Under the noon sun, both sides called out to each other from a distance, their voices echoing across the battlefield.
Acting on Heaven’s behalf, punishing only the chief culprits, sparing those who surrendered—with Liangshan’s forces outnumbering Zhu Family Manor’s more than fivefold as they laid siege, such words from the battle line weren’t without their intimidating effect.
And when Zhu Biao’s sudden retort rang out from atop the wall—”You’re scared!”—that too wasn’t entirely outside Song Jiang and Wu Yong’s expectations. Yet for Wu Yong, insisting on delivering these words before the battle wasn’t without reason.
As for psychological warfare, the enemy had already thoroughly infiltrated Liangshan’s ranks with it over these short three days—it was only natural that whatever they shouted from the battle line would have some effect on their own side too. But given their current state, the coming fight would essentially come down to sheer numbers and the chieftains’ ability to suppress the roiling unease among their men. No matter what, with most people’s families still up at Liangshan, they’d retain some fighting spirit—the only question was how far that would carry them.
Conversely, Zhu Family Manor’s three thousand-odd defenders had never once been subjected to psychological warfare from Liangshan’s side before now. Even if the words being shouted, backed by overwhelming numbers, only shook a small portion of them and only shallowly, that would still represent a meaningful proportion for Zhu Family Manor. The current situation was essentially a mutual exchange of psychological blows, and Wu Yong believed his side stood to gain the advantage.
Wu Yong’s reasoning wasn’t unsound. Even if Ning Yi himself had been asked about it beforehand, his first response likely would have been something like “come learn cooking from me instead.” But had Wu Yong been able to see Zhu Biao’s wild elation the moment Song Jiang began speaking—rushing over to grab his elder brother Zhu Long aside, exclaiming excitedly, “My turn, my turn!”—he might have realized his regret sooner.
“You’re scared!”
Drawing breath deep into his dantian, Zhu Biao bellowed the words, and for a moment his voice rang out across the entire battlefield.
“What are you afraid of, Song Jiang! Didn’t you people say you were going to wipe out all of Dulong Ridge!”
And Song Jiang’s voice carried back from the other side: “A spent force still overestimating itself! Look how many men stand before you! We come today only to act on Heaven’s behalf! To punish only the chief culprits! As for the people of Zhu Family Manor—Zhu Chaofeng, Zhu Long…”
“…Now suddenly it’s only the chief culprits, why is that! Look at your own Liangshan, look at Red-Haired Devil Liu Tang’s severed head! You’re already tearing yourselves apart from within, don’t think we don’t know it! You’ve killed so many of our people at Dulong Ridge—family, brothers, wives, and children! You’re the ones who are scared now!”
“…As for Thunderbolt Hand of Primal Chaos, Lei Feng, who wounded our brothers—hand over their heads, and you can become a chieftain of our Liangshan!”
“…Hah, what you’re really afraid of is our strategist! Just look—three days! Look what state you’ve fallen into! Look at the people around you… Wu Yong, our strategist asked me to pass along a message: a schoolteacher belongs at home raising children! How dare you even open your mouth right now! Foolish—”
Sitting on horseback nearby, the veins on Wu Yong’s neck bulged, but these words were, of course, meant to be heard by the wavering hearts within Zhu Family Manor, those who might be shaken by the sheer disparity in numbers. Song Jiang spread his arms wide.
“We are twenty thousand brothers strong! You are but three thousand, the old and the weak! I, Song Jiang, ‘Timely Rain,’ out of compassion, offer you one last chance—these are your own family! Come and see!”
Several hundred prisoners from Zhu and Hu Family Manors had already been brought to one side of the battlefield. From above, Zhu Biao laughed loudly. “If you charge in, do we have any way out? But if you hold hostages, don’t you think we have some too? Come look—these are your brothers! Bring forward ‘Thunderbolt Fire’ Qin Ming first—if you dare kill my family, I’ll kill your brothers one by one in return!”
Bound with rope and gagged, the man now brought into view was indeed Qin Ming. Song Jiang reined in his horse with a cold sneer. “My benevolence and righteousness are known throughout the realm—ask anyone, am I a man who kills indiscriminately! Your families are all here before you—those willing to surrender to our Liangshan and join our righteous cause, their families shall all be spared death. Otherwise, once my twenty thousand brothers level Zhu Family Manor today, whoever’s family goes unclaimed will simply have to be killed. I have said my piece—”
As he spoke, he drew the treasured blade at his waist and pointed it skyward, about to say more, when suddenly, atop the stone wall, an unexpected turn of events brought the impending charge to a momentary halt.
There on the wall, Qin Ming, who had been bound and brought forward, suddenly surged upright, snapping the ropes binding him with a crack, and slammed his fist into a nearby villager, sending the man flying into the estate grounds. The others rushed forward, but Qin Ming’s martial skill was formidable—he broke free of two or three villagers with a single burst of force, snatched up a steel blade, and made to charge straight over the wall.
Zhu Family Manor’s stone wall was one of the sturdier fortifications in the area, but at only about two zhang high, it posed no real obstacle for someone of Qin Ming’s skill to leap down from. But just as he struggled free, Zhu Biao was right there beside him and blocked him with a single spear thrust; Luan Tingyu had already rushed over as well. Having just broken free and not yet fully steady, Qin Ming took a blow from the staff almost immediately. At that moment, Hua Rong nocked an arrow, drawing his bow to charge in, and the others too were about to rush forward shouting to save Qin Ming—but just then, Qin Ming spat out the cloth gag stuffed in his mouth.
“Huyan Zhuo——”
The name rang out across the battlefield. But Huyan Zhuo had gone to the Wanjia Ridge front—no one here understood what significance this name could hold. Yet what followed sent chills down many spines.
“…Guan Sheng! Even as a ghost, I won’t let you go——”
A line of blood sprayed into the sky. With Luan Tingyu’s staff and Zhu Biao’s spear together, Qin Ming was struck dead atop the stone wall, his body flung back into Zhu Family Manor. Zhu Biao turned around, blood splattered across his face, and raised his spear, roaring wildly, “Come on then——”
No one answered him.
Everyone had already drawn their weapons, ready to charge, but in this moment, they couldn’t help but turn their gaze toward that hill to the east. Under the sunlight, forces had gathered there too, banners fluttering, with several leading generals at the front—and at the very top stood “Big Blade” Guan Sheng.
Mounted beside him was Yan Qing—this prodigal son, well-acquainted with everyone at Liangshan, had come over just to chat, and now happened to be riding right alongside him.
Few could describe the feeling among the generals in the ranks at that moment. In truth, most people’s first thought was that they’d fallen for the enemy’s scheme again—some thought poor Guan Sheng was finished, while a small few wondered, could this actually be true? Even the sharpest minds within the ranks could no longer sort out what was real and what wasn’t, and the soldiers, caught in the confusion, stood dazed. Beside Song Jiang, Wu Yong’s lips trembled, unable to find words—something dark and ominous seemed to descend from the sky, sending a chill up everyone’s spine, and from across the way came, unmistakably, the sneering laughter of a demon.
Among them all, the one whose expression was most complicated was surely Guan Sheng himself, atop the hill. Just moments before, he’d raised his Green Dragon Blade—now he too stood frozen by this scene. He had always claimed descent from Guan Yu, carrying that reputation of righteousness and loyalty, but at this moment, whatever he might say no longer mattered against what people would think. Qin Ming was dead, and everyone was looking his way. His mouth opened, then closed, and instinctively he turned his head to look at Yan Qing beside him.
On the horse next to him, Yan Qing too seemed frozen for a moment, then slowly turned his head. Their eyes met, heavy with complicated meaning, and Yan Qing’s peripheral gaze drifted to the raised blade Guan Sheng still held.
Before the two armies, under the gaze of everyone present, time seemed to stop for a second. Then, with a clash, Yan Qing drew his blade, Guan Sheng swung down, and the two exchanged a single strike. Guan Sheng was strongest fighting on horseback; though Yan Qing’s martial skill was high, it didn’t lie in this arena. His horse stumbled sideways a few steps with a whinny, and Yan Qing had already leapt down, standing on the grassy slope, blade held horizontally. He looked up at Guan Sheng from below, just like that.
Once suspicion had taken root, the distance between the two men—close enough to touch—felt far too close indeed.
“It wasn’t me——”
At last, from the hillside came Guan Sheng’s strangled, furious roar.
“It wasn’t him, it wasn’t him, it’s a scheme to sow discord, a scheme to sow discord…” Wu Yong muttered, the veins on his forehead bulging, barely able to control the horse beneath him. He had finally realized—they’d fallen for it again. Only now could he truly feel it: the enemy had calculated nearly every single step. From three days ago onward, every move he’d made had walked straight into a trap, and with every additional step, he’d fallen deeper still. This was true masterful strategy, striking while defending at once, the ground beneath him like a swamp, and his own performance… truly as clumsy as a child’s.
…How could he even say that, so foolish…
He forced himself closer to Song Jiang, grabbing at his sleeve.
“It’s a trap, it’s not Brother Guan, full assault, full assault… they’ve got three thousand, we’ve got twenty thousand, they’ve got three thousand, we’ve got twenty thousand.”
“They’ve got three thousand, we’ve got twenty thousand.” This was the very thing he’d insisted Song Jiang emphasize to everyone beforehand.
But this time, before Song Jiang could speak, on the western slope, Lin Chong raised his long spear, his voice ringing out: “Brother Qin was deceived—how can we let ourselves fall for this scheme to sow discord! Brothers, we are twenty thousand strong, against three thousand old and weak on the other side—they’re already scared! Level this place with me!” Having said this, he let out a fierce roar and led his men charging forward.
“I’ll kill every one of you traitors——” And on the eastern hill, Guan Sheng, humiliated and enraged, raised his blade and spurred his horse forward, though the soldiers behind him hesitated a moment before finally following. At this point, shouts rang out from atop the stone wall: “Inspector Guan! Come quickly to the estate gate! Inspector Guan! Come quickly to the estate gate!” Everyone saw him charging alone on horseback, far ahead of his men who’d been left behind, and for a moment, an uneasy silence fell. But this lasted only a moment before Liangshan’s soldiers surged forward in a great wave toward Zhu Family Manor once more…
The first volley of arrows whistled across the sky, splashing blood among the crowds on both sides. Outside the stone wall, Liangshan’s surging soldiers hoisted crude ladders hastily built from local timber, pushing them up against the wall. Boiling water and burning oil-soaked rattan balls began raining down from within the walls; as flames rolled and thick black smoke billowed up, the true slaughter began—now beyond anyone’s power to stop.
In the sunlight over the battlefield, Wu Yong watched this surging scene, feeling the light suddenly too harsh on his eyes. He swayed slightly on his horse, then, before everyone’s eyes, toppled to the ground.
Song Jiang and the others hastily carried him to lie beneath a nearby tree. After pressing at his philtrum for a while, he slowly came to, his eyes bloodshot, gazing out at the vast battlefield. A voice carried faintly from the distance—it was Zhu Family Manor, fighting and shouting propaganda at the same time, proclaiming that the imperial army was coming, that Liangshan had already fractured, that a great chieftain had already defected, that killing Liangshan soldiers could clear one’s name, calling out the bounty prices for heads at every rank…
“Brother Gongming, cough… Wu Yong has failed you, I predicted nothing… nothing at all…” He leaned against the tree trunk, his eyes taking in the countless figures charging forward. “I’ve never heard of… a battle fought like this…”
The endless sounds of slaughter drowned out his words…