Forty thousand veteran soldiers from Jinan crossed the Qingyang Basin unscathed. General Yang Shenxing, intentionally or unintentionally, halted his horse on a high slope at the edge of the basin and looked back. He seemed relieved at not encountering any ambushes, yet slightly disappointed at missing a fierce battle. This great general of the Anuo Kingdom carried many secrets within his heart, secrets he hadn’t even shared with his own son, Yang Huchen. The saying goes, “The son may not compare to the grandson,” and indeed, his eldest grandson, Yang Wenqi, was the only true military genius in the family. However, he was still too young, and Yang Shenxing did not wish for the boy to be tainted early by the schemes of the battlefield and the court. His son Yang Huchen was merely a capable general, not a strategist, so further discussion was pointless.
This southern campaign, the outcome for Yang’s Jinan troops was ultimately insignificant to the grand scheme of things. Even if Cao Zhangqing wished for a triumphant start, he would focus only on Yan Zhenchun, a much juicier target. Only by eliminating the thirty thousand cavalry stationed on the Dongyu Plains would they avoid being trampled upon by enemies from above. Yang Shenxing chuckled. Yan Zhenchun’s refusal to accept those inexperienced young soldiers into his ranks was not only due to the old general’s distant relationship with the court nobles in the capital, but also because he clearly understood his perilous position and dared not use this opportunity to curry favor with the powerful families of Taian City. If dozens of young aristocrats died in battle, it would anger dozens of influential families in the capital all at once. On the battlefield, who cares about your parents’ status? When the killing fervor rises, a head is simply a military achievement.
As Yang Shenxing pondered how to seize new opportunities to satisfy the young nobles once he took command of the Kuixiao Garrison, he suddenly heard a sharp whistle. His eyelid twitched involuntarily. He leapt onto his horse and rode southward.
A lone rider burst into the formation, unchallenged. He was an elite scout from the Jinan veterans, gravely wounded with an arrow lodged in his back. The scouts were mounted on swift horses with no armor, pursuing maximum speed. They carried only short crossbows and sabers for close combat. Yang Shenxing hurried to where the scout had fallen from his horse. The middle-aged scout, whose name Yang could still recall, was already dead. Yang Huchen, who had arrived earlier, held the still-warm body of the scout and gritted his teeth. Just as he was about to report the intelligence, General Yang on horseback waved him off. Understanding the gravity of the situation, Yang Huchen ordered the body to be carried away and rode alongside his father to a secluded spot. With a dark expression, he finally spoke, “Father, of the six scouts sent to Kuixiao Garrison, only this one returned. The city walls have already raised the banner marked ‘Chu.’ Overnight, three trenches have been dug in front of the city. The breastworks, battlements, and arrow slits have been constructed with great skill, rivaling the craftsmanship of our Jinan engineering corps. The city flanks are patrolled by cavalry, though their numbers are unknown. It seems they do not intend to make a last stand at Kuixiao. My greatest fear is that these remaining Western Chu forces might deploy all their cavalry near Kuixiao…”
Yang Shenxing sneered, “Absolutely not. The terrain at Kuixiao can barely accommodate three thousand cavalry. Any more would be just for show. Three thousand horsemen, plus six or seven thousand rebels within the city, might be enough to defend, but launching an offensive would be sheer madness. The real concern is whether they’re targeting our supply lines behind us. Once we cross the Qingshui Ferry, the Qingyang Basin opens up.”
Yang Huchen asked cautiously, “Father, should we retreat to the northern bank of the Qingshui Ferry? With the river as a barrier, even if the enemy has a cavalry advantage, they won’t be able to deploy effectively. Whether we attack or defend, we’ll still have the initiative. At worst, we’ll just miss out on the first victory…”
Yang Shenxing remained silent, his face dark. At that moment, another scout returned with fresh intelligence, bearing a message so absurd that both Yang Shenxing and Yang Huchen found it hard to believe. A force of two thousand light cavalry had begun advancing northward from outside Kuixiao Garrison and would soon clash head-on with their troops. The Jinan infantry’s southern advance was steady and measured—not overly cautious, but prepared for any ambush. They were far from being a fatigued force. Moreover, Yang Shenxing commanded four thousand well-rested light cavalry. He couldn’t help but chuckle at the thought: who was leading the enemy forces? Had they studied military manuals so thoroughly that they’d lost all sense? Did they really believe that as long as they had cavalry, they could recklessly charge against a marching infantry force?
With a faint smile, Yang Shenxing issued his orders, “Huchen, send Wenqi ahead as the vanguard with two thousand riders. You will follow with three thousand riders. If those ‘three thousand iron riders’ volunteer to join the battle, grant their request. Let them take the middle ground to claim the glory. It’ll do them good to see some bloodshed—they’ll have something to boast about to their friends when they return to the capital. Also, keep a close watch on the Qingyang Basin. These Western Chu youths, who’ve been poring over military manuals for over a decade, might pull off something ridiculous.”
Yang Huchen departed to carry out the orders. Yang Shenxing rode slowly forward and then climbed onto a hastily constructed watchtower. Leaning against the rough railing, he felt a surge of nostalgia. During the Spring and Autumn Wars, when two armies faced off, every advantage—weather, terrain, and morale—was fiercely contested. He had once fought side by side with several generals from Beiliang, and those battles had been truly magnificent. Yuan Zuozong’s cavalry charges, even when outnumbered, carried the might of a lion pouncing on a rabbit. Chu Luxian’s rearguard actions, no matter how many enemies pursued, always ensured no worries from behind. As for Chen Zhibao’s command of the army, during a single campaign, he issued hundreds of precise orders, directing every battalion and every captain with the precision of moving his own limbs.
Why had the current emperor favored that “Little Butcher”? Because it was Chen Zhibao who had achieved a decisive victory against Ye Baikui, the master tactician of the Spring and Autumn Armies, in a battle involving over a hundred thousand troops—and he had done so without hesitation or delay, achieving a clean and resounding triumph. Yang Shenxing sighed. He knew all too well who had been the greatest contributor to the Spring and Autumn Wars. Yet, that crippled man had won the battlefield but lost in the court. It was no one else’s fault.
Yang Shenxing let out a soft exclamation. Two cavalry forces of roughly equal numbers had clashed. Despite Yang Wenqi’s charge, the enemy had not collapsed like a mountain. They still had the strength to fight. At first, the old general had worried this might be an enemy ploy to lure them in. Wenqi was young and impulsive; if their cavalry suffered heavy losses here, it would be a tragedy. With a self-deprecating smile, he muttered, “This isn’t like the old days when we fought against the Western Chu. Where would we find so many desperate, bloody battles anymore?”
Yang Shenxing quietly observed the battlefield. When he saw the elite troops he had privately joked about with his son as the “Three Thousand Iron Riders” charging into battle, he nodded approvingly. It was the perfect moment for Huchen to send them in. Wenqi’s forces had suffered losses at a ratio of roughly two to three. Partly because Wenqi, though in a slightly superior position, hadn’t been decisive enough in seizing the advantage, but mostly because these enemy riders were elite soldiers that the Western Chu had invested heavily in training. They were trying to use this victory to boost the morale of the entire Western Chu army.
Yang Shenxing frowned. Even with such a massive advantage, why were those three thousand riders charging so hesitantly? In his field of vision, the three thousand riders were now surrounded by piles of corpses, their speed significantly reduced. Poor horsemanship was part of the reason, but more likely, they were unnerved by the sight of so many fresh corpses and severed limbs lying around them. In less than half an hour, the Kuixiao cavalry had left over six hundred bodies behind. Yang Wenqi’s cavalry had deliberately left a path for pursuit, while Yang Huchen maintained a steady advance. After the initial discomfort, the younger generation, who were the sons of veteran warriors, began to show their innate ferocity. Within the three thousand riders, the noble-born officers, carefully guarded by their attendants, rushed forward one after another.
Yang Shenxing smiled faintly and whispered, “At last, they resemble a bit of the fierce spirit their ancestors and fathers once displayed on the battlefield.”
As Yang Shenxing gripped the railing, his expression suddenly changed drastically.
The ground trembled.
This was not the minor tremor caused by a small group of Jinan light cavalry.
It was the sound of heavily armored riders.
True heavy cavalry!
Yang Shenxing had always longed for such an awe-inspiring force, but without powerful steeds capable of bearing heavy armor, without sufficient silver to maintain and support them, and without vast plains to gallop across, the dream remained unattainable. Possessing a thousand or more heavy cavalry was a dream cherished by every cavalry commander.
Yang Shenxing’s face darkened. “They didn’t deploy them on the Dongyu Plains, but instead sent them here? Do they really think my Jinan veterans are made of paper?”
A black torrent surged into view.
Yang Shenxing exhaled in relief. It seemed formidable, but it was only a thousand or so riders—insufficient to change the tide of the battle. With both sides fielding fresh, well-rested forces, it would now come down to who was braver: Huchen’s three thousand light cavalry or the enemy’s thousand heavy riders.
Young General Yang Wenqi, naturally more perceptive than his grandfather Yang Shenxing, sensed the enemy’s heavy cavalry entering the fray earlier than the old general.
He shook the blood from his spear tip, refraining from rashly forming a defensive line. Instead, he dispatched messengers to the “Three Thousand Iron Riders” who had been idly waiting on the battlefield, ordering them to retreat immediately. They must not turn and flee recklessly but instead clear a path for his father Yang Huchen’s three thousand light cavalry. This would also allow the enemy’s heavy cavalry to charge forward unimpeded. However, between two unfavorable choices, this was the lesser evil. If those three thousand riders were caught in the chaos, they would not only be cut down by the heavy cavalry but also hinder his father’s charge. If that happened, their six thousand riders would descend into chaos, unable to withstand the devastating impact of the enemy’s red-armored iron riders.
Yang Wenqi watched as many of the noble-born officers, focused only on thrusting their spears at the fallen enemy light cavalry, laughed and playfully feigned attacks, toying with the enemy soldiers scrambling beneath their hooves. Overcome with fury, Yang Wenqi rode forward swiftly and lightly jabbed the armor of one noble-born officer with his spear, shouting, “Look up and see what’s ahead! Retreat as ordered if you don’t want to die!”
Fortunately, the one thousand heavy cavalry could not possibly chase down every scattered rider among the five thousand on the battlefield. Under the guidance and protection of Yang Wenqi’s light cavalry and the nobles’ attendants, most of them managed to retreat successfully. However, several hundred of the “Iron Riders” who had charged too far ahead were momentarily stunned. When they finally realized the danger, they merely turned their horses and fled in a straight line, presenting their backs to the charging heavy cavalry.
Yang Wenqi’s eyes turned red as he spotted several familiar figures among the hundreds of retreating riders. These were young men from aristocratic families in Taian City, each bearing the titles of Duke, Earl, or Marquis. Clenching his teeth, Yang Wenqi ordered several veteran soldiers who had fought alongside his grandfather across the land to lead three hundred personal guards to rescue those fools.
Yang Wenqi veered off in an arc to retreat, tears streaming down his face, unable to bear looking at the scene behind him.
Yang Huchen, leading the charge, roared, “Kill!”
Yang Shenxing’s eyes widened, his hands gripping the railing, trembling uncontrollably, his veins bulging.
As the one thousand heavy cavalry emerged, two more wings of one thousand light cavalry each charged from the flanks in the distance.
Yang Shenxing was no immortal; he could not alter the battle once it had begun. He didn’t need to say much—the Jinan veterans began forming defensive formations under their respective commanders.
A group of noble-born light cavalry barely escaped the impact of the charging heavy cavalry. As they frantically retreated along a path outside the direct line of attack, they could not keep up with the relentless advance of the black tide and could only watch helplessly from the side as the heavy cavalry surged past them.
The heavy cavalry, fully armored, wielded only long lances. Their expressions were invisible. Except for the thunderous sound of hooves, they were eerily silent.
From the side of the battlefield, they witnessed countless Jinan cavalry being struck down by the heavy riders. Many riders and horses were hurled into the air upon impact.
Even two of Yang’s veteran soldiers were pierced through with a single lance, their own weapons only managing to scrape sparks off the enemy armor before sliding away. Only those fortunate enough to strike the gaps in the red horse armor managed to unhorse their foes. But even those enemies destined to fall still wielded their lances like knives slicing through tofu, effortlessly impaling the Jinan riders before them.
From a distance, rows of Jinan riders were instantly killed in their saddles, their bodies flung into the air, crashing to the ground, and mercilessly trampled into pulp.
Yang Shenxing’s face was filled with disbelief as he stared wide-eyed. Could it be that his forces were utterly incapable of fighting back? How difficult was it to train a heavy cavalry unit that could decisively turn the tide of battle rather than be a burden?
Yang Shenxing was furious—half at the “surprise” the Western Chu remnants had given him, the great general of Anuo, and half at the enemy’s audacity in choosing his Jinan veterans as their target.
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