In the northern Liang territory, fifty soldiers formed a unit known as a “Biao.” The combat strength of a Biao of roaming archers far surpassed that of three hundred regular armored soldiers. These northern Liang roaming archers could serve as scouts, but not every scout could become one of the elite roaming archers chosen from a thousand. This time, without the Biao leader needing to speak, Li Hanlin and the other brothers within the Biao sensed something unusual. This was no small-scale skirmish deep in the heart of the Longyao Prefecture. Several scions of military families, including Li Shiyue, were eager to test their mettle. They all understood clearly in their hearts—the long-awaited major battle had finally arrived.
As the saying goes, “An army marches on its stomach,” but besides provisions, there were also numerous scouts dispatched like scattered beans ahead of the main force, concealing their movements and quietly clearing the path. The elite roaming archers, favored sons of the northern Liang army, had the privilege of carrying the sharpest northern Liang sabers, wielding the most penetrating light crossbows, and riding the best-trained horses with explosive speed. All the riders of the roaming archer Biao had their horse hooves wrapped in cloth, their heads lowered and backs hunched as they rode northward. Li Shiyue, impatient by nature, accelerated his pace, trailing only half a horse length behind the Biao leader. He whispered, “Biao leader, are we heading toward Wazhu? That’s the first military fortress in Longyao Prefecture. Are there several ten thousand of our brothers following behind us?”
The Biao leader shot him a glare, initially reluctant to answer. After a moment’s thought, he replied gravely, “Less talk. Remember, this time, if we encounter the enemy’s cavalry units, don’t bother taking prisoners. Don’t even bother cutting off their heads—don’t waste time on intelligence matters! If we encounter a large force, retreat immediately. But if we meet any group of three or four hundred enemy cavalry, we must eliminate them all. If you’re afraid of dying, turn back now.”
Li Shiyue cursed, “Afraid of dying? You wish!”
The Biao leader, with twenty years of military experience, was in an unusually good mood and even broke into a rare smile. He added jokingly, “I really am your uncle. These years, I’ve been like a father and mother to you brats.”
They were all used to the Biao leader’s whip, which could draw blood with every strike, let alone his constant scolding. And truth be told, the Biao leader wasn’t wrong. Li Shiyue’s unit, once mocked as a group of spoiled nobles, consisted of light cavalry who, before enlistment, were rarely gentle or humble. They were descendants of military families who had long lorded over local districts and counties. Even the few who seemed harmless were proud at heart. Once they joined the unit, they were all disciplined into order. Even the Biao leader’s slightest belch carried more weight than the earnest advice of their fathers, who held high official posts. Li Shiyue’s eyes gleamed with determination. He dared not chatter with the Biao leader and slowed his horse to ride alongside Li Hanlin and Lu Dou, the man with the double pupils. He chuckled, “Looks like we were right. This really is a major battle.”
Li Hanlin snapped, “Shut up. Do you want me to reward you with a bamboo strip?”
Li Shiyue’s face reddened, “You think I’m a rookie? That’s for new scouts who can’t keep their mouths shut. I won’t stoop that low!”
“You’re not far off from a rookie,” Lu Dou said coldly.
Li Shiyue flushed with anger but quickly calmed down. Within the unit, Lu Dou, with his accumulated military merits, had long been on equal footing with the Biao leader and deputy. Only Li Hanlin could rival him. After several real battles, Lu Dou’s valor had earned him full acceptance into the unit. Although he remained taciturn, even Li Shiyue, who initially looked at him with disdain, now considered him a brother and was eager to offer his younger sister’s hand in marriage. Lu Dou had a quiver of short spears hanging from his saddle, a personal choice among the roaming archers, each equipped with a powerful crossbow. Even the Biao leader had once curiously asked him about it, but Lu Dou, with his stubborn nature, always feigned ignorance, pretending not to understand.
Li Shiyue’s face grew serious as he reached up to tighten the strap of his soft leather helmet around his neck, pressing it deeply into his flesh. Rather than feeling discomfort, he felt a familiar sense of comfort. He remembered his early days in the northern Liang army, when he had not yet earned the right to practice mounted drills and had to familiarize himself with formations as an infantryman. After a single day, he felt like he had been torn apart. The next day, putting on the chainmail that weighed less than twenty jin felt like his entire body was burning with pain. Li Shiyue tugged at the corners of his mouth. How had he ended up becoming a roaming archer? Back then, in his home district, he had used his martial prowess to bully others and often bore injuries. Though he did not fear pain, he was ultimately afraid of death. Perhaps it was because his father had personally sent him to the army, watching him fawn over a general who was supposedly a family friend. Before parting, father and son had exchanged words, and Li Shiyue had even cursed his old man for being spineless. After all, both were fourth-grade officials—why should his father act like a servant? At that time, his father, who had always been proud to the end, did not argue but merely patted Li Shiyue’s shoulder. Who isn’t afraid of death? But Li Shiyue feared shame more. Perhaps from that moment, he had resolved to return home gloriously as a general, or at the very least, to die gloriously on the battlefield.
Li Shiyue exhaled deeply, his eyes resolute.
The western front of the Liang-Mang border was famously characterized by outward looseness and inner tightness, forming a trap to lure the enemy in. The question was who had the courage to enter that vast battlefield and reap enemy heads for military merit.
Li Shiyue’s unit finally encountered the northern barbarians—a group of elite cavalry, second only to the elite “Crow Scouts” personally trained by the renowned Beiman general Zhuo Dong. Crucially, their numbers reached two hundred. The leading rider wore fine clothes and heavy armor but carried no spear or lance, only a beautiful Beiman saber. Li Shiyue, lying in ambush with Li Hanlin and Lu Dou, knew this was a Beiman officer patrolling the border. Among the northern Beiman royal family and aristocratic circles, those with strong connections often received fancy titles, borrowed troops from several generals, and rode southward to show off upon returning home. The number of troops they commanded corresponded to the thickness of their family’s wealth. The northern Liang roaming archers especially loved these clueless, showy figures. When they encountered them, it was a massacre. Usually, these figures were escorted by no more than a hundred riders. This young aristocrat, who appeared so leisurely, was clearly from an extremely prestigious background. The three riders who first spotted the enemy dared not act rashly. Li Hanlin, as the squad leader, ordered Li Shiyue to ride back and report while he and Lu Dou continued to shadow the enemy from a distance.
The northern Liang and northern Beiman scouts each had their own secret signals, whistles resembling bird calls. However, after twenty years of mutual confrontation, both sides had largely deciphered each other’s codes, forcing them to devise increasingly bizarre methods of communication. Compared to the clumsy messes made by many scouts during the Spring and Autumn period, the situation was incomparable. For example, during sudden raids, the forces were already intermingled, and due to similar signals, they nearly mistook each other for allies until they were close enough to see each other’s faces. The roaming archers of the northern Liang and the “Malan” cavalry of the northern Beiman were undoubtedly the most cunning and formidable scouts in the world.
Li Shiyue returned with the Biao leader’s order: since the enemy insisted on advancing southward, the choice was simple—devour the entire feast or choke on it. There was no other option!
Though called “northern barbarians,” most of the soldiers from the Gusai and Longyao Prefectures were actually descendants of the Spring and Autumn states, their faces nearly identical to those of the northern Liang soldiers.
Faced with an unexpected and silent ambush, the two hundred northern Beiman light cavalry did not panic. The deputy commander pulled his horse around and approached the young royal relative, whispering in the royal court’s dialect. The young man raised an eyebrow, his face filled with mockery. He seemed to shake his head, rejecting the deputy commander’s suggestion. At first sight of the northern Liang roaming archers forming a loose encirclement, their crossbows firing like locusts, the young general’s sneer deepened. After two rapid volleys of crossbow fire, when close combat erupted from multiple directions and his cavalry were mercilessly cut down by the northern Liang riders, he finally furrowed his brows. Yet he still showed no sign of retreating. He placed one hand on his horse’s back, gently calming the beast as it sensed the bloodshed. The deputy commander, however, looked deeply worried. Unlike ordinary soldiers, the young man’s armor was distinct, but his other battlefield equipment was identical—single-handed spear, waist saber, and a rack on the front of his saddle for weapons. For long marches, additional hooks could be attached to the sides or rear of the saddle to carry bows, crossbows, and quivers.
The young man watched with great interest, completely unbothered by the fact that his two hundred riders had not gained any advantage. He even allowed all his personal guards to join the battle while he remained in place, observing the bloody carnage where horses moved faster than death.
Real cavalry battles were nothing like the romanticized tales. There were no duels between generals on the battlefield, where the loser’s entire army would collapse. Nor were there scenes of generals standing still on their horses, surrounded by enemies, yet still wielding spears and swords like relentless rain. In large-scale cavalry charges, especially those involving thousands or even ten thousands of riders, the spectacle was vast and overwhelming. Besides raining arrows, the next phase involved a mutual, penetrating force like a blade slicing through flesh. A single rider would charge forward, striving to kill as many enemies as possible. Even an extra step gained by the horse was worth fighting for. After a spear strike, since the spear was hard to withdraw, it was discarded in favor of the saber. Speed was the key to impact. In a rapidly shifting formation, if a single rider hesitated without cause, becoming a “wooden stake,” he became a traitor.
In small-scale cavalry skirmishes like those involving scouts, the principle remained unchanged—speed was paramount, whether pursuing or retreating. However, scouts had more room to display individual martial prowess.
A general’s armor being too conspicuous was a grave mistake. Firstly, most armor was adorned with gold and silver, making it impractical and ostentatious. Secondly, it drew too much attention, practically inviting enemy attacks. This royal scion, whose surname was likely either Yelü or Murong, had no such awareness. Soon, two northern Liang squad leaders among the roaming archers tore through the thin enemy line and charged toward him. The young cavalry commander did not rush to draw his saber. Only when a northern Liang saber swung toward him did he finally unsheathe his blade like a startled rainbow. His saber deflected the incoming strike, severing the archer squad leader’s arm, then swept upward, slicing through his neck. Blood gushed forth. He did not stop there—his saber carved off the archer’s cheek. His horse did not waver. As the lifeless body of the squad leader passed by, he casually poked it with his saber tip, sending it tumbling from the saddle. He did not even glance at the corpse.
A series of flashy moves, but ultimately effective. He possessed martial skills far beyond the norm for cavalry, granting him that right.
He flicked his wrist, spinning his saber in a flourish, and spoke in the southern court’s dialect with calm disdain, “Even the most famous curved sabers in the world, the northern Liang sabers, are nothing special after all.”
Cavalry combat emphasized speed, partly because swords were abandoned in favor of sabers. Especially in the armies of northern Liang and northern Beiman, both used standardized curved sabers. The slight curve of the blade, combined with the momentum of the galloping horse, allowed a single slash to create a massive, continuous curved cut upon contact with the enemy’s body, delivering astonishing cutting power. Even if the strike missed and hit armor, the curved blade was less likely to slip from the hand, making it easy to recover and strike again. This was something straight-bladed sabers of the same weight could never achieve. This was precisely why the northern Liang sabers were renowned across the land. The curvature, thickness, and weight of a northern Liang saber were nearly perfect. The northern Beiman sabers were almost exact copies of the northern Liang design, but with a longer blade and a more pronounced curve. In foot combat, straight-bladed sabers were superior, but in the northern Liang and northern Beiman armies, where every man could wield a bow from horseback, who would not rely on cavalry to decide every battle?
The battle erupted suddenly, and no one could escape. The total number of combatants on both sides was no more than three hundred. The formation was far from solid. Because the northern Liang roaming archers had the advantage of a surprise attack, the first clash successfully killed over thirty northern Beiman riders. The enemy, unable to regroup quickly on the front line, still had about sixty riders unable to effectively engage in the second wave of combat. Thus, the northern Liang roaming archers continued to dominate. As the white-robed strategist Chen Zhibao famously stated, advantages accumulated in small details. As long as the later commanders did not make major blunders, the outcome was already decided at the beginning.
The northern Beiman royal scion urged his horse forward. The steed was of exceptional quality, its explosive power astonishing. In an instant, it reached its peak speed, cleaving a northern Liang roaming archer and his horse in two with a single strike. The ferocity and wide arc of his saber swing were evident.
The battle did not unfold as the common people imagined it—loud and chaotic. Instead, it was eerily silent. Killing and wounding were done in silence, and falling from the horse in death was equally silent.
Li Shiyue was completely consumed by bloodlust.
In terms of individual combat strength, the roaming archers had the upper hand. However, once the young northern Beiman general joined the fray, wherever he went, he left behind seven or eight northern Liang cavalry corpses.
The Biao leader of the roaming archers pulled his saber from an enemy’s head and charged toward the young northern Beiman cavalry commander without hesitation.
In every desperate battle, the general dies first, followed by the junior officers, and then the squad and squad leaders.
This was the iron law of northern Liang.
Here, he held the highest rank. There was no reason for him not to die.
If he had been fighting merely for rank and position over the years, he could have long retired to the northern Liang provinces beyond the border, living in comfort and ease.
As the two passed each other, the young man, whose martial prowess overwhelmed all, let out a surprised “Hmph.”
This northern Liang cavalryman was still alive?
The Biao leader’s hand bled from the impact, and his shoulder bore a large gash from the northern Beiman saber. Yet, the veteran soldier still managed to slash an enemy rider behind the young man, rode forward for dozens of steps, and then turned to charge again.
In the second pass, the Biao leader was struck by a saber blow that pierced his armor, his intestines spilling onto the saddle.
Before charging again, the Biao leader tore a strip of cloth from his tunic, twisted it, and tied it around his waist. Without a trace of emotion, he resumed his charge.
Li Hanlin, who had already slain four enemy riders, saw this and clenched his teeth. Ignoring the enemies chasing him, he spurred his horse forward.
The young northern Beiman noble sliced the Biao leader in half at the waist with a single blow, turned his head to look at the rolling corpse, and sneered, “Worthless. This time, I won’t play with you anymore.”
He then lifted his head, scanning the battlefield, seeking out more worthy opponents to toy with. As for how many of his two hundred riders would survive, he did not care.
Ten paces away, Li Hanlin leapt from his horse’s back, gripping his saber with both hands, and brought it down in a powerful arc toward the bastard.
The man parried the strike with a casual swing of his blade, retreating a few steps on horseback, but no further. He sneered, and without taking advantage of his opponent’s lack of a mount, dismounted gracefully himself to fight on foot. As Northern Liang crossbow bolts shot toward his face, he caught one mid-flight without even turning his head, crushing it in his grip and tossing the broken pieces to the ground.
Li Hanlin spat out a mouthful of blood, locking eyes with this formidable foe. Suddenly, a horse leapt past him. Li Hanlin’s expression shifted to one of shock—unexpectedly, it was that man with dual pupils, the one surnamed Lu. Lu Dou bent down and hauled Li Hanlin onto the horse behind him, while he himself dismounted, drawing his sword and charging toward the Northern Barbarianwarrior.
At the same time, a short spear flew through the air.
The spear flew with fierce momentum. The young man who had slain the Northern Liang scout captain raised his sword but did not strike—he was arrogant enough to try catching the spear mid-air with his bare hand. Unfortunately, he failed. The spear sliced through his palm, trailing blood as it aimed straight for his eye. He barely managed to twist his head away, but not before scraping his cheek raw.
Lu Dou did not close the distance for melee combat. He remained at a distance of twenty paces, a grim smile on his face as he said in a stiff tone, “I’ll play with you a while.”
A second spear flew out, even more forceful than the first.
No longer daring to underestimate, the dismounted cavalry commander struck the spear away with his Northern Man sword. Even so, his arm tingled with a strange numbness he rarely felt.
That damned Northern Liang foot soldier, carrying a satchel on his back, hurled more spears not only at him but also into the chests of surrounding Northern Man cavalry. Each strike pierced a skull. With leisurely ease, he hunted from beyond twenty paces, occasionally retrieving spears mid-combat.
The Northern Man noble, having gained no advantage, was furious beyond reason. Ignoring decorum, he now only sought to close the distance and carve this nameless soldier into pieces.
After all, he was a warrior trained by top masters. At the cost of a spear piercing through his shoulder, he finally closed the gap. At ten paces, his Northern Man saber flared with deadly intent, cutting off all chances for Lu Dou to throw another spear.
The scout’s eyes widened in apparent shock.
Feigned surprise.
Then a sinister, triumphant grin.
The young royal, sharp-minded as he was, sensed something amiss, but refused to believe that a mere scout with a few petty tricks could pull off anything greater. He pressed forward relentlessly, blade flashing.
This time, Lu Dou made no move to draw another spear. Instead, he reached out with his bare hand toward the saber sharp enough to pierce armor. The young noble from the imperial court felt a surge of hope as his blade met flesh. He drove the saber down with all his might—yet it did not budge?
Lu Dou twisted his wrist, snapping the finely crafted Northern Man saber in two. Then he drove his fist into the opponent’s abdomen, shattering his insides.
The young man, who should have been rising steadily through the ranks under his family’s protection, was now utterly incapacitated.
Lu Dou spread his arms wide, seizing the enemy’s limbs, and with a sudden jerk, tore the young general in half, still unnamed.
Blood splattered all over the dual-pupiled warrior.
Lu Dou kicked the corpse away, eyes unblinking as it landed lifelessly. He did not wipe the blood from his face, nor did he glance back. He simply turned and stepped back into the battlefield.
In this bloody clash, the squad leader and two deputies all fell. Two hundred Northern Man riders perished without a single escape. No messages were ever sent.
Sergeant Li Hanlin became the acting commander.
Silently, Lu Dou retrieved all the thrown spears, then joined Li Shiyue in hastily burying the fallen squad leader before standing behind Li Hanlin.
Li Hanlin spoke calmly, “The wounded will retreat southward with the report. The rest of us—thirty-six in total—will choose new mounts and continue north. If I fall, Lu Dou will lead you onward.”
Such skirmishes, where one side was destined for annihilation, erupted repeatedly along the border.
Three days later, in the southernmost stronghold of the Northern Man territory, Wan Zhu, a city of eighteen thousand troops, marched out in full under the command of General Hong G’u’an, a rising young general whose fame was beginning to rival that of Dong Zhuo. In the vast Qingwa Basin, they engaged the Longxiang Cavalry in a massive mounted battle.
Hong G’u’an, barely forty, carried himself with the elegance of a scholar, yet his tactics were ruthless and decisive. He refused to remain behind the walls awaiting reinforcements, determined instead to crush the invading force in one fell swoop.
Only thirty miles from Wan Zhu did Hong learn that the enemy force numbered ten thousand Longxiang cavalry. Yet after careful planning, he merely told his subordinate commanders, “Await my good news,” before sitting calmly atop the city walls, setting up a game of weiqi and chatting leisurely with a renowned master of the board.
Wan Zhu’s forces outnumbered the Longxiang by two to one.
How could they possibly lose?
Hong G’u’an was convinced that once he won his game, the battle outside would also be won, a tale destined for the annals of history.
The Qingwa Basin was ideal for cavalry charges.
Both armies surged forward like tidal waves.
Most of the descendants of the Spring-Autumn refugees had already borne children of their own. The elders marveled at the might of the Northern Man nation and the strength of its armies, gradually forgetting the thunderous sound of Northern Liang hooves. The younger generation had never even heard such sounds.
Once, Northern Liang cavalry had trampled across the Spring-Autumn lands.
But was that not merely history now?
At the first news of war, the people of Wan Zhu felt a slight panic—but not for long. Soon, they began to mock the foolishness of Northern Liang sending a mere ten thousand men to attack Wan Zhu like an egg striking stone.
The two armies charged like twin torrents.
The Wan Zhu cavalry roared with deafening cries, seemingly overwhelming the silent, charging Northern Liang riders.
Only when the distance closed to five hundred paces did the Northern Liang forces shout in unison:
“Sha!”
On the city walls, Hong G’u’an’s eyelids twitched.
Before him, the weiqi board trembled, the trembling growing stronger and stronger until the pieces themselves began to jump.
A boy in black robes, barefoot, ran at the forefront, side by side with a black tiger.
Behind him, the elite cavalry of Northern Liang charged like thunder, yet he left them far behind.
His hair, tied in a braid, the boy seized the massive black tiger and hurled it into the enemy ranks.
Then he bent his knees and launched himself skyward, crashing down into the enemy formation.
It was a terrifying sight!
Was this madman attempting to face ten thousand alone?
The black tiger, upon landing, rolled through the ranks, killing over thirty cavalrymen.
The boy in black, unarmed and unarmored, ran straight ahead. Any who met him were torn apart.
Wan Zhu had trained a special unit tasked with slaying enemy generals and champions—around three hundred in number. Though they wore no distinctive armor, they were tall and strong, swift and skilled, many hailing from renowned martial sects. Even when hastily gathered from across the battlefield and dispatched in ten units to intercept or pursue the black-clothed youth, they were utterly useless. He tore through half of Wan Zhu’s forces, and once the two armies became entangled, his pressure eased, and he moved like a fish in water, rushing straight toward the northern highlands and the city gates of Qingwa Basin. Tiger and boy raced toward the walls, and with a final leap from the tiger’s back, the boy landed atop the ramparts. He stared into Hong G’u’an’s stunned eyes, asked a single question, then tore the general’s head from his shoulders.
In this Battle of Qingwa Basin,
Xu Longxiang, the second son of the Butcher of Men, made his debut, turning the mighty stronghold of Wan Zhu—a city once viewed by the Great Yan as a fortress guarded by tigers—into a city of corpses.
The thunder of Northern Liang hooves shook the heavens.
Ten thousand Longxiang riders—ten thousand rolls of thunder.
Eighteen thousand so-called Northern Man iron troops—half slain, half captured and buried alive. None survived.
The Northern Man heard the thunder.
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