Volume One: Flames on the Border Chapter Eighty-Four: Peach Blossoms Flowing with the Water

In recent days, news of Linghu Xiao had already reached the city. The cavalry under his command, in order to evade Murong Lin’s pursuit, had fled more than a hundred miles away; both men and horses were exhausted, though, fortunately, there had been no casualties. Upon hearing the news, He Yu thought to himself, “The Later Yan cavalry can chase for over a hundred miles—clearly, we’ve underestimated the fighting strength of Murong Lin’s horsemen.”

That day, Tuoba Yan led her generals atop the city walls to observe the enemy’s movements. He Yu placed his hand on the battlements and gazed into the distance. The Later Yan army camps sprawled endlessly, like stars scattered across the sky, stretching far beyond the eye’s reach. Dust billowed from within the camps, siege ladders and assault towers stood ready, the siege engines were deployed in formation, all movements precise and orderly. Waves of shouts and the clash of weapons echoed intermittently.

Tuoba Yan’s delicate brows knitted as she asked, “Lord Cui, Murong Lin has been drilling his troops these past few days. The attack must come within days.”

Cui Liang replied, “Your Highness speaks true. This time, Murong Lin will surely commit all his strength to the assault—though which day he will choose, we know not.”

Just then, Cui Hao suddenly pointed into the distance. “Your Highness, Fourth Uncle, look! A great number of Yan’s suicide stormtroopers have appeared—there must be a hundred or more.”

The group had already suffered bitterly at the hands of these stormtroopers before. Though they had devised countermeasures, their effectiveness was untested, and so everyone’s face changed. Each thought, “Murong Lin is too arrogant. If he had deployed all his stormtroopers last time, who knows in whose hands Pingcheng would now rest?”

Tuoba Yan’s face showed fear. She recalled the terrifying strength of those stormtroopers and unconsciously turned to He Yu. “Master He, with so many suicide stormtroopers, do you have a plan to counter them?” She had already heard of He Yu’s outstanding performance at the Cui residence and admired his talents greatly, trusting him deeply. Thus, in any crisis, she first sought his counsel.

He Yu’s expression grew grave. He shaded his eyes and observed carefully, finally discerning the pattern. The stormtroopers of Later Yan were elite troops—possessed of great strength, impervious to blades or arrows, the vanguard for storming fortresses. Yet, from his observations, many among them now moved sluggishly, appeared weaker and thinner—clearly, they were newly conscripted. The stormtroopers were Murong Lin’s trump card, difficult to train; it was impossible so many could be fielded at once.

“Your Highness need not worry. In my estimation, most of these stormtroopers are recent conscripts—their strength must be much diminished,” He Yu said.

Thanks to his reminder, Tuoba Yan and Cui Liang looked again and indeed found some clues.

Tuoba Yan calculated silently: though many stormtroopers were hastily trained and their strength thus lessened, their numbers were daunting. Murong Lin had learned caution; once he attacked, he would commit everything. Whether such a fierce assault could be withstood was uncertain.

Initially, everyone thought that after repelling Murong Lin’s first attack, with Yan’s heavy losses, stopping them again would not be difficult. Unexpectedly, Murong Lin was a master of war—so swiftly had he assembled a simplified version of the stormtroopers. This was problematic.

If Murong Lin’s first offensive had been careless and hasty, this coming battle would be different. He would not repeat his mistakes; he would choose his moment and strike with his full might.

He Yu saw Tuoba Yan’s worry, and suddenly a plan occurred to him. “The stormtroopers are clad in heavy armor, impervious to blades or arrows. We have the hunting net formation, but we could at once requisition a hundred large cauldrons, fill them with water, and bring them to a boil. When the stormtroopers climb the walls, we scald them with hot water—it should prove highly effective.”

Cui Hao chimed in, “I had the same thought, Master He. Though the stormtroopers are armored from head to toe, they can’t withstand scalding. We may not kill them, but we can certainly burn them.”

Both men were now the strategists of Wei’s army, and their minds were in accord. Tuoba Yan and Cui Liang found the plan sound and immediately issued orders to requisition cauldrons, boil water, and stand ready to repel the enemy with it.

At this, Lu Yi spoke up. “Your Highness, Master He, Murong Lin suffered a heavy defeat last time. His next assault will surely be unexpected. If only we could know the approximate date of Yan’s attack, our preparations would be much easier.”

His point was well taken. Yan’s forces still outmatched Wei’s and, as the attackers, commanded the initiative. The defenders of Pingcheng were outnumbered and forced into a passive stance. In war, the defenders must expend threefold the effort to resist a single point of attack, and mishaps were ever possible. If the date of Murong Lin’s attack could be predicted, preparations could be made more efficiently, saving manpower and resources. But no one could read Murong Lin’s thoughts, nor would scouts likely return with useful information.

Yuan Hui, who had recently been at odds with Lu Yi, scoffed, “You’re quite amusing, Master Lu—stating the obvious. If we knew when Murong Lin would attack, what would we be doing here? We’d simply go home to rest, and when the time came, climb straight onto the walls to repel the enemy—wouldn’t that be delightful?”

Everyone knew Lu Yi’s point but had no solution; thus, it was as good as saying nothing. Lu Yi had no retort to Yuan Hui’s sarcasm and could only glare at him with a forced sneer—their rivalry had become public.

He Yu ignored their squabbling, focusing on the enemy’s formation and pondering when Murong Lin would attack. The coming offensive would be the final blow; Murong Lin would surely commit all his strength. There was one issue: to annihilate Linghu Xiao’s cavalry, Murong Lin had sent out a significant portion of his horsemen to scour the countryside. These were Yan’s elite. Without their return, Murong Lin would not attack lightly. At present, those riders had failed to catch Linghu Xiao, only driving him far away.

Murong Lin’s provisions would last some twenty days; thus, the decisive blow was urgent. He would recall his cavalry within days to assist in the assault. Once they returned, they would need at least a day to recover. Moreover, He Yu reasoned, Murong Lin would surely choose to launch a surprise attack, most likely in the latter half of the night. Everything became clear: the optimal window for Murong Lin’s assault would be the pre-dawn of the second day after his cavalry’s return. The more He Yu reasoned, the more logical and persuasive his conclusion seemed.

He grew confident and said, “Your Highness, Lord Cui, I have just deduced the approximate date of Murong Lin’s attack—I do not expect to be mistaken.”

“Oh? Yuzhi, your talents are great—let us hear it in detail?” Cui Liang’s eyes lit up, and he asked casually. Since befriending He Yu, he had begun addressing him as “Yuzhi” to show intimacy. The generals, seeing Cui Liang’s high regard for He Yu, treated him with equal respect. Especially those two lines of praise from Cui Liang—“Gifted in both civil and martial arts, a genius above all”—had spread throughout Pingcheng these past few days. Even Qingyun felt her own prestige enhanced by association. With the support of a noble house, popularity was indeed a different matter—He Yu mused likewise.

“Well, Master He, do tell—Yanyan is all ears,” Tuoba Yan inquired warmly. She now found herself always wanting to be near He Yu, to speak with him, to hear his voice. Unconsciously, even the way she addressed herself in their conversations had changed—from “this palace” to “Yanyan.”

At this, Qingyun’s face grew cold and her lips pursed in displeasure. Cui Liang, experienced as he was, immediately understood: “It’s said that Princess Pingcheng herself declared she would marry none but a man of extraordinary talent, and so has delayed marriage to the age of twenty-five. Judging by this, she’s found her ‘extraordinary man’—my worthy nephew He Yu. Pity, though, for peach blossoms fall for the flowing stream, but the stream is indifferent. Knowing He Yu as I do, he’s not one to covet a lord’s title and abandon his wife for a noble marriage.”

Cui Liang cast He Yu a meaningful glance and smiled subtly, making He Yu feel awkward. He was already aware of Tuoba Yan’s fervent interest and feared she might become another Qingyun.

Yet in truth, Tuoba Yan’s single “Yanyan” left a knot in another’s heart—Cui Hao. What young maiden does not dream of love? What young man is not moved by affection? As the most outstanding scion of the Cui clan of Qinghe, Cui Hao had been smitten with Tuoba Yan at first sight. Working with her these recent days, he only grew more captivated by her peerless beauty.

He was fifteen, Tuoba Yan twenty-five—a woman older than the man by ten years, which defied social norms. But Tuoba Yan was a Xianbei princess, not bound by convention, and he himself came from the eminent Cui clan. In the north, only the Murong of Xianbei could rival his family in marriage ties with the imperial house. Cui Hao even considered confiding his feelings to his fourth uncle, to let him sound out Tuoba Yan when the matter of Pingcheng was settled. Yet reason restrained him.

First, Cui Liang was a strict man and might not agree. Second, at fifteen, Cui Hao was the clan’s hope and future heir; his marriage could not be his to decide, but must serve the family’s interests. Third, Tuoba Wei had not yet solidified its position in the north—should their alliance fail, the Cui clan might suffer for it. Better to keep his distance and hedge his bets. Though young, he was clever and thoughtful, a true scion of the aristocracy.

He had nearly persuaded himself to bury his feelings deep, waiting for a better time. Yet fate had other plans. Into Pingcheng had come He Yu, inferior only in birth, but superior in both literary and martial prowess. Moreover, Tuoba Yan’s words and demeanor these days revealed a growing fondness for He Yu—though she herself may not have realized it.

Cui Hao’s heart ached with unspoken longing. He watched Tuoba Yan closely, cherishing her every gesture and smile. When he saw she had no inkling of his affection, but instead looked upon He Yu with special favor, the blow to his young heart was almost unbearable—his chest tightened painfully with each pang of love unreturned.