Chapter Twelve: First Battle

The Han River in winter grew even more parched, revealing vast stretches of mudflats where the water now trickled only in broken currents. At this time, a strange phenomenon appeared on both banks. On the southern shore, the Chu army continued to gather in ever-increasing numbers; tents filled the landscape. On the northern shore, only several thousand Wu soldiers waited silently, as if anticipating something. Across the narrow strip of water, the two sides stood in stalemate.

Within Yingdu, three batches of heads had already been severed this very day.

When Nang Wa's trusted general, Wu Chenghei, entered, Nang Wa waved away the singing girls and musicians in irritation.

“Lord Prime Minister, on my way here I saw many heads hanging from the city gates.”

“It’s nothing but those foolish citizens,” Nang Wa replied, for many merchants and nobles fleeing disaster had come to Yingdu, joining the locals in discussing state affairs and secretly cursing Nang Wa’s incompetence, accusing him of lacking the courage to cross the Han River.

Wu Chenghei’s heart skipped a beat. Killing merchants was one thing, but executing citizens and nobles was a grave matter. Not daring to pursue the topic, he quickly reported the situation at the camp.

On the southern bank of the Han, the Chu army now numbered one hundred thousand, with a thousand war chariots; nearly all who could come had arrived, and supplies and arrows were well prepared.

“What of the Wu army?”

“Still only five thousand men under Fugai, with a dozen or so chariots.”

Nang Wa frowned in confusion. What were the Wu planning? Where had Helü gone?

“Our scouts have ridden out a hundred li with no trace of the Wu army.”

Wu Chenghei had spent the previous night talking with Bai Bing. After returning with the main force, Bai Bing had been noticed by Nang Wa and assigned as his deputy, remaining with the army. The two of them were fairly familiar with each other and often drank together. Bai Bing, having once lost face, was eager to redeem himself, while Wu Chenghei’s clansman, Wu Hei, had died at Fugai’s hands, so both were keen to persuade Nang Wa to attack.

Nang Wa was frustrated as well. He was to guard the Han while Lord Shen Yinshu circled behind to attack the Wu, but to outsiders, it appeared that a hundred thousand Chu soldiers were being pinned down by a mere few thousand.

“My lord, there are only two possibilities: either the Wu’s main army never arrived, and this is but a ruse, or the Wu are still trapped in the mountains and have yet to reach us.”

“Moreover, even if the plan to pincer them from both sides succeeds, in the end, people will say that General Shen’s surprise attack won the day, while you, my lord, were too timid to advance.”

“Would they dare?” Nang Wa smashed his wine cup onto the ground. “Anyone who spreads such slander, their house and clan will be exterminated!”

Though he spoke thus, his heart was already full of regret, fearing he had truly been outmaneuvered by Shen Yinshu.

Just then, attendants announced the arrival of General Wei She and Shi Huang, both requesting battle as well.

Nang Wa hesitated. The Wu were formidable, and if they encountered the enemy’s main force, there was no guarantee of victory.

Wu Chenghei seemed to read his concerns and advised, “My lord, simply send out more scouts to reconnoiter at a distance. Should the Wu main army appear, we can always fall back and hold the Han.”

“Very well,” Nang Wa struck the table. “We march!”

Under the protection of the riverine forces, several floating bridges were quickly erected—the mudflats by the water were too soft, and the chariots would easily bog down, so the bridges extended all the way to solid ground.

Wu Chenghei personally led two hundred chariots as the vanguard. They crossed the floating bridges in grand formation, arraying themselves on the opposite bank, while the river troops lined up along the water with archers ready at their bows.

The Wu watched coldly. The expected attack as the Chu crossed halfway never came, nor did they strike while the Chu were still gaining their footing—they simply watched.

The Chu army bustled about for half an hour amidst the beating of drums and the shouts of armored soldiers, finally arranging themselves into formation. This was no longer the age of Duke Xiang of Song, a hundred years past, where noble etiquette demanded one must not attack before the enemy was ready. The collapse of ritual among the lords had long since given way to any means necessary for victory.

Wu Chenghei, seeing his troops arrayed in perfect order before him, felt his heart settle and secretly mocked the Wu for their rigidity.

The Chu army deployed in a Yuli formation: a slanted line of twenty-five chariots in front, foot soldiers behind, the pattern repeating in cycles. Atop his chariot, Wu Chenghei beat the drum, and the formation slowly advanced.

The distance closed. The Wu still stood loosely, with only a few war chariots at the center; the rest were foot soldiers holding long spears.

When only an arrow’s flight remained, the Chu halted to readjust their line. Then, suddenly, the drums thundered in a furious and rapid rhythm; the front chariots shouted, leading the entire force in a charge at the Wu.

Wu Chenghei’s chariot was always in the lead. Now, with his arms bare, he pounded the drum with all his might, already imagining the cries of Wu soldiers under his horses’ hooves—a few thousand mere footmen, a single charge would scatter them.

Sure enough, before the chariots even reached them, the Wu let out a shout and turned to flee. The Chu chariots pressed on without hesitation.

Wu Chenghei, elated, beat the drum with growing fervor. At that moment, his chariot suddenly lurched to one side; he nearly toppled out and was about to curse loudly when he saw the chariots around him overturning one after another.

Foot soldiers surged forward, bewildered at the overturned chariots, while the chariots behind, unaware, crashed into the chaos ahead.

In an instant, the air was filled with the cries of horses, the screams and shouts of men.

Wu Chenghei looked around in dazed confusion, his drumsticks fallen silent. Before him yawned countless pits and holes of varying size; his warhorses, though clad in heavy armor, could not defend against such treachery from the earth itself. Chariots were most vulnerable to uneven ground, especially in the midst of a charge—if not a horse’s leg breaking, then veering off course and colliding with their own.

The chariots behind could not halt in time, crashing wave after wave into the wreckage, with only the last few dozen, having started late, managing to slow down. Lacking orders, they could only hold their formation and wait.

The Wu had not fled far; they turned and swept back in, long spears flashing, easily reaping Chu lives.

The best charioteers, chosen from hundreds, managed to rein in their horses and avoid overturning. Together with the warriors, they dragged Wu Chenghei away, fleeing desperately.

The rear guard attempted to stabilize the line with the remaining chariots, but the tide of fleeing soldiers broke their ranks at once, while the Wu followed close behind, slaughtering as they went.

Seeing the battle lost, they fought to rescue Wu Chenghei and escaped with their lives.

The defeated soldiers fled all the way back to the southern shore, halting only when received by the river troops. The Wu, not pushing their advantage, destroyed the floating bridges and withdrew to camp.

Upon returning to camp and counting the survivors, they found that sixty to seventy percent had been lost, most trampled or drowned in the chaos. The loss of chariots was severe; barely thirty returned. Many were stuck in the mud, helplessly abandoned to the Wu.

Wu Chenghei, hands bound behind his back, knelt before the central command tent.

Nang Wa and the others had watched the entire disaster from across the Han. Wu Chenghei’s greed for glory had led him to a full assault at the outset, falling prey to the Wu’s cunning—by law, he should be executed.

Yet, as Wu Chenghei had always been loyal, Nang Wa found himself unable to pass sentence, and looked around at the assembled generals.

Understanding Nang Wa’s intent, Shi Huang stepped forward to plead, “General Wu acted solely out of devotion to the state. He was somewhat rash, but perhaps he should be allowed to redeem himself through merit.”

The others all voiced their agreement, so Nang Wa, wearing a dark expression, ordered Wu Chenghei to rally his men and prepare to attack again on the morrow.

The next day, Wu Chenghei and Shi Huang led their troops out together, building more floating bridges and crossing to the Wu camp.

The Wu banners still flew, but the camp was eerily silent. Upon investigation, it was found abandoned.

At that moment, scouts reported that the Wu had withdrawn during the night and were now thirty li away.