Chapter 849: Sparks Scatter Over Six Prefectures, Heifengkou Ambush

Inside the Lingzhou Inspector's Office Shufang, the coals in the brazier had already burned down to a heap of ash‑white embers, occasionally a dark‑red glimmer rose from deep within, like a dying eye making its final struggle.

Chen Yan leaned against the back of the Grand Master's Chair, his fingers resting on the edge of the armrest, tapping on and off.

Yuwen Ze sat to his left, the front of his Purple Robe still bearing a few dark‑brown bloodstains splashed during yesterday's Fortress battle, not yet changed.

Dou Luling and Helian Shi sat on opposite sides, one with a spine as straight as a ruler, the other with a fist resting on his knee, knuckles whitened.

Chen Yan's gaze withdrew from the brazier and fell upon the unfolded map of the Northern Border Seven Prefectures spread on the desk.

"The matter of Lingzhou is, at least, a beginning."

He lifted his finger from Lingzhou's spot on the map and drew an arc toward the northwest, passing over Suizhou, Yinzhou, Yan Prefecture (Salt), Yan Prefecture (Salt), Qingzhou, and Yuanzhou—six place names encircled in cinnabar.

"But it's only a head."

Yuwen Ze leaned forward two inches, his voice still carrying the lingering heat from yesterday's burning of the Land Deed.

"A Xiong, the four great families of Lingzhou have been uprooted; the remaining six prefectures can just be handled this way, right?"

Chen Yan gave him a glance, his finger tapping once on Suizhou's spot.

"A Ze, the Helan clan of Lingzhou has been running for several generations; how many years has Zhao Chongde of Suizhou been in charge, do you know?"

Dou Luling's voice came from beside him, heavy as a lead block pressed against the back of his throat.

"Zhao Chongde is a veteran of the former dynasty, having been rooted in Suizhou for a full twelve years; of his troops, three thousand are his direct retainers brought from his hometown, and at least half of the remaining four thousand are kin or related to him."

He lifted his gaze from the map and looked at Chen Yan.

"The Helan clan of Lingzhou is a noble family, its foundation in landholdings and shops; once the Land Deed was dug up and the granaries burned, its lifeline was cut."

His voice dropped another half step.

"But Zhao Chongde of Suizhou is different; his foundation lies in military authority. The Suizhou Great Camp of seven thousand men is his lifeline; moving him is like moving an iron porcupine."

Helian Shi's fist hammered his knee, his voice rough as sandpaper grinding iron.

"Pillar of the State, Subordinate General is not afraid of an iron porcupine; Subordinate General fears the treacherous terrain of Suizhou—Huangtu highlands flanked by gorges, cavalry cannot deploy, fighting there is ten times harder than Lingzhou."

Chen Yan lifted the tea cup, using the lid to slowly skim the tea scum floating on the surface, skimming twice before setting it down.

"Therefore this Duke does not intend to meet him head‑on."

Yuwen Ze's brow twitched.

"A Xiong's meaning?"

Chen Yan placed the tea cup back on the small table, his finger pointing toward the doorway.

"Political Commissar, proceed first; the One Heart Society will take root, stripping his military authority layer by layer from within."

He stood up, walked to the front of the full map, and pressed his palm onto its exact center.

"Send the order: fifty Political Commissars immediately split into pairs, each duo dispatched to the six prefectures."

His finger tapped each of the six cinnabar circles in turn.

"Suizhou is the toughest; send ten there, Yinzhou six, Yan Prefecture (Salt) six, Yan Prefecture (Salt) six, Qingzhou six, Yuanzhou six, and keep the remaining ten in Lingzhou as reserves."

Helian Shi's voice rose a notch.

"Pillar of the State, the people of Suizhou are fierce, Zhao Chongde is a ruthless old warlord; would ten Political Commissars be too risky?"

Chen Yan turned, looking at Helian Shi, the corners of his mouth widening slightly.

"The One Heart Society's Political Commissars are the blade hanging over the old warlord's neck; a blade unsharpened is dull, a man unsteady cannot succeed."

His finger gave a light tap on the handle of the Horizontal Blade.

"Zhao Tiezhu."

From outside the door came orderly footsteps; Zhao Tiezhu entered briskly from the far end of the corridor, leading Wang Erniu and nine other Political Commissar cadres. Each of the ten bore the dark‑red badge on the left side of their chest, its steady luster shimmering in the candlelight.

Zhao Tiezhu's back was as straight as a spear; the whip scar on his shoulder, inflicted in the Fifth Camp by Liu Biao, had already formed a dark scar, half of which protruded through the gaps of his armor.

"Shuyi present!"

Chen Yan stepped before him, extending his finger to gently press the dark‑red badge on Zhao Tiezhu's chest, adjusting the slightly crooked pin back straight.

"Suizhou, this Duke gives it to you."

Zhao Tiezhu's Adam's apple bobbed, his voice rough yet steady.

"Shuyi receives the order!"

Chen Yan withdrew his finger from the badge, his gaze shifting from Zhao Tiezhu's face to the nine men behind him, scanning each in turn.

"The Suizhou Governor Zhao Chongde is an old fox, having prowled that land for twelve years; his roots run three levels deeper than Lingzhou's Helan clan."

His voice deepened, each word bitten with great weight.

"After you enter the Suizhou Great Camp, do not rush to brandish your blades; first take root, first gauge the ground, first draw out the lower‑rank brothers' grievances for this Duke, bowl by bowl."

Zhao Tiezhu's fist tightened at his side.

"Shuyi understands, first win hearts, then overturn the world."

Chen Yan's mouth corner twitched.

"You are adept at winning hearts, but there is one thing this Duke must make clear to you."

His finger pointed toward Zhao Tiezhu, the temperature in his voice dropping another three points.

"When trouble arises, do not retreat; if the heavens collapse, this Duke's blade will hold them up for you."

Zhao Tiezhu's right fist struck the dark‑red badge on his chest, a muffled thud echoing twice through the Shufang.

"Shuyi's fate nail is on this badge; as long as the badge lives, I live; if the badge shatters, Shuyi shatters too!"

Wang Erniu added a line from behind, his voice laced with a ferocity that seemed to squeeze out from between his bones.

"Pillar of the State, rest assured; Shuyi will go with Brother Tiezhu. Whoever dares to move a single hair of ours, Shuyi will twist his head off and use it as a Night Pot!"

Chen Yan patted Zhao Tiezhu's shoulder, turned, and walked back behind the desk.

"Set out at first light tomorrow, take the Lingzhou Northern Route; within three days we must enter Suizhou's territory."

The ten clasped fists in unison, turned, and filed out of the Shufang like a school of fish; their synchronized footsteps vanished into the night at the corridor's end.

Yuwen Ze looked at those figures disappearing into the shadows, and his voice rose from his throat.

"A Xiong, I always feel that Suizhou won't be peaceful."

Chen Yan leaned back in his chair, his fingers tracing an arc on the armrest, the curve of his mouth carrying a chill that made one's spine go cold.

"It's better if it's not peaceful; then this Duke finally has an excuse to deal with Zhao Chongde."

Meanwhile, at the Suizhou Dudu Office.

A copper oil lamp flickered dim yellow flames in the corner of the Secret Chamber, casting the water stains on the four stone walls into a wavering light and dark.

Zhao Chongde sat on a tiger skin chair, holding a Blue Porcelain Teacup, the lid being twirled between his fingertips, producing a delicate clatter of porcelain.

In front of him lay a Secret Letter just arrived from Lingzhou, its contents only a single sentence.

"The Political Commissar has set out, target: Suizhou."

Zhao Chongde slammed the teacup onto the table, the sound of shattered porcelain exploding in the Secret Chamber, tea and shards splashing over half the tabletop.

"They're here, just as expected."

He rose from the tiger skin chair, a towering figure with a bear‑like back, a square‑faced visage crossed by three slash scars, the marks left from a desperate fight with the Turkic People twelve years ago.

Zhou Hu, his trusted deputy general standing beside him, drew his neck back, his voice pressed down to a low rumble.

"Governor, shall we first finish the surface work, letting those Political Commissars come in and be ground down slowly?"

Zhao Chongde turned his head, his blood‑shot eyes swirling with something darker than the shadows in the Secret Chamber.

"Slowly grind? Haven't you heard what happened to Helan Xiong in Lingzhou?"

His finger jabbed at the Secret Letter on the table.

"When Chen Yan's Political Commissar steps into the camp, within three days he'll strip Helan Xiong of his command clean, and within five days Helan Xiong's head will be hanging on the Flagpole!"

Zhou Hu's complexion changed twice.

Zhao Chongde's fist struck the table, sending the broken shards bouncing up.

"I've run Suizhou for twelve years, with seven thousand brothers fighting life and death with me; why should a kid send a few mud‑wallowers to snatch my command?"

Zhou Hu's voice dropped another two degrees.

"So you mean…"

Zhao Chongde turned, walked to the deepest stone wall of the Secret Chamber, pressed a protruding brick with his finger; the wall silently slid inward half a foot, revealing a hidden compartment.

Inside the compartment lay a black lacquered wooden box, a thin layer of dust covering it.

Zhao Chongde took the box out, opened the lid, revealing an iron plaque engraved with a Wolf Head Pattern.

"Go to Heifengkou, find the Blood Wolf Head."

He tossed the iron plaque to Zhou Hu, his voice cold to the bone.

"Tell him, three thousand Military Crossbows, plus five thousand taels of gold; as long as he eliminates those ten Political Commissars in the wilderness, leaving none behind."

Zhou Hu caught the iron plaque, his finger brushed the Wolf Head Pattern.

"Governor, if after the fact it's discovered…"

Zhao Chongde let out a cold laugh, closed the box lid, pushed it back into the hidden compartment.

"Discover what? The horse bandits of Heifengkou robbing and killing on the road have nothing to do with me, the Governor of Suizhou."

He turned, the expression on his scarred face turned so vicious that a cold shiver ran down Zhou Hu's spine.

"The dead can't speak; as long as those ten Political Commissars' corpses rot in the wilderness, Chen Yan can suspect but will never obtain evidence."

Three days later, Suizhou border, Heifengkou.

The autumn‑ending Huangtu plateau was dyed a dark red by the setting sun, the two earthen cliffs flanking a narrow canyon road; wind poured in from the canyon mouth, whipping stone and dry grass against faces like countless tiny blades cutting.

Zhao Tiezhu rode a Zaojia Horse, gripping the reins, his gaze scanning the towering cliffs on both sides.

Wang Erniu rode his horse on the right, his voice pressed low.

"Brother Tiezhu, this place feels off; the cliffs on both sides are too high—if someone ambushes from above, we won't even have a place to hide."

Zhao Tiezhu's brows twitched, he glanced back at the eight brothers riding behind him.

"Speed up; we must cross this canyon before nightfall."

Ten horses surged forward, hooves striking the rocky ground in a rapid rhythm.

Yet the canyon stretched far longer than they expected; when the last sliver of sunset vanished from the cliff tops, they had covered less than two‑thirds of the way.

Night fell.

Zhao Tiezhu tightened the reins, his eyes landing on a ruined temple about a hundred paces ahead; the roof tiles were half broken, exposing a black, skeletal beam framework.

"We'll rest there tonight, taking turns on watch."

Ten men dismounted, tied their warhorses to dead tree stumps outside the ruined temple, and lit a campfire inside.

The firelight danced on the broken walls, stretching the ten men's shadows long and short.

Wang Erniu leaned against the doorframe, a short sword clenched in his hand, his gaze through the crack fixed on the black canyon outside.

The night wind blew through the crack, carrying a pungent, neck‑tightening smell of blood.

His ear twitched.

Within the wind was something that shouldn't be there.

Extremely faint, rhythmic, muffled thuds.

Like horse hooves on soft earth, but wrapped, becoming light and muffled.

Wang Erniu's pupils contracted a notch; he turned his head toward Zhao Tiezhu, his voice pressed down to a whisper only two could hear.

"Brother Tiezhu, there's someone outside, the hooves are wrapped in cloth."

Zhao Tiezhu's hand tightened three points on the short sword's hilt; he didn't look up, his voice equally pressed to the bottom.

"How many?"

Wang Erniu pressed his ear to the wooden board of the doorframe, closed his eyes and listened for three breaths.

At least two hundred riders, converging from the east and west.

Zhao Tiezhu's eyes swirled with a seething hot mass; he stamped out the campfire with one foot, and his voice erupted in the darkness.

"Brothers, there's an ambush! Form a three‑three defensive formation, back to back, and take your Crossbows!"

Ten people scattered in the darkness at breakneck speed, three per group, standing back to back in three triangles; the Crossbows in their hands gave a clack as they were drawn.

The muffled rumble outside the temple grew nearer and denser.

Then, the flames flared.

Hundreds of Fire Arrows shot down from the cliff tops on both sides of the gorge, trailing orange‑red tails, like a meteor shower from the heavens, hammering into the ruined temple's roof and walls.

The dry wooden beams and thatch leapt into three‑foot‑high flames the instant ignited by the Fire Arrows, and the whole ruined temple turned into a burning cage within a few breaths.

Outside the temple, hundreds of black‑cloth‑masked horse bandits surged from the darkness, brandishing blood‑dripping curved blades; the torn cloth on their hooves scraped the rubble with a dull thud.

The leading bandit rode a tall black Horse, his black cloth revealing a pair of triangular eyes streaked with blood, and his voice boomed in the firelight.

"Leave none alive! Kill them all and claim the reward!"

Zhao Tiezhu kicked open the burning side wall of the ruined temple, charging out with nine brothers through the sea of flames, his face blistered red and his eyebrows half‑charred.

"Kill!"

The Crossbow's string went bang after bang in the darkness, three bolts fanned out, and the first three bandits didn't even have time to scream before they were knocked off their horses.

But the bandits behind surged forward like a tide, their curved blades reflecting a dense lattice of cold glints in the firelight.

Zhao Tiezhu smashed the empty Crossbow onto the ground, drew the Iron Bone Bud that had accompanied him half his life from his waist, and his arm muscles bulged into two steel cables in the firelight.

A bandit's curved blade slashed at his face; Zhao Tiezhu twisted aside, swung the Iron Bone Bud upward in a full circle, smashing it onto the bandit's temple.

The sound of skulls shattering rang crystal‑clear in the night wind.