Volume One: Flames on the Border Chapter Sixty-Six: Beat Him to Death for Me

Changsun Hong sneered arrogantly. “Because you are unworthy of being a general of our Great Wei warriors, ha ha!”

At these words, the other centurions and commanders in the tent broke into an uproar, the place descending into chaos.

Tuoba Yan’s willow brows shot up in anger and she was about to flare up, but saw Linghu Xiao give her a subtle signal, so she restrained herself. Linghu Xiao had compared He Yu to Wang Meng; if he could not even handle this scene, then his talk of training cavalry was but empty words.

He Yu’s face darkened at once. “Men! Seize General Changsun for me!”

Yet, not a single one of the inner guards in the tent responded.

“A mere Han dares issue commands?”

“Your Highness, drive this Han out—Southerners can’t fight wars.”

“If he keeps pushing his luck, we’ll cut him down where he stands.”

A centurion behind Changsun Hong stepped forward, thumping his chest. “Who dares make a move? I’ll cleave him in two myself!”

The clan leaders exchanged uneasy looks, their faces growing awkward. The words of these cavalry officers, with no restraint, were an insult even to the northern Han aristocracy present.

Cui Liang, the leaders’ chief, was about to rebuke them when He Yu stretched out his hand, his voice cold and stern. “Since that’s the case, I’ll do it myself. Bring me my bow and arrows.”

Qingyun understood, handing him the bow and arrows. Husband and wife stood as one; to oppose He Yu was to oppose her as well.

He Yu took the bow, tested the string, and said, “Too light. Bring another.”

Qingyun didn’t know what He Yu intended, but she had seen him draw six powerful bows at once back at Chen Family Stronghold, so she fetched another and handed it over.

He Yu tried again, still shaking his head. “Still too light. Bring me another bow.”

The people in the tent didn’t know what he was up to. After a moment’s silence, they suddenly erupted into laughter.

“He doesn’t even know how to use a bow—what kind of general is he?”

“Perhaps I should show him how it’s done!”

Ha ha, ha ha, laughter filled the tent, with sarcastic remarks flying. The clan leaders felt their cheeks burn with embarrassment: after all, He Yu had been recommended by them—eloquent, yes, but they’d never seen his martial prowess. If he truly was incapable, then the tales of his bloody battle at Xie Ma Ridge and his night assault on Tianxiong Fort must be nothing but rumor.

He Yu ignored the mockery, calmly took up four war bows, stacking them together. He picked a heavy wolf-tooth arrow from the quiver and nocked it to the strings.

“Four bows at once!”

“He must be mad—has he lost his—”

Before the word was out, He Yu suddenly stood, kicked aside the table, drew the bows, and loosed an arrow straight at the centurion before him.

His sudden attack caught everyone off guard—no one expected it.

With a thunderous crash and a shower of sparks, the centurion, a burly man in heavy armor with a shining breastplate, was blasted backward, pinned to the ground with the arrow through his chest, dead before he could even groan.

Another centurion, driven by fury, drew his saber and charged at He Yu. To draw a blade against the commander was tantamount to mutiny.

He Yu was ruthless now—he pressed the back of his bow to the blade, twisted the bowstring around the man’s neck, pulled back, and drove his knee into his spine. With a sickening crack, the centurion’s limbs spasmed; his neck was snapped, and death was certain.

In the blink of an eye, He Yu had killed two centurions. The atmosphere flipped; the tent fell silent as the grave. All present were shaken: “He Yu is a true prodigy. Four bows as one, shattering the breastplate—who but a hero could do this?”

Changsun Hong stood petrified, speechless with shock.

He Yu tossed aside the longbow, dusted his hands, adjusted his robes, and sat once more, his bearing solemn as he looked down at the ground. His voice was icy. “Come! General Changsun has plotted rebellion—execute him here and now!”

This time, his words carried weight. Four executioners stepped forward, pinned Changsun Hong down, and began beating him with execution staves.

Smack—smack—smack—

The rods landed one after another.

Changsun Hong, unable to bear the pain, wailed and begged for mercy. “General He, generals, I am the Wei King’s personal guard! For the sake of the Wei King, spare me this once—I’ll return to Shengle and await the King’s judgment!”

He Yu sneered, “Now you wish to repent? Too late. You are a lowly slave, a dog of a man, and you dared defy me? Beat him harder—execute this cur!”

More blows rained down. Changsun Hong’s skin split and blood flowed; he howled for his parents, begged for his life. The others watched in silent horror—who would have thought this gentle-looking He Yu could be so ruthless?

After dozens of strikes, Changsun Hong was covered in blood, though his spirit still seemed intact. He Yu realized at once: “In later Ming times, there was the infamous court beating—if they wanted to truly injure you, it was silent; if they wanted to go easy, it was all noise and show, looking brutal but causing little harm.”

So, this trickery existed even now.

He Yu grew furious. “If Changsun Hong is not executed within thirty blows, you’ll share his fate.” Changsun Hong’s special status made the executioners hesitant, so they looked to Tuoba Yan for instruction.

Tuoba Yan had long been displeased with Changsun Hong’s arrogance, but as he served her brother, she hesitated to order his execution. She frowned, about to plead, but He Yu intervened, “Military orders are absolute, and the law is merciless. If anyone begs for Changsun Hong, I would rather not be general at all.” With these words, he left no room for maneuver. What’s more, he still called him “General Changsun,” a courtesy laced with menace.

Tuoba Yan had no choice but to nod her consent.

The executioners, emboldened, struck with force. After several heavy blows, Changsun Hong’s eyes rolled, blood streamed from his mouth and nose, and he died on the spot.

With Changsun Hong dead, the executioners were about to withdraw when He Yu spoke again. “As commander of the cavalry, my orders are law. You dared defy me, only obeying the prince of Pingcheng—what use have I for you? Seize them and behead them.”

No one dared utter a sound. The executioners were seized and dragged outside. After four screams, four bloody heads were brought forth and laid at the tent’s entrance.

He Yu glanced at them and waved the men away, his tone light. “Behead the three other generals as well and announce it throughout the ranks. Let all know: anyone who violates military law shall end like these. You have entrusted Pingcheng’s safety to me; if I fail, I will offer my own head as a funeral tribute for these seven.”

His words were resolute, leaving no room for retreat, sending a chill down everyone’s spine.

“Now, generals, attend my roll call.”

“Yes, sir!”

“Yes, sir!”

“Yes, sir!”

The cavalry officers answered in unison, all traces of earlier insolence gone as they stood ramrod straight. He Yu thought to himself, “A soft-hearted commander wins no battles. Even if you’re all hard as iron, I’ll smash you to pieces if I must.”

In the span of a single morning, He Yu, the newly appointed Cavalry General, personally shot one man, strangled another, had one beaten to death, and beheaded four—all elite officers of the army. This display of thunderous severity sent shockwaves through the troops. The seven bloody heads were shown to all, and the Xianbei soldiers quaked with fear, not daring to make a sound.

He Yu, once a refined scholar, now radiated an invisible aura of menace—a lethal presence that made all yield before him. Even Qingyun, looking at her husband, felt a tinge of fear in her heart.

With this episode, the selection and organization of the elite was accomplished swiftly.

After two days of strict training, the three thousand cavalrymen underwent a complete transformation, especially regarding discipline—no one dared to overstep by a hair’s breadth.

On the third morning, He Yu, clad in white robes and plain armor, stood atop a high platform and announced his newly drafted “Ten Kill Commandments” for battle outside the city. Each rule ended with the word “kill,” hence the name.

Those who shirked in battle—kill! Cowards who fled—kill! Those who failed to rescue comrades—kill! Those who prized life over duty—kill! Traitors and defectors—kill! Those who delayed action—kill! Those who disobeyed orders—kill! Those who leaked secrets—kill! Those who lied about military matters—kill! Those who undermined morale—kill!

Ten simple, blood-chilling commandments.

Cui Liang, after reading them, ordered every soldier in Pingcheng’s garrison to memorize and obey them to the letter.

The commanders for the two thousand cavalry were confirmed—the original thousand-man leaders. After the recent events, these two commanders became much more circumspect, not daring to act out before He Yu.

Worried that their long-standing laxity might persist despite intensive training, He Yu placed Linghu Xiao in charge of field maneuvers; once outside the city, all two thousand cavalry would be under his direct command. Linghu Xiao, long the chief steward of the Princess’s household, was experienced, prudent, and a master of arms—someone He Yu could trust.

This campaign was critical. He Yu had anticipated various challenges and prepared accordingly. In the days prior, he had quietly set up several cavalry supply posts east and west of Pingcheng, so there was no need to rely on provisions from within the city for a while.

Scouts soon reported that Murong Lin’s army was only a day and a half’s march from Pingcheng.

When the time was ripe, on the fourth morning, the two thousand cavalrymen enjoyed a hearty meal, bade farewell to Tuoba Yan and the other generals under Linghu Xiao’s command, and rode out of the city.

In just four days of intense preparation, everyone had come to recognize He Yu’s capabilities and submitted to him wholeheartedly. In reality, Cui Liang remained the nominal commander of the garrison, but all the real decisions came from He Yu and Cui Hao.

It was astonishing—Cui Hao was only fifteen, yet his strategies and foresight surpassed all others, even surprising Cui Liang himself. He and He Yu complemented one another perfectly; in a few days, the city’s affairs were put in perfect order, ready for Murong Lin’s attack.

As per He Yu’s instructions, craftsmen had built a watchtower over thirty meters high at the city’s highest point. From this vantage, dozens of miles could be seen at a glance. Its position was cleverly chosen—unless the city fell, enemy siege engines could not threaten it.

After Linghu Xiao led the cavalry out, the city’s defenders entered full battle readiness. Tuoba Yan, Cui Liang, He Yu and the others stayed day and night in the command tent, preparing to direct the defense.

By midnight, the sounds of horses, blaring horns, and drums rose outside, and the earth itself trembled faintly. Murong Lin’s army had arrived at the city gates—the stage was set for the great battle.

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