Chapter Forty-Eight: The Campaign Against Yan

“Come, my lord, have a piece of fruit~”

Inside Yan Baihu’s bedchamber, a beautiful woman with a plump figure and a coquettish smile was serving him. Yan Baihu, thoroughly enjoying the ministrations of his maids, was at the zenith of pleasure.

Suddenly, an urgent voice interrupted. “Report! My lord, Sun Ce has marched from Guangling into Wu Commandery. Both Qu’e and Dantu have fallen to him. Though Lord Yan Que defended Qu’e with his troops, all six thousand under his banner perished in battle. Lord Yan Que himself…”

“And what of him?”

“He too has died on the battlefield!”

Staggering, Yan Baihu lurched toward the messenger. “What about the other two? What of them?”

“The two lords of Dantu, seeing the might of Sun Ce’s army, surrendered without a fight.”

“What a pack of useless wretches I’ve raised!” Yan Baihu’s eyes were dark with malice and fury. He drew his sword and, in a flash, slew the soldier before him. The maids shrieked in terror, but Yan Baihu turned and struck down each one in his rage, only then feeling the fire in his heart subside a little. “Summon Chancellor Zhang at once! Gather the army! I will skin Sun Ce alive!”

Jiang Wen watched the soldiers bury the bodies around him, feeling not the slightest remorse. The path they’d traveled was lined with bleached bones and desolate fields; in the homes of the common folk, only the old and infirm remained.

The women had all been forcibly taken by Yan Baihu, while the men were enslaved as laborers.

Jiang Wen was no righteous hero out to save the Han or rescue the people, nor was he a hypocrite who sat around spouting lofty ideals. He was no gentleman. He was an ordinary man—provoke him, and he wouldn’t reason with you; until he left some marks on you, he wouldn’t be satisfied. After all, venting one’s anger is more satisfying than mere insults.

First courtesy, then arms—one could even call it winning hearts by virtue.

“Son, your arm…”

“It’s nothing, Mother. Losing one arm doesn’t matter—look, your son has come back alive…”

“Thank you, my lord, thank you!” After taking Dantu, Sun Ce released all the forced laborers, granted them a year free from service, and reduced their taxes.

Countless elders, with their sons and families, wept with gratitude, prostrating themselves in thanks.

The army camped outside the city gates. Jiang Wen entered Sun Ce’s command tent.

Such acts of winning hearts were not for him to perform. The generals sat before wooden tables laden with cooked meats and fresh fruit.

He addressed the generals, “Wu Commandery is not yet in our hands. Yan Baihu could attack at any moment. No one is to drink and compromise the campaign!”

“We obey,” the generals replied respectfully, their eyes lingering hungrily on the wine as the soldiers removed it.

“Ziming, you as well!” Jiang Wen said.

Lu Meng scratched his head awkwardly and handed over the wine he’d hidden behind his back.

For these warriors, wine was life itself; without it, the victory feast was lackluster.

Yan Baihu’s army marched out, thirty thousand strong and brimming with menace, advancing toward Sun Ce. Sun Ce’s troops were unafraid, deploying in full force and encamping at Shenting Ridge, where the two armies stared each other down.

When it came to the art of war, the sons of Sun were descendants of Sun Wu himself—why should they fear anyone? Sun Ce was a master in this regard.

Jiang Wen stepped out of his tent and gazed at the clear river before him, casting a line to fish. Zhou Tai and several elite guards kept a vigilant watch.

Shenting Ridge was famed for its beauty, and for being the battleground where Taishi Ci and Sun Ce had once clashed—a duel that revealed to Sun Ce the presence of such a formidable general under Liu Yao.

Yet, alas, he would not witness the fierce contest of those two titans now.

In the deep of night, as the grass and trees swayed, dozens of black-clad figures ghosted through the forest, chopsticks clenched between their teeth, moving stealthily with utmost caution.

Suddenly, the leaves rustled—soldiers hidden in the darkness sprang from the undergrowth. Gan Ning, face set in a fierce scowl, smashed his mighty arm into an ancient tree, which crashed to the ground!

The falling tree crushed Yan Baihu’s bandits, who couldn’t evade in time; blood and viscera spattered the earth.

“Leave none alive—kill them all!”

Jiang Qin rose from another clump of bushes, great blade swinging in all directions, raising a mist of blood.

These mountain bandits were like ripe wheat awaiting the scythe—offering not a shred of resistance. Corpses littered the ground.

“How long does that brat Sun Ce intend to drag this out?” Yan Baihu’s face was livid as he hurled his wine cup at the kneeling general. “Useless fool! You can’t even manage a simple raid—what good are you? Take him out and execute him!”

After the general was dragged away for execution, Chancellor Zhang stepped forward and bowed. “Sun Ce has taken Dantu and must have stocked his supplies well. His army is full of vigor and ample in provisions. Our preparations were rushed; our supplies are lacking, and with news of lost territory, morale is low. If we persist, we are doomed to defeat!”

Yan Baihu sneered coldly, “You’re clever, Chancellor, that’s why I made you Chancellor. But if you keep spouting this drivel, I’ll have your head! I must kill Sun Ce and reclaim my cities!”

“Kill!”

“What’s that noise?”

“Report, my lord—the Sun Ce army is raiding our camp!”

Yan Baihu’s heart trembled. He hastily looked around, seizing his sword. “Prepare my horse—now!”

On the open plain, Yan Baihu stood atop the wooden palisade, watching the enemy approach with eyes burning with hatred.

“To arms! Prepare to meet the enemy!”

The soldiers surged out from behind the palisade, weapons gleaming with a chilling thirst for blood, sending a shiver down the spine.

They scrambled to form ranks, shouting orders.

Yan Baihu was a local strongman who had crowned himself king with a force of mountain bandits. His troops were mere outlaws—how could they compare to Sun Ce’s seasoned regulars? Their formations were a shambles; no proper ranks could be seen, just a chaotic mob.

Yet Sun Ce’s army did not attack immediately, halting five hundred meters from Yan Baihu’s camp.

The shield-bearers at the front parted, and a handsome, imposing general emerged, wielding the Conqueror’s Spear and mounted on a splendid white steed. Fifty meters from the wooden wall, he halted, accompanied only by a dignified bearded general carrying a pair of halberds on his back.

“Sun Ce, the Little Conqueror, stands here! Traitor Yan Baihu, do you dare come forth and face me?” His voice thundered across the field. In the firelight, Yan Baihu saw Sun Ce clearly—his features resolute and striking, his eyes brimming with power, the Conqueror’s Spear in his hand shining gold. In both bearing and appearance, Yan Baihu was utterly outclassed.

He had always belittled Sun Ce, but that was mere bravado. Now, confronted with the man himself, fear gripped his heart.

Especially that spear—he’d heard many tales of generals falling to it. Yu Mi, under Liu Yao, had been crushed to death in Sun Ce’s armpit, strangled by his monstrous strength.

Yan Baihu’s heart pounded. He pretended not to hear. Sun Ce swept his gaze over the walls and spotted a soldier.

“You there, the messenger! Tell me—where is the traitor Yan Baihu? Why does he not dare face me in battle?”

The question was clearly meant for him, but Yan Baihu found himself in a quandary. He was a local bully in essence, driven to battle mainly by wounded pride. His troops had lorded it over the land, Liu Yao had treated him well, and he’d been on good terms with Wang Lang of Kuaiji.

He had been the petty emperor of Jiangdong. But now, the tables had turned. Once, he bullied others; now, he was being bullied and had no idea how to respond.

“I am a king—how could I sully my dignity by dueling a mere brute?” Yan Baihu muttered to himself, refusing to listen further.

Behind him stood thirty thousand troops, all witnessing his humiliation. The soldiers, who had esteemed him for standing on the wall to face Sun Ce, now grew restless as Sun Ce called him out and Yan Baihu failed to respond.

Suddenly, a sharp arrow with a chilling gleam whistled through the air. Yan Baihu caught it in his peripheral vision, but too late—a bloody ear landed on the wall.

“Messenger, I’ll spare you this once, but that ear is for ignoring my general’s question! What use is an ear if you won’t listen?” Taishi Ci stowed his bow, laughing. “Go tell the traitor Yan Baihu: if he keeps pretending not to hear, I’ll take his other ear as well!”

“Ah, the pain is killing me!” Yan Baihu cursed, climbing down from the wall, clutching his bleeding ear. “Archers! Shoot them, kill them for me!”

The archers on the wall drew their bows, but before they could release, an arrow pierced one’s throat. Whistling bolts filled the air—Taishi Ci’s arrows flew again and again, and archers fell dead from the ramparts. The rest dropped their bows and fled, not daring to shoot.

With the challenge refused, force was all that remained.