Chapter 807: The Four Battles of Beiliang (Part 1)

The city of Liangzhou, Tiger Head City, had effectively become a second Zhongyuan Fishing Terrace.

Only, back then, it was the unstoppable iron cavalry of the Xu family that was halted on the plains of Zhongyuan. This time, it was the densely packed Northern Wilderness cavalry crowding the Dragon’s Eye Plains outside the city.

The Southern Court King, Dong Zhuo, personally led a contingent of Raven Fences, inspecting the siege infantry waiting in the rear. By his side stood a pair of noble young men and women. The frail-looking young man had multiple identities, each more formidable than the last—Spring Nabo of the Northern Wilderness’ Four Nabos, the leading figure of the Southern Court’s Military Council, the Diviner of the Chess Sword Music Manor, and most fundamentally, the eldest son of Tuoba Pusa, Tuoba Qiyun. The woman, who had just been stripped of her Summer Nabo title by the vanguard commander Zhong Tan at Hulu Pass, was named Yelü Yuhu. These two had nearly succeeded in ambushing Xu Fengnian, who had ventured deep into the borderlands between the two nations. Unfortunately, Yuan Zuozong arrived with ten thousand Snow Dragon Cavalry, thwarting their plans and those of the Taiping Order.

Dong Zhuo pointed his whip at Tiger Head City and said, “This city, which boasted it could sustain a decade of warfare, has exhausted its siege defenses in less than half a year. The wooden and brick catapults are mostly depleted, and countless iron owls, hooked spears, and battering rams have been destroyed. Only three of the city’s ballistae remain intact, and the ruined crossbows have piled up like mountains. Of course, there are still plenty of smaller crossbows and hundreds of thousands of arrows in storage. But compared to Xiangfan City, which had no more than a hundred thousand soldiers but three hundred thousand civilians, Tiger Head City has a fatal flaw—its population is too small. Bows and crossbows are inanimate; when they break, they can be replaced. But the Northern Liang border troops aren’t immortals—their strength has waned significantly since the start. If you two had the chance to observe the battle up close, you’d see most archers on the walls have their bow arms tightly bandaged. Frankly, if you give me three more months, I could stand a hundred paces outside the city, and there’d be few sharpshooters left capable of piercing my armor.”

Tuoba Qiyun, exuding a faint medicinal scent, remained expressionless and silent.

Stripped of her Summer Nabo title by the emperor, Yelü Yuhu had come to Tiger Head City in a fit of pique. She glanced at the infamous fat man—the thirty-five-year-old Southern Court King, commanding a million troops, equivalent to the combined forces of Old Liang King Xu Xiao and Gu Jiantang of the Two Liao. It was this man who had insisted on attacking Northern Liang first, stirring up such a storm that even the emperor and the Taiping Order faced immense pressure. Yet, apart from Yang Yuanzan’s barely balanced gains and losses on the eastern front, the other two fronts had faltered—especially Dong Zhuo himself, who had been stubbornly blocked outside Liangzhou Pass by Tiger Head City. Even Liu Gui, who had lost only a few thousand men, was being called an old dog in the Western Capital’s court. Yet, no one dared to impeach Commander Dong Zhuo. Yelü Yuhu wondered how much longer this man, who privately referred to the emperor as “Big Sister,” could hold on.

Dong Zhuo’s casual mention of “three months” made Yelü Yuhu inwardly scoff. Had he fallen so low as to rely on her and Tuoba Qiyun to relay messages to certain factions? Or had the emperor and the Taiping Order, who had placed such high hopes on him, begun to lose patience?

Tuoba Qiyun finally spoke. “General Dong, I’ve been to the Northwest Camp on Dragon’s Eye Plains.”

Dong Zhuo grunted in acknowledgment.

The mere thought of that so-called “Northwest Camp” made Yelü Yuhu nauseous. It was less a camp and more a dumping ground for the sick and the dead—literally dumped there. The Southern Court had spent twenty years stockpiling resources, pouring everything into offensive siege equipment, hence the sudden appearance of nearly a thousand catapults of varying sizes. But when it came to treating wounded soldiers, the Northern Wilderness had never excelled—nor cared. Under the scorching sun, Yelü Yuhu, clad in ornate golden armor, was drenched in sweat. She had always been drawn to war—the thrill of life-and-death exchanges on horseback, the visceral satisfaction of an arrow piercing an enemy’s skull. She was no stranger to death, yet even her steely resolve nearly crumbled at the Northwest Camp. Carts laden with corpses dragged from the battlefield were dumped into freshly dug pits, while wounded soldiers lay nearby, howling in agony. Many, mangled by the city’s defenses, begged for a merciful death.

At the edge of one such pit, already filled with seven or eight hundred bodies, Tuoba Qiyun had taken a basin of lime from a soldier and began scattering it impassively. Watching him, Yelü Yuhu—who had always prided herself on being harder than any steppe warrior—felt an unprecedented pang of sorrow.

Tuoba Qiyun abruptly shifted topics. “General Dong, attacking Northern Liang was rushed. But besieging Tiger Head City has been too slow.”

The nomadic resilience and combat habits of the Northern Wilderness meant their logistical needs were far lower than what Zhongyuan’s cavalry could fathom. At the very least, they weren’t short on supplies yet. But had they waited until autumn, when horses were fat and the weather favorable, they’d have had more flexibility in this stalemate. Tuoba Qiyun refrained from dwelling on hindsight. Dong Zhuo and the Taiping Order had their reasons for marching south at the start of spring. What he truly wanted to address was the latter half of his statement: Had Dong Zhuo’s eastern front thrown everything into the siege from the outset, taking Tiger Head City in one decisive push, they wouldn’t be in this precarious position now. This wasn’t an accusation of half-hearted effort—Dong Zhuo’s strategy had been sound. But as Southern Court King and commander of a million troops, he should have delivered more tangible results.

Dong Zhuo nodded. “At first, I suspected Tiger Head City hid more than just the few thousand elite cavalry reported by spies—perhaps the six thousand Iron Pagodas once under Dian Xiongchu and later reassigned to Qi Dangguo. I even wondered if one of Northern Liang’s two true heavy cavalry units, totaling around nine thousand, might be concealed within the city. Because if Chu Lushan dared station the Protectorate’s headquarters at Huaiyang Pass behind Tiger Head City, he must have planned a head-on clash with me—a massive battle involving both light and heavy cavalry between Tiger Head City and the Willow Bud-Fuling line.”

His voice darkened. “But then came that ambush where both sides schemed against each other. I used four thousand cavalry as bait at Teeth Slope. Sure enough, Fuling’s garrison commander, Wei Liang, took the bait and charged recklessly, only to be disrupted by eight thousand hidden riders. If not for that damned Northern Liang captain, Qifu Longguan, who fought like a demon and carved an escape route for Fuling’s cavalry, Northern Liang’s own ambush would have arrived on schedule, and my Dong family cavalry would have moved in response. In the end, I could have lured out the forces from Fuling, Willow Bud, and even Huaiyang Pass—maybe even Tiger Head City’s cavalry—into a mutual annihilation of cavalry. Even if I lost more, so long as I crippled Northern Liang’s mobile defenses south of Tiger Head City, the city itself would no longer matter.”

He smirked self-deprecatingly. “Maybe many in the Northern Liang Protectorate curse that little captain Qifu Longguan for misdirecting his valor. But in truth, he saved Liangzhou from disaster. Tiger Head City alone isn’t fearsome—what’s terrifying are the flexible cavalry units behind it, focused on harassment rather than outright kills. I still can’t tell if I overthought this or if Chu Lushan just got lucky—or if he simply outmaneuvered me.”

Yelü Yuhu frowned. “Why not press the attack on all fronts, including Fuling and Willow Bud? We have overwhelming numbers—why hold back?”

Dong Zhuo chuckled but didn’t explain. Tuoba Qiyun shook his head. “It’s not that we can’t go all-in, but it’s hardly worth it…”

As Tuoba Qiyun began elaborating, Dong Zhuo rode along the rear flank of the infantry formation toward a dust-covered convoy. The battalion chief supervising the corpse transport dismounted swiftly and reported. These bodies had been dragged from the tunnels beneath the city. While the Northern Wilderness’ catapult assaults came in waves, the tunneling efforts never ceased—yet yielded little. Only once had five hundred men breached the city, only to be swiftly cut down by patrols. The rest died in cramped tunnel skirmishes or were easily slaughtered at the entrances. The defending general, Liu Jinu, had prepared well—digging over a dozen three-zhang-deep pits at key points inside the city, where sharp-eared soldiers could detect enemy movements hundreds or even a thousand paces away, allowing them to either ambush laterally or fan smoke and lime into the tunnels.

The one-armed battalion chief, relegated to this duty after losing an arm in a frontal assault, finished his report and whispered hoarsely, “Great General, across sixteen tunnels and this latest batch, we’ve lost nearly five thousand brothers underground. Was it worth it? At least let them die on the walls of Tiger Head City.”

Dong Zhuo replied flatly, “Take them to the Northwest Camp.”

The one-armed man wiped his eyes with his remaining arm, mounted up, and led the corpse-laden convoy away.

Yelü Yuhu felt a surge of anger. She took a deep breath and asked, “Northern Liang was adept at tunneling during the siege of Qingzhou’s Xiangfan City. If they know how to attack, they surely know how to defend. Besides, those thousands of well-rested Northern Liang cavalry haven’t even touched the walls yet. What good would a few hundred men breaching the city do?”

Dong Zhuo smiled, deliberately avoiding the topic of the five thousand wasted lives. “A few days ago, a cavalry unit inside the city had to dismount and join the defense. Their combat prowess far outstripped the exhausted infantry. Two of my battalion chiefs nearly secured a foothold on the walls—just four hundred paces apart.”

He pinched his thumb and forefinger together. “Just this close.”

Tuoba Qiyun sighed. “That ‘close’ came at the cost of General Dong ordering each battalion chief to fight until four hundred of their men fell before retreating.”

Dong Zhuo grinned. “Not even half yet.”

Yelü Yuhu demanded sharply, “Great General, how many steppe warriors have died by their own blades?”

Dong Zhuo pondered seriously. “Three battalion chiefs, many company leaders, and regular soldiers—if I recall, two thousand seven hundred as of yesterday.”

Yelü Yuhu snapped, “Aren’t you afraid of mutiny?!”

Dong Zhuo countered, “Executing a few deserters warrants a revolt?”

She sneered. “True. With a hundred thousand unscathed Dong family troops and your ‘brilliant’ tactics, you’d surely crush any dissent.”

Tuoba Qiyun cut in. “Enough.”

Yelü Yuhu bit her tongue, seeing his displeasure, and refrained from further provoking the overrated Southern Court King.

The two took their leave.

As they rode off, Yelü Yuhu glanced back at the stocky figure still mounted and muttered, “This fat man’s leadership is mediocre, but his political maneuvering is impressive. Even in the midst of war, he’s whittling down the steppe nobles’ forces at Tiger Head City. A battalion chief exhausts his clan’s elite troops, but with rapid rotations, where do replacements come from? Either from Southern Court garrisons—diluting their purity—or merging depleted units. If this continues, the great nobles will become minor ones.”

Her face darkened. “It’s all the influence of those Zhongyuan remnants in the Southern Court. The Liyang Zhao family used Guangling Dao to reclaim military power from regional warlords. Now we’re doing the same—bleeding the steppe nobles dry here. Even if we break through Northern Liang into Zhongyuan, how many of their own will they have left?”

Tuoba Qiyun chuckled. “You fret too much. It’ll sour your stomach.”

She glared. “You can still laugh?! Think the Tuoba name is exempt?!”

He shook his head, smiling silently.

Alone amidst his Raven Fences, Dong Zhuo gazed at Tiger Head City. The siege infantry surged like relentless tides, crashing against the walls and climbing upward.

He summoned a young Military Council aide. “Four orders: First, halt all tunneling. Second, intensify the siege—daytime assaults withdraw only after half losses; nighttime assaults require only one hour per battalion chief. Third, command every noble family in the Southern Court to surrender all stored wine for treating wounded soldiers. Any family hiding even one jar will be demoted in rank. Fourth, tonight I’ll convene all available battalion and company leaders from the eastern front.”

The aide hurried off.

Dong Zhuo called out, “Yelü Chucai!”

A burly officer, doubling as a Raven Fences captain and Dong Zhuo’s brother-in-law, approached warily. When his brother-in-law used his full name, it meant serious business. His sister was Dong Zhuo’s primary wife, a far more prestigious Yelü than Yelü Yuhu. But unlike their idle cousin Yelü Dongchuang, neither sibling had royal ambitions—Yelü Chucai had always dreamed of being a pure warrior. Under Dong Zhuo’s wing, he’d thrived in the Dong army. Yet this southern campaign had denied him a vanguard role, leaving him sulking like a jilted bride.

Dong Zhuo eyed him. “I’ve a task—long journey. Interested?”

Yelü Chucai hesitated. “Any merit?”

“Maybe.”

“Then no!”

Dong Zhuo grinned. “Fine. Tomorrow, you’ll lead twelve thousand Dong infantry against Tiger Head City.”

Yelü Chucai gaped—a sight far removed from his sister’s beauty. Then his eyes blazed. No longer calling Dong Zhuo “brother-in-law,” he saluted. “Great General! I’m cavalry-born—sieges aren’t my forte. I’ll take the first task!”

Dong Zhuo studied him. “Eighty thousand Dong cavalry will go with you to Hulu Pass. I’ve already stationed forces there, but I’m uneasy. Before you leave, write a will. If you die, I’ll need to explain to your sister.”

The notoriously irreverent Yelü Chucai grinned, thumping his chest. “Great General, if—if I don’t return, tell your children their uncle’s only regret was not letting them ride on his shoulders.”

Dong Zhuo hesitated. “If Hulu Pass doesn’t need you, don’t be reckless. If you want kids, marry and have your own.”

Yelü Chucai nodded and rode off.

Alone again, Dong Zhuo muttered a number no one could hear: “Thirty-eight… thirty-eight…”