The Northern Desolation’s iron cavalry surged past the cities of Wogong and Luanhe, only to be firmly blocked outside the pass of Youzhou by the final stronghold—Xiaguang City. Without breaching this pass and successfully entering Youzhou, the entire eastern line of the Northern Desolation’s cavalry would be rendered useless.
Outside the city, two generals of the Northern Desolation’s eastern front, under the tight protection of no fewer than a thousand elite cavalry, surveyed the battle atop the walls. The commander, Yang Yuanzan, sighed, *”The last part of an endeavor is the hardest to finish—the ancients did not deceive us. Except for this city, the entire Hulu Pass is already in our hands. But as long as Xiaguang City stands, we cannot engage in a decisive battle with that thirty-thousand-strong Youzhou cavalry.”*
The vanguard general, Zhong Tan, who had just been ennobled by the emperor as the Summer Nabao of the Royal Tent, chuckled, *”It must be quite the challenge for the Grand General, like tending to a nest of squawking fledglings, constantly noisy and demanding.”*
The old general laughed, *”Once we take Xiaguang City, all of Youzhou will lie beneath our horses’ hooves. Then, finding battles will be easy—opportunities and military merits will be everywhere. But how much one can claim for themselves will depend on their own skill.”*
Zhong Tan, who had personally fought atop the walls just yesterday, still reeked of blood as he murmured, *”Now we just wait for Yan Wenluan to throw his Youzhou infantry into the breach of Xiaguang City. Otherwise, at most three days, and the city will fall.”*
Yang Yuanzan sneered, *”Xiaguang City is not Hutou City. The city is small—how many men can stand atop its walls? Yan Wenluan can throw at most six thousand men into the defense at once. Any more, and they won’t even be able to reach the walls—they’ll just be crammed inside, watching the spectacle.”*
Yang Yuanzan gazed at Xiaguang City, its defenses already stretched thin. The great crossbows were destroyed, and after their infantry had dismantled Wogong and Luanhe Cities, hundreds of catapults had been relentlessly hurling boulders. This summer, Xiaguang City had seen plenty of “rain”—a rain of stones. Except for the fortresses on the edges between Xiaguang and Luanhe Cities, all other strongholds had been cleared out by the Northern Desolation’s noble clans’ private cavalry, desperate for military glory. The lightly defended beacon towers of Hulu Pass were the first to fall, becoming prime hunting targets. Larger garrisons with slightly more troops were also overwhelmed when several or even a dozen noble cavalry units converged. This actually saved Yang Yuanzan a lot of trouble.
Now, with Wogong and Luanhe Cities destroyed, Hulu Pass was ideal for cavalry to charge across. Once Xiaguang City fell, Youzhou’s gates would swing wide open. With the Youzhou cavalry at an absolute disadvantage, the Northern Desolation’s eastern forces could either advance aggressively or retreat all the way back north of Xiaguang City into Hulu Pass—or even withdraw entirely. How could Yan Wenluan’s infantry, no matter how formidable, outrun cavalry on foot?
Though Zhong Tan’s infantry had suffered staggering losses—with two or three thousand-man units collapsing daily—the old general, despite his furrowed brow, harbored no real worry. Deep down, he even felt a hint of schadenfreude toward his old friend Liu Gui, who commanded the western front. Back then, the Western Capital had sent Liu Gui to Liuzhou, where the Northern Liang border forces had no natural defenses, while Yang Yuanzan was ordered to attack Youzhou and lead his troops through Hulu Pass—a place rumored to bury 150,000 Northern Desolation soldiers. Yang Yuanzan had resented this, but now, looking back, fortune and misfortune were truly intertwined, and fate was unpredictable.
Noticing the old general’s confident demeanor, Zhong Tan hesitated but ultimately swallowed his suspicions. His rapid rise to Summer Nabao, surpassing even Yelü Yuhu in less than a year, was due to a high-ranking noble’s praise: *”Zhong Tan alone has saved fifty thousand lives in Hulu Pass—equivalent to gaining fifty thousand elite infantry for siege warfare. How could he not be Nabao?”* Logically, as a rising star now ranked alongside Central Plains generals like Xie Xichui and Kou Jianghuai, Zhong Tan should have been at his most triumphant. Yet, he couldn’t shake the feeling that the Youzhou campaign was not so simple.
Suddenly, Yang Yuanzan pointed excitedly at the deteriorating situation atop the walls and laughed, *”Zhong Tan, look! Yan Wenluan can’t hold back anymore. I thought the old man had dug some grand trap for us in Youzhou, but it seems his resolve is weak. Disappointing, truly disappointing!”*
When Zhong Tan saw the brutal fighting atop Xiaguang City, he finally exhaled in relief.
Xiaguang City’s geographical advantage was unparalleled, occupying the only pass in Hulu Pass suitable for large-scale cavalry entry. Thus, the battle here was purely head-on—any attempt at a surprise attack was pure fantasy. Recently, Zhong Tan’s eastern infantry had been steadily pouring onto the walls. Just yesterday, he had personally led eight hundred death warriors in a bloody half-hour battle before being driven back. When a siege’s main battlefield shifted from scaling walls to melee combat atop them, it usually signaled the city’s imminent fall.
Perhaps sensing Xiaguang City’s dire straits, Yan Wenluan’s elite infantry—absent from Hulu Pass until now—finally appeared. Zhong Tan spurred his horse forward. With no threat from city crossbows and clad in iron armor, he feared little from the scattered archers atop the walls.
Looking up, he confirmed it: a wave of Youzhou’s veteran infantry had arrived, clad in the distinctive “Yan Lamellar Armor,” meticulously crafted by Northern Liang artisans. Each suit consisted of 1,500 iron plates intricately linked with tough leather straps and rivets, weighing over sixty jin—rivaling even the elite heavy infantry of the fallen Western Chu. Moreover, Northern Liang men were naturally sturdier than their Western Chu counterparts. In the Spring and Autumn Wars, Yan’s infantry, clad in such armor and wielding long spears, had stunned Western Chu cavalry with their effectiveness.
Heavy infantry had emerged during the Great Feng Dynasty and the formation of the Nine Kingdoms as a response to cavalry’s dominance—especially the unstoppable tide of steppe riders. The philosophy was simple: if infantry couldn’t match cavalry’s mobility, they would abandon it entirely, standing firm to counterattack. Of course, heavy infantry weren’t typically used for city defense—not just because it was overkill against other infantry, but because their cumbersome armor made close-quarters combat on cramped walls unwise.
Yet, the four hundred Northern Desolation death warriors who had scaled Xiaguang City’s walls were nearly wiped out in moments by the Yan Lamellar infantry.
Zhong Tan turned to a messenger and ordered coldly, *”Tell Zheng Lin to lead two thousand cavalry to cover the retreat of our siege infantry.”*
On the walls, life and death were decided in an instant.
The exhausted Northern Desolation infantry fought desperately. One soldier swung a mighty slash, only for a Yan heavy infantryman to casually deflect it with his armored forearm before driving his Liang blade into the barbarian’s chest. The impact sent the Northern Desolation soldier crashing against the outer wall. The Yan veteran yanked his blade free, then swung it upward in a brutal arc, splitting another enemy from waist to shoulder in a spray of blood that drenched his own face, making him look even more terrifying.
Another Northern Desolation soldier was hurled off the wall through a breach.
The clang of iron armor echoed across Xiaguang City’s walls as bloodied heads of Northern Desolation soldiers were tossed down in unison.
With every scaling soldier dead, those still on ladders retreated frantically at the sound of drums, dodging falling corpses and renewed arrow volleys from the walls.
This bloody rain of arrows was Xiaguang City’s answer to the Northern Desolation’s earlier stone “rain.”
For the first time, Xiaguang City’s gates rose, and a tide of heavy infantry poured out.
On the walls, Youzhou’s armored soldiers slid down ladders, slaughtering the retreating Northern Desolation troops in a one-sided massacre.
Like a flood bursting from the city, Northern Desolation infantry drowned in blood.
The closest two thousand Northern Desolation cavalry, under Zhong Tan’s orders, charged forward, loosing arrows to cover their retreat while suppressing the Youzhou infantry’s advance. Meanwhile, the city’s archers, with their superior range, shifted focus from infantry to harassing cavalry.
Zheng Lin, the cavalry commander, raised his arm, signaling a retreat of fifty paces—just beyond the arrows’ reach. Frustrated, he surveyed the chaos. The real obstacle to reinforcing the battlefield wasn’t the enemy but their own infantry formations, clogging the path. Had they been able to deploy two thousand cavalry to block the gate, Xiaguang City’s depleted archery wouldn’t have posed much threat. At the very least, four thousand cavalry could have disrupted the infantry’s formation.
Zheng Lin’s cavalry were elite, clad in chainmail instead of the usual leather armor, armed with bows, lassos, throwing axes, and more. But without spears—unexpectedly needed for a charge—they were ill-prepared.
Standing motionless amid the retreating infantry, Zheng Lin’s cavalry stood out starkly.
Soon, reinforcements arrived—three thousand five hundred cavalry in total—but the window for action had passed. The Youzhou infantry, aided by nearly a thousand support troops, had already formed a dense, hedgehog-like formation outside Xiaguang City. Strangely, they hadn’t deployed the usual anti-cavalry obstacles—deer horns, caltrops, or cheval de frise. Zheng Lin found this odd. Xiaguang City was Hulu Pass’s last major stronghold—surely they should have stockpiled such basic defenses, even if never planning to sally forth.
Smirking, Zheng Lin thought, *No obstacles? Even better.* The large cheval de frise with slanting logs and iron spears, or the simpler versions the strategists had droned on about, gave cavalry commanders like him nightmares.
Studying the Youzhou formation, Zheng Lin confirmed the reports: the strongest shield-bearers held massive shields in front, with long spears jutting out between them like a forest of lethal spikes. Behind them were axemen, archers, and crossbowmen with greater range than infantry bows.
A young Northern Desolation captain, eager for glory, asked, *”General Zheng, shall I lead a charge? Just to test their defenses?”*
Zheng Lin, disdainful of these northern nobles who flaunted power even in the Western Capital, coldly replied, *”That’s four thousand of Yan Wenluan’s elite infantry—his very best. We’re here to cover the retreat, not recklessly attack.”*
The captain scoffed, *”Whether it’s reckless or not depends on the outcome. My thousand riders are all elite—born in the saddle. If you won’t charge, then watch from the sidelines.”*
Zheng Lin said flatly, *”Then I await your victory.”*
Laughing, the captain led his thousand riders in five staggered lines toward the infantry formation.
The first two rows, the “heaviest” of the light cavalry, carried spears or captured Northern Liang pikes, their armor superior to the rear ranks. This classic steppe charge formation, simple yet flexible, had once crushed the Great Feng’s infantry.
But these riders faced Yan Wenluan’s heavy infantry—the Northern Liang border army.
Not the Great Feng, that “strong yet fallen” dynasty some scholars romanticized.
When the infantry saw only a thousand cavalry charging, they did the unthinkable: they lowered their shield wall and spear forest, defying conventional tactics.
In the three hundred to one hundred paces of death, under a storm of arrows and bolts, six hundred riders fell.
Then, breaking another rule of war, the infantry ceased mass volleys, instead picking off fleeing riders with precision shots while the front ranks raised shields and spears anew.
As if taunting: *”Charge if you dare!”*
When the young captain fell, an arrow through his chest, the remaining three hundred riders charged madly—straight into the spear wall.
The impact barely shook the formation.
Every single Northern Desolation horse was impaled on two-and-a-half-zhang spears.
On Xiaguang City’s walls, a one-eyed old man—flanked by Youzhou’s governor and general—ignored the suicidal cavalry charge, gazing north beyond Hulu Pass instead.
*”In three days, all four cavalry divisions will enter Hulu Pass,”* he murmured.
—
Beyond Hulu Pass, twenty thousand Youzhou cavalry split in two. Generals Shi Yulu and Fan Wenyao each led two thousand north to disrupt Longyao Province’s supply lines and hunt scattered enemy riders.
Deputy General Yu Luandao, with sixteen thousand, stayed to await two other cavalry forces—forces that, combined, barely outnumbered his own.
Yet Yu Luandao harbored no resentment.
—
Two days later, ten thousand riders broke from the main army and charged into Hulu Pass.
Past ruined forts and unmanned beacons.
The wind howled through the skeletal remains of Wogong City, a mournful dirge.
The ten thousand riders didn’t stop, but as they circled the dead city, every soldier drew his Northern Liang blade and raised it high.
The Snow Dragon Cavalry.
Silently, they rode south.
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