Chapter Sixty-Seven: The Scheme Against Han Xuan (Conclusion)

Han Xuan sipped his murky wine with great satisfaction; to him, he was the greatest beneficiary of this battle. Among the three, Jin Xuan, the strongest, was no longer a threat, and the other two were as good as prey on a platter. Liu Du was timid by nature, less useful even than his own son, while Zhao Fan lacked troops. Under his own command tent were the formidable generals Huang Zhong and Wei Yan—surely, the rule of half of Jing Province would soon be within his grasp!

The distant Emperor of Han in Xiangyang was of no consequence to them; he was no true heaven in their eyes. Only the lord of Jing Province could command such reverence. As the saying goes, “Seize pleasure in your moments of triumph”—at this moment, Han Xuan was overjoyed and could not contain himself.

“Reporting, my lord! Jin Xuan has been thoroughly defeated at the front. His remaining troops are returning by warship. Should we intercept them?”

Han Xuan burst into laughter. “No need! Once Wuling falls, these will be my troops as well!”

“Pass along my order: remove the fortifications, do not obstruct Lord Jin’s forces. See that they are well settled.”

Jin Xuan, meanwhile, was sunk in silence. After being rescued by Bao Long, he had not been escorted to his own territory. Before him stood a young man who, in manner and expression, looked every bit the rogue. The youth was scrutinizing him, as though hoping to discern something from his face. This was his own warship, now captured by the enemy.

On the prow stood a young man wearing a feather fan and silk headdress. Jin Xuan had never met Zhou Yu, but his soldiers had already gathered plenty of intelligence—there could be no doubt where this ship was headed.

“How many enemies do I truly have?” This was the question that had been haunting Jin Xuan’s mind, the knot he could not untangle, leaving him in confusion.

After his crushing defeat at Chibi, he remembered clearly how Bao Long had come to his aid. Once aboard Bao Long’s warship, he had been contemplating how to take revenge on Han Xuan. Yet Bao Long, with a roguish grin, had ordered his men to bind him, and then his personal guards had escorted him straight to Zhou Yu.

All his efforts in raising troops in Wuling, gathering provisions, drilling soldiers day and night—he had done it all to launch a northern campaign. Was it too much to ask for a straightforward battle? But it was nothing but scheming and treachery. The thought of sharing wine with Han Xuan and Zhao Fan not long ago now filled him with disgust.

Han Xuan had fed him false information, and Zhao Fan had delivered him straight to the enemy commander. In the end, he had been defeated by his own people!

Now, Zhou Yu’s warships, flying Jin Xuan’s own banners, were sailing toward Han Xuan’s main camp. Zhou Yu was not about to let Han Xuan return to Changsha in comfort—he meant to deliver a grand “gift.”

Standing at the prow, Han Xuan held a wine cup, gazing at the river under the moonlight, his spirits somewhat buoyed.

“My lord, they are coming!”

Han Xuan narrowed his eyes; distant flames began to flicker upon the river—surely the defeated Jin Xuan. But something felt amiss. More and more flames appeared with each passing moment, and unease tightened in Han Xuan’s chest.

Across the river, the warships advanced like a wall, surging forward like a tidal wave. On land, Sun Jian’s forces were tigers and wolves; on water, dragons of the deep!

“Something’s not right! Sound the alarm—prepare to meet the enemy at once!” Han Xuan’s face turned pale. “Zhou Yu, you faithless wretch!”

The war horns blared, sending tremors across the river’s surface. Zhou Yu roared, “Release the arrows!”

Tens of thousands of arrows darkened the sky. The sight alone was enough to chill the blood and fill hearts with dread.

“My lord, the supply ships in the rear are ablaze one after another! Lords Zhao Fan and Liu Du have already begun to retreat!”

“Control of the provisions was in Liu Du’s hands—he has fifteen thousand troops! Zhao Fan!” Han Xuan’s expression was grim as fire arrows rained down, quickly setting the ships aflame.

With the defenses withdrawn, Zhou Yu had easily shattered Han Xuan’s formation.

“Kill!”

With only three or five enemy soldiers before him, Lü Meng leaped from his warship, spear in hand. The sharp point flashed like lightning, force gathered in his arms, and the spear pierced straight through the enemy.

Sensing danger at his back, Lü Meng reacted instantly, drawing his spear in a sweeping arc like a dragon’s tail.

But his opponent was no weakling—brandishing a great saber, he slashed out. “Clang!” Lü Meng’s hand trembled slightly, his gaze sharpening as he took the measure of his adversary. “Who are you?”

The man’s face was rugged and his frame powerful—a warrior of great strength indeed!

Wei Yan spun his saber, knocking Lü Meng’s spear aside, and chopped down with such force that he could have taken a general’s head with ease.

Though his arm numbed from the blow, Lü Meng did not panic—years of campaign experience had taught him much. He shifted his body and jabbed thrice in rapid succession, threatening to pierce flesh with each thrust should Wei Yan advance further.

Wei Yan did not bring his saber down but instead drew back into a defensive stance.

“Whizz!”

Lü Meng’s eyes narrowed; he leaned back, but too late. An arrow tore through his flesh, the pain fierce and silent, contorting his face as he tumbled into the water.

“Ziming! Quickly, save him!”

Zhou Yu’s heart clenched with worry for Lü Meng, his face grave as he stared at the distant elder who had unleashed that arrow—despite the hundred-pace gap between them!

Though anxious for Lü Meng, Taishi Ci felt a surge of excitement. To encounter another archer of his own caliber—he could not resist the urge to compete.

“Retreat! Quick, retreat! Lord Han has ordered a full withdrawal!”

“The ship is burning—abandon ship!”

...

Huang Zhong, too, had noticed Taishi Ci, but only chuckled. As far as archery went, he was supremely confident—he had no need to trouble himself over a mere youth.

“Whizz!”

A glint of cold steel flashed beneath the moon, slicing the air. Huang Zhong felt a chill at his crown—his helmet was pinned to the mast. His white hair fluttered in the night breeze.

Had that arrow flown a little lower, it would have been his head, not his helmet—clearly a warning!

Though he longed to claim the youth’s head, the commander had ordered a full retreat. If he lingered, he might well be captured.

Huang Zhong leaped onto Wei Yan’s ship, which immediately began to pull away.

Meanwhile, the other generals rampaged through the battlefield, reaping lives as if unopposed.

In March of the year 198, Han Xuan was routed at Chibi. His grand campaign of eighty thousand men marching north ended in failure. Upon hearing the news, Sun Jian was overjoyed—his worries behind him, he pressed his army forward another twenty li.

Clouds drifted in a gentle sky, sunlight bathing the lush forests, where birds sang and beasts bounded. Springs trickled through the mountains.

On either side of a narrow mountain path, wild grasses grew in dense, tangled patches. By the riverbank stood an unremarkable carriage, where two pairs of delicate, white feet soaked in the cool water.