Volume One: Flames on the Frontier Chapter Eighty-Six: Crimson Mist

The soldiers of Later Yan roared earth-shaking battle cries as they surged toward the city walls. Countless stones, arrows, and battering rams rained down like hail, crashing onto the attackers. Screams and shouts mingled into a single cacophony; each man fought like a madman.

A thick fog spread, growing ever denser, so that one could barely see one’s own hand before one’s face. Amidst the blood-red haze, everything seemed to be dyed crimson.

Man proposes, heaven disposes. Tuoba Yan, Cui Liang, and He Yu had prepared meticulously for every contingency, yet never anticipated that a heavy fog would rise in the dead of night. Murong Lin besieged them from all sides, and Pingcheng was already undermanned. Now, with vision obscured, danger multiplied; no one could tell how many Later Yan troops had already scaled the walls. Fortunately, the defenders were fierce and resolute, refusing to retreat. The moment both sides clashed, the battle became a tug-of-war.

Murong Lin’s surprise attack failed, leaving him no choice but to storm the walls outright. Who would have guessed that the heavens would aid him, conjuring this sudden fog? A renowned general, Murong Lin was elated, unwilling to let such a rare opportunity slip away. He brandished his war blade, urging his troops on. Murong Shao, seeing hope for victory, was seized by a savage urge; he personally took up arms and joined the melee.

He Yu, wielding the Giant Que sword, protected Qingyun and cut down every foe in his path. Since the battle at Chen Family Fortress, he had resolved to avoid fighting on the front lines himself. Firstly, his status had risen, so there was no need to risk his life. Secondly, his talents as a general were better employed devising strategies from the command tent.

But this demonic fog had arisen too suddenly. Tuoba Yan and Cui Liang were caught off guard, instantly losing contact with their subordinates. Both made swift decisions: they left their tents and led their personal guards directly into battle. Impeded vision was deadliest for the defenders; at this moment, command was impossible, and only desperate combat remained.

The white fog was thick as porridge; shadows were impossible to discern, and no one knew how many enemies had reached the tower. Only screams, shouts, and the clang of weapons filled their ears.

Qingyun felled a Later Yan spearman with a single slash, then anxiously asked, “He Lang, what should we do? There are too many enemies!”

Though tense, He Yu did not panic. After a brief thought, he replied, “Wife, follow me, we must head to the watchtower.”

In such dense fog, the lookout on the tower was useless. Qingyun did not immediately understand He Yu’s intent, but she trusted her husband’s judgment. Without time to ask further, she wielded her twin blades and followed him toward the tower.

The watchtower stood at the very center of Pingcheng, conspicuous and adjacent to the central command tent—a prime target for Later Yan forces.

Murong Lin paced below, directing the assault. Now, seeing the dawn of victory, he gritted his teeth, led his personal guard into the fray, and joined the fight himself. The commander’s presence galvanized the soldiers, sending their offensive into a frenzy.

Murong Lin was a formidable warrior, his treasured blade sharp, and his body protected by a black-silk armor. The defenders could not withstand him, and he soon mounted the wall.

Seize the king, and the bandits will fall. Once atop the wall, Murong Lin did not linger but led his guards toward the tower, just as He Yu approached from the opposite direction.

Mortal enemies meeting—blood boiled in their eyes!

The two were only about six meters apart. Murong Lin’s tall frame and especially his long arms made him instantly recognizable to He Yu.

Murong Lin had suffered at He Yu’s hands before, and he recognized his foe as well. The puzzle in his heart was solved: it was this young man, He Yu, who had made Pingcheng so difficult to capture.

“Wife, that villain is Murong Lin! Fire your crossbow at his face!” He Yu knew Murong Lin was skilled and his armor strong. He shouted for Qingyun to shoot, while himself swinging his sword straight for Murong Lin’s head.

Murong Lin saw the attack coming fiercely; dodging was impossible, so he could only raise his treasured blade to parry. A clang of metal rang out—Murong Lin’s deer-cutting knife was knocked from his hands.

Though brave, Murong Lin was outmatched; He Yu’s strength, bolstered by the Blood Spirit Pearl, was far superior.

Murong Lin knew he was no match for He Yu and was exceptionally alert. He immediately abandoned his blade and fled into the fog.

“Whoosh—”

Qingyun had already drawn her Ruyi crossbow and fired at Murong Lin’s face. The three were so close, and the fog obscured their vision. Murong Lin saw the woman’s wrist flick, felt a gust of wind rush at him, and instinctively jerked his head aside. With a sharp pain, the bolt embedded itself in his face.

Murong Lin screamed and ran for his life. He Yu was overjoyed, shouting, “Murong Lin, your death has come!” and gave chase.

At that moment, a death-defying warrior, one of Murong Lin’s loyal guards, charged in to intercept He Yu. Seeing his commander in danger, he risked his life to block He Yu. Furious, He Yu kicked with all his strength, sending the man flying like a small mountain; he collapsed to the ground.

As he struggled to rise, a hunting net fell from above, wrapping him tightly. The more he struggled, the tighter it became. Two long-handled maces swung down, thudding heavily, and the warrior lay still.

But this sudden interruption let Murong Lin vanish into the fog once more. He escaped again. He Yu picked up the deer-cutting blade and handed it to Qingyun, his heart filled with rage.

The disaster at Chen Family Fortress was largely due to Murong Lin. He Yu had twice had the chance to kill him, but both times he escaped—infuriating indeed.

Qingyun knew He Yu’s feelings. She came close and gently comforted him: “He Lang, that wretch took an arrow from me—that’s half our revenge. We’ll find another chance to kill him.” Having wounded Murong Lin herself, Qingyun felt satisfaction. Everyone’s expectations differed. She had suffered so much and yearned for vengeance, but to fight the whole Yan state alone was impossible. Thanks to He Yu’s schemes, they nearly slew Murong Lin; for her, that was already a remarkable feat.

The battle had reached a fever pitch; it was unclear which side held the advantage. However, with Murong Lin wounded and fleeing, the pressure on the command tent beside the tower lessened greatly. The couple dared not linger, quickly ran up the tower. The defenders cheered when they saw He Yu arrive.

He Yu hurriedly ordered, “Hang all the red lanterns and keep them swinging without pause!” The thick fog meant only the red lanterns’ glow could travel any distance. Both sides fought with grim determination; it was a matter of who could endure the longest. In He Yu’s judgment, Murong Lin’s forces were spent, while his own side still had a reserve force yet to be deployed.

Before the battle, he had agreed with Linghu Xiao that the cavalry outside the city would be under his command, to act as needed. But the sudden fog favored the enemy, and with the battle deadlocked, Linghu Xiao’s cautious nature meant he would not rush into action.

As He Yu anticipated, Linghu Xiao moved his cavalry into attack position, but the fog made it impossible to assess the situation.

His cavalry was strong, but their numbers were few, and after days of circling the enemy, they were somewhat worn down. Therefore, timing their entry into battle was crucial; if chosen well, it could turn the tide, but if not, it would be fruitless. Linghu Xiao was torn between options when a guard suddenly cried, “Something’s happening—all the red lanterns are lit on the tower!”

Linghu Xiao looked up; in the foggy night, hundreds of red lanterns swayed, casting a hazy red glow.

“Not good—Pingcheng is in danger.” Linghu Xiao immediately realized the gravity of the situation and gave the order: “Children, life and death hang in the balance—mount up!”

No further encouragement was needed; the cavalrymen knew Pingcheng was in peril and shouted as they followed Linghu Xiao to charge the Later Yan army.

“Whoosh—”
“Whoosh—”
“Whoosh—”
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Arrows flew like locusts, sweeping toward the Yan troops. In the thick fog, aiming was unnecessary; firing at random was sure to hit something. Screams erupted from the Yan ranks. “There are Xianbei on the right!” cried one soldier, followed by another shout: “On the left too!”

No one knew how many Wei troops lurked in the fog, but such cries shook the morale of the Later Yan soldiers, disrupting their attack. Linghu Xiao seized the moment, waved his war blade, and led the charge into the enemy ranks, fighting to the death.

Both armies had been locked in grim struggle; the sudden arrival of Linghu Xiao’s cavalry altered the balance, becoming the final straw that crushed the Later Yan army.

Murong Lin, with an arrow lodged in his face, piercing his nose and knocking out two teeth, was fortunate it was a small crossbow bolt, lacking enough force, and that his teeth absorbed the blow; otherwise, he would have died. Blood covered his face as he retreated from the city, his wound burning fiercely. He immediately realized the arrowhead was poisoned. Filled with rage and panic as he bandaged himself, he heard enemies flanking him from both sides—Wei cavalry had not returned to the city but were now ambushing his forces.

This attack on Pingcheng had cost Murong Lin dearly at the hands of Wei’s two cavalry units. Despite the agony, he suppressed his pain, waved his command flag, and ordered his light cavalry to counterattack. But the fog obscured his signals, so he had to shout hoarsely to convey his orders.

Linghu Xiao’s cavalry numbered only two thousand, but the fog’s cover prevented Later Yan from knowing how many had arrived. Some soldiers, still dazed, lost their heads in an instant.

He Yu and Qingyun, seeing the signal given early, climbed the walls again to direct the defense. After fierce fighting, He Yu was covered in blood. Qingyun, too, was stained and her cloak bore several slashes and holes, but her snake-scale armor kept her unharmed. Yet her strength was depleted, and she gasped for breath.

He Yu grabbed Qingyun’s arm with concern. “Wife, stay behind me—let me face the enemy.”

Qingyun gripped the deer-cutting blade and nodded.

Together, they climbed back onto the wall and sensed the enemy’s attack had slowed. The roar of battle below signaled that Linghu Xiao’s cavalry had entered the fray. He Yu drew a deep breath and shouted, “Murong Lin’s head is here—Wei warriors, follow me and kill!” He called out several times, each using his diaphragm, his voice booming like thunder over Pingcheng.

The Northern Wei soldiers were invigorated, their spirits soaring. The Later Yan troops, hearing that their commander had fallen, were shaken with doubt. With their rear attacked and morale plummeting, even the officers urging them on could not halt the weakening assault.

Thus, the tide of battle at Pingcheng turned.