Chapter 885: The Iron‑Clad Knight

The heavy iron‑wood gate of the rear courtyard of the Zongguan Fu closed behind Gu Yuci, and the muffled thud completely cut off the howling north wind in the courtyard from the outside.

Gu Yuci walked down the narrow stone steps, his boot soles striking the damp Qingshi slabs with a steady echo; every ten steps along the wall a oil lamp was set, and the dim yellow light stretched his shadow across the stone wall in twisted, overlapping shapes.

At the end of the stone steps lay a spacious Secret Chamber buried deep underground, with brass fire basins in each corner burning fine smokeless charcoal, drying the whole chamber slightly.

Chen Yan sat behind the massive long iron‑wood table at the center of the Secret Chamber, draped in a dark, wide robe, his fingers silently tapping the edge of the stacked thick account books on the tabletop.

Zhang Wenqian stood at the left side of the table, cradling a freshly opened running ledger; the pages curled slightly at the edges under the fire basin's heat.

Gu Yuci stepped to the front of the table and stood still, clasping his fists in a military salute; the crisp clatter of armor plates rang especially clear in the sealed stone room.

Chen Yan did not look up; his tapping fingers ceased, and his gaze remained fixed on the cover of the stacked account books.

"Since the Trade Fair opened, the numbers of living assets on the ledgers have been tallied," Chen Yan pushed the topmost account book forward half a foot, the sound of paper rubbing the table dragging a long tail through the quiet Secret Chamber.

Zhang Wenqian turned the running ledger to its final page, his fingertip tracing the dense ink until it stopped at a number circled in cinnabar.

"Report to the Pillar of the State: as of yesterday's market close, the Xiazhou Trade Fair has taken in a total of 14,700 Grassland warhorses, over 6,000 pack horses, and the number of cattle and sheep has grown so large that three separate pastures must be set aside outside the city for them," Zhang Wenqian's voice unfolded steadily amid the occasional crackle of the fire basin.

Gu Yuci's palm rubbed the hilt of his waist‑bound sword twice, and his breathing rhythm noticeably quickened.

"Fourteen thousand seven hundred warhorses, plus the existing strength of the Left Martial Guard, are enough for Great Zhou to raise a 20,000‑strong light cavalry force on the north‑west frontier; even Yunhe Ti, even if it emptied the Royal Court's treasury, could not muster so many battle‑ready horses," Gu Yuci said, his tone brimming with unmistakable excitement as he stared at the ledger.

Chen Yan leaned his back against the wide chair back, crossed his hands in front of him, and let his gaze pass through the wavering heat above the fire basin to rest on Gu Yuci's face.

"Twenty thousand light cavalry would indeed keep Yunhe Ti sleepless, but that is not what the Duke seeks," Chen Yan's voice echoed in the Secret Chamber, carrying a cold hardness that could freeze one's bones.

Gu Yuci froze for a moment, and the hand resting on the sword hilt tightened involuntarily.

Chen Yan rose from his chair, walked to the massive Shupan that occupied half of the right wall of the Secret Chamber, and tapped twice on the wooden frame at its edge with his fingers.

"Zhang Wenqian, report to Sima Gu the account I singled out for you," Chen Yan said, his eyes landing on the densely packed wooden pieces on the Shupan that represented the various factions.

Zhang Wenqian closed the running ledger, drew another neatly folded parchment from his sleeve cuff, and spread it on the table.

"In the past two months, the Hidden Agent in charge of horse inspection, following the Pillar of the State's Secret Order, secretly retained three thousand of the finest steeds from the fourteen thousand seven hundred warhorses," Zhang Wenqian's finger tapped the parchment.

Gu Yuci moved to the side of the table and lowered his head to read the records on the parchment.

"All three thousand horses are robust stallions aged five to seven, standing at least four and a half feet at the shoulder, with skeletons twenty percent broader than ordinary Grassland horses and exceptional stamina; they are premium mounts used for breeding or for a chieftain's elite guard," Zhang Wenqian pushed the parchment toward Gu Yuci.

Gu Yuci's brows knit into a knot as his gaze left the parchment and turned toward Chen Yan standing before the Shupan.

"Pillar of the State, if these three thousand top‑quality steeds were dispersed into the units, they could greatly boost the Left Martial Guard's charge speed; why were they retained separately?" Gu Yuci voiced his inner doubt.

Chen Yan gave no answer; he extended his hand, grabbed a slender wooden piece representing light cavalry from the spot on the Shupan that marked the Great Zhou defensive line, and weighed it in his palm twice.

"Light cavalry's advantage lies in moving like the wind, relying on mobility and harassment, but when faced with an enemy's death formation or a head‑on clash on a narrow plain, its charge power is severely reduced," Chen Yan tossed the slender wooden piece back into the Shupan's wooden frame, the clacking of the wood echoing chaotically.

He turned, palm flat, and smoothed over the spot on the Shupan where the light cavalry had been placed; the sand was pushed aside into a small ridge.

"The Duke intends to use these three thousand top steeds to forge a land‑war king of the cold‑weapon era," Chen Yan's hand withdrew from the Shupan, his back turned, his gaze fixed on Gu Yuci like two sharpened Horizontal Blades.

Gu Yuci's breath caught in his throat, and a term he had seen countless times in military treatises yet never truly realized in Great Zhou's army leapt into his mind.

"Heavy cavalry?" Gu Yuci's voice cracked halfway, shaking the flames in the nearby fire basin.

Chen Yan looked at him, his chin giving a slight nod in response.

Gu Yuci stepped forward half a pace, his hands pressing against the wooden frame of the Shupan, the blue veins on the backs of his hands standing out from the strain.

"Pillar of the State, the power of heavy cavalry is well understood—it can flatten an enemy infantry formation like crushing bones—but the cost of forging heavy cavalry is far beyond what we can currently bear!" Gu Yuci's voice ricocheted between the stone walls of the Secret Chamber.

Chen Yan did not interrupt; he simply walked to the side of the table, lifted a bowl of ice‑cold tea, and took a sip to moisten his slightly dry throat.

Gu Yuci's fingers dug several marks into the wooden frame, his speech accelerating.

"Three thousand heavy cavalry, both rider and horse fully clad in heavy armor; a set of precision‑steel horse armor plus the cavalry's bright‑light armor exceeds 120 jin in weight, requiring massive amounts of refined steel— even the two‑year output of the Great Zhou Armory would be insufficient!" Gu Yuci laid out the details of the heavy cavalry plainly.

He drew a harsh breath and continued.

"Even if the steel issue were solved, what about provisions? A warhorse bearing over a hundred jin of heavy armor consumes three times the feed of a normal horse daily and must be fed fine black beans and eggs to maintain stamina; the daily cost of three thousand heavy cavalry could empty half of Xiazhou's granaries!" Gu Yuci laid the most fatal weak point on the table.

Chen Yan set the tea bowl back on the table, the porcelain striking iron‑wood with a crisp sound.

"Zhang Wenqian, calculate it for him," Chen Yan's hands crossed again in front of him, his gaze calmly fixed on Gu Yuci.

Zhang Wenqian walked to Gu Yuci's side, turned the parchment over, its back covered with densely packed accounting conversions.

"Sima Gu, you are calculating the Great Zhou Court's accounts, but the Pillar of the State is calculating the Grassland's accounts," Zhang Wenqian's finger tapped the first line of numbers.

Gu Yuci's eyes followed Zhang Wenqian's finger to that line of numbers, his eyelids involuntarily flicking twice.

"Since the Trade Fair opened, we have bought horses from herders at five shi of millet per horse; this millet is low‑grade grain mixed with husks, costing almost nothing," Zhang Wenqian spoke at a measured pace, each word heavily enunciated.

He moved his finger down one line.

"The horses we acquire, aside from those retained for military use, have their ordinary stock sold by the Mingjing Department through caravan routes to Guanzhong and across the Central Plains; each horse sells for fifty copper strings, equivalent to fifty shi of refined grain," Zhang Wenqian hammered his finger twice on the table.

Gu Yuci's Adam's apple rolled up and down once, and he had begun to vaguely guess the figures that followed.

Zhang Wenqian continued the calculation.

"Both inbound and outbound, the Xiazhou General Command of Great Zhou extracts ten times profit per horse, not to mention the revenue from silk and tea sold to the Grassland herders," Zhang Wenqian rolled the parchment and held it in his hand.

Chen Yan stepped before Gu Yuci, the distance between them reduced to an arm's length.

"The Duke's Trade Fair is a pipe inserted into the Grassland's main artery, draining the Rouran's wealth daily into Xiazhou's vaults as solid gold and silver," Chen Yan's voice rose above the crackling of the fire in the Secret Chamber.

He reached out and patted Gu Yuci's shoulder twice, the force of his palm traveling through the armor plates into Gu Yuci's bones.

"Using the Grassland's resources to feed Great Zhou's troops, the profits from the Trade Fair are enough to outfit these three thousand men and horses from head to toe with the finest refined steel; even the iron shoes nailed to their hooves could be made of top‑grade iron," Chen Yan withdrew his hand, turned, and returned to his seat.

Gu Yuci stood in place for the length of half a tea cup's time, and the uneven ledger in his mind was finally balanced by the Trade Fair's terrifying profits.

He turned, faced Chen Yan, and knelt on one knee, the armor plates striking the Qingshi slab with a dull thud.

"My subordinate is foolish, the Pillar of the State is far‑sighted; my subordinate cannot endure ten thousand deaths," Gu Yuci lowered his head, his voice devoid of any doubt.

Chen Yan sat in his chair, watching him, and tapped his fingers twice on the armrest.

"Rise, the accounts are settled; it's time to act," Chen Yan's body leaned forward half an inch, the superior's imposing pressure spreading silently through the Secret Chamber.

Gu Yuci stood, his hands hanging at his sides, awaiting Chen Yan's command.

"These three thousand top‑quality steeds have already been secretly delivered to the South Valley Secret Arena; what remains lacking are the cavalry who can ride them," Chen Yan's gaze swept over Gu Yuci's face.

Gu Yuci responded immediately.

"Shuyi will tonight select the elite from each Left Martial Guard camp and deliver them into South Valley tomorrow at dawn," Gu Yuci said, his tone cutting like iron.

Chen Yan shook his head, drawing a circle on the table with his finger.

"Ordinary elites won't do; heavy cavalry has no retreat on the battlefield. Once the charge starts, they either pierce the enemy line or die with horse in the formation; a step back means total annihilation," Chen Yan laid bare the cruel nature of heavy cavalry.

He looked into Gu Yuci's eyes and, word by word, presented his demands.

"This Duke orders you to select three thousand Suicide Warriors," Chen Yan's every word sounded like a chunk of iron pulled from icy water.

Gu Yuci's breath halted for half a beat, but he remained silent, listening quietly.

"First, they must be unattached orphans or condemned prisoners, with no family ties; if they die, no pension need be paid," Chen Yan raised a finger.

"Second, they must be extremely robust, taller than eight feet, able to wear an eighty‑jin Mingguang armor and run ten laps on the Xiaochang without gasping; otherwise they cannot bear the strain of heavy armor," Chen Yan raised a second finger.

"Third, and most crucial, absolute loyalty: sign the life‑death contract, and from the moment they step into the Secret Arena of South Valley, their lives belong not to themselves but to this army," Chen Yan placed his hand back on the table, pressing two fingers together and tapping the surface.

A cold sweat seeped down Gu Yuci's back; he knew how hard it would be to gather three thousand such monsters in the army, yet he hesitated not.

"Shuyi receives the order; within three days, three thousand Suicide Warriors will be selected," Gu Yuci clasped his fists, his knuckles emitting a series of tiny crackles.

Chen Yan lifted his tea bowl, gulped down the remaining cold water, and casually tossed the empty bowl onto the table.

"No need for three days—select tonight, send batches as they're ready, blindfold them all and escort through the night; they must all enter South Valley before dawn. This must not be heard by anyone outside the Mingjing Office," Chen Yan issued the final death order.

Gu Yuci replied with a nod, turned, and strode out of the Secret Chamber; the heavy iron‑wood door slammed shut behind him.

In the late‑night Xiazhou Left Martial Guard main camp, there were no drums, no horns—only squads of torch‑bearing elite troops shuttling between barracks, pulling sleeping soldiers from their blankets and rushing them to the Xiaochang.

Dozens of massive fire pits were lit around the Xiaochang, turning half the night sky a dark red, while cold wind tossed sparks wildly through the air.

Gu Yuci stood on the Dianjiang Tai at the front of the Xiaochang, gripping a horse whip, coldly surveying the tens of thousands of infantry and cavalry gathered below.

The troops lined up perfectly in the cold wind; no one dared whisper, only the heavy breathing rose and fell across the open Xiaochang.

Gu Yuci took a step forward, his boots creaking on the wooden planks, and flicked his horse whip in mid‑air, producing a sharp crack.

"Anyone with parents, spouse or children at home, fall out of the line and return to the camp to sleep," Gu Yuci's voice boomed across the Xiaochang, leaving no room for discussion.

A slight stir rose among the crowd; a few thousand soldiers with families, faces puzzled, stepped out of the line and, driven by the elite troops, returned to the barracks.

Gu Yuci stared at the remaining men, his horse whip pointing toward a row of stone locks on the left side of the Xiaochang used for stamina tests.

"Anyone who cannot lift those two hundred‑jin stone locks, or cannot run ten laps in full leather armor, roll back now—don't embarrass yourselves here," Gu Yuci's voice grew even colder.

The Xiaochang buzzed instantly as soldiers queued toward the stone locks; heavy stones were lifted then slammed onto frozen earth, producing dull thuds mingled with exhausted breaths and the elite troops' shouts.

Half an hour later, fewer than five thousand remained on the Xiaochang, each broad‑shouldered and waist‑wide, their exposed arms steaming white in the cold wind.

Gu Yuci descended from the Dianjiang Tai, followed by elite troops carrying a long table laden with a thick stack of sheep‑skin paper and a bowl of red mud mixed with cinnabar.

He stepped before the five thousand, his gaze sweeping their faces like a sieve, seeking any hint of retreat or hesitation.

"By staying here now, half your lives have already stepped into the Ghost Gate," Gu Yuci said, moving to the table, grabbing a sheet of sheep‑skin paper and shaking it in the air.

The wind rustled the sheep‑skin paper, its ink blazing starkly in the firelight.

"This is the life‑death contract; sign it and you cease to be ordinary Great Zhou soldiers. You have no name, no past—only killing and obedience," Gu Yuci slapped the sheep‑skin paper onto the table.

He looked at the silent soldiers and raised his voice.

"Once you enter that place, you will endure torments worse than death daily—bones will be broken, flesh ground down. If you wish to avoid dying on the Xiaochang, you can still withdraw now," Gu Yuci gave them one final chance.

No one moved; these unattached men had already bound their lives to their belts—any battlefield was a blade's edge for them.

Gu Yuci waited a few seconds, saw no one step back, tossed his horse whip to the ground, and pointed at the red mud on the table.

"Since none are leaving, press your handprint; those who do should go right to collect a black cloth and blindfold themselves," Gu Yuci stepped aside, yielding the spot.

The soldiers formed a long line to the table, silent, only the thuds of thumbs pressing into the red mud and the rustle of sheep‑skin paper being taken away.

One by one, the life‑death contracts stamped with vivid red handprints were gathered by the elite troops; Gu Yuci stood beside them, watching the red marks as if they were wandering souls already assigned a destination.

When the last man finished his handprint, Gu Yuci took the stack of life‑death contracts from the elite troops and walked to the most blazing fire pit nearby.

He hesitated not, flinging the stack of sheep‑skin paper into the fire pit; the flames leapt three feet instantly, devouring the paper completely, leaving only a sharp acrid smell filling the air.

"The life‑death contracts are destroyed; from now on your lives are assigned by Zongguan Fu. Anyone who dares remove the blindfold en route will be executed on the spot," Gu Yuci turned, eyeing the soldiers already cloaked in black cloth.

Hundreds of unmarked covered wagons were parked outside the camp gate; the draft horses had rags in their mouths and thick dry hay wrapped on their hooves, ensuring minimal noise during night travel.

Blindfolded Suicide Warriors, aided by elite troops, climbed onto the wagons like soulless puppets; the compartments were packed to the brim, with no room to stretch a leg.

Under the cover of night, the convoy left the main camp, proceeding along an abandoned Trade Route toward South Valley.

The wheels crushed gravel on the frozen road, producing fine creaks; inside, the Suicide Warriors could only hear comrades' heavy breathing and the howling wind outside, none knowing their destination.

After two hours of jolting, the convoy finally halted; the external wind fell silent, replaced by a muffled echo reverberating off the high walls.

"Disembark, line up, place your hands on the shoulders of those ahead," a low shout from the elite troops rang outside the carriage.

The Suicide Warriors fumbled their way down, feet striking the hard stone slabs; the surrounding air felt warmer than outside, tinged with a strong smell of horse manure and rust.

Ahead came a heavy clanking of gears, like a massive metal door axle turning, followed by the slow scrape of two thick iron‑clad wooden doors being pushed open; the sound echoed in the enclosed valley, numbing the eardrums.

"Enter," a elite troop gave them a push from behind.

Three thousand Suicide Warriors formed a Long Snake Formation, stumbling through the great gate; when the last man crossed the threshold, the gate slammed shut behind them, the heavy impact sounding like a lock, completely sealing them off from the outside world.

"Remove the blindfolds," a cool female voice called from above, its tone small yet piercing to the bone.

The Suicide Warriors tore off the black cloth over their eyes; the prolonged darkness prevented immediate adjustment to the light, so they squinted, surveying the unfamiliar surroundings.

It was a massive deep valley surrounded on three sides by sheer cliffs; the floor had been leveled into a Xiaochang capable of holding tens of thousands, with countless torches lit around, bathing the valley in daylight.