In the Northern Liang region, two newly constructed post roads within Liuzhou run horizontally, connecting to Liang and Ling Provinces respectively. Far less intricate than the tightly woven system of the three inner provinces, this was a necessary compromise. The vast expanse of Liuzhou relies on only three military garrisons, yet it borders the heavily fortified Gusai Province of the Northern Mang. Building vertical post roads in Liuzhou would only facilitate the unimpeded southward advance of the grassland cavalry—a self-destructive move for border defense. Even if the young Prince of Liang were to recklessly squander resources on constructing such roads in Liuzhou, the Qingcang City Prefecture, the Huaiyang Pass Protectorate, and the Qingliang Mountain would undoubtedly revolt in unison.
To the right of Laoyu Mountain lies a stretch of plains, second only to the terrain outside Qingcang City’s walls in its suitability for cavalry engagements.
Kou Jianghuai’s third interception battle, following two major victories, was set on a flat expanse of yellow sand over two hundred *li* north of Laoyu Mountain. Between this location and the plains near Laoyu Mountain runs a massive north-south corridor, resembling the slender waist of a woman. While not the only route for grassland cavalry advancing southward, it shortens the journey by more than sixty *li* compared to detours. The corridor is neither narrow nor treacherous—far from a precarious goat trail—making it impossible to set ambushes on either side. Instead, the gently sloping hills flanking the corridor ensure a consistent width of about one and a half *li*, allowing large cavalry units to charge unimpeded. The corridor’s resemblance to a woman’s waist is relative to the vast expanse of Liuzhou, which is why neither side—from Liu Gui’s cavalry in the first Liang-Mang War to Kou Jianghuai’s three interception battles in the second—had ever considered this stretch, nicknamed “Grasshopper Legs” by refugees, a strategic priority.
Yet, as fifty thousand Southern Dynasty border cavalry thundered toward the Laoyu Mountain battlefield, just as they glimpsed the northern entrance of the corridor, a Liuzhou force had already materialized at its midpoint, lying in wait!
When the scouts urgently reported the enemy’s presence, the Northern Mang commanders faced an agonizing dilemma. The Liuzhou infantry, numbering around fourteen thousand—primarily monks from the Western Regions’ Rantuo Mountain, supplemented by two to three thousand local troops—had formed a defensive line across the corridor. The bad news was that the terrain prevented the cavalry from flanking maneuvers to thin their ranks. The good news? The infantry lacked any large anti-cavalry barriers. With their overwhelming numerical advantage, the cavalry could easily break the formation and force a chaotic retreat. Even if the infantry doubled in number, they would be no match for the charging horsemen.
After twenty years of brutal border clashes, the Southern Dynasty cavalry no longer underestimated the Northern Liang horsemen or Yan Wenluan’s elite Youzhou infantry. But against any other force, their confidence remained unshaken—a pride forged through four centuries of raiding the Central Plains since the fall of the Great Feng Dynasty. What truly troubled the Southern Dynasty commanders was the urgency imposed by their superiors—from the Northern Court’s royal tent to the nearby Western Capital’s court, and even the frontline commander Huang Songpu—all demanding punctual arrival to deliver the decisive blow against Liuzhou’s field forces. Delaying even slightly was unacceptable.
The dilemma wasn’t just whether to detour. The Rantuo monks blocking the corridor could swiftly retreat southward. While bypassing might allow a quicker breakthrough, the sixty-*li* detour’s toll on their horses was a cost no Southern Dynasty commander could bear. Moreover, the prospect of annihilating over ten thousand Western Regions monks—especially if their leader was Xie Xichui, whose head alone could earn a noble title—was irresistible.
**Fight or not?**
**Fight, of course!**
For both duty and personal gain, the Southern Dynasty cavalry resolved to clash in this corridor and reap the rewards. The emperor’s recent gift of eighteen jade belts to the Wanyan clan was proof enough of the spoils awaiting them.
With fifty thousand fresh cavalry at their peak, how could they fail to break through mere infantry?
On the other side of the corridor, Xie Xichui—clad in armor, his sword at his waist—sat atop his horse, gazing northward. The wind carried the scent of blood before the battle had even begun.
One of the famed “Twin Jewels of Great Chu,” now a Northern Liang general, stood firm, his expression resolute.
Cao Changqing, the late Grand Tutor of Chu, had once privately praised Xie Xichui to Empress Jiang Shi, declaring him peerless in warfare—”turning stone to gold on the battlefield.” But his final remark held deeper weight: *”Xie Xichui’s tenacity surpasses even Kou Jianghuai’s.”*
Xie Xichui closed his eyes. Once a refugee of the fallen Chu, now a general of Northern Liang, he was a man even the young Emperor of Liyang had sought to recruit into the capital.
Great Chu’s two-century dominance in the Spring and Autumn Era had rested on three pillars: impenetrable armor, unerring bows, and unbreakable discipline. At its zenith, Chu had crushed its northern neighbors, Liyang and Dongyue, like a giant swatting children. Even as Chu declined, Liyang’s fledgling cavalry could not match Chu’s legendary heavy infantry—until the Jing River massacre proved that without cavalry support, even the mightiest foot soldiers were doomed.
That battle, overshadowed by history, left a lasting mark on the Xu family. Xu Xiao, surveying the aftermath, knelt beside a fallen Chu halberdier, marveling at the undamaged armor. *”The man is dead, yet his armor remains intact. If we had such armor, how many lives could we save? We cannot afford to stay this poor.”*
From then on, the Xu family—once indifferent to spoils—began hoarding weapons and wealth after every victory. Critics accused them of corruption, but Xu Xiao never denied it. The climax came during the Western Rampart campaign, when Xu Xiao secretly diverted ten thousand troops to sack the Chu capital ahead of Liyang’s forces, looting its treasures. His infamous quip—*”Shit is easy to pass but hard to eat”*—was his retort to Liyang’s envoys demanding restitution. Emperor Zhao Li, reportedly amused, let the matter drop after Xu Xiao grudgingly returned a token share.
As Prince of Liang, Xu Xiao’s obsession with superior weaponry only grew. The so-called “Northern Liang cavalry, peerless under heaven” was less about horsemen and more about unmatched resources.
For twenty years, despite strict bans, smuggling iron to the Northern Mang grasslands persisted along Liyang’s borders. Only under Chen Zhibao’s brief tenure as Minister of War and Gu Jian’s personal oversight did the trade finally cease. Even the Northern Liang army, famed for its discipline, executed several officers for involvement.
The grassland cavalry, never lacking horses but always short on armor, had improved under the Northern Mang empress’s rule, especially after the Hongjia Northern Migration. Yet some nomadic traditions endured. The famed Qiang cavalry, annihilated in northwest Liuzhou, had stubbornly clung to light leather armor and short weapons despite the court’s willingness to equip them better.
Now, the thunder of fifty thousand hoofbeats echoed through the corridor, mingling with the Northern Mang riders’ triumphant cries.
Xie Xichui’s eyes snapped open. Drawing his Liang blade, he roared: **”Form ranks! Brace for cavalry!”**
To halt the Northern Mang horsemen, Xie Xichui had secured five thousand powerful bows and crossbows from Liuzhou’s armory—plus eight hundred horse-piercing lances and a thousand *modao* from Liangzhou’s reserves.
The *modao*, a fifty-*jin* behemoth of forged steel, had been the pride of Southern Tang’s elite infantry. Gu Dazu, Southern Tang’s greatest general, now serving under Xu Fengnian, had redesigned it for Northern Liang’s sturdier men, dubbing it the “Sixty-Blade.” Only a thousand had been forged so far, and Xie Xichui had claimed them all.
The eight hundred lances were even rarer—each taking years to craft, a luxury even most noble cavalrymen could not afford. Xu Xiao’s wartime scavenging had amassed this trove, now entrusted to Xie Xichui.
In the corridor, the Rantuo monks stood ready.
At the forefront: a forest of lance tips, gleaming like snow.
Three hundred men per row, arrayed in three lines. The first knelt, lances angled forward; the second held theirs level; the third rested theirs on the shoulders of the men ahead.
Behind this phalanx stood two rows of shield-bearing monks.
Beyond the lances waited eight hundred *modao*-wielding giants, seated in four rows of two hundred. They would rise only on command, conserving strength until the lancers fell.
Then, they would advance—**”Before Southern Tang’s *modao*, horse and man alike shatter!”**
Behind them, two thousand Liuzhou border troops and three thousand Rantuo monks manned five thousand bows and crossbows.
It was these archers, though positioned farther back, who would first blunt the cavalry’s charge.
After ordering the formation, Xie Xichui dismounted and walked to the front, shield in one hand, sword in the other.
The Northern Mang cavalry’s thunderous cries met the Liuzhou infantry’s stony silence.
Here, in this nameless corridor, they would decide life and death.
Later historians would summarize this battle in four words: **”Six clashes, six repulses.”**
No more needed to be said.
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