As the carts moved through the crowd one after another, the roar of battle from the surrounding field surged in like tides, and on every side soldiers ran and shouted in confusion.

The men positioned at the rear of the Wurui Battalion’s formation had originally been garrison troops and militia gathered from every direction; though they’d been moving with the Wurui Battalion and had been assigned commanders, they were essentially incapable of acting as a coordinated whole. Among them were the hot-blooded and the faint-hearted alike, and when the Jurchen cavalry struck from the flank, that end of the line facing the assault collapsed almost immediately, without even needing the linked cavalry to unleash its full force.

The senior officers within the formation naturally led their own direct subordinates to save themselves; some others charged forward, while others fled in every direction. With little high ground nearby, everyone caught in the crush felt overwhelming pressure from every side, and occasionally arrows could be seen streaking across the night sky in the distance. As the Jurchen cavalry cut their way in, most people had no real sense of their numbers or distance. One moment they might still be uneasy in their hearts, and the next, that torrent of iron cavalry was already bearing down on them, blades raised high. By then, all around was nothing but chaos — men and horses tumbling, flesh and blood flying everywhere.

Amid the deafening clamor, the thousand-strong cavalry unit led by the Jurchen general Sukena drove into the rear of the formation, cutting through it like a blade through vegetables, until it suddenly collided with a force putting up stubborn resistance.

As the vanguard of this Jurchen cavalry column, those leading the charge at the front line were, as usual, drawn from among the most elite of the Jurchen cavalry. General Sukena himself, positioned within the group, would never be the very first man charging ahead — his trusted men, his sworn brothers, the finest warriors in the army, surrounded and protected him, cutting their way forward in the direction he commanded.

In the years since the Jurchens had risen up and brought down the entire Liao dynasty, these were the very men who had formed the backbone of that campaign. Many of them could rightly be called battle-kings who had fought across the realm — not only fearless of death, but also skilled at preserving themselves even amid efficient slaughter. The first man at the front of the column was named Nadu, Sukena’s most trusted sworn brother and a veteran who had risen up alongside Aguda from the very beginning. Built like an iron tower, he wielded a broadsword taller than a man, hacking and cleaving as he went. He roared madly, leading the column forward like some demon god, the ground before his horse and the blade in his hand already soaked in blood and shredded flesh.

Even so, the cavalry’s advance had barely slowed — it wasn’t as though no one dared stand in their way ahead, only that any defense that tried to form was cut down before it could take shape, the cavalry column grinding through blood and corpses. It wasn’t until they’d cut down several fleeing stragglers that the true killing intent suddenly bore down on them.

What appeared before the bloodthirsty, demon-like Nadu was a wall of thrusting spears.

He let out a roar and swung his blade down in a crushing blow.

Along the way, he’d already encountered spear formations waiting ahead more than once, but unless it was truly a dense forest of spears, he could simply smash them aside with the flat of his blade and let his warhorse’s body crash straight through — few could withstand an attack from his massive blade after that. But this time, there came only a deafening crash, sparks bursting into the air, and his hand went numb — he could already sense killing intent bearing down on him. Ahead, a bald, burly man leapt into the air, swinging a bronze-alloy cudgel high overhead.

Nadu’s body twisted aside almost by reflex, riding the force of the recoil, and around him the other Jurchen warriors charged in swinging their blades as well.

The roar of battle shook the heavens as the bronze-alloy cudgel crashed down onto the head of Nadu’s warhorse with a deafening crack. The horse’s skull burst apart, flesh and blood spraying everywhere, and its body folded forward, crashing to the ground. All around, blood bloomed as well — several other warhorses, as if striking solid reef, crashed to the ground amid sprays of blood, still driven forward by their own momentum. Nadu leapt up from the ground, shouting, “Watch out!” and swung his blade in a furious slash. Arrows were already whistling past on all sides; several Jurchen warriors fell from their horses, then rose again, blood-soaked, blades swinging as they charged back in.

The torrent had struck the reef, and the fierce, violent roar of battle erupted and burst outward. On one side stood soldiers seasoned by countless campaigns; on the other, men of the martial world who had long lived on the edge of the blade, most of them counted among its finest. Having undergone training and no small amount of rousing incitement, the small formation Zhou Tong had designed had, against all odds, held back this wave of the Jurchen vanguard. What flew through the air was not only crossbow bolts, but at the very first moment, even a few weighted nets with barbed hooks.

Blades of every kind clashed, warhorses crashed forward and fell, thick blood pooling on the ground, hooves kicking wildly in every direction. At the center of the line, the giant Nadu wielded his steel blade wildly, driving several men back; the bald man with the bronze cudgel traded blows with him a few times, but in sheer ferocity and willingness to fight to the death, he still fell short, forced back several steps under the sheer force of the blows. Less than ten feet away, Sukena rode forward through the mass of horses, having already realized he’d run into elite Han fighters — yet he showed no hint of retreat, his eyes instead burning with a feverish light. A little off to the side, a young man named Yuwen Feidu leapt out of the line — a shove from his master’s foot beneath him sent him flying up into the air, both hands gripping his blade, hurtling straight down toward the man who looked to be the Jurchen commander.

“Waaah—!”

A crossbow bolt sliced into Sukena’s shoulder; he felt only a faint sting, his eyes still fixed on the young Han fighter soaring through the air toward him. Yuwen Feidu, gripping his wolf-fang broadsword with both hands, had already raised it behind his back, now swinging it down with tremendous force straight at Sukena’s head.

“Crack!” Sukena swung his blade upward with tremendous force to block it; the horse beneath him let out a long whinny and lurched sideways. Yuwen Feidu was flung to the side by the rebound, crashing into another Jurchen rider’s horse, and in an instant the two of them were locked together in a struggle. The horse reared and thrashed wildly. Yuwen Feidu blocked the Jurchen rider’s blade, then took a headbutt in return; he clamped his hawk-claw grip around the man’s throat, but the Jurchen wrenched free violently, his blade swinging back around. Yuwen Feidu twisted the blade from the man’s grip in return, and after a few more moments of grappling on horseback, he finally drew a small knife from his belt and slit the man’s throat. Another Jurchen rider charged in from the side, swinging his blade down at him; he blocked it with his small knife, then yanked at his horse’s reins to flee — but the horse recognized its true master and was still stumbling, struggling against him. Another blade swept in from the side; the young man ducked low to dodge it, then reversed his grip and drove the knife into the horse’s neck, dragging the blade across.

Thick blood sprayed out, and the horse crashed down to the side with a thunderous impact. The young man tried to scramble up, only to find that one of his legs was pinned beneath the horse’s body. Ahead, the iron hooves of Jurchen cavalry bore down directly toward him, and at the same time, the nearby spear formation surged forward to fight.

In an instant, clouds of yellow dust rose into the air amid the spraying blood. By the time Yuwen Feidu was dragged out from under the horse and pulled back to the rear, he realized that not only was his thigh crushed, but he’d also taken a blade wound to his ribs at some point, and was bleeding from it. The blood from the horse, along with the blood spilled by both sides in the struggle to save him, had soaked half his body a deep red.

All around was nothing but slaughter, the battle line already spreading out to either side.

If the two or three hundred men of the Bamboo Registry were the very best force Ning Yi could muster, then even though they had managed to hold off the Jurchen charge in that first critical moment, such a charge — in truth carried by the momentum of only a few, a dozen, or a few dozen riders at most — had already had its speed sapped by the friendly forces ahead of them, which was the only reason it could be effectively held back in these early stages.

But even so, a warhorse charging in — even one that was, at this very moment, being cut down before their eyes — remained, to an ordinary person, like a moving wall of stone, more than capable of inflicting tremendous harm and terror on this side. And once the vanguard was held back, the Jurchen riders arriving from behind kept pushing outward to the flanks, and in the blink of an eye, the surging torrent was about to become a roaring tidal sea.

Yuwen Feidu saw Zhu Biao and Qi Xinyong run through with a spear the massive Jurchen warrior wielding the giant blade.

Yuwen Feidu saw one of his own masters lying on the ground, drenched in blood from head to toe.

He saw Yue Pengju leading the spear formation charging forward.

He saw his employer, Ning Yi, having killed two men, already turning to head toward the rear.

He saw that nearly everyone around him had blood on them somewhere.

He saw more and more Jurchen cavalry still pouring in.

At the rear of the column, the cart convoy had already fallen into disarray; two carts, their horses seemingly spooked, were being dragged along out of control — one charging toward the Jurchen cavalry’s flank, the other straight toward the middle of the fray. A driver hauled desperately on the reins trying to stop them, but could only be dragged along in their wake.

The two carts plunged straight into the midst of the Jurchen cavalry formation, and not far behind, someone suddenly yanked taut a rope trailing from the back of the carts.

Sukena caught sight of the fresh blade-wound on the horses’ hindquarters — and then light and fire filled his vision.

A deafening blast tore through the air, flame surging up over the battlefield; the explosion killed and wounded several men on the spot, and the Jurchen horses nearby were spooked as well, bolting and colliding wildly in every direction. Sukena had already been thrown from his horse, his ears ringing, his vision blurred. As he rolled several times and staggered back to his feet, the swimming scene before him gradually coming back into focus, a Han fighter came charging in, swinging his blade straight at his neck—

At this moment, whether it was stubborn, valiant resistance or slaughter born of cowardice, both were unfolding endlessly across this vast, chaotic battlefield. The few hundred men of the Bamboo Registry had fought with a tenacity that could rightly be called fierce, but they were by no means the only ones. Still, the sudden flare of fire and the explosion rising into the night sky had drawn the Jurchens’ attention, and another cavalry unit soon came charging toward this spot as well. The cart convoy fought and shifted position, and one cart after another was ultimately forced to be detonated across the battlefield. That trail of fire stretched on and on, and alongside it, the casualties and bloodshed among the Bamboo Registry members — now marked as targets by the Jurchen cavalry — continued to mount higher and higher…

…

In the capital, for many people, this was a sleepless night.

The Fan Tower.

Shishi knelt in her room, silently burning incense and praying. Through certain channels, she had already learned, if only vaguely, that the court would launch an attack against the Jurchens that very day, and she was waiting, hoping that by dawn, news of victory would reach the city.

But the households of many great men had already been shaken awake by the news that had come in. Even though the curfew was currently in effect, some officials still rushed about through the night, seeking to confirm with one another the news they dared not believe. Yet before long, another piece of news arrived — and though many found it utterly absurd, it had, without question, become reality.

At some moment deep in this night, the palace gates opened, and the first to emerge was the empress’s convoy.

Li Gang, rushing out of the chancellor’s residence hall, tripped and fell in his haste; already an old man, the fall struck him hard, tearing open the skin on his forehead, which was soon covered in blood. Fortunately, his constitution was sound, and after simply wrapping the wound with a strip of white cloth, he was still able to hurry along. Qin Siyuan also emerged from here, and upon boarding his own carriage, headed off in a different direction.

Tang Ke sat in his study at home, reading. Those of great accomplishment tend to keep a calm composure no matter the crisis, and besides, the current situation wasn’t something he had any power to influence — all he could do was read. But at this moment, he truly couldn’t take in a word of it.

When a servant announced that Qin Siyuan had come to call, he was startled, but quickly had the man shown in at once.

Qin Siyuan came rushing in, practically at a run.

Tang Ke and Qin Siyuan had known each other for a long time; though they often argued and debated due to their differing stances on war and peace, they could still be counted as friends. Seeing Qin Siyuan in such a state, though puzzled in his heart, he couldn’t help but feel a growing unease. Still, he kept a cold expression on his face, cupped his hands in greeting, and got straight to the point: “I already know the Western Army has suffered a crushing defeat, and the other armies are likely in dire straits as well. But even so, you still have work you could be doing — why come running to me?”

Qin Siyuan, however, wasted no time on pleasantries, speaking with urgent haste: “I haven’t come about the war…”

He laid out what had happened. Tang Ke froze, staring at him wide-eyed, and then his eyes filled with blood-red rage, the veins on his forehead bulging; he gripped the edge of his desk, his body swaying, and after a moment, finally managed to speak: “How… how could there be such a thing?”

Not long after the empress’s carriage left the palace, the emperor Zhou Zhe’s carriage set out in pursuit, the two convoys racing one after the other toward the southern part of the city. Because the emperor’s departure lagged slightly behind, it gave the officials within the city a bit of time to react, and Cai Jing, Tong Guan, Li Gang, and others had all rushed to catch up. But while Li Gang pursued alone in just his own carriage, Cai Jing, Tong Guan, and the others brought their families and household wealth along with them — many of them still getting dressed even as they climbed into their carriages — and came thundering after in a grand, sprawling procession…