept, the enemy fell before him like grass before the scythe.

Suddenly, he reined in his horse. It was noon; black clouds swirled as smoke and dust billowed skyward. The moment he had awaited for so long had finally arrived.

Before him, the Great Wei army was locked in combat with the Northern Rong cavalry, unable to break away. Blood spattered Hu Yan De’s hawk-like eyes, all of it the blood of Wei soldiers.

In this battle, at least 150,000 to 200,000 of Wei’s elite would be annihilated—most of their cavalry among them. Barring the unforeseen, this would be the pivotal battle to open the way for the invasion of the Han heartlands.

The rain began to pour, the wind howled, and anticipation burned on the faces of Hu Yan De and his men. At the same time, Xun Xun, in the thick of the fighting, was wild with excitement. The wind wailed.

“It’s coming! At last, it’s coming—” he hacked at the opponent’s mount, blood spraying over his face. He could not conceal the crazed joy in his eyes. He was near to laughing at the sky.

Die! He stared ahead, eyes fixed on the epicenter of the slaughter. The great massacre had been underway for some time; as soon as the Liangshui River was breached, as soon as the stab in the back began, the tide would turn and Great Wei would collapse.

He remembered—wasn’t that where Qin Xian stood? Qin Xian was doomed! The Lingzhou army would be wiped out! Xun Xun thought of them and sneered coldly.

But at that critical instant, an unexpected force suddenly burst into the battlefield!

Xie Ci led his troops into the fray at lightning speed—swift as thunder, fierce as a tiger—tearing open the battle lines and unleashing carnage. This was an incredibly arduous and bloody assault, a near-suicidal gambit, yet every man fought with a do-or-die resolve.

The Northern Rong, who had been waiting for Guiyi Prefecture to break through so they could spring their trap, were caught completely off guard. Instead, Guiyi Prefecture veered off course and plunged into the line where Northern Rong and Great Wei were locked in stalemate, unleashing a savage melee. For a moment, chaos reigned.

Northern Rong’s general, Hu Yan Kun, quickly regained his wits and cursed furiously. “Surround them, quickly—block the breach!” he bellowed. The Northern Rong iron cavalry responded swiftly, reining in the confusion and launching a counterattack. But the black-armored commander at the front spun his mount, leading his cavalry straight into the heart of the chaos.

Under the oppressive clouds, forty-three thousand Hu cavalry and infantry tore open the encirclement, carving a bloody path. Following Xie Ci’s lead, they struck first at the Northern Rong infantry, which even included cooks and support troops in the outermost ring.

Both sides fought with everything they had; it was a battle to the death.

Xie Ci broke through the infantry, tearing a gaping hole in the encirclement. The Wei troops in that sector felt a sudden relief and counterattacked with renewed vigor.

Liang Fen, Governor of Xiang Prefecture, gasped for breath on the edge of life and death. He shouted, “Follow them! We attack together!” With the addition of two thousand cavalry, their fighting strength surged. Xie Ci wheeled his horse, charging toward the center.

Blood spattered his face, his eyes blazing. Xu Xiao had been right: he had always concealed his true strength. The time had not yet come, and there were secrets he dared not reveal, always afraid of exposure.

But now, he was utterly clear—he could no longer keep hiding. He had to become strong, stronger than ever!

Xie Ci swept his saber in a mighty arc, creating a vacuum around him as he pressed forward. He thought of his father, his elder and younger brothers, and Gu Wan, who had traveled a thousand miles by his side, and his family, who lived in obscurity. He threw back his head and howled, breaking through all obstacles.

He led his troops straight for Qin Xian.

Qin Xian was on the brink of death; the Lingzhou troops were under crushing pressure. He, Qin Yong, and Wei Qin fought desperately, blood spraying as they barely held the line. Suddenly, Wei Qin was struck down, blood spraying as he fell from his horse. His second son leapt forward, blocking the killing blow. Their fates hung by a thread.

The Lingzhou line wavered, chaos erupting as the Northern Rong cavalry closed in with howls. Qin Xian’s eyes were bloodshot.

But at that critical moment, a commotion erupted to the rear. Without hesitation, Qin Xian rushed to hold the line at Wei Qin’s side. After three days and nights of bitter combat, his eyes were red, clinging to life.

At that moment of life and death, Xie Ci finally broke through the encirclement and arrived with his troops!

A metallic clang rang out as Xie Ci’s golden saber intercepted the blade aimed at Qin Xian’s back, twisting his wrist to deflect it. Qin Xian, shot with three arrows and at the end of his strength, turned in shock—it was Xie Ci.

Qin Xian’s joy knew no bounds. The siege around the Lingzhou soldiers was broken. Amid the acrid smoke, Xie Ci’s keen instincts detected the rising humidity. “Uncle Qin, quickly! Retreat to the west. We can’t stay here—”

Thunder rolled, and heavy raindrops battered their faces as Xie Ci’s expression grew more urgent. Qin Xian’s heart leapt—he straightened. “Quick! Qin Yong, Han Tong! Retreat west—move!”

The force besieging Qin Xian and the Lingzhou troops was led by Ge Er Lie, third among the ten Tiger Wolf Generals under King Hu Yan De. Sensing the shift, he shouted and charged. Qin Yong barely escaped with his life and immediately wheeled his horse.

Xie Ci turned to meet the enemy. Blood surged in his veins as he shouted, muscles taut, his golden blade crashing down with a shower of sparks. Ge Er Lie’s warhorse nearly collapsed under the blow.

They clashed for twenty or thirty rounds, none daring approach. In the end, Xie Ci’s saber felled both man and mount, blood spraying as both armies recoiled in shock.

The heavens darkened, rain lashed the earth, blood soaked the ground. The Northern Rong paled, but the Wei soldiers, after a moment’s stunned silence, erupted in renewed fighting spirit.

Xie Ci quickly ordered the Lingzhou troops to retreat west, soon joining with Su Zhen’s Suchou forces. Together, they charged westward at full speed.

They had barely left the area when a thunderous boom sounded—the dike of the Liangshui burst, and a torrent of water, driven by the pouring rain, surged toward the Qingshui battlefield.

Shouts and cries erupted as, at the moment of the breach, Hu tribesmen from three more prefectures, long hidden, emerged with weapons to slaughter the rear. In just moments, the situation changed dramatically.

With his instinctive grasp of the battlefield, Xie Ci, leading the Lingzhou and Suchou troops west, shouted, “East! Press the Northern Rong left flank—attack their Qian position!”

“Uncle Qin, Uncle Su, each take twenty thousand men—one east, one west! Reinforce the rear and right wing assaulted from behind—”

“Quick—!”

“Yes!”

For a moment, it was as if they had returned to the days under Xie Xinzhong’s command. Orders were issued and executed without hesitation—they charged forward at full speed.

Both sides gave their all.

Hu Yan De’s face darkened. “Who are they?!”

The Wei main force, surrounded, was like a tiger bound in chains—now, in their desperate charge, they began to break free. This was their only chance to turn defeat into victory and escape.

Lu Xinyi and all the generals, as Hu troops surged from the breached river, instantly understood the trap that had been set. For a moment, Wei’s ranks wavered, but the officers fought to restore order.

Through the storm, Xie Ci broke through to the central army. At the height of the slaughter, he tossed aside his not-quite-favored saber and seized a silver spear.

The spear trembled, sweeping all before him. Horses neighed in terror, and within thirty zhang, he carved out a clear space. The Northern Rong cavalry lost heart, their mounts refusing to charge.

As for the Wei generals, never had they seen such a fierce and valiant warrior—only heard of such legends. This young, black-armored general seemed the reincarnation of the founding hero Xie Guanshan—mighty enough to split mountains and shake the world.

Blood surged in every heart.

Lu Xinyi’s eyes widened as rain washed over him. Xie Ci, several times, rode through the muddy, raging river, soaked to the skin. The makeup Gu Wan had carefully applied had long since washed away, but Xie Ci hid nothing—victory was all that mattered.

“Marshal Lu! Hurry—!”

Shouts echoed behind him. Even the Third and Fourth Princes, there only to earn battle honors, saw this as a once-in-a-lifetime chance to reverse the tide; their voices were hoarse with excitement.

—The two princes were supposed to be earning glory, but as the battle turned, they were terrified, their faces pale, their guards clustering around them. The fifteen-year-old Fourth Prince, face flushed, even rode forward, shouting.

Lu Xinyi scarcely hesitated; nothing mattered more than the outcome before him. In a flash, his eyes reddened, but he forced himself to look away, shouting, “Left wing! Regroup! Rear guard, incline left! Zhang Daishan, Zheng Shoufang—attack the Northern Rong left with everything you have! Quickly—charge!”

Like a massive machine, the gears finally turned, faster and faster until they roared to life. Five hundred thousand Wei troops broke through the encirclement, their shouts shaking the heavens as they counterattacked. Xun Xun’s eyes were bloodshot: How could this be? How could this be—?

On the Northern Rong center front, Hu Yan De’s face finally changed. He charged to meet the enemy himself—horses pounding, sabers gleaming, arrows raining. With a clash, a spear rattled down his arm, nearly splitting his palm. Through the rain, he glimpsed eyes of unmatched brilliance and ferocity. Shocked, Hu Yan De realized Wei possessed a warrior of peerless valor.

They battled through seventy or eighty rounds. Hu Yan De’s arms ached with strain. Shocked and enraged, he saw the tide turn. If he did not withdraw, Northern Rong would suffer catastrophic loss.

Though furious, the wolf king of the steppe was decisive. Eyes blazing, he retreated, abandoning the struggle with Xie Ci. As he looked back at the black-armored, silver-spear general carving a path through his men, he shouted, “Order the troops—regroup and withdraw toward Guikuan North Pass! Fight as we retreat!”

Hu Yan De withdrew in anger. This battle, planned for years and pushed to completion with Xun Xun, had failed at the final moment.

This encirclement and counterattack raged for two days and nights. After Northern Rong pulled back, the fighting shifted along the Qingshui Valley and Plain, finally ending at nightfall the next day—a battle that left the sun and moon darkened.

The Wei main force rallied and broke free, snatching victory from certain defeat, pursuing the Northern Rong as far as the Guikuan North Pass.

Exhausted, with the terrain favoring defense, both sides finally disengaged. The Wei army withdrew. Soldiers, arms limp with fatigue, bore the smiles of survivors. The officers, understanding what had occurred, were left shaken, breathing heavily.

As they rode, hearts still pounding, they realized—they had turned defeat into victory! This battle had overturned the disaster of the previous life, when 150,000 elite troops were lost and the tide turned against them. Xie Ci’s purpose was finally accomplished in this brutal struggle.

Light rain fell as Xie Ci rode slowly forward. Qin Xian, Su Zhen, Chen Yan, Kou Wen Shao, Wei Qin, and the others, overwhelmed with emotion, spurred their horses toward him. When they saw his upright figure, still exuding the aura of battle, leading his troops, their excitement reached its peak.

Tears glistened in Qin Xian’s eyes as he wiped them away.

They galloped up, dismounted, and knelt on one knee. “Young General—!”

With a heavy thud, their knees struck the ground. The younger generation—Qin Guan, Wei Zhen, and the rest—also dismounted and knelt, hands clasped in salute.

“Young General—”

It was the title once held by Xie Ci’s elder brother, Xie Hua, the next leader of the Xie family. The term “young” remained only because Xie Ci was still young.

Today, in this moment, Xie Ci finally took command of the Xie family’s army, becoming its soul and leader. By his deeds, he had proven himself. All who followed him were moved and utterly convinced.

The Xie family had an heir once more!

Xie Ci drew a deep breath, dismounted, and helped Qin Xian, Su Zhen, and the others to their feet. “Rise, quickly.”

His hand, irresistible, raised them up, their faces wet with tears of gratitude.

The rain fell softly, clouds shifting above. They soon remounted and rode swiftly toward the eastern formations near Lingyun and the other prefectures.

As the main force regrouped, the long-awaited Xie family guards finally found Xie Ci. Several young men galloped forward, dismounted, and knelt heavily before him, weeping tears of joy. “Fourth Young Master! Fourth Young Master—”

“We’ve come!”

They sobbed uncontrollably.

The Xie family guards, selected from generations of loyal retainers and the descendants of wounded soldiers taken in by Xie Ci’s father and grandfather, were utterly devoted. The old guards who once followed Xie Xinzhong were gone, but the guards were scattered across the capital, the Zhongyong Marquis’s estate, and their fief in Pingzhou. Those not in the north had survived—just over four hundred remained.

They had traveled a thousand miles, seeking him from the capital to Xiangzhou, then Suzhou, and finally to this battlefield at Qingshui Valley. At last, they had found Xie Ci—after countless hardships, words failed them.

At their head was Xie Yun, former deputy commander, tears streaming down his rugged face, as with the others. Xie Ci had anticipated their arrival.

He exhaled deeply, dismounted, and helped Xie Feng and the others to their feet. “You’ve worked hard.” Countless memories surged up within him.

He looked up at the sky, struggling to contain his emotions.

The rain grew lighter, a fine mist blowing onto his shoulders and armor, washing away the smell of smoke and blood. Before him, the eternal mountains gleamed green; behind him, the vast battlefield he had just crossed.

He halted his horse. Xie Yun, Qin Xian, and the others stopped as well. Xie Ci glanced back, examining his gleaming silver spear, then stretched out his hand, letting the cool rain fall into his palm.

He unwound the mottled black bandage from his hand, revealing a long, calloused, scarred hand—bearing the marks of old whippings and branding.

He had crawled through prison, bleeding and weeping, step by painful step to this day. The heat of battle had not yet faded from his veins. His heart surged, emotion rising to his eyes.

This long road had been walked with blood at every step. Today, Xie Ci had not shamed the name and glory of his forebears.

Past and present entwined before his eyes. He sat astride his horse for a long moment, then pressed his heels to its flanks and galloped toward the edge of the battlefield.

The rain stopped, the pale clouds scattered, and a brisk wind whipped his face, stirring his heart like the storm. Suddenly, he saw several figures atop a distant hill, his gaze fixed on the one at the front. After a moment’s pause, he spurred his horse, racing toward them.

A shaft of sunlight broke through, illuminating the hill’s crest at the battlefield’s edge.

From afar, Gu Wan and Qin Ying saw the approaching horsemen. Across the muddy battlefield, they splashed through puddles, galloping swiftly closer. Xie Ci, victorious, had returned.

Gu Wan and her companions had witnessed the entire battle, their hearts surging with the tide of victory.

At last, Xie Ci, clad in black armor and mounted on a black steed with a crimson cloak streaming behind, raced up the slope. In that moment, the light fell on him.

He lifted his head, his armor soaked, blood seeping from the joints—his own, or another’s, none could tell. Days of rain had paled his lips, but his eyes shone brighter than ever.

“I’m back.”

This battle had shaken mountains and hearts; now, all under heaven knew the Black-armored Young General. How many still burned with excitement, their hearts pounding in awe?

—From the iron-barred prison, to walking a thousand miles to rescue comrades in Xiangzhou, to leaving Mingzhou alone for Suzhou, then to Lingzhou, then Guiyi Prefecture, and finally this great battle at Qingshui Valley—across mountains and rivers, through every hardship.

Today, Xie Ci had triumphed in this pivotal battle, becoming the true master of the Xie family’s old army—and its guards. How much blood and tears, how much hardship along the way.

He looked at Gu Wan, standing tall atop the hill in her blue tunic. She smiled at him, as always. Xie Ci climbed the slope quickly and said to them, “I’m back.”

He walked straight to Gu Wan, telling her, “I’m back.” In that moment, their eyes met, and Gu Wan saw the emotion he could barely speak. He bent down, covering his face with his hand.

A single tear fell.

Gu Wan had worried, even knowing that in a past life, he had won fame in a battle that shook mountains. She heard the tremor in his voice, saw the tear drop into a puddle at her feet. For some reason, Gu Wan felt a sudden pang, recalling all the trials they had faced together. She hadn’t felt them so keenly at the time, but looking back, she was overwhelmed by emotion. Her eyes reddened, and she covered her face, blinking away the mist.

Xie Ci knelt, and she slowly knelt across from him, their eyes meeting.

His nostrils flared. He whispered, “I did it.”

I really did it.

We finally did it.

Gu Wan nodded vigorously, smiling.

The wind was cool, their eyes warm with unshed tears. They smiled through their tears—having faced the storms together, always side by side. Xie Ci reached out and wiped the tears from her face.

His now-rough thumb brushed her cheek, the dampness sinking into his heart. He embraced her tightly.

Thank you.

I am so lucky, because I have you!

Under the vast sky, across the endless battlefield, the fine rain drifted in the wind, falling on the green grass.

Qin Ying’s eyes grew moist, but she did not approach—for she knew this moment belonged only to them. Whether or not they would be together in the future, this time would never fade. Qin Ying lifted her face to the sky, wiped away her tears, smiled at Wen Xuan, and, pulling her by the hand, waved to Qin Guan and the others. Let’s go—let’s leave this moment for them!

Author’s Note:

Gu Wan: Oh my god, this is so emotional—I almost can’t take it.

As for battlefield intuition, it really exists. From what Ah Xiu knows, all the great generals who made it into the annals of history had some extraordinary talent. The classic example is Huo Qubing. He never got lost campaigning against the Xiongnu.

On the other hand, Li Guang, another great commander, was always getting lost. Not really his fault, of course—deserts and grasslands are vast, and ancient navigation was unreliable. Getting lost was normal.

It wasn’t that Li Guang was incompetent; it was just that Huo Qubing was extraordinary, always able to lead his troops unerringly to the enemy’s camps and bases.

It’s quite miraculous.

As for Xie Ci’s secret, as long as no one confronts him directly, there is still room to maneuver. That will be dealt with later. After all, every advantage has its drawbacks—hesitation leads nowhere. Xie Ci has figured it out, and he has broken through his shackles.