Chapter 385: Slaying Hua Xiong with Warm Wine (Part 1)

The next day.

The sky was just beginning to brighten.

The Shu-Han camp.

A mess cook lowered his voice while adding firewood, and the footsteps of the guards changing shifts also became light.

Everyone was waiting.

The sky-screen hung in mid-air like a gray-covered iron plate, motionless, yet no one felt it wouldn't light up again.

It simply wasn't the time yet.

When the sun rose, the sky-screen moved.

A low hum emanated from the sky-screen, like a massive bell that had been struck.

The sound went from thick to thin, from muffled to clear, and finally dissipated into the morning breeze.

The dark color on the sky-screen began to flow, the gray receding from the center toward both sides, as if pushed aside by an invisible hand, revealing a dim yellow background.

The image on the sky-screen began to take shape.

Banners—tattered banners with edges torn by the wind—were planted in front of rows of tents.

Tents stretched out, their fabric bleached white by the sun, the corners curled up to reveal the wooden frames inside.

People walked about in the open spaces between the tents.

Armor clanked dully, and horses occasionally snorted.

The camera pulled back; the camps of the eighteen feudal lords were spread out in a scattered fashion, like an old piece of cloth that had been sewn eighteen times and then ripped apart and resewn.

A voice rang out from outside the image.

Rich and deep.

There was a faint, lingering echo between the words.

It was like rising from the depths of an ancient well; every word vibrated three times in the air before dispersing.

【Today, we count down the top ten famous scenes of the Three Kingdoms—Scene Six: Slaying Hua Xiong with Warm Wine!】

【In the first year of Chuping, Dong Zhuo wreaked havoc in the capital, burning and plundering the palaces. The eighteen feudal lords swore an oath in blood, raising an righteous army to jointly strike down the traitor.】

Among the crowd beneath the sky-screen, someone moved their head.

【The great army arrived at Sisi Pass, and the Dong army's great general, Hua Xiong, led his iron cavalry out of the pass to challenge them to battle.】

The scene cut.

A man rode a horse out from the pass gate, the horse's hooves clicking against the gravel in the gateway.

The man's armor gleamed with a dark golden light in the sunlight; the iron plates on his shoulder armor were layered three deep, each layer ground to a sharp edge.

The blade in his hand remained sheathed, resting horizontally across the saddle, the iron ring on the scabbard knocking against the saddle bridge with every step of the horse.

The sky-screen gave a close-up of his face.

Thick eyebrows, a wide mouth, a short beard around his jaw, and an old scar at the corner of his eye that slanted across the tip of his brow.

He reined in his horse, stopping in the open space before the pass, and looked up at the distant tents opposite, his mouth unmoving.

Behind him, the Dong army's banners surged out from the pass gate, one after another, fluttering in the wind.

The edges of the banners had faded, but the banner with the character "Dong" remained black, as thick as ink.

【Dong army great general Hua Xiong stands before the pass, challenging to battle.】

【Inside the tent of the allied feudal lords, there is much discussion.】

The main tent of the feudal lords.

Yuan Shao sat in the main seat; the curtain behind him was lifted by the wind, then fell back.

A map was spread out on the table before him, the ends of the scroll held down by tea bowls, but the wind in the tent blew one corner of the map up, then it fell back down.

He did not reach out to press it down.

Yuan Shu sat to his lower left, twisting his beard, his eyes half-closed.

Other feudal lords were lined up on both sides, some standing, some sitting.

Some leaned against the tent poles, hands tucked into their belts, their gazes darting toward the tent entrance.

The tent curtain was lifted, and a messenger knelt on one knee:

"Report—"

"Dong army's Hua Xiong, leading three thousand iron cavalry, has arrayed his forces before the pass to challenge us."

"Hua Xiong has called out by name, demanding the lords send a general to face him."

The tent was silent for a breath.

Then someone stood up.

Yu She, a valiant general under Yuan Shu, wore a sword at his waist and was fully armored.

He walked to the center of the tent and cupped his hands: "This general is willing to go."

Yuan Shu glanced at him and nodded slightly.

Yu She turned and strode out of the tent, his boot soles thudding dully against the hard ground with every step.

The sky-screen's image followed him out.

His movement to mount the horse was quick; he stepped into the stirrup and was up.

When the sword was drawn from his waist, the blade flashed a white light in the sun.

Before the two armies,

Hua Xiong still stood reining in his horse where he was.

Seeing someone ride out, he lifted the scabbard in his hand slightly; the blade slid out three inches, then stopped.

The two horses charged at each other.

Yu She's sword slashed horizontally; Hua Xiong did not dodge, meeting it with his own blade. The two swords collided, and sparks flew.

Then Hua Xiong's blade slid down the surface of Yu She's sword, the tip thrusting forward—Yu She's shoulder shifted—half an inch too slow.

The tip of the blade had already passed through beneath his jaw.

Yu She's sword dropped.

His hand was still gripping the hilt, but he could no longer hold the sword.

He slumped from the horse's back, his foot still caught in the stirrup, dragged for three or four steps before slipping free, his whole body slamming into the dust, motionless.

The sky-screen did not show Hua Xiong's expression, only his action of sheathing his sword.

His action of returning the sword to the scabbard was very slow, as if waiting for the people opposite to finish watching this scene.

Inside the tent, the messenger knelt on one knee again: "General Yu She has been killed in battle."

Yuan Shu's hand, which had been twisting his beard, paused, then continued, a bit faster than before.

Yuan Shao sat up straighter, his hand pressing on the edge of the table, saying nothing.

Liu Biao turned his head to glance at Yuan Shu, then looked away.

Gongsun Zan stood near the tent door, his hands hanging at his sides, his fingertips tapping lightly on his robe twice.

Another person stood up.

Han Fu, Governor of Jizhou, a tall and thin man; as he stood up, the hem of his robe knocked over an empty tea bowl on the table. The bowl rolled twice and stopped at the corner of the table; he did not reach to steady it.

"I have a top general, Pan Feng, who can slay Hua Xiong."

He turned his head to look at the person behind him.

A sturdy martial general walked out from behind him, the handle of the axe in his hand as thick as a forearm, the blade half again as wide as a normal one, the edges ground white.

He cupped his hands toward Han Fu, then turned and walked out of the tent.

When his boots hit the ground, the earth shook slightly.

Wherever he walked, the people on both sides instinctively stepped back half a step.

The sky-screen followed Pan Feng out.

When Pan Feng mounted his horse, the saddle sank; the horse lifted its front hooves, set them back down, and snorted.

He urged his horse out of the formation, the axe handle pressed against the horse's neck, the blade casting a cold, hard gray light in the sun.

Before the formation, Hua Xiong rode his horse forward two steps.

His horse was faster than Pan Feng's.

When the two horses charged, Pan Feng raised his hand first—

The sound of the axe swinging down was heavy, dull, and deep, like a door panel slamming into the open ground.

But Hua Xiong's horse had already shifted half a body's width.

Pan Feng's axe missed, slamming into the ground, gouging a shallow pit in the dirt.

Before he could retract the axe, Hua Xiong's blade had already arrived.

The blade cut into the back of his neck and emerged from the front, moving about a breath faster than he had imagined.

Pan Feng's hand loosened.

The axe slid from his palm, falling to the ground, the blade embedding itself into the soil, standing upright.

His body tilted, and he tumbled from the horse's back.

The wound on his neck gaped open, blood seeping into the dust, the color changing from red to dark red, finally mixing with the mud.

The sky-screen gave Hua Xiong a profile view; his eyes did not look at the corpse on the ground.

He looked up toward the direction of the allied army's tents in the distance, the corner of his mouth twitching.

Inside the main tent,

When the messenger entered, the sound of his knees hitting the ground was heavier than before.

"General Pan Feng has been killed in battle."

The color drained from Han Fu's face.

When he sat back in his seat, his hand steadied the corner of the table, his fingers lingering on the edge before he finally pulled them back.

No one in the tent spoke.

Those martial generals standing on the sides—some lowered their heads, some turned their faces, some rotated their wrists, then let them drop.

The air was silent for a few seconds.

A sound that was hard to distinguish as a sigh or a gasp came from a corner, then was quickly suppressed.

Yuan Shao spoke, his voice not loud, but everyone in the tent could hear: "It is a pity that my top generals, Yan Liang and Wen Chou, have not arrived."

"If either were here, why fear Hua Xiong?"

Several feudal lords sitting to his lower left lowered their heads.

The martial generals gripping the hilts of their swords at their waists did not let go, but their gazes met briefly before separating.

The tent curtain was lifted at a corner again.

No messenger entered.

What entered was a person—standing at the very end of the tent, the back legs of the chair scraped against the ground as he stood up, making a short, dry sound.

A green robe, a long beard, phoenix eyes slightly lowered, his expression calm, the sleeve of his right arm hanging down, covering half the back of his hand.

As he stepped out from his seat, the hem of his robe brushed the tea bowl on the table; the bowl wobbled but did not fall.

Guan Yu.

He walked to the center of the tent and cupped his hands; his voice was not loud, but every word reached the ears of everyone in the tent.

"Horse archer Guan Yu is willing to go and slay the head of Hua Xiong."

The tent was silent for a moment.

Then Yuan Shu stood up.

His movement was not fast, but the scale of his standing was significant; he slapped the table, and the map on it rolled up at one corner from the vibration.

"You, a mere horse archer, how dare you disrupt our military tent! Do you think we feudal lords have no great generals?"

He turned his head to look at the guards at the tent entrance, "Guards, take him—"

He did not finish his sentence.

Cao Cao stood up.

He walked forward two steps, his hand raised and pressed lightly toward Yuan Shu, touching nothing, yet Yuan Shu's words were cut off there.

Cao Cao turned his head to look at Guan Yu, his gaze lingering on him for two breaths, scanning him up and down, pausing for a moment on the phoenix eyes, then retracting.

"Gonglu, calm your anger."

"Cao sees that this man has an extraordinary bearing; he must have confidence in what he says. Why not let him try?" ===== CHAPTER 386 =====