Chapter 124: Using Beauty to Serve People (IV)

Arrow rain poured down from the top of the city wall.

Not just one or two, but dozens.

Firelight traced dense arcs in the night sky, like a red‑hot net, sweeping down onto the crowd below the city.

Those arrows fell into the muddy water, with a hiss they extinguished, sending up only a small puff of white steam.

When they struck a person, they made a soft puff, like the light sound of a sickle cutting wheat.

A woman holding a child was the first to be hit by an arrow.

The arrowhead pierced her shoulder blade; she lurched forward, the child slipped from her arms and fell into the muddy water, wailing.

The woman struggled to get up, but a second arrow had already lodged in her back.

She stopped moving.

She moved no more.

A human life, so easily, was gone.

The child lay in the muddy water, crying hoarsely, tiny hands flailing in the filth, grabbing handfuls of mud.

A white‑haired old man knelt on the ground, bowing toward the city wall, shouting, "We are refugees, we are refugees, please spare our lives, sir!!!" His voice hoarse and broken.

A fire arrow struck his back squarely; his clothes burst into flame, tongues of fire licking his flesh, emitting a scorched stench.

He rolled on the ground, after two tumbles he lay still, the fire on his body still burning, lighting that small patch of mud bright red.

Cries, shrieks, the whiz of arrows, and the crackle of flames mingled into a chaotic broth.

Someone crawled in the muddy water, dragging a leg pierced by an arrow, managing only two steps before losing strength, then lay in the mud whimpering.

Someone clung to a dead relative, refusing to let go, as an arrow flew overhead; he did not dodge.

Others, seeing they could not outrun the arrows, turned back and hurled stones at the city wall, cursing as they threw.

But their shouts were quickly cut off by the arrow rain, and they soon fell.

At the front of Zhao Daniu's cart, a young man was pierced through the chest by a fire arrow.

He did not die instantly; he gripped the arrow shaft with both hands, eyes wide open, blood froth bubbling from his mouth, his throat emitting a gurgling sound like a chicken with its neck stepped on.

His eyes remained fixed on the city wall, on the torch‑bearing figures there; slowly, that light faded from his sight.

Liu Er crouched beside the cart, trembling all over.

His hand still pressed the arrow embedded in the old woman's throat; the shaft was hot enough to blister his palm, and he dared not release it, for loosening his grip would cause blood to spurt out.

The old woman's eyes were half‑open; the smile at the corner of her mouth had vanished, her face a pallid ash.

Her hand slipped from beneath her cotton jacket, fingers slightly curled, as if trying to grasp something, yet grasping nothing.

Zhao Daniu finally moved.

This man, who had hurried day and night, had at last arrived before the walls of Dun Cheng.

This man, who only moments ago had declared he would greedily gulp two big bowls of porridge, flung himself onto his mother's body and let out a mournful wail:

"Ah——!!!"

Alas, that sound could not overcome the night.

Heaven itself would never pity the myriad things of the world.

The bowstrings twanged taut again; evidently, a second wave of arrow rain was coming——

Then, a chime rang.

This tone was clearer and brighter than the one earlier in the rain, like a blade that cleanly cut through the sky‑filled cries and arrow whistles.

The sound was not loud, yet for some reason it rose above everything, clearly reaching every ear.

The archers on the city wall hesitated in their motions.

The refugees below the wall also fell silent for a moment.

Before the chime had fully faded, movement stirred in the distance.

First a point of light, then many points of light. Torches, countless torches, surged from the southern official road like a glowing river, flowing relentlessly through the darkness.

That brilliance was so intense it reddened half the sky, making even the torches on Dun Cheng's wall look dim by comparison.

The sound of hooves.

A dense drumming of hooves made the ground tremble slightly.

Muddy water exploded under the hooves, splashing up to a person's height.

Within the torch‑bearing column, a mighty black horse charged at the fore, its four hooves flying, mane streaming, cleaving the night.

The rider, Liu Er had seen before.

It was that same silhouette.

Waist and back straight, shoulders sharp, seated on the horse he resembled a drawn longsword.

The torchlight fell on her face, her brows and eyes stern, gaze like a blade, lips pressed tight, devoid of any extra expression.

She was not wearing the outfit she had that day outside Ju Cheng's city walls; today she donned a narrow‑sleeved combat robe, her hair bound high, a short dagger hung at her waist, and in her hands she held a rather strange……

Weapon?

Liu Er stared blankly as that figure galloped toward her.

The black horse thundered to the foot of Dun Cheng's walls, less than a hundred paces from the gate, its speed so great it seemed about to crash into the ramparts.

The woman on horseback remained perfectly still, both hands holding a crossbow, aimed at the city wall——

The string twanged.

A faint sound, largely drowned by the hooves and wind, barely audible.

Yet the figure on the city wall, upon hearing it, collapsed.

The soldier who had just spoken, the one who had shouted "What princess?" and "I don't recognize the refugees," now had a bolt lodged in his throat; he leaned back and toppled from the battlement.

He paused mid‑air, limbs splayed like a shot crow, then plummeted straight into the night.

Everyone heard that sound.

Dull, heavy, like a sack of grain smashed onto the ground from a height.

The torches on the city wall swayed; someone cried out, someone stepped back, and the bowstring sounds ceased completely.

The refugees below lifted their heads, watching that black shadow fall from the city wall; their hearts felt as if something had been clenched tightly and then suddenly released——

It was an indescribable satisfaction, like a stifled breath that had been held for a long time finally finding an outlet.

No one knew who first shouted 'Well killed!', and immediately the city below erupted in a hoarse chorus of cheers.

Some were crying, some laughing, some kneeling in the mud and water, kowtowing toward the horse.

Those who had just been unable to lift their heads under the arrow rain now seemed to have come alive again, light returning to their eyes.

The black horse finally stopped, no more than fifty paces from the city gate.

The horse's nostrils exhaled white vapor, its four hooves trampling a deep pit in the mud and water.

The woman reined in the reins, sat upright on the horse, firelight shining on her face, cold as winter frost.

Behind her, torches surged forward like a tide, hundreds of men forming ranks, armor bright, spears and swords like a forest.

One of them dismounted, an older scholar in a green robe, gaunt-faced, holding a scroll of yellow silk. He hurried a few steps, stood before the horse, facing the city wall, and his voice rang loud as a bronze bell:

"I am Chief Clerk Chen Weifang of Cang Cheng! The Princess has been enfeoffed with the three cities; the imperial edict has arrived, and Cang Cheng has already received it! Dun Cheng is subordinate to Cang Cheng; the Princess has arrived, yet you close your gates and instead shoot arrows at the refugees—are you plotting rebellion?!"

His words rang out like metal striking stone; each word was like a nail driven into the ears of those on the city wall.

The city wall fell into dead silence.

The woman said nothing.

She merely raised her hand and pointed forward lightly.

The torch formation behind her immediately moved.

Hundreds stepped forward in unison, their footsteps shaking the ground, the torches merging in the night sky into a sea of scorching light.

Those in the front row carried earthen jars, black smoke rising from their mouths, a pungent oily smell spreading.

They walked to the city gate, stacked the jars at either side of the archway, while the archers and crossbowmen formed ranks behind them, arrowheads aimed at the city wall, bowstrings drawn tight.

Fire oil.

Arson.

Liu Er watched all this from behind the cart, her heart pounding as if it would burst her chest.

He had seen sieges in operas, seen generals on stage brandishing blades and swords, but those were fake, performed for an audience; what lay before him now was real!

The fire oil was real, the arrows were real, the official who had fallen from the wall was real, and the corpses of those struck by arrows in the mud and water were real.

The Princess truly intended to burn the city.

Dun Cheng's city wall could hold out no longer; the torchlight cast upon the wall stretched and distorted the shadows of those people.

Some whispered behind the battlements, some had already dropped their bows, some fled down to the city below.

Chaos spread like a plague, from the wall to the gate tower, from the gate tower to the gate.

Finally, the city gate moved.

It was not breached; it was opened from inside.

The heavy wooden door creaked open, revealing frightened faces in the gap.

The first to emerge was a man in official robes, short and stout, his hat askew; he had run too hastily, tripped on the threshold, and fell face-first into the mud and water, looking as miserable as a turtle flipped onto its back.

He climbed to his feet, knelt on the ground, and knocked his head with a thudding sound:

"Dun Cheng County Secretary… Dun Cheng County Secretary Wang De, greetings to the Princess! Your humble servant did not know the Princess had arrived; earlier it was all a misunderstanding, all a misunderstanding…"

?? Actually, some things would be more satisfying from a third‑person perspective; if this segment were from Shasha's point of view, it wouldn't be cool enough!