Chapter 68: Night Raid

After Fang He Tong finished explaining the local defenses, it was Wei Yuan’s turn to detail the Taichu Palace’s defensive deployment.

The Taichu Palace has thousands of years of experience resisting foreign races, and its defense system across the two commanderies is self-contained: first, the True Lords oversee heaven and earth from above; then, each True Person guards a sector like a stabilizing divine needle; meanwhile, powerful Daoji cultivators like Zhang Sheng patrol the regions, identifying gaps and rushing to reinforce as needed; finally, disciples like Wei Yuan—those who have completed Body Casting or recently reached Daoji—are scattered across outposts as defensive anchor points.

The Taichu Palace has laid a vast net across the two commanderies, using stillness to control movement, responding to the swift, fiery invasions of the Northern Liao. This strategy also carries an element of sacrifice: if the foreign races manage to eliminate the outer outposts, the forces they deploy will inevitably exceed Daoji level, making them easy targets for the Taichu Palace to detect and annihilate. Wei Yuan understood this clearly, yet held no resentment—war is a matter of trade-offs, and victory always comes with sacrifice.

After exchanging details on defense with Fang He Tong, Wei Yuan took a moment to speak with the civilian militia. The men had finished their work and boiled a large pot of meat soup using the dried meat Wei Yuan had brought, eating it with coarse rice, steam rising thickly. They had been hungry for days; this pot of soup was made with one strip of dried meat per four men. Now each man took only a small bowl, no one fought for more, no one asked for extra.

A person long-starved who suddenly feasts is prone to illness; these farmers didn’t know this principle—it was Fang He Tong who taught them. Easy to explain, hard to practice. Even among common folk, the Taichu Palace’s military dried meat was considered a delicacy, yet hundreds of men restrained themselves, showing no chaos or scrambling—Wei Yuan saw this as a disciplined army.

To transform a group of illiterate farmers into a disciplined army within mere months—Fang He Tong possessed extraordinary talent.

Seeing Wei Yuan, the simple men bowed in gratitude, rising to their feet yet speaking timidly, answering every question he asked.

Night fell swiftly. After drinking the soup, the men returned to rest. The Taichu Palace’s special military rations allowed ordinary people to see at night after two days of consumption, but it was only their first day—they still struggled to see clearly in the dark.

Upon completing Body Casting, one’s five senses naturally improve; not to the point of seeing like a divine eye, but at least discerning a fly’s appearance from dozens of zhang away becomes effortless. Yet Fang He Tong had only trained them for two months, relying solely on his ability of Establishing Words to grant them slight progress—they had grown stronger and more resilient, but their senses remained unrefined.

Fang He Tong hadn’t slept in a long time, so Wei Yuan told him to rest first, taking the first watch himself and switching with him in the second half of the night. Fang He Tong didn’t refuse, retiring without protest.

Wei Yuan stood atop the wall, gazing northward. The night deepened; beyond, only a vast expanse of grassland stretched, with a few lone trees standing solitary in the prairie. Farther still, churning darkness swallowed everything.

Wei Yuan frowned slightly. Since childhood, his perception had been sharp; after completing Body Casting, it had grown even keener. To him, even the faintest starlight was as bright as daylight. Even disciples of equal cultivation, using the Dao technique “Thousand-Li Vision,” could not see as far as his naked eyes.

Outside Quyang County lay open grassland—normally, one could see eighty or even a hundred li. But now, with no wind or dust, Wei Yuan could see only thirty li; beyond fifty li, the churning night obscured all.

After watching awhile, Wei Yuan sensed something strange—the darkness seemed alive, deliberately concealing something. As the hour neared the third watch, the night surged forward, obscuring everything beyond twenty li.

Wei Yuan looked up: a slender crescent moon hung above, with scattered stars. There was moonlight—faint, yet sufficient for him. He should have seen far beyond twenty li.

Wei Yuan lifted a rectangular iron box onto the wall, tapped it lightly—and a short rifle sprang out. He gripped the rifle, eyes fixed on the churning darkness.

“The Liao barbarians have come,” Fang He Tong appeared on the wall, his expression grim.

“Why not rest longer?” Wei Yuan asked.

“I’m used to night watch—I can’t sleep. And whenever the Liao are coming, my heart grows uneasy—I feel the need to come up and check.” Fang He Tong held a large bow, its surface etched with faintly glowing blue talismanic inscriptions. Yet his quiver held only one magical arrow; the rest were ordinary iron-tipped arrows.

Fang He Tong stared at the distant darkness. “Liao night raids are usually small squads—about seven or eight riders. If the defenders are careless and they breach the wall, they signal, and the main force arrives swiftly. But our small outpost holds little value—they rarely bother. As long as we repel the probing squads, we’re safe.”

As he spoke, Wei Yuan suddenly tensed—he sensed something hurtling toward them through the darkness!

The night surged—and a single rider burst forth like a fish leaping from water. The rider leapt several zhang, landing without a sound.

Though the light was dim, Wei Yuan saw the rider clearly in an instant.

His armor was leather-lined, studded with rectangular iron plates; the open collar revealed fur. His helmet, likewise leather with iron plates, exposed two pointed ears. His four-fingered hand gripped a short bow; his eyes were unnaturally large, gray irises nearly swallowed by pupils. His nose was flattened, nostrils flaring forward like a bat’s.

The horse beneath him was roughly the size of a human warhorse, appearing small beneath the towering rider. But its mouth bore two tusks, giving it a ferocious look. Along its flanks were breathing pores, exhaling clouds of white vapor.

This was a steed unique to the Hanhai Liao tribe: they breathe through the nose, exhale through flank pores. The horses are ferocious, eating both grass and meat. Their speed matches human warhorses, but their endurance and carrying capacity far surpass them. A top-tier human warhorse can gallop a thousand li before needing rest; a Liao horse can cover three thousand li before resting, and can survive ten or more days without food or water after a full meal.

Thus, on the northern grasslands, human cavalry are no match for the Liao. Without city walls or fortresses to rely on, defeat means no escape—the Liao riders can chase a thousand li, relentless until the human horses collapse from exhaustion.

The rider emerging from the darkness was a typical Liao light cavalryman: short armor, a quiver slung on one side of the saddle, a saber and throwing spear on the other.

One after another, Liao light cavalrymen burst from the darkness—soon twenty riders, advancing steadily toward Shayang Village. Only now did Wei Yuan hear the faint clopping of hooves; a normal Daoji cultivator would have heard nothing, relying only on ground vibrations to detect their approach. But the Liao iron cavalry’s hoofbeats caused far less tremor than human riders—more like stealthy beasts moving at night, nearly undetectable.

Fang He Tong had already cast a concealment spell, hiding both their forms, then placed several straw dummies behind the battlements. From outside the wall, they appeared as if men were crouching in the gaps, keeping watch.

Yet Wei Yuan remained puzzled. According to records, the Hanhai Liao possessed exceptional night vision—seeing as clearly as in daylight, their sight equal to four times that of ordinary humans, matching that of a Body Casting–completed human cultivator. These straw dummies were crudely made—how could they deceive such eyes?

As Wei Yuan wondered, Fang He Tong took several sheets of straw paper and pasted them onto the dummies’ faces. Each sheet bore a painted human face, lifelike—Fang He Tong’s skill in calligraphy and painting was indeed refined. The paper was yellowish-brown; the dummies showed only their heads, blending seamlessly into the night.

In an instant, the Liao scouts reached a hundred zhang away. Several bent their bows, loosing arrows silently. Wei Yuan heard the twang of the string—and the arrows pierced the dummies’ skulls!

(End of Chapter)