Volume One: Flames of War on the Frontier Chapter Seventy-Two: A Cold Moon over a Lonely City

Linghu Xiao led his cavalry outside the Yan army’s encampment, raising a constant clamor, shooting scattered arrows that vexed the Yan soldiers, yet they dared not leave their camp to engage. While Linghu Xiao orchestrated these harrying attacks, he closely watched for movement within the camp. In the darkness, he saw the gates of two side camps quietly open; two squads of Yan cavalry emerged, spreading out in a wedge formation to encircle his forces.

This time, the Yan army had learned their lesson. Both men and horses wore no armor, clearly to speed their pursuit and to ensure they could latch onto the Wei cavalry. It was an age dominated by armored cavalry, and the Later Yan’s cavalry were famed for their heavy armor. Murong Lin’s abandonment of heavy armor signaled desperation; he intended a bloody confrontation.

After suffering a major setback, Murong Lin had recognized: “The Wei cavalry outside the city, though few in number, are the elite of the Wei army and a dire threat. Unless these cavalry are dealt with, we cannot fully commit to the siege. Worse, they may turn and strike us unexpectedly.”

His thoughts were clear: “Today’s assault failed; both sides suffered heavy casualties. We’ll need at least three days to recover before attacking again. In these three days, we must locate and annihilate the enemy’s cavalry outside the city.”

Murong Lin announced his intentions. His subordinates and leaders, all tormented by the enemy cavalry’s harassment, voiced their agreement.

Seeing the Yan cavalry deploy, Linghu Xiao refused to linger. He unleashed his javelins and arrows, then whistled sharply, wheeled his horse, and scattered his men in retreat. The Yan cavalry, harassed repeatedly, now pursued in fury, chasing ever farther, many riding several miles from their camp.

As the Yan cavalry pressed their pursuit, a whistle echoed from the woods beside the road, followed by a storm of arrows from within. The pursuing riders, caught off guard, were pierced like porcupines. Witnessing this carnage, the remaining cavalry halted, slinking back to camp. This, too, was Linghu Xiao’s ambush.

Murong Lin, upon receiving reports that his swift cavalry had crossed the safety line in hot pursuit, knew at once the situation was dire. He hurriedly dispatched messengers to recall them, but it was too late. The casualty report followed: several dozen elite cavalry were slain in one fell swoop.

Alas—

Murong Lin sighed deeply, thrusting his sword into the earth, grief-stricken and helpless. He was passive at every turn, unable to locate the enemy’s movements. By common sense, the enemy cavalry had profited without loss; tonight, they would surely launch frequent raids. With this in mind, he ordered his swift cavalry to patrol outside the camp, rather than return inside.

The camp housed sixty thousand men; too few cavalry were insufficient, too many wasted strength and horse power.

After a day of fierce battle, peace finally settled. A pungent scent of blood wafted on the breeze, mingling with the cries and moans that echoed through the camp. Some soldiers, under cover of darkness, dragged away their comrades’ bodies for burial.

Though the nights at Pingcheng were cool, it was still summer. If these corpses were not dealt with, they would quickly rot, risking a plague in the army.

The rain had finally stopped, the sky was clear, and the moon cast its cold, brilliant light over the blood-soaked battlefield. The dark bulk of Pingcheng loomed like a vast city of death.

Linghu Xiao gathered his men once more, counted their number, and prepared to strike again, only to hear a scout report that the enemy’s swift cavalry had not returned to camp but stood guard outside, leaving no opening for attack.

“Well, they may guard tonight, but they cannot guard every night. Let the Yan thieves keep their vigil. Children, let us go.” With a wave, Linghu Xiao led his cavalry to the supply point for rest. After half a night’s battle, he too was weary.

In today’s great battle, the defenders of Pingcheng paid the price of more than three thousand dead, with many more wounded. Clearing the battlefield, burying the dead, and strengthening the walls—all these tasks had to be rushed through the night. Within the city, cries and wails echoed incessantly.

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Descending from the city wall, He Yu witnessed the carnage around him, his heart weighed down: “Everywhere, cries of misery and rivers of blood. All for the hope of saving the people. Alas, war is ruthless and perilous; if you do not kill the enemy, they will surely kill you. Better to kill than be killed. This is the only way to think.”

Reflecting on this, He Yu entered the main tent to find everyone already gathered.

Unlike He Yu, the others wore expressions of joy.

Cui Liang and Wei Ran sat high, a subtle, inscrutable smile on their faces. Tuoba Yan was a bit more reserved, but his relief was evident.

Qingyun saw her husband covered in blood, his white tunic spotted like plum blossoms. She felt both worry and a measure of comfort. The other gentry commanders, such as Yuan Bin and Lu Yi, were all in high spirits, chatting freely.

These local magnates, used to commanding slaves and servants, cared little for the deaths of conscripted soldiers. As long as victory was won, all else would follow.

At that time, north and south China shared the same ethos—a world ruled by powerful families. The great clans cared only for their own interests, indifferent to the fate of common folk, seldom even considering the issue.

They had survived in chaotic times, accustomed to war and slaughter; nothing surprised them anymore. He Yu, having crossed from a peaceful later era, had been here barely half a year. Though he had killed many, his heart was not as hardened as theirs.

He Yu, alone in this world, had no claim to noble lineage. When asked, he could only give vague answers, and others assumed his humble origins and looked down on him.

Yet in recent days, He Yu's actions had won them over completely. In discourse, he was endlessly resourceful; his words always hit the mark. In combat, he slew two Yan soldier stormtroopers single-handedly, emerging unscathed.

As He Yu entered, Cui Liang quickly stood, his face alight with smiles: “Master He, please sit here. Forgive my poor eyesight—your talent and martial skill truly have no equal. We have underestimated you.”

He had previously thought He Yu a promising young man, but today’s battle proved his abilities far greater than he had realized. Admiring him, Cui Liang, also keen to win him over, offered him the primary seat at the left.

When He Yu first arrived at Pingcheng, he was underestimated by all, so he deliberately displayed arrogance, fighting fire with fire. Now, since everyone understood him better, there was no need to feign aloofness.

After a few modest words, He Yu intended to sit at the back, but now the others all insisted, heartily inviting him to the chief seat.

To refuse again would be pretentious. He Yu was not one for false modesty, so he apologized and took the chief seat. Qingyun naturally sat behind her husband. The two had come alone to scout the situation, without troops or rank, and at first could only sit in the last row. Now, thanks to their demonstrated prowess, they sat beside the commander—a rare honor. Qingyun glanced at her husband, her face full of admiration and pride.

Once everyone was seated, Cui Liang spoke: “Today’s battle, thanks to your assistance, left the Yan enemy in ruins. They will not give up so easily. Now, how should we proceed? I ask everyone to deliberate earnestly.”

Yuan Bin was the first to stand: “Commander Cui, the facts are clear. Today’s battle cost the Yan enemy over twenty thousand casualties. No matter how fierce Murong Lin is, he cannot attack again within three days. We must use this time to fortify the city, train the soldiers, and stockpile provisions, so that when the day comes, we can face him decisively.” Unlike before, their tone now was much firmer, buoyed by victory.

Lu Yi chimed in: “Yuan is right. Murong Lin is cunning, but his elite stormtroopers are nearly all gone. In my view, the Yan enemy can muster at most one more assault. Even if they attack, we need not fear them. We’ll meet force with force, and water with earth. The only question is whether Murong Lin has the nerve left. What do you all think?”

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Ha ha—

Ha ha—

Ha ha—

Everyone laughed together, clearly convinced that Murong Lin was incapable of further battle, or if he attacked, he would be easily dealt with.

He Yu, cautious by nature, knew how quickly things could change on the battlefield; there were many cases of the weak defeating the strong and turning the tide. Though these commanders were powerful local figures, to He Yu, they were true ancients, acting and speaking with none of the modern rigor, embodying much of the ancient way. He Yu felt that, although ancient times lacked material wealth, the ancients’ minds were simpler and their lives more carefree.

“Murong Lin has suffered a terrible defeat, but still commands forty thousand troops and over twenty stormtroopers. The balance of power still favors the Yan army. Today’s battle has cost us as well. No matter what, things are not yet optimistic.”

Though He Yu also believed that Murong Lin could not attack within three days, he dreaded the unexpected. He wanted to caution against excessive optimism, lest joy turn to sorrow, but the words stalled on his lips. In such a buoyant atmosphere, it would be inappropriate to dampen spirits.

As he hesitated, a report officer entered with news—Linghu Xiao had sent a message shot into the city. Cui Liang took the note, glanced at it, and handed it to He Yu. He Yu read it, then passed it among the others, finally returning it to Tuoba Yan.

Tuoba Yan said, “You’ve all seen the news. Chief Linghu reports that Murong Lin has deployed large numbers of cavalry around the camp, with tight security. Tonight, raiding their camp is out of the question.”

The Yan army, newly defeated, was desperate to recover. If they were harried day and night now, Murong Lin’s morale would plummet.

Everyone sighed at this, stamping their feet and clapping: “So be it; we must wait. Still, it’s a missed opportunity. What a pity.”

“As long as the green hills remain, there’ll be firewood to burn. In my humble opinion, this is no opportunity at all; it could bring disaster instead.” The speaker was the youth in white, Cui Hao.

The strategy to send cavalry out and harass Murong Lin had been his suggestion, and it had worked wonders. Now, his words surely had reason behind them, so everyone turned to him.

Like He Yu, he was a talent who shone brightly. In these few days of battle preparations, Cui Hao’s abilities had become evident, earning universal praise. No one regarded him as a mere child anymore.

“Oh? Young General, what do you mean? Please, tell us.” Tuoba Yan smiled encouragingly, urging him to continue.

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