Volume One: Flames on the Border Chapter Sixty-Seven: Night Raid

The Later Yan army was blocked by the trenches, pitfalls, and moat outside the city and could not attack for the time being, so they set up camp at a distance from the city. Cui Hao offered a plan: “Murong Lin has come with all his forces, eager to swallow us whole, paying us no regard. Why not turn his arrogance against him? Let us raise the lantern and allow Lingtai Historian Linghu and his men to attack, giving the enemy a sharp lesson and dulling their edge.”

He Yu agreed: “It is the second half of the night. The Yan army has marched four or five days and must be exhausted. In the darkness, they cannot know how many troops we’ve sent out and will not dare pursue rashly.”

“Yes, young general, General He’s idea is sound.”

“It’s good to give Murong Lin a taste of our mettle and shake the enemy's confidence.”

Everyone voiced support for Cui Hao and He Yu’s plan. Cui Liang also approved the tactic and sent the order for a red lantern to be hung from the lookout tower.

In the time it takes to drink a cup of tea, wailing and cries of alarm rose outside the city, drums and horns sounded together, and chaos erupted. Climbing the tower, they saw in the inky darkness flames shooting up from the Yan army’s eastern tents. Horses and men scattered, someone shouted of a surprise attack, and the faint wails of soldiers drifted on the wind. Clearly, the eastern cavalry had struck successfully.

The cavalry outside the city aimed to harass the enemy, not to become embroiled in a deadly struggle. Before leaving, He Yu had thought it through: he allowed them only strong bows and crossbows, forbidding heavy armor or long weapons. He also warned, “Do not approach the enemy camp too closely. Use fire arrows liberally, and target especially the soldiers pressed into service from noble clans and walled villages.”

Tonight, Linghu Xiao strictly followed He Yu’s orders: each man carried ten arrows, to be fired in a single volley at the enemy and their tents, striving for accuracy with the first shot before withdrawing immediately.

The Later Yan, having been established for some time, were generally well-organized and disciplined. But half their force tonight came from noble clans and fortified villages and had only just set up camp, their morale unsteady. At the first alarm, panic erupted, and the rain of arrows killed or wounded several hundred.

Murong Lin and Murong Shao flew into a rage and hastily ordered their elite cavalry to counterattack, but after the volley of arrows, the attackers vanished without a trace, impossible to pursue.

After an hour of uproar, the camps gradually fell silent. Having just arrived and suffering such a blow, Murong Lin was bitter and sleepless. He summoned Murong Shao to strategize through the night.

Meanwhile, He Yu and the other commanders leaned on the parapet, watching. They knew the eastern cavalry had succeeded but not the extent of their victory. Soon, a whistling arrow flew into the city, bearing a message. A soldier retrieved the note and read out the battle report: the eastern cavalry had fought bravely, with not a single casualty. This prearranged method of communication—shooting messages by giant crossbow to a specific location—kept city and field in seamless contact, greatly improving coordination.

Cui Liang and the others drafted a reply, marked with a secret code, and sent it out by crossbow in turn, as a reward.

With this initial success, a heavy weight lifted from the generals’ hearts. The once pessimistic found hope again. Sleepless, they were about to leave the tower for some rest when He Yu stopped them: “Gentlemen, not yet. The eastern cavalry’s night raid cost Murong Lin dearly. Now, just before dawn, is when the enemy is most weary. He will not expect our troops to return so soon...” He wanted to elaborate further.

The commanders understood at once. Yuan Bin, quick of tongue, exclaimed, “Are we to strike again, like a feint returning to the fray?” Cui Liang nodded. “That is surely what Master He intends. What do you all think?”

A commander replied, “Excellent—this is a high and clever strategy, perfectly feasible.” Seeing no dissent, Cui Liang made the decision and ordered another red lantern hung from the tower facing east.

For the first night raid, to ensure success, Linghu Xiao led the troops himself. The mission went smoothly, and they were already returning to their secret base when a bodyguard reported, “Master Historian, look—the city has raised another attack lantern.” Linghu Xiao looked and saw, hanging in the pitch-black sky, a cluster of bright red lanterns, highly conspicuous.

Shrewd and battle-hardened, he instantly grasped the signal, halted his force, and wheeled about for another surprise attack on the Yan army.

The Pingcheng cavalry, having been cooped up training in the city for days, were restless. After firing their ten arrows and being called back, they felt unsatisfied. Now, hearing of a chance to strike again, their spirits soared.

The Xianbei soldiers were by nature fierce and predatory, and the Tuoba Xianbei, being the least assimilated of the Xianbei, saw battle and killing as commonplace as eating and drinking. Not being allowed to wield long weapons or engage in face-to-face combat had already been difficult for them.

Linghu Xiao ordered in a low voice, “Boys, as before—aim carefully and shoot to kill.”

The eastern cavalry crept quietly to the Yan camp. At Linghu Xiao’s signal, arrows whistled through the air—first fire arrows, then armor-piercing bolts, all tipped with poison.

The poisons were crude, not instantly fatal, but slow and agonizing. Wounds would fester, refuse to heal, and death would come by degrees. For each wounded, at least one other would be needed to care for him, further sapping the enemy’s numbers. The moans of the wounded in camp would also sap morale.

The Northern Wei cavalry were all expert archers, and the two thousand under Linghu Xiao’s command were the elite of ten thousand. Thus, another rain of arrows fell, inflicting heavy casualties. Many tents were set ablaze by fire arrows and, fanned by the wind, the fires spread, plunging the camp into chaos.

Murong Lin had just lain down to rest when the alarm sounded again. Fearing disaster, he dispatched his best cavalry in pursuit. For several miles they followed tangled hoofprints, circling and crisscrossing, but could not find the enemy. Afraid of an ambush, they dared not stray too far from camp and soon withdrew.

Frustrated by repeated failures and unable even to glimpse the enemy, Murong Lin’s anger flared—he killed two wounded soldiers in a fit of rage before his temper cooled.

The noble and clan leaders serving with him saw this brutality and felt uneasy. Some thought to themselves, “Murong and Tuoba are both Xianbei. Once close as brothers, now at each other’s throats—what has this to do with us? If things go well, fine. If not, I’ll be the first to leave.”

Though these clans and great houses submitted to the Later Yan court, each was a local lord with considerable autonomy, obeying orders but not pledges. Individually, none would defy the court, but together, who could say? Seeing Murong Lin’s savagery, the leaders exchanged glances heavy with meaning.

Realizing he had provoked their anger, Murong Lin quickly composed himself, saying, “Forgive my lapse, gentlemen. It’s late—please rest. We’ll meet tomorrow to discuss matters in the main tent.”

Murong Lin was not like Murong Kai. Murong Kai had the bearing of an ancient general—courteous to the wise, clear in reward and punishment, caring for his men, so all respected him. Murong Lin was treacherous and cruel, greedy and flexible. But once he lowered himself to apologize, the others could not press further and took their leave.

Tuoba Shao, ever eager for mischief, whispered, “Fourth Brother, these nobles and clans go whichever way the wind blows—they’re not loyal to us. We must be on guard.”

After Murong Kai’s death, the position of Grand General should have gone to Deputy Murong Shao, but their father, Murong Chui, knowing his failings, sent Murong Lin instead. Murong Lin, having betrayed father and brother in the past, had gradually regained his father’s trust, and in terms of military talent, was not inferior to Murong Kai.

In the Murong family, internal strife was a tradition. Murong Shao, denied the top post, took little interest in military affairs and resented Murong Lin, secretly hoping he would lose in battle.

Murong Lin was well aware of these tensions and did not argue further with Murong Shao. “They are unreliable—I know that well. I have my own ways to deal with them. No need for you to worry. Now go and rest.”

Murong Shao withdrew, disgruntled. The latest battle report showed even greater losses than the first surprise attack: four hundred casualties, twelve tents burned.

“Damn it! Pingcheng’s garrison is only twenty thousand, so where did these night raiders come from, appearing and disappearing like ghosts?”

“Tuoba Yan is the commander of Pingcheng. She’s capable, but not bold enough for such tactics. There must be a mastermind aiding her from within.” Thinking this, a name flickered in his mind.

“He Yu!?”

Though he had nearly died at He Yu’s hands, he knew little about him—just bits from Murong Shao. Yet, for some reason, at this moment he felt certain that all these events were inseparable from that name. Murong Lin’s intuition was correct, though he overlooked another—the young genius Cui Hao, whose cunning was no less than He Yu’s.

Lying on his campaign bed, Murong Lin could not sleep. Tuoba Yan’s image flitted before his eyes, stirring restless thoughts. Though surrounded by concubines, none could compare with Tuoba Yan’s astonishing beauty. He volunteered to lead the attack on Pingcheng partly for a hidden reason: to capture the city, win his father’s favor, supplant the useless Crown Prince Murong Bao, seize the throne, and then forcibly take Tuoba Yan as his wife.

A few years before, civil strife had broken out in Northern Wei. Tuoba Gui, threatened by his uncle Tuoba Kuduo, nearly lost his position and appealed to Murong Chui for aid. After much deliberation, Murong Chui decided to send his son Murong Lin to help suppress the rebellion and secure the throne for Tuoba Gui. From that time, Murong Lin had harbored designs on Tuoba Yan, never forgetting her.

When the rebellion was quelled, Murong Lin considered himself indebted by Tuoba Gui. He planned to dismiss several concubines and then propose marriage to Tuoba Yan. As the Grand Princess of Wei, Tuoba Yan’s status was exalted—such a union was no common betrothal and could not be rushed.