Chapter 835: Turning the Tide a Thousand Li, Securing Liaodong

The north wind howled bitterly as an army swiftly marched north along the plain at the foot of the mountains. Horses trotted lightly, some carrying single riders, others pulling carts laden with supplies—weapons, grain, and more—all secured on the wagons.

Soldiers jogged alongside the wagon columns, exhaling clouds of white vapor, moving their bodies, circulating their blood, maintaining warmth and preserving combat readiness.

Wang Yan, unfazed by the bitter cold, wore iron armor and rode the same red-maned horse he had taken from Zhang Fei, leading the column from the front.

Three thousand Weiwu Soldiers had set out from Pingguo heading north; Wang Yan had galloped to join them midway. Yesterday they marched one hundred and fifty li; today, eighty li. Their target: Xiangping (Liaoyang), the ancestral home of the Gongsun clan, where Gongsun Du would later establish his capital to dominate Liaodong.

The purpose of attacking here was obvious: eliminate those with culture, knowledge, insight, and strategy. Though all were human, with the same brains, in this ancient era, the minds of the powerful clans were undeniably on a different plane from those of the Wuhuan. Without strategists behind them, the Wuhuan army's strength diminished greatly.

Pingguo was two hundred and thirty li from Xiangping; Xiangping was one hundred and twenty li from Xuantu. Wang Yan had fed his army well all winter, maintaining daily training without slack. Given the Wuhuan army's lack of organization and discipline, and their meager supplies—even if supplies were abundant, they wouldn't waste them on common soldiers.

As for cold resistance, Wang Yan had issued his men hats and gloves. Though their clothing lacked sufficient fur, they wore two layers, with thin inner fur to protect their upper bodies. As long as the waist, abdomen, and chest were guarded, and knees given extra insulation, their cold resistance soared. The opposing Wuhuan-Han alliance clearly lacked such provisions. In this freezing cold, one hundred and twenty li could kill them.

Thus, in terms of marching speed, Wang Yan and his troops would far outpace the enemy. By the time his men covered two hundred and thirty li, the enemy would not have even finished one hundred and twenty.

At night, the three thousand soldiers camped in a sheltered mountain pass fifteen li south of Xiangping, lighting stoves to cook and restore strength. The meal was still millet porridge, paired with overly salty pickled vegetables. They slurped down a bowl by the fire, then drank two bowls of mutton and fish stew, carefully nibbling tiny bits of meat, huddling around the flames to boast, mock the Wuhuan barbarians, and speak of home—it was truly wonderful.

No one worried about the coming battle, as if victory were already assured, as if their goal of full granaries and daily feasts had already been achieved. Though they were five thousand against twenty thousand, they had fought worse odds before. Since General Wang began his campaign at Anci, he had never lost a single battle.

The General himself sat drinking millet porridge, eating pickled vegetables, sipping mutton-fish broth—no special treatment. It wasn't that he pretended to eat and live like the soldiers; if he truly had, how could one explain the bear-fur lining beneath his armor, the deer-skin boots, or the dozens of sheep that had vanished this winter, the study's floor-to-ceiling windows, the heated floors, the twenty-four-hour coal-burning heaters?

It was merely that conditions didn't allow it. He could have done as Huo Qubing did—brought a personal chef—but the chef he'd trained all winter had grown fat from tasting salt and flavor, and couldn't be taken on campaign. Besides, ingredients and seasonings were far inferior now, so he simply ate with the men.

The soldiers didn't care what the General ate. True, they envied his meals, but their current life was already a world apart from what it had been before joining him—they were satisfied. If the General wanted to eat dragon, they'd hunt one down, skin it, strip its tendons, bring it back, and let his fat chef cook it—they'd drool watching him eat, gladly.

At that moment, Liao Hua's messenger cavalry arrived with news: "Report, General! The Xuantu enemy has set up camp twenty li north of Xiangping. Xiangping opened its gates to deliver supplies, but Liao Captain cut them off."

"Send word to Liao Hua: in one hour, I will launch a night attack on Xiangping. Order the Elite Cavalry to block the enemy and seek opportunity for a night raid. Above all, do not advance deep—harassment is key. Set fire to their camp with arrows. Deny the enemy rest."

"Yes, General." The messenger bowed and departed.

Soon after, Weiwu cavalry scouts returned: "General, we've killed many of Xiangping's scouts. Up close, we observed all four gates heavily guarded—they know we've come. We scoured every inch of the hills and plains between here and the southern gate, fifteen li away, and found no enemy traces. We estimate the garrison inside is small."

The General nodded. "Eat your hot food. Drink warm broth. Warm yourselves."

Captain Zhang Wu said: "General, shall we still attack the city tonight?"

"Not just attack—it. If we take Xiangping and still have strength, we shall repeat the Changli campaign: launch a single night assault to break the enemy. This battle will be decided. Order the troops: rest well. In one hour, abandon the grain and supplies, and take Xiangping under cover of night."

Zhang Wu bowed, left the General's side, and ordered the soldiers to stop chatting and rest fully, preparing for the coming battle.

The hot broth continued to simmer. Though the meat had been eaten, more mutton was added, bubbling steadily. After one hour, night had fallen. The soldiers ate a bit of meat, drank two bowls of broth, then followed the General into the dark.

In no time, they reached the southern gate of Xiangping.

It was less an assault than a theft. Just as they had taken Changli, so now they would take Xiangping. Since Wang Yan himself was present, there was no need for a brutal siege—efficiency and speed were paramount.

Thus, the General repeated his old tactic: from below the wall, he shot arrows precisely at the guards lit by torches, killing over a dozen before the defenders extinguished their torches. Then, the guards leaned on the ramparts, peering out into the darkness, testing Wang Yan's night vision—he shot five more before they cowered behind the walls, refusing to show themselves.

Wang Yan scaled the four-zhang-high wall, leaving ropes secured, drew his blade, and silently killed the guards atop. He held the ropes steady as his soldiers climbed up, then descended with them to open the gate. Meanwhile, two thousand five hundred soldiers outside charged straight toward the gate. Three thousand against four thousand—they chased the enemy through the streets. Xiangping fell.

Seeing a man in armor unlike the others, dragged up by two bodyguards, Wang Yan had no interest in his name—he was a dead man. He asked coldly: "Is any member of the Gongsun clan still in the city?"

The officer struggled to answer: "He was here. The Gongsun family lived in the east. Now the city is in chaos—I don't know if they've fled."

He didn't want to struggle—he was being beaten.

The bodyguards, chosen from the best, were tall, strong, well-fed, trained in Wu Gong, and fiercely combat-ready. Individually, they might not match seasoned generals who trained since childhood, but in formation, they were devastating. And since he was an enemy, capturing a surrendered officer was no reason not to give him a good beating first.

"Lead the way."

Wang Yan waved his hand. The two bodyguards dragged the officer eastward; Wang Yan followed with a hundred bodyguards, racing toward the Gongsun estate.

As Liaodong's wealthiest man, the Gongsun clan held immense power in Xiangping. The entire eastern quarter was their domain—grand mansions, vast halls, a sprawling complex. The farmers outside likely worked for them.

Upon arrival, without orders, the bodyguards slashed the officer's throat and surged in, a hundred strong. Soon, shouts of battle erupted.

The General's hand rested on his sword hilt as he walked calmly inward, turning left and right, until he reached the courtyard where the fighting was loudest. The fiercer the resistance, the more likely a key figure was inside.

Stepping through the gate, his bodyguards were overpowering a dozen defenders. In the open doorway, a man in simple robes sat calmly on a mat, expressionless, staring at Wang Yan.

Within three minutes, the dozen defenders were slaughtered. No bodyguards died, though several bore light to moderate wounds—blades and swords know no mercy.

Wang Yan checked the wounded, administered first aid, and saved their lives. The severely injured couldn't be carried—they'd be sent to a civilian household to recover. Survival now depended on how hardy they were; their numbers were too few to hold the city, and they'd return only after the battle was fully won.

After tending to the wounded and sending them away, the remaining bodyguards gathered.

One reported: "General, the Gongsun family has fled. Only women, servants remain. The man inside is Gongsun Du."

"Order: swiftly investigate all officials, wealthy families, and wandering knights. Kill those who oppressed the people; appoint those who treated the people kindly as temporary city administrators to stabilize Xiangping. All must depart the city within one hour. Send word to the Elite Cavalry to rendezvous with us."

"Yes."

Watching his bodyguards depart, Wang Yan walked in smiling, like a villain: "One whose heart holds thunder yet whose face is as calm as Pinghu—worthy of the rank of General. I did not expect you to possess such heroic bearing."

"You can read and write?" Gongsun Du didn't heed the flattery; his tone carried irony.

"Do you seek death?"

"Indeed. You are a Yellow Turban rebel, a traitor to Han. All must kill you. I ate Han's grain—I serve Han faithfully."

"Old man, you speak of state virtue—but whose bones lie outside these walls? You aid the Wuhuan to attack, not out of loyalty, but because you fear I'll seize your land and slaughter your family. Why pretend righteousness? Let your Gongsun heirs be tigers—or your clan ends here."

The General waved his hand. "Cut him down."

A bodyguard stepped forward and beheaded him. Gongsun Du's head rolled, eyes wide open.

The old fool thought his former post as Inspector of Jizhou granted him dignity, and dared play mind games with General Wang—how utterly disrespectful.

He wasn't truly seeking death—he'd already sent his family away. He had the will to die, but hadn't prepared properly, hoping to deceive a fool.

Normally, one should show respect to a former high official of such stature. Especially since Wang Yan's faction came from slave and rogue origins—they'd built their empire by valuing talent and elders.

So according to the script, when Gongsun Du declared loyalty to Han, Wang Yan should have expounded his political vision, bowed once, twice, thrice, and begged him to assist in great deeds. Gongsun Du would feign reluctance, then, moved by Wang Yan's sincerity, reluctantly agree.

Then perhaps Gongsun Du would use his wealth and influence to slowly undermine Wang Yan, eventually usurping his power and establishing the Gongsun dynasty.

But Wang Yan refused to play along. He said no more words, and cut him down. He never intended to let Gongsun Du live—he never intended to spare the Gongsun clan. The enemy's resistance was justified; he couldn't demand others not to covet him while coveting them.

After beheading Gongsun Du, Wang Yan took command there, watching Weiwu soldiers drive the remnants to the square. They executed every officer above the rank of fifty-man commander, promoted a new one who looked agreeable, then swept the city for officials, wealthy families, and wandering knights. Over a hundred civilians were brought forward to identify targets. Except two minor wealthy households—too small to have committed major crimes—all were executed.

At this moment, there was no need to recite political ideals to the mountain of corpses, the blood-soaked ground, the two surviving wealthy families, the trembling remnants, or the captured townsfolk—no need to paint them a beautiful future.

Instead, he explained the city's granaries and Gongsun family storehouses, the relief distribution plan, ordered mutual surveillance among the people, and told them: the General would return within a month with his army, and then—

By then, an hour had passed beyond Wang Yan's deadline. The soldiers had rested. Without further words, he led them out of Xiangping, heading north.

They met Liao Hua's Elite Cavalry five li beyond the enemy camp—and repeated the Changli tactic: the General led his two thousand five hundred bodyguards and Elite Cavalry to pierce the enemy center, while the three thousand Weiwu Soldiers split into two columns of fifteen hundred each, attacking the enemy's left and right flanks.

When the agreed time arrived, General Wang Da led the vanguard cavalry straight into the enemy camp. Behind them, the mounted troops set fire to the encampment, while troops on both flanks raised a deafening roar. Three thousand men on each side shouted with the momentum of thirty thousand.

Everyone carries a coward within them; when faced with life-threatening danger, their first thought is to flee. For an army, standardized, merciless training and strict discipline exist solely to counteract this fear—to ensure soldiers remain calm in emergencies and naturally form ranks to counterattack.

But unfortunately, the Wu-Han allied forces lacked such combat discipline. They were immersed in dreams, seeking warmth from their slumber, when they were suddenly attacked and their camp set ablaze. Startled awake, they fled their tents without even grabbing their weapons, then scattered in panic.

They wore thin clothing; though the camp was warm, that warmth was deadly. Behind them, enemy troops were deadly too—so of course they ran.

Though the Wu-Han allied forces numbered twenty thousand, they had spread their camps out, organizing into front, center, and rear divisions—but their battle formations were extremely illogical. Even when divided, the units weren't spaced far apart. Supplies, weapons, and provisions were all carried along with the troops.

Wang Yan led his troops to pierce through the enemy camp, but he did not stop there. Unlike last time, this time his forces were fewer and the enemy was dispersed. So he split his troops into squads of eight hundred, attacking from multiple directions to divide and isolate the enemy.

As Wang Yan's vanguard charged forward, a group of over a hundred cavalrymen fled ahead. At such a moment, anyone still surrounded by so many men must be the commander. Instantly, the general ordered his cavalry to break into squads of a hundred, continuing to cut and isolate the enemy, while he personally led his bodyguards in pursuit of the enemy commander.

Seeing troops chasing them, the hundred cavalrymen ran even faster. Ahead of them lay their own men; they didn't care—anything blocking their escape was cut down without hesitation.

"Bring me my weapon."

As the distance narrowed to a hundred meters, Wang Yan roared, handing his mounted spear—nature's gift to the rider—to a bodyguard riding close behind. He then unslung his powerful bow from his saddle, drew the string, and nocked an arrow.

His bow opened like the autumn moon crossing the sky; his arrows flew like falling stars. One after another, arrows struck straight for the enemies' backs.

His cavalry still lacked skilled mounted archery. Shooting from horseback isn't something you learn by speaking—it takes years of relentless practice. This further increased the cost of maintaining cavalry. Though the bodyguards following him had received training, the time had been too short.

Yet now, seeing their general draw his bow, the bodyguards spread out, took down their own bows from their saddles, and began shooting. Accuracy was lacking, so they made up for it with volume—dense volleys, saturation strikes.

Wang Yan was also cunning—he didn't shoot those lagging behind. Instead, using his superior night vision, he aimed at the center of the fleeing group. When one man fell, he dragged down those behind him, slowing their escape. Combined with the bodyguards' saturation fire, before they'd fled two kilometers, more than half were already dead.

Finally, as the man protected at the center of the group became visible, the general fired a precise shot that felled him from his horse. A cry of alarm rang out—and the remaining enemy cavalry scattered in all directions.

Even so, pursuit did not cease. Who knew if other important figures remained among them? So the general unleashed his rapid-fire shooting, expending great effort until the battle was fully resolved.

Only then did the troops turn back, gathering scattered horses and interrogating survivors to learn who had led the enemy.

Neither side knew the other. Their scouts had clashed all winter without any contact or communication—anyone they encountered was killed. Under such conditions, espionage was out of the question.

Unlike the feudal lords of the Central Plains, who, when attacking a city, might find someone who knew someone inside—or even have someone from within defect and exchange spies…

Had it not been for this, the Wu-Han allied forces would not have been defeated so swiftly. They knew Wang Yan had once launched a night raid and shattered troops at Changli—but now winter had not yet ended. Though days grew slightly warmer, nights remained cold enough to freeze men to death. Who could have imagined Wang Yan marched two hundred and thirty li in two days, without sleep, stormed the city, and after taking it, did not rest within its walls—but marched another twenty li to come fight them?

Habitual thinking kills. They assumed their own discipline meant the peasant-born Wang Yan and his gang were inferior. They paid dearly for their complacency—and lost. Wang Yan had perfected one trick: night raids—and it had worked twice.

Soon after, a bodyguard approached Wang Yan, first kicking the corpse on the ground with all his strength, then bowing: "General, this man is Qiu Li Ju, chieftain of the Wuhuan. Among the hundred cavalrymen just now was his son—Su Puyan, the enemy opposing Fuxin and Guangwu Guard. The enemy at Liucheng is Wu Yan, Right Beiping Wuhuan chieftain, who brought over ten thousand Wuhuan troops from beyond the frontier, intending to attack our heartland and seize all of Changli and Tuhe."

Wang Yan asked, "How do you know all this?"

"Gongsun Gong, second son of Gongsun Du. He was pierced through the abdomen by your arrow and cannot survive. He begged for swift death—and revealed everything."

"Did you kill him?"

The bodyguard grinned: "How could we let him die easily? The Gongsun family aided the enemy against us, ruined our grand plans, prevented us from farming in peace—and we don't even know how many civilians they've harmed. They deserve to freeze to death in the wilderness and be devoured by beasts."

Not wasted training—he'd already developed class-consciousness. Wang Yan laughed loudly, clapping the bodyguard on the shoulder: "You've improved. I approve. Keep this mindset—it will ensure our brothers and their families live in peace."

"All thanks to your constant guidance, General."

"Go, go," Wang Yan shook his head, laughing and scolding…

Now was the Little Ice Age, and it was deep night—temperatures below minus ten degrees Celsius. With the northern winds, the actual felt temperature reached minus twenty or more. During battle, blood surged and men charged forward; after battle, they froze like dogs.

There was one advantage: no rush to dispose of corpses, no fear of plague. Amid the piles of enemy corpses, five thousand men found unburned tents, forced themselves to boil porridge, ate a hearty meal, then stoked the charcoal fires inside until they blazed, curling up to sleep.

There was no fear of enemy forces regrouping and returning. Those who fled in desperation had burned through their last reserves of heat; once they stopped, they couldn't run again. Many wore only a single layer of clothing, at most two layers stuffed with straw. With such attire, and having exhausted their vital energy in desperate flight, whether they'd survive the night was uncertain.

They slept straight through until noon the next day, only then recovering. After eating the grain Liao Hua had seized en route, it was already afternoon.

Wang Yan sent men to Xiangping to have the city's troops come out and clear the battlefield, burning the corpses. Then they gathered the unburned enemy supplies and began another forced march.

Speed is the essence of warfare. Three days had passed since he crossed over—how the other fronts fared remained unknown. Here, they must swiftly reinforce, end this war quickly, and return to farming and development.

This march aimed to cross the Liao River Plain, advancing from Xiangping toward Fuxin to aid Guangwu Guard in crushing Su Puyan's ten-thousand-strong force. After this battle, they would take mountain paths to sneak-attack Liucheng and annihilate all enemy forces that had come to assault Changli and Tuhe.

From Xiangping to Fuxin: three hundred and fifty li. From Fuxin to Liucheng: another three hundred li. From Liucheng back to Tuhe: two hundred li. Add the distance from Tuhe to Pingguo before the campaign, and from Pingguo to Xiangping—this war saw General Wang Da truly march a thousand li. With this, the entire Liaodong region was secured…