A cavalry of eight hundred riders, unauthorized by the imperial court’s Ministry of War, departed from the fiefdom of a vassal prince. They entered Hezhou from Youzhou in the Beiliang region, passed through Jizhou, and slowly made their way toward the western outskirts of the capital.
As they advanced, the local garrisons of each province, who should have intercepted this light cavalry, remained silent as cicadas in winter, not even offering a token inquiry. Thus, the eight hundred riders traversed the heavily fortified northern border of Liyang as if it were unguarded. Prior to this, the elite cavalry of the Northern Mang’s eastern front had similarly operated along the northern defenses of Ji and He provinces. However, the difference lay in the fact that Wang Sui commanded tens of thousands of swift and fierce troops, whereas this cavalry numbered a mere eight hundred.
By conventional logic, a force of only eight hundred would hardly make a ripple, let alone in the heavily garrisoned Liaodong contested by both Liyang and Northern Mang. Even if thrown into the war-torn Guangling region, they would scarcely cause a stir.
As the eight hundred riders advanced eastward at a pace far from lightning speed, urgent reports from high-ranking officials—such as Cai Nan, the military governor of Lianghuai; Han Lin, the provincial governor; Zhao Xiong, the Prince of Han; and Yang Huchen, the deputy general of Jizhou—were relayed to the capital at breakneck speed.
Finally, at the westernmost edge of the capital’s outskirts, a crack force dedicated to safeguarding the capital appeared. This was the Western Army, the elite garrison of the capital’s western flank, with the Xilei Battalion as its main force. The entire Western Army, totaling seven thousand troops—half cavalry, half infantry—had been mobilized. This force was nominally under the remote command of Yuan Tingshan, the newly appointed General Who Pacifies the West. However, this Jizhou general could no longer even retain his actual post in Jizhou, let alone exert any control over the Western Army, whose combat strength was second only to the Northern Army of the capital. Today, the seven thousand Western Army troops were led by Zhao Gui, the General Who Pacifies the West, a member of the Zhao imperial clan, with Yuchi Changgong, the Commandant of the Huqi Battalion—one of the capital’s four most powerful commandants—serving as deputy commander.
The well-rested seven thousand troops faced the eight hundred weary light cavalry, yet it was the former who acted as if confronting a formidable enemy.
Yuchi Changgong, a renowned general on par with Yang Huchen and Song Li, managed to maintain a semblance of composure. However, Zhao Gui, the legitimate General Who Pacifies the West, was drenched in sweat, shrinking fearfully atop his horse. He muttered curses under his breath, blaming the elders of the Imperial Clan Court for forcing him into this predicament. He had claimed illness, yet they accused him of feigning. Even the Ministry of War’s Tang Tieshuang had turned a blind eye to his excuse. Little did he expect his own kin to betray him, even threatening to impeach him for cowardice if he refused to lead the troops.
Baking under the scorching sun, Zhao Gui felt like dying. Had it been ten days earlier, he would have eagerly led seven thousand troops to intercept a few hundred Beiliang barbarians in his own territory, regardless of the Ministry of War or the Imperial Clan Court’s pressure. But as rumors spread from the northwest to the capital’s inner circles—whispers slipping through the cracks of government offices and palace curtains—Zhao Gui, whose prowess in bed far surpassed his skills on the battlefield, was utterly dumbfounded. Had these Beiliang barbarians truly defeated the Northern Mang’s million-strong army? Was it true that even the famed Northern Mang general Yang Yuanzan had been beheaded in some godforsaken place called Hulu Pass? Some even swore that the “jingguan” (towers of enemy skulls) in Youzhou were as numerous as snowmen in the capital during winter?
Zhao Gui’s lips trembled violently as he turned to Yuchi Changgong and asked in a shaky voice, “General Yuchi, what if that Xu Xiao brat—no, the King of Beiliang—refuses to stop? Do we really have to fight him?”
Yuchi Changgong, who had been ousted from the position of General Who Pacifies the West by this very imperial clansman, replied expressionlessly, “General Zhao, the imperial decree is clear. We cannot disobey.”
Zhao Gui, who usually made a point of addressing Yuchi Changgong as “Commandant” to belittle him, forced a smile. “Military strategy teaches that subduing the enemy without fighting is the pinnacle of skill. If the King of Beiliang lacks sense, I have good relations with the Southern Army. Why not call for a few thousand more troops? Let the King of Beiliang witness the might of the capital’s garrison.”
Yuchi Changgong replied flatly, “General Zhao, if I recall correctly, unauthorized deployment of capital garrison troops is punishable by death. Neither you nor I, nor even Vice Minister Tang of the Ministry of War, has that authority.”
Zhao Gui chuckled dryly. “I’m just worried that the young prince, so far removed in the northwest, might not understand the gravity of the situation.”
Yuchi Changgong narrowed his eyes, gazing into the distance, uninterested in further conversation with the General Who Pacifies the West. He patiently awaited the next scout report. Unlike Zhao Gui, a so-called “great general” elevated from the dregs of the imperial clan, Yuchi Changgong had earned his stripes on the front lines of Liaodong, rising from a lowly cavalry captain to his current position through merit and family connections. He was no fool like Zhao Gui, who owed his rank solely to his surname. In the capital, fewer than ten individuals truly understood the details of the Beiliang campaign. With the Ministry of War’s minister position vacant and Vice Minister Xu Gong on patrol, only Tang Tieshuang, the vice minister overseeing the ministry in the capital, knew the full story. Due to his Liaodong experience and personal ties with Tang, Yuchi Changgong knew more than Zhao Gui. He was certain Beiliang had repelled the Northern Mang’s three-pronged million-strong offensive and even had a rough estimate of the casualties. Having witnessed the Northern Mang cavalry’s terrifying prowess firsthand, Yuchi Changgong was all the more awestruck. Though he appeared calmer than Zhao Gui, his right hand never left his saber’s hilt, his knuckles white with tension.
While Zhao Gui feared the young prince’s title and the reputation of the 300,000 Beiliang Iron Cavalry—not to mention the new king’s terrifying status as a grandmaster of martial arts—Yuchi Changgong genuinely doubted whether his seven thousand troops, long removed from battle, could withstand the charge of eight hundred cavalry. Could they hold formation after one charge? Two? Three? History showed that numerical superiority meant little when elite troops faced rabble or when first-rate soldiers engaged mediocre ones. Just decades earlier, during the Spring and Autumn Wars, tens of thousands of bandits had been slaughtered by mere thousands of imperial troops. And how often had a few hundred elite soldiers shattered entire enemy formations? Yuchi Changgong had never dismissed Beiliang’s claim to the world’s finest cavalry as lightly as Liyang’s scholars did, but he hadn’t taken it too seriously either. He’d assumed Yang Shenxing’s Jizhou infantry could rival Youzhou’s foot soldiers and that elite cavalry like the Duoyan and Heishui units from the two Liaos could match Beiliang’s best. Now, he wasn’t so sure.
Yuchi Changgong tightened his grip on his saber, his emotions in turmoil. If Beiliang’s cavalry numbered not in the tens of thousands but a true 300,000, could they not storm the Northern Mang’s heartland, conquering the deserts and grasslands for the first time in history? And if Beiliang possessed such strength, having crushed the Northern Mang, how much harder would it be to take the Tai’an City behind him?
When scouts reported the eight hundred riders were just ten li away, Zhao Gui forced a smile and asked, “General Yuchi, surely the King of Beiliang wouldn’t dare wage war at the emperor’s doorstep?”
Yuchi Changgong, no longer in the mood to kick Zhao Gui while he was down, frowned. “Wait until they advance another five li. If Beiliang sends scouts to engage us, it means the prince intends to follow protocol.”
Unconsciously, Zhao Gui’s helmet had tilted. He reached up with trembling hands to adjust it, wiping sweat from his brow. “And if we see no Beiliang scouts?”
Yuchi Changgong replied gravely, “Then we form ranks and meet the enemy.”
Zhao Gui shuddered, nearly falling off his horse. He laughed awkwardly to mask his panic, consoling himself, “Surely not. Last time the King of Beiliang came to the capital to pay respects to the late emperor, whether at the Xiamawei posthouse or in court, he did observe protocol.”
The General Who Pacifies the West had conveniently forgotten the young heir’s antics outside the Imperial Academy and the incident at the Jiujiu Restaurant, not to mention his own past boasts about teaching the “little barbarian” a lesson.
With the two armies just five li apart and still no sign of Beiliang scouts, Zhao Gui slapped his own face. “You jinxed it!”
Yuchi Changgong didn’t need to look back to feel the suffocating tension among his troops.
He recalled his first battle in Liaodong as a young cavalry captain, how he could hear his own ragged breathing.
New recruits often experienced eerie silence before a charge, even drowning out the war drums.
At three li, still no Beiliang riders broke formation.
Zhao Gui looked as if mourning his own parents, muttering to himself, “King of Beiliang, can’t we talk this out? Aren’t Beiliang and Liyang family? Fighting among ourselves is pointless. You’ve already slaughtered hundreds of thousands of Northern Mang barbarians—isn’t that enough? Killing your own countrymen isn’t heroic… Besides, Your Highness, you’re a grandmaster on par with Deng Tai’a. Fighting someone like me is beneath you!”
Yuchi Changgong raised a hand high and roared without turning, “Form ranks!”
Four thousand infantry centered the formation, layering shields and spears like walls, archers readying their bows.
Three thousand cavalry on the flanks raised their lances.
According to intelligence from Lianghuai and the Zhao Gou, the eight hundred Beiliang light cavalry carried no lances—only crossbows and sabers.
Riding to the front of the Xilei Battalion’s cavalry on the left flank, Yuchi Changgong bitterly realized he felt like that green recruit from Liaodong all over again.
The Xilei Battalion, the Western Army’s elite, prided itself on being able to defeat the other two battalions combined.
Its name hailed from the Xilei Wall.
Yet in just over twenty years, even Yuchi Changgong had forgotten who conquered the Xilei Wall.
Only now, standing against Beiliang, facing the Xu family’s iron cavalry, did they remember this forgotten truth.
Pale-faced, Zhao Gui led his personal guard to the cavalry’s right flank, glancing repeatedly at Yuchi Changgong. For the first time in his life, he regretted antagonizing the man.
Military doctrine demanded commanders lead from the front, a rule still observed in the two Liaos and Nanjiang but ignored elsewhere.
Now, Zhao Gui slowly retreated, causing the right flank’s formation to waver.
The rank-and-file of the Western Army knew nothing of Beiliang’s victory over the Northern Mang, but all had heard the new king was a martial grandmaster who defeated Wang Xianzhi of Wudi City—a figure who could fly through the skies. Even if they doubted one man could slaughter seven thousand, killing seven or eight hundred seemed plausible. As part of the charging cavalry, they’d be the first to die. Statistically, one in three or four would perish. Worse yet, if the young king died here, triggering a Beiliang assault on Tai’an City, who would bear the blame? Certainly not the high-ranking ministers!
Under the sun, upon the earth, the eight hundred riders in pristine white armor gleamed.
They advanced slowly, not yet charging.
Just as everyone assumed they’d halt and send envoys to negotiate with the generals, something extraordinary happened.
In the blink of an eye, the eight hundred riders fanned into a charging formation.
No lances—just eight hundred white-armored cavalry drawing their Beiliang sabers.
Despite being outnumbered, they stood ready to charge the seven thousand well-rested imperial troops.
Zhao Gui spurred his horse—not forward, but with astonishing skill, he circled to the rear of the right flank.
Yuchi Changgong knew that whether they won or lost, the real disaster would be the irreversible rift between the court and Beiliang. The Yuchi family couldn’t bear that responsibility.
Yet he couldn’t retreat either. One step back would doom his career and his clan’s future in Liyang’s bureaucracy.
So Yuchi Changgong spurred his horse forward, riding alone to within a hundred paces of the Beiliang vanguard. Bowing, he shouted, “General Yuchi Changgong pays respects to the King of Beiliang!”
The Beiliang formation’s front line numbered only two hundred. At its center stood an unremarkable carriage guarded by four or five riders.
The carriage’s curtain remained still.
Receiving no response, Yuchi Changgong continued loudly, “By Liyang law, the retinues of the Kings of Beiliang and Huainan must halt at the Western Army’s camp upon entering the capital!”
Clenching his fists, Yuchi Changgong endured an agonizing wait.
Finally, he looked up to see a Beiliang captain, silent, shift from gripping his saber to drawing it.
Swallowing hard, Yuchi Changgong rasped, “I implore the King of Beiliang to abide by the law!”
Suddenly, murmurs swept through the Western Army.
Turning in shock, Yuchi Changgong saw three riders approaching—one a palace eunuch in crimson robes, holding a yellow scroll aloft, screeching, “Imperial decree!”
The other two included a young official from the Ministry of War.
Yuchi Changgong exhaled in relief, as if spared from the gates of hell.
The decree permitted the eight hundred riders to accompany the king into the capital, lodging near Xiamawei posthouse.
As the eunuch finished, silence reigned.
The young ministry official smirked.
The older rites official feigned sleep, wiser than to react.
The carriage curtain didn’t stir.
The eunuch’s face remained impassive, though Yuchi Changgong sensed his fury.
A voice from the carriage asked flatly, “Finished?”
The eunuch bowed. “Yes.”
“Then make way.”
Yuchi Changgong gaped.
The young official started to protest, but the eunuch silenced him with a glare.
Turning to Yuchi Changgong, the eunuch whispered, “Commandant, escort the king.”
As Yuchi Changgong ordered the troops to disperse, the young ministry official, Gao Tingshu, clenched his fists until his nails drew blood.
The eunuch murmured obsequiously, “Your Highness, this servant must return to the capital and cannot accompany you further.”
No reply came.
The eunuch departed with the two officials.
The decree remained unaccepted.
Since Liyang unified the realm, only twice had an imperial decree been refused—both times by the same man.
The King of Beiliang, who couldn’t be bothered to lift his curtain.
The rites official stole a glance at the eunuch, whose face betrayed nothing.
Gao Tingshu sneered at the eight hundred riders passing through the Western Army’s ranks. “Such arrogance!”
The eunuch’s throat emitted a faint, chilling chuckle.
Gao Tingshu smirked again.
Earlier, he’d deliberately slowed their pace, and the eunuch hadn’t objected.
Gao Tingshu knew the show was just beginning.
For this was Tai’an City, not Beiliang.
※※※
As Tai’an’s towering walls loomed into view, Xu Fengnian finally lifted the carriage curtain. Clad in the python robe tailored by Beiliang’s own weavers, he smiled at the driver. “Last time, these walls seemed high. Now, they’re no match for the jingguan at Hulu Pass.”
The driver, Xu Yanbing, smirked but said nothing.
In the autumn of Xiangfu’s second year, the King of Beiliang entered the capital.
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