Chapter 651: Blood‑Red Woye Town

Woye Town.

Dawn still slumbers in ink‑black darkness.

The impenetrable darkness, thick as a heavy curtain, wraps heaven, earth and all things in silence.

The fields beyond the town stretch across the night, their ridgelines only faintly discernible.

The air is saturated with the damp scent of soil, mingled with the fresh green of wheat leaves, drifting slowly in the cool morning breeze.

Over a thousand town soldiers in military garb are scattered, weaving endlessly among the ridges.

Their uniforms have shed wartime austerity; mud clings to their shoulders, making them look more like field laborers than border guards.

Each carries a heavy wooden bucket on the shoulder, the point where the bucket meets the shoulder pole creaking "creak".

Before the silent dawn it is especially clear, yet oddly blends into the night, not sounding noisy.

The water in the buckets sloshes with each step, occasionally splashing droplets onto the dry Field Ridge, leaving a small dark stain that the soil quickly absorbs.

The wheat in the fields has grown to waist height, the heavy ears shimmering a faint gray‑green in the night.

A gust lifts wave after wave of wheat, rustling like the earth's whisper.

A town soldier in his thirties pauses, sets his shoulder pole down, and lifts a hand to gently brush the nearby wheat ears.

His name is Chen Wu; his face bears the rough lines of years of sun and rain, yet the corners of his eyes and brows hold an unmistakable softness.

Gazing at the boundless sea of wheat, his eyes brim with contentment, as if looking at his own well‑behaved child—tender and satisfied.

Chen Wu draws a deep breath, the wheat‑scented air flooding his lungs, and cannot help but let out a soft sigh, audible in the silence: "Our wheat is really thriving!"

He pauses, pinches a plump ear, feeling its weight, his smile widening: "Look at these ears—full grains, sturdy stalks; when September comes, we'll surely have a good harvest!"

Nearby, his comrade Li Shun nods eagerly, a hearty grin on his face, sets his bucket down, wipes his cheek, and replies cheerfully: "Of course!"

"This year's weather has been a rare blessing—no frost in spring, no drought in summer, and pest damage is less than half of previous years. Isn't that heaven's favor!"

He says, brushing wheat leaves, his tone full of relief, "Last year at this time we were still battling drought, guarding the canals day and night. It was never this carefree…"

"This year's wheat could yield thirty percent more than before!"

"Thirty percent? I think it'll be even more!" another soldier, Zhang Shitou, wipes the thin sweat from his forehead, the beads glinting in the night, chuckling as he steps forward, a hint of yearning on his face.

He adds, a shy smile appearing, scratching his head: "After I finish this irrigation work, I'll go find my sweetheart, have a good time, and pull some cloth to make her a new dress!"

Their lively chatter continues, the shoulder poles still hanging, when a clear, brisk command rings from afar, breaking their idle talk.

"You all, stop chatting over there!"

The speaker is Colonel Qin Yue, in charge of irrigating these fields, dressed in dark military garb; though unarmored, he still exudes a soldier's vigor.

He patrols among the ridges, his gaze sweeping over the idle talkers, offering no rebuke, but his voice booms clear enough for all nearby soldiers: "Move quickly and irrigate!"

"This is the crucial moment for watering the wheat; a spoonful more water means an extra grain at harvest!"

"When the sun rises, the Poison sun will scorch us, making us sweat profusely; then we'll lack the strength to work!"

Qin Yue oversees the soldiers' settlement farming affairs, fully aware of food's importance to border troops; Woye Town lies on the frontier, bordering Rouran to the north and the Central Plains to the south…

Whether Provisions are ample directly affects the stability of the frontier defense.

These soldiers train for border defense daily, yet during harvest they must till the fields; he sees it, feels it, and therefore never harshly rebukes, only occasionally urging them.

Chen Wu and the others, hearing this, quickly set aside idle talk and reply in unison: "Coming, coming! Colonel Qin, we're on it!"

Chen Wu first lifts his shoulder pole; Li Shun and Zhang Shitou promptly hoist their buckets, the poles pressing again on their shoulders, the "creak" resuming.

They no longer linger, quickening their steps along the ridges, sprinkling the bucket water evenly over the wheat.

The water flows slowly along the ridges, soaking the parched soil; wheat roots greedily sip the moisture, and the leaves sway gently in the night breeze, as if giving thanks.

The sky remains pitch black, save for a few drum beats from the distant town's city tower, reminding that night is not yet over.

Over a thousand soldiers are scattered across the fields—some fetching water, some channeling it, some clearing the Field Ridge—cooperating methodically.

No one knows who first hummed a rustic tune, its robust yet melodic line bearing the boldness of a northwestern Han man, and soon others joined in.

The singing rose and fell, echoing through the night, dispelling pre‑dawn fatigue and adding warmth to the hard labor.

Within the songs are hopes for a bountiful harvest, longing for home, and cherishing a stable life.

Since the Six Towns Rebellion at the end of Former Yan, Woye Town has endured wars, its people displaced and fields left barren.

It wasn't until Great Zhou was founded and instituted the settlement farming system that the soldiers, guarding the border while tilling, gradually revived the land.

Now the weather is favorable, crops grow heartily, and everyone harbors a fierce determination—to do the farm work well, harvest more Provisions, and make life steadier.

Time slips by unnoticed as they work; fine beads of sweat seep onto the soldiers' foreheads, and even the pre‑dawn chill cannot halt the heat generated by labor.

They occasionally pause, sip from their carried water skins, wipe sweat, then immediately return to irrigation.

After about half a quarter‑hour.

At that moment, a soldier named Zhao Hu suddenly stops, bucket in hand, ears turned, brow slightly furrowed, as if listening for a faint sound.

Since childhood Zhao Hu's hearing has been extraordinary; during drills he always hears distant commands first, and even on night watch he can detect anomalies by ear.

Now he sets his shoulder pole down, signals his companion Li Erzhu to stop, and whispers in a low voice: "Hey, Erzhu, did you hear any movement?"

Li Erzhu, heads down walking, is halted by him, pauses puzzled, and listens.

He hears only the soldiers' singing, the creaking of shoulder poles, and the rush of water; beyond that, the night is silent.

He smiles dismissively, patting Zhao Hu's shoulder: "What's that noise you speak of?"

"Are you tired from hauling water, experiencing auditory hallucinations?"

"Not a hallucination!" Zhao Hu listens intently, brow furrowing tighter, his tone more certain: "I truly hear horse hooves—tap‑tap‑tap, rhythmic, coming toward us, getting nearer!"

He says this while tiptoeing slightly, looking north toward the source, where an endless Grassland stretches—the domain of the Rouran.

Usually, aside from occasional caravans, large‑scale horse hooves are rare, especially in the deep night before dawn.

Li Erzhu remains skeptical, smirks, and jokes: "You didn't stay up last night and get a nervous fit, did you?"

"At this hour, who would ride a horse into our fields?"

Zhao Hu ignores the teasing, holds his breath, and listens even more intently.

The sound of horse hooves grew clearer, no longer faint, but truly entered the ears—clack clack clack, clack clack clack—like drumbeats striking the heart, dense and heavy.

He could even tell it was not the sound of one or two horses, but the roar of hundreds to thousands of horses galloping, only distant, partially masked by night and wind.

"No, there really is a sound!" At that moment, Li Er Zhu's smile froze, and he faintly heard the distant hooves, while the ground beneath seemed to tremble slightly, as if a great force was approaching.

His complexion changed, no longer daring to joke, his voice tinged with tension: "Wait! The ground is shaking, it seems truly... truly a cavalry brigade is coming!"

As soon as he finished speaking, several town soldiers nearby also sensed something amiss.

A town soldier clearing a water channel stopped his hoe, looked north, his face full of puzzlement: "Huh, why am I hearing hooves too?"

"I heard it too!" another water‑carrying town soldier set down his bucket, his expression grave, "And the sound is getting closer, certainly not one or two horses!"

"It's not just the sound, can you feel it? The ground is shaking!" a tall town soldier stamped his foot, his face showing horror, "This commotion suggests over a thousand cavalry!"

"It's coming from the north..." a town soldier named Wang Da Niu turned ashen, his lips trembling as he struggled to utter a few words.

But as soon as the words fell, his face filled with deep doubt, brows knotted, he muttered incomprehensibly: "That doesn't add up!"

"How could the Rouran attack at this time?"

He instinctively rubbed his hands, his eyes blank, murmuring: "Even if the Rouran came for an autumn raid, it shouldn't be now..."

"The wheat hasn't ripened yet; the fields have nothing but crops, they can't seize provisions, why risk a deep incursion?"

Those words seemed directed at those nearby, yet also at himself.

In the past, when the Rouran moved south, it was either during the winter‑spring shortage of provisions, or after the autumn harvest when they coveted grain...

A mid‑July surprise attack is utterly illogical, filling him with bewilderment.

Just as the crowd grew uneasy over this abnormal situation, a town soldier perched on the Field Ridge suddenly narrowed his pupils, thrust his finger north, his voice sharp with terror: "Look! Cavalry!"

Everyone's gaze instantly converged there, seeing on the distant horizon a black, oppressive mass charging forward with thunderous force.

Its speed was astonishing, sweeping over the fields like a black tide.

The shadow drew nearer; though the exact number remained unseen, its sky‑blocking presence could shatter anyone's courage.

"It's Qi State cavalry!" another town soldier named Shen Rui, his eyes keen and having fought the Qi army several times, recalled the Qi banners and armor styles vividly.

At that moment, he clearly saw the fluttering banners among the cavalry and their distinctive dark leather armor, his body froze, and he shouted hoarsely: "Enemy attack! The Qi are coming!"

As soon as the words fell, he instinctively glanced at the carrying pole in his hand and felt the empty scabbard at his waist.

To facilitate irrigation, most town soldiers kept their Horizontal Blades in temporary Yingzhang by the fields; now they only held a water‑carrying pole and a hoe.

He slammed a hard fist onto the Field Ridge beside him, muttering: "Damn it! We didn't bring weapons!"

"Stop standing there! Run now! It's a matter of life and death!"

A short, stout town soldier beside him reacted instantly, grabbing Shen Rui's arm, his tone urgent as if aflame: "Qi cavalry are ferocious; we're bare‑handed, staying means certain death!"

"Run toward the town; maybe there's a chance to survive!"

Shen Rui staggered from the pull, instantly regained his senses; the instinct to survive overwhelmed everything.

The two hesitated no more, bolting toward Woye Town at full speed.

The Field Ridge was narrow and slick; they ran stumbling, mud splashing over them, daring not to pause.

Meanwhile, three thousand Qi State cavalry charging from afar were already closing in on the fields.

They brandished their gleaming Long Spears, warhorses whinnying, voices roaring, continuously shouting the deafening slogan: "Kill!"

"Kill all these damned Zhou!"

The harsh battle cries pierced the dawn's silence, intertwining with hooves and clashing weapons, forming a prelude of death.

At this moment the sky was just dimly bright; the weak light allowed the Qi army to see their targets, yet was insufficient for the town soldiers to mount effective resistance.

This undoubtedly added more bloodshed and cruelty to the raid.

Qi State cavalry surged like tigers descending a mountain, charging into the unprepared town soldiers.

Those town soldiers wore no armor, held no handy weapons, and had no time to form formations; facing the well‑trained, well‑equipped cavalry, they could not resist.

Sharp Long Spears, like the Grim Reaper's scythe, repeatedly pierced the soldiers, flinging them into the air; blood splattered the green wheat waves, instantly reddening a swath of fields.

Some soldiers tried to block with their carrying poles, but the Qi Long Spears easily snapped them, followed immediately by a lethal strike.

Some soldiers turned to flee, only to be caught by warhorses; where hooves struck, the sound of bones shattering rang clearly.

Others froze in terror, instantly cut down by the swarming Qi swords.

Screams, pleas, curses rose and fell; the fields once hopeful of harvest turned in an instant into Rensheng Jianyu.

Amid the chaos, a towering town soldier as massive as an iron tower stood out.

He was named Zhao Meng, born with divine strength, once a top melee fighter in the army.

Seeing comrades fall one by one, his eyes ignited with raging fury; instead of fleeing, he charged at a Qi cavalryman.

At the moment the warhorse was about to collide with him, he abruptly sidestepped, both hands gripping the Horse Rein, pulling back with all his strength.

The Qi cavalryman, caught off guard, was yanked off balance by the great force and fell from his horse.

Zhao Meng didn't wait for him to rise; he stepped on his chest, snatched his Long Spear, and thrust it back, killing him.

Then he vaulted onto his horse, turned its head, and galloped straight toward Woye Town.

He knew he must quickly bring word of the Qi raid to the town, so the brothers could prepare.

Not far away, a Qi commander named Ding Weize, clad in bright silver armor with a stern face, witnessed the scene.

He now held a Chang Qiang in his hand, his gaze sharp as an eagle.

Seeing Zhao Meng seize a horse and kill bare‑handed, a barely perceptible approval flashed in his eyes; he sighed lightly: "You've got some skill! To snatch a horse empty‑handed amid chaos?!"

But that praise vanished instantly, a cold sneer curling his mouth as he turned the conversation: "However, your life ends here!"

Before the words finished, he swiftly drew his bow, the long bow stretched into a full moon, the arrow aimed at the charging Zhao Meng.

"Whoosh!" A Feather Arrow whooshed through the air, like a meteor, its speed impossible to evade.

Zhao Meng felt a searing pain in his back, as if a red‑hot branding iron had pierced him, and he couldn't help a mournful scream: "Ah!"

His strength drained instantly; he could no longer stay on the horse and fell from the warhorse.

He fell heavily onto the field ridge, blood gushing from the wound and quickly staining the soil beneath him red.

He struggled a few times, then finally hung his head limp, his life completely gone, becoming another corpse in this blood‑stained farmland.

The battle did not last long.

Because both sides were vastly unequal in numbers, weapons and combat condition, the town soldiers' resistance was especially feeble.

Those town soldiers who tried to fight to the last, using hoes, shoulder poles, even stones from the field ridge, engaged the Qi army in a final melee, but it was all in vain.

Soon, the last few stubborn town soldiers were also cut down by the Qi army; the fields fell silent, only the Qi soldiers' panting and the warhorses' whinnying could be heard.

Looking out, corpses lay everywhere in the fields, blood soaked the earth, the once‑green wheat waves were trampled beyond recognition, and a strong metallic scent of blood filled the air, making one feel sick.

The Qi State Crown Prince Gao Xiaoyu, clad in exquisite armor, sat upright on his warhorse, his youthful face bearing a composure and ruthlessness beyond his years.

He was only in his twenties, wearing gilded armor, a jeweled curved saber at his waist; his gaze swept over the grim scene before him without a flicker of emotion.

He lingered not, and at once ordered his cavalry: "Advance! While the sky is still dark, head for the fertile fields! Capture them in one stroke!"

The command rang like a mountain; three thousand Qi cavalry instantly gathered their ranks and galloped toward the direction of the town of Fertile Fields.

Not far behind them, forty‑thousand Qi infantry marched in orderly steps, continuously arriving, banners fluttering, a majestic momentum like a black torrent sweeping toward the town.

After a half‑hour, the sky brightened, golden sunlight poured over the land, yet it could not dispel the scent of blood in the town of Fertile Fields.

The town's resistance had been completely crushed; the Qi army successfully seized the town.

In the town hall, Gao Xiaoyu stood before the desk, looking down at the spread map.

His finger lightly traced a spot on the map, his brows slightly furrowed as he fell into thought.

At that moment, the hall doors were pushed open, and his subordinate commanders Ding Weize and Liu Zaizhou entered side by side.

The armor on their bodies still bore bloodstains; their faces showed the fatigue of battle, yet they remained vigorous.

Ding Weize stepped forward, Dankui Guidi, clasped his fists and reported: "Crown Prince, all the Zhou State garrison within Fertile Fields has been completely exterminated!"

"Not a single one left, no lingering traitor escaped to send word!"

His voice was loud, with a hint of self‑praise.

This successful raid owed much to the cavalry under his command.

Hearing this, Gao Xiaoyu's face broke into a satisfied smile, and he slowly nodded.

He straightened, his eyes sharp as he looked at the two, and instructed: "Relay my orders, tell the soldiers to rest in place, replenish supplies, and bring enough provisions for ten days!"

He paused, adding: "For this capture of Fertile Fields, the spoils the soldiers acquire may be dealt with as they wish, traded with the accompanying merchants, or stored in the logistics camp for distribution after the war ends."

"Make sure the soldiers restore their strength; later, more important battles await us!"

Ding Weize and Liu Zaizhou answered in unison: "As you command!"

Gao Xiaoyu lifted his gaze from the map, scanned Ding Weize and Liu Zaizhou, and continued: "Also, send men to destroy the farmland of Fertile Fields!"

"Raze the field ridges, drain the canals, flatten all the wheat, leaving not a grain for the Zhou people!"

Liu Zaizhou, hearing this, immediately nodded, turned to the two soldiers standing at the doorway, and with a loud, crisp military tone said: "You two, go quickly and issue the orders!"

"Order the infantry camp to mobilize a thousand men, rush to the outskirts' fields, destroy every cultivated plot, dismantle all field ridges and canal embankments, crush every wheat stalk without error!"

The two soldiers, hearing the command, stepped forward at once, clasped fists and bowed, respectfully reporting: "Yes! Subordinate General obeys!"

As the words fell, the two dared not delay, turned and hurried toward the hall's exit.

Their boots struck the Shiban, producing a crisp sound, and in an instant they vanished around the courtyard corner.

Gao Xiaoyu watched them leave, then withdrew his gaze, waved at Ding and Liu by the desk, and in a deep voice said: "Come look at the map!"

"Yes!" Ding Weize and Liu Zaizhou answered together.

Immediately, they stepped forward together, approached the desk, and fixed their eyes on the spread map.

Sunlight bathed the map, rendering the dense network of mountains, cities, and rivers crystal clear; vermilion‑marked lines criss‑crossed, outlining the treacherous terrain of the Northern Border.

Gao Xiaoyu lifted his hand, his fingertip pressed the spot of Fertile Fields on the map heavily, then pointed northwest to two locations, one labeled "Xiazhou", the other "Lingzhou".

His voice was steady and forceful, full of strategic certainty: "We are here now; Ku Di Gong should already have, according to plan, led his army to break through the Xia‑Ling junction, with the spear aimed straight at Lingzhou!"

"And the Rouran cavalry, as promised, has crossed the Yellow River and entered Lingzhou, tying down Zhou forces!"

This great Qi deployment is not a lone incursion but a meticulously linked scheme.

The fifty‑seven thousand troops led by Ku Di Gan constitute Qi's elite force, tasked with a frontal breakthrough of the Xia and Ling defenses.

The Rouran cavalry are Qi's well‑paid allies, tasked with flanking to contain Zhou's border troops.

And the thirty‑five thousand troops personally led by Gao Xiaoyu will strike directly at the Northern Border's Fertile Fields; surrounded on three sides, Zhou's northern defenses will be unable to support each other.

Ding Weize, listening to Gao Xiaoyu, recalled the careful deployment and couldn't suppress a confident smile, clasped his fists and said, "Your Highness, brilliant!"

"With our three‑pronged attack, striking east while feigning west, we will catch Zhou State off guard!"

"Once the Northern Border line breaks, our army can surge straight to Chang'an!"

Liu Zaizhou echoed, his eyes flashing with the desire for victory: "When Zhou State's court and populace are shaken, Your Majesty will be overjoyed, and this achievement of the Crown Prince will be recorded for eternity!"

Yet Gao Xiaoyu showed no hint of pride.

He slightly furrowed his brows, his gaze growing heavier, and in a deep voice cut off their words: "Do not rejoice too early!"

His fingertip traced southward from Lingzhou across a chain of mountains, finally landing on the characters "Chang'an", and said: "We seized Fertile Fields in the blink of an eye; that is only the first step!"

"Zhou State's power is far stronger than we expected; Yuwen Hu that scoundrel is a ruthless character, and will never stand idle while the Northern Border falls!"

He paused, then pressed his finger southward with urgency: "Next, we must seize the moment before Zhou's Court reacts, before reinforcements arrive, and expand our advantage!"

Liu Zaizhou heard this, his smile gradually faded, and he nodded gravely, continuing: "Your words are spot on!"

"We must capture General Duan Xiang, at the moment when Zhou shifts its gaze to the southern line, to stir up the Northern Border, burn the granaries, ruin the fields, cut off their supply line…"

"Fulfill the task Your Majesty assigned to disrupt — weaken the Zhou army …"

Gao Xiaoyu nodded approvingly, a sharp gleam in his eye, slammed the desk‑by — and loudly told: "So, we'll rest only one night in Fertile Fields!"

"Let the soldiers eat and drink their fill, restore their strength; at dawn tomorrow, break camp and continue southward!"

"Yes!" Ding Weize and Liu Zaizhou answered in unison, their voices ringing and powerful, bearing a soldier's iron‑blood and loyalty.

Gao Xiaoyu's gaze fell on the map again, his fingertip drifted slowly, and finally settled heavily on a city spot circled with cinnabar, where three clear ink characters were marked.

His tone was decisive, each word enunciated with a pause, every syllable bearing a thousand‑pound force: "Tomorrow, head straight here—"

"Gancao City!"