In the northernmost part of Tigerhead City, the towering watchtowers and arrow towers became the primary targets of the Northern Mang’s catapults. The building where the commanding general, Liu Jinu, was stationed was positioned further back, making it less vulnerable to the catapults. However, the Northern Mang’s elite archers took pride in hitting this tower during the siege, though such feats weren’t counted as military achievements. Still, those who succeeded were treated as heroes upon retreating from the battlefield.
Liu Jinu stood beside a table covered with a map of Tigerhead City, meticulously marked with battlefield details—collapsed sections of the wall, areas stripped of ballistae, and hastily reinforced crumbling battlements. His gaze lingered on the northeastern sector, where the ballistae had been the first to fall. Over the past half-month, the Northern Mang had intensified their assaults there while maintaining pressure from the north. A significant portion of their siege engines had shifted from the northwest to the northeast.
A patrol captain strode into the room, grinning. “General, those Northern Mang savages never learn! Today, another seven hundred of their ‘rats’ died—half suffocated in their tunnels. When we descended, we barely had to lift a finger to finish them off. As usual, we sealed the tunnel tight and stationed two tunnel experts and a cavalry unit nearby to keep watch day and night.”
Liu Jinu nodded. “Have we exhausted all the *dalei* hanging outside the watchtowers?”
*Dalei* were a unique Central Plains defense against sieges—thick, tightly woven hemp curtains coated with fireproof mud, highly effective against catapult stones and flaming arrows. Though Tigerhead City’s walls were exceptionally sturdy, without the *dalei* to absorb the impact of flying boulders, the city wouldn’t have held up so well.
A deputy sighed. “Yes. Who knew those savages would bring so many catapults? Thankfully, you anticipated this, General, or we’d be in real trouble. Our water bladders are also running low—not just at the gates but along the walls. Water isn’t the issue; it’s the bladders made from livestock hides and organs. Those barbarians are dousing the walls with oil and raining fire arrows like madmen. At least our mud-soaked brooms for firefighting can be reused.”
Liu Jinu, who hadn’t slept properly in two days, picked up an arrow from the table and handed it to a nearby captain. “Take a close look at this.”
The arrow passed from hand to hand before Liu Jinu continued, “The Northern Mang have used these before, but never in such numbers—until now. Half their arrows match their elite cavalry’s current design, with elongated tips to pierce our armor. The rest are outdated—bronze-cast relics from older dynasties and flat, four-edged iron arrows from the Dafeng era. But now, they’ve refined their arsenal. Even conical and iron-spine arrows have appeared.”
Setting the arrow down, he added, “I mention this because, judging by the Northern Mang’s recent tactics, I believe they’re catching their breath—like martial artists in a duel. Before their next assault, we have a window. It might be a trap, but we must seize the chance. That’s why I’ve deliberately sent cavalry onto the walls lately—to give our infantry a breather while preparing our riders for a surprise sortie.”
A gate captain, still nursing a head wound from a Northern Mang strike, asked, “Should we intensify our wall defenses to sell the ruse?”
Liu Jinu shook his head. “No. Overdoing it would backfire.”
He closed his eyes briefly—whether from exhaustion or strategizing, none could say—then snapped them open, slamming his fists on the table. He locked eyes with two eager cavalry captains. “The Northern Mang’s flanking cavalry, idle for too long, have grown complacent. Tonight—*tonight*—we strike. Two thousand riders will charge from the northern gate, free to rampage. A thousand each from the east and west gates will hit their flanks. Remember: You have *half an hour*. No matter how many you kill, retreat when the time’s up. If you linger, Tigerhead’s gates may never reopen.”
As the captains turned to leave, Liu Jinu called after them, “Tell your men—the Northern Mang might not even let us reopen those gates!”
A grizzled, towering captain nodded. “Understood.”
Outside, the younger captain glanced back before whispering to the elder, “Old Battalion Chief, do we… spell it out for the men?”
The old man leaned on the railing, silent.
The younger officer understood and dropped the subject—he’d been thinking the same.
Finally, the veteran turned with a smile. “Song, even though we’re the same rank now, you were my squad leader for three years. Even if you made general tomorrow, you’d still be *my* soldier. So tonight, *I’ll* lead the charge. You stay and manage the cavalry here.”
The younger man spun on his heel. “Then I’ll take this up with General Liu.”
The old man kicked him lightly in the rear, chuckling. “Get back here! Let me finish.”
When Captain Song turned back, the elder pointed north. “I had a son and a daughter. My boy died deep in Northern Mang territory during the Yonghui era. My son-in-law—your rival back when you both served under me—fell eight years ago beyond Liangzhou’s borders. At least I’ve got grandchildren now; the He family line endures. But burying your own children… that’s a pain no parent should bear.”
He grinned. “I know you resented me for picking him over you as a son-in-law. All these years in Tigerhead City, you’ve been needling me. Thirty years ago, I’d have beaten you senseless for it.”
Song muttered, “As if you could.”
The old man ignored the jab, sighing wistfully. “After decades of war across the Central Plains, we’ve had nearly twenty years of peace in Northern Liang. Even with losses, our families could mourn properly—unlike the chaos of my youth, where the living envied the dead. Whenever I visit home now, seeing the kids practice calligraphy, holding brushes better than I ever held a spear… listening to them recite classics… this era in Northern Liang? It’s *good*.”
He clapped Song’s shoulder. “Every extra day of this peace is a gift. Tonight, whether the gates reopen or not, I’m not coming back. On foot, I’d barely kill a handful of savages. On horseback? I’ll take down as many as I can. So, Song… still want to fight me for this?”
The younger captain slowly clasped his fists, words failing him.
The old man laughed heartily and strode off—only for Song to land a kick on his backside before darting downstairs, shouting, “Old Battalion Chief! Since I couldn’t marry your daughter, I swore I’d kick you one day. Don’t hold a grudge!”
Brushing off his armor, the veteran chuckled. “Little bastard. Good thing I never made you my son-in-law.”
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