North of the Elderly Woman Mountain, the vast plains echoed with the mournful wail of war horns, shaking the heavens.
Huang Songpu’s elite cavalry of twelve thousand, Wanyan’s elite riders of fourteen thousand, and the thirty-four thousand strong Yi-character cavalry—among which were interspersed five to six hundred rare heavy cavalry clad in full armor—stood poised for battle. The Northern Wilderness cavalry stretched in formation for five to six li in depth, an unbroken line. Compared to the mere thirty thousand or so cavalry of the Northern Liang’s Liuzhou border army appearing on the frontlines, the Northern Wilderness forces not only matched their high morale but vastly outnumbered them. The commander-in-chief, Huang Songpu, did not deliberately seek unconventional tactics in his deployment. Though the battlefield here was vast, this veteran general, who had held the title of Southern Court’s foremost leader for over a decade, did not stretch his frontline to the limit. Clearly, he had no intention of engaging in an unprecedented large-scale melee, nor did he divide his forces into left, center, and right formations like the Liuzhou border army. Instead, he positioned his elite troops as the vanguard, followed closely by Wanyan’s elite cavalry, with the numerically superior Yi-character cavalry bringing up the rear, advancing layer by layer. This strategy maximized the weakening of the Northern Liang border cavalry’s natural advantage in armor and weaponry, ensuring the thickness of his own formation while forcing the Liuzhou cavalry into a quagmire, reducing their opportunities for repeated charges.
Conversely, the fact that the legendary steppe cavalry—described in the Spring and Autumn Annals as “the riders of the western and northern frontiers, fierce and swift, charging like the wind, gathering and dispersing unpredictably, unstoppable unless by towering walls and impregnable passes”—had to adopt such a stable formation for this cavalry battle itself highlighted the exceptional prowess of the Northern Liang cavalry.
From the summit of the Elderly Woman Mountain, where Kou Jianghuai and Chen Xiliang stood, the view was superb. Looking down at the battlefield, they could see the cavalry of both Liang and Mang charging simultaneously, like two torrents breaching their banks, crashing toward each other.
Chen Xiliang never considered himself a military strategist, nor did he share the visceral excitement that battlefield commanders often felt. In fact, this brilliant second-generation strategist of the Listening Tide Pavilion, serving the Xu family, harbored an intellectual’s instinctive aversion to the bloodshed of war. Confucianism extolled the virtues of self-cultivation, family harmony, state governance, and world peace, with the essence lying in the latter two. Thus, a well-governed world and lasting peace were the true aspirations of scholars.
Chen Xiliang instinctively turned his head and saw Kou Jianghuai, one hand holding the reins and the other resting on his saber, his expression calm. Chen Xiliang was often compared to Xu Beizhi, another strategist of the Cool Mountain, much like how the Western Chu court loved to debate the merits of the “Twin Jewels of Chu”—Kou Jianghuai and Xie Xichui—over who was the more brilliant tactician. Within the Northern Liang’s officialdom and border army, the assessments of Chen Xiliang, the Liuzhou deputy, and Xu Beizhi, the higher-ranked transport commissioner, were starkly opposed. The border army favored Chen Xiliang, who had experienced the first Liang-Mang war firsthand, believing he had truly inherited the mantle of Li Yishan from the Listening Tide Pavilion and might one day reach comparable heights. However, the officials of the three provinces, especially those in Liangzhou and Lingzhou where Xu Beizhi had served, held Xu in higher regard, seeing him as the true pillar of the Northern Liang, a talent rivaling even the likes of Zhang Julu, the grand chancellor of Liyang, with the potential to become a once-in-a-generation prime minister. Chen Xiliang, by contrast, was seen as fit only for a provincial governorship or a ministry post in the central court.
Chen Xiliang paid little heed to these undercurrents of opinion among the Northern Liang’s elite. His temperament and upbringing—born into humble circumstances in Jiangnan, once denied even a seat at the tables of renowned scholars—made him more open-minded than many Liyang officials who had risen overnight through imperial examinations. Some even joked that Xu Beizhi harbored a competitive streak, and even Governor Yang Guangdou had bluntly advised Chen that a gentleman must know when to contend and when to yield, warning him not to always retreat. As for the Twin Jewels of Chu now leading troops in Liuzhou, Chen Xiliang admitted to favoring Xie Xichui slightly more. Though one was a scholar and the other a warrior, both hailed from humble origins, and Xie, unlike the proud scion of Guangling’s noble family Kou Jianghuai, embodied the Confucian ideal of a gentleman—refined and approachable, like a spring breeze. Kou, in contrast, was like the scorching midday sun—brilliant but blinding.
Yet, the more Chen Xiliang interacted with Kou Jianghuai, the more he came to admire him. He recalled reading in his youth the line, “Victory without arrogance, defeat without despair, thunder in the chest but calm on the face—such a man is fit to be a great general,” and had yearned for such composure. Now, atop the Elderly Woman Mountain, gazing at Kou’s resolute profile, Chen thought to himself, “A master of strategy should be just like this.”
Without turning his head, Kou Jianghuai suddenly spoke: “If I win this battle but Xie Xichui dies, then for me, it will be a victory for Northern Liang but a personal defeat.”
Having spent years in the political arena, Chen Xiliang understood the nuance. Puzzled, he asked, “If so, why did General Kou agree to let General Xie go north so willingly?”
Kou Jianghuai smiled, as if the answer were obvious, and said slowly, “In the decisive battle of Xilebi during the Spring and Autumn era, do you know how many cavalry were truly deployed? In truth, the cumulative number was less than 140,000, far fewer than the 40,000 to 50,000 infantry reinforcements either side would later commit in a single move. This was partly because both nations had already suffered heavy losses before that final battle, with cavalry casualties particularly severe, and partly because the terrain of Guangling was ill-suited for large-scale cavalry engagements. So, whether it’s me, Xie Xichui, or even Cao Changqing—indeed, any tactician of the Central Plains—we all share a lingering desire: to face the legendary invincible steppe cavalry, descendants of the Great Feng, in a fair and open cavalry battle. No reliance on narrow passes, no desperate defense of mighty cities—just flat terrain, horse against horse, saber against saber…”
Here, Kou Jianghuai paused, releasing the reins and hilt to slam his fists together, “A head-on clash, a true, honorable charge!”
His eyes burned with fervor. “And! For our Central Plains cavalry to triumph!”
Even Chen Xiliang, a scholar-official who abhorred battlefield carnage, couldn’t help but feel a surge of heroic fervor at these words.
Kou Jianghuai raised an arm, pointing toward the foot of the mountain where the two armies were about to collide. “By chance, this once-in-a-millennium opportunity has fallen to me and Xie Xichui. I want to win. He wants to win. So, no matter the reason or for whom, we cannot lose! The only difference is that Xie Xichui is more ruthless—he’s willing to pay with his life for this battle. I’m not as bold; I’m only willing to sacrifice my future prospects in Northern Liang. Tyrants care only for success; heroes fear not death. Perhaps in the annals of history, Xie Xichui will be praised more than I.”
Chen Xiliang had no reply.
On the battlefield to the right of the Elderly Woman Mountain, the clash of a hundred thousand cavalry unfolded in a spectacle both grand and gruesome.
To maximize their penetration, the central force of Liuzhou’s three cavalry divisions—the refugee militia—sent six thousand riders of the Direct Charge Battalion ahead at full speed, breaking from the original frontline.
In the first wave, Huang Songpu withheld his true heavy cavalry, keeping them hidden off the battlefield. Instead, the old marshal led his elite troops personally, charging at the forefront as he had done in his days as Southern Court’s prince.
In a cavalry battle devoid of feints and skirmishes, a charge was simply an exchange of lives.
The six thousand riders of the Direct Charge Battalion formed the spearhead of the wedge formation, narrowing their frontline as they accelerated, before crashing headlong into Huang Songpu’s twelve thousand elite cavalry, arrayed in perfect order.
The Liuzhou cavalry’s charge was like a great chisel splitting a mountain.
Including the Direct Charge Battalion, ten thousand Liuzhou riders threw themselves into the assault.
The deeper they penetrated, the easier it would be for the Longxiang Army on the flanks to tear through the Northern Wilderness cavalry’s thickness.
Huang Songpu’s three-layered formation—vanguard, center, and rear—proved devastatingly effective in this straightforward clash.
The old marshal’s twelve thousand were seasoned border elites, far superior to the refugee militia that made up the Liuzhou border cavalry.
As both sides advanced five hundred paces, Liuzhou riders were constantly unhorsed. Of the two thousand at the wedge’s tip, over half died instantly. Those who fell found themselves trampled under the relentless momentum of the Northern Wilderness charge, their bodies failing even to slow the enemy’s advance. The Northern Wilderness riders didn’t bother to take heads—their horses simply charged straight through.
The fourteen thousand Wanyan elite cavalry did not follow Huang Songpu’s forces directly but deliberately left a gap of six to seven hundred paces between them. This allowed Wanyan Yinjiang’s fresh, well-rested private army to launch a second charge.
By the time the remaining seven thousand Liuzhou riders broke through Huang Songpu’s formation, they faced the Wanyan elite cavalry at the peak of their momentum.
One side’s speed and vigor were waning; the other’s was at its zenith. The outcome was inevitable.
The fourteen thousand Wanyan riders, wielding lances, galloped forth with the crushing force of their charge.
Five hundred Liuzhou border cavalry were unhorsed in a single pass.
Those Wanyan riders in the rear even had the leisure to lean down and spear the unfortunate fallen.
When this twice-charging Liuzhou force finally met the numerically superior Yi-character cavalry, their losses were already severe.
Yet their sacrifice had greatly eased the pressure on the Longxiang Army’s flanks.
In a flock of geese, the lead bird bears the greatest burden.
So too in a wedge formation on the battlefield.
Though the Yi-character cavalry, mustered from the Southern Court’s noble houses, had the thickest formation and deepest reserves, they posed little threat to the Liuzhou riders. Against the relatively intact Longxiang Army, they suffered heavily.
It was merely an exchange of positions.
The field was littered with corpses—man and horse alike.
Yet both sides’ formations remained relatively stable, meaning the next charge would claim even more lives, more easily.
From the mountaintop, Chen Xiliang watched the carnage in silence.
Judging solely by the Elderly Woman Mountain battlefield, if this continued, the Northern Wilderness would inevitably prevail.
Kou Jianghuai’s expression remained impassive throughout.
If the death toll here wasn’t high enough—if the Northern Wilderness didn’t feel victory was within grasp, or if Huang Songpu sensed something amiss—then the encirclement at Elderly Woman Mountain would never hold the Northern Wilderness main force. After all, this wasn’t the naturally fortified Hulu Pass of Youzhou, nor were there any terrifying troops like the Snow Dragon Cavalry or the two Northern Liang heavy cavalry divisions to block the retreat.
Kou Jianghuai turned his gaze southeast.
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