Outside the city of Guangzong, across the open plains.
Nearly forty thousand Yellow Turban soldiers surged like a yellow tide of ants. Spears bristled like a forest, banners fluttered in the wind, and their battle cries shook the heavens.
Across the field, the Han army had long since observed the movements of the Yellow Turbans. Under the orders of their commander-in-chief, Lu Zhi, they donned armor and gripped their spears in orderly fashion before marching out of their encampment. Tall observation towers had been erected, and Lu Zhi climbed atop one, accompanied by his deputy general, Zong Yuan.
A howling wind whipped at Lu Zhi's crimson cloak. Square-faced and austere, he stared silently at the enemy battle lines in the distance.
Beside him, Zong Yuan stood slightly on tiptoe to peer ahead, his brow furrowed. "Lord Lu, the grand banner of the rebel chief Zhang Jiao has appeared. In over a month of besieging the city, this is the first time we've seen his colors. What's more, the Yellow Turbans have deployed nearly all their fighting troops. It seems they intend to fight to the death..."
Lu Zhi replied calmly, "With no reinforcements from the outside, even Zhang Jiao understands that a prolonged siege means certain doom. Yet it is already too late. The entirety of Guangzong is encircled on all sides, and the rebels' morale is in the dirt. Even with Zhang Jiao present, this is nothing more than the desperate struggle of a trapped beast."
Even as he spoke, nearly ten thousand elites from the Five Encampments of the Northern Army and over ten thousand commandery and kingdom troops formed into massive battle ranks amidst earth-shaking war drums. All manner of command flags were hoisted high. The entire army stretched for miles, their blades and spears shimmering like a field of wheat beneath the bright sun, yet radiating a bone-chilling aura of slaughter.
At that moment, Lu Zhi raised his hand slightly, and the commander's grand banner swayed at once. Seeing this, the banners of each formation began to wave in response, and a tremendous cheer went up.
Twenty thousand Han soldiers banged their swords and blades against their shields, slammed their halberds and spears into the earth, or pulled tight on their reins from horseback as they roared at the top of their lungs:
"Ten thousand victories! Ten thousand victories! Ten thousand victories!"
The sound surged like a tidal wave, its momentum piercing the sky.
Aboard his chariot, Zhang Liang saw the Han army's impeccable ranks and imposing might, and his complexion turned grim. Subconsciously glancing at his elder brother Zhang Jiao, he found him as impassive as ever, though Zhang Liang keenly noticed that his brother's hand clutching the nine-section staff was tightening involuntarily, knuckles bulging white.
"Elder Brother..." Zhang Liang muttered softly, wishing to say something.
Zhang Jiao ignored him entirely. Instead, in a slightly hoarse voice amplified to its utmost, he called out, "Our hair is like chives—cut it, and it grows again! Our heads are like roosters—sever them, and they still crow! Petty officials are not to be feared; the common folk are never to be trifled with!"
Hundreds of broad-shouldered, thick-waisted Yellow Turban Strongmen immediately echoed his words at full volume. Countless Yellow Turban soldiers turned their gazes toward Zhang Jiao, their eyes blazing with reverence and fanaticism.
"A severe drought ravages the realm, and the people cannot survive! Commoners plead for a single bite of grain and find none, driven to exchange their children for food and split human bones for firewood! Yet the high gates of the noble clans echo with continuous song and dance, while their grain and meat rot into maggots!
"How unjust this world is!
"Today, our Taiping Yellow Sky rises in righteous rebellion—not for anyone's wealth, nobility, fine wine, or delicacies, but so that all under heaven may no longer suffer the torment of cold and hunger, and no longer be treated like beasts of burden by the nobility!
"The Blue Sky is dead, the Yellow Sky shall rise; in the year of Jiazi, great fortune under heaven!"
As the final words fell, tens of thousands of Yellow Turban soldiers vented the anguish and rage pent up in their hearts in a roar of almost manic intensity.
"The Blue Sky is dead, the Yellow Sky shall rise; in the year of Jiazi, great fortune under heaven!"
The heaven-shaking roar halted the very passing clouds, causing the Han army's battle cries to falter for a fleeting moment.
*Dong, dong, dong—*
A deep, resonant beat of war drums sounded. Under the command of their corporals and squad leaders, the Yellow Turbans began a slow march forward. Having received little training, their ranks were prone to breaking apart on the move, often forcing them to halt every twenty paces to redress their lines.
"Advance!" Lu Zhi's command flag snapped downward from the center.
The Han army's war drums pounded furiously. Like a crimson reef, they moved forward in steady unison. Their heavy, synchronized footsteps caused the ground to tremble, sending faint dust into the air.
Beneath the azure sky, two colossal forces—one yellow, one red—advanced toward a deadly clash across the open plains.
"Halt!"
"Halt!"
When only a hundred paces separated the two armies, each side halted to dress their lines. The soldiers in the front ranks of both the Han army and the Yellow Turbans could clearly make out the faces of their foes. Hearts beat wildly; breathing grew heavy.
After a few dozen breaths, both armies moved forward once more.
"Loose!"
*Twang, twang, twang—*
Over a thousand arrows vaulted from the Han vanguard like a swarm of locusts. Raining from the sky, they brought down several ranks of Yellow Turban soldiers. Yet this failed to sow terror among the Yellow Turbans; roaring with fury, they charged straight toward the Han ranks, violently thrusting their pitchforks and spears.
*Thud! Thud! Thud!*
The Han soldiers planted their heavy shields, locking the Yellow Turban spears out. Immediately afterward, halberds thrust out through the gaps between the shields, neatly slashing across the necks of the Yellow Turban soldiers and sending bursts of blood spraying into the air.
In the blink of an eye, over a hundred Yellow Turban soldiers fell lifeless to the ground, yet even more surged forward in waves. Carrying heavy wooden door planks, they slammed savagely into the Han shields, crashing an opening into the tight shield wall.
"Kill!"
A Yellow Turban squad leader, eyes wide with fury, brought his blade down to sever the head of a fallen Han soldier. Rank blood splashed across his face. Wiping it away with a hand, he let out a savage grin and leapt into the breach, deftly shifting his footing to take off two more heads.
Yet the strength of a single man was limited. Facing seven or eight spears thrusting toward him all at once, even his leather armor offered no protection as he was effortlessly impaled. His corpse was hoisted high by the thicket of spears, then hurled with violent force into the Yellow Turban soldiers rushing to his aid, knocking several to the ground.
Across the battlefield, the Yellow Turbans surged like wave upon wave breaking on the sea, while the Han army stood firm as an unyielding reef. No matter how fiercely the Yellow Turbans threw themselves into the fray, they could not shatter the Han formation.
On the contrary, not only did the Han army maintain their lines, but they also took steady forward strides. With every step the Han advanced, the Yellow Turbans yielded a step backward. Seen from above, the Yellow Turban line had already begun to buckle into a concave shape. If the Han army were allowed to push forward unchecked, the Yellow Turban battle lines would inevitably collapse.
A command flag stirred at Zhang Jiao's center command. Under the leadership of Qushuai Huang Shao, a detachment of over a thousand armored Yellow Turban Strongmen sprinted toward the vanguard. Taking the place of the exhausted front-line soldiers, they achieved immediate results upon making contact with the Han army. Dozens of Han soldiers who had surged forward too eagerly and separated from the main body were surrounded and slain, and the front line was quickly pushed back into a straight row.
"Those are the Yellow Turban Strongmen, the elite of the rebel army. Every one of them is armored, robust, and fierce," Zong Yuan observed with narrowed eyes.
Lu Zhi seemed not to hear, issuing no orders. He was confident that a mere thousand Yellow Turban Strongmen would do nothing to change the broader tide.
Reality proved him right. After Huang Shao's thousand men entered the fray, they held off the Han offensive at first, but as time dragged on, they were steadily beaten back by the well-trained Han forces. The Han army operated like a cold, ruthless machine, tirelessly harvesting the lives of their enemies.
Seeing the dire situation, Zhang Liang burned with anxiety, casting frequent glances toward Zhang Jiao. Zhang Jiao's expression remained tranquil, letting out only a very faint sigh.
The Han army was truly formidable. Not only were they rigorously drilled, but their equipment was complete, placing them far above the Yellow Turbans, who had seen few major campaigns and lacked proper armor.
Even with twice the numbers of the Han army, they simply could not halt the enemy's methodical advance.
Naturally, Zhang Jiao held more than just Huang Shao's single regiment of Yellow Turban Strongmen; he still had over two thousand armored strongmen and nearly a thousand cavalry held in reserve. Yet Lu Zhi had likewise not committed all of his most elite Five Encampments troops and Sanhe cavalry.
If both sides staked everything on a final push, the Yellow Turbans were exceedingly likely to suffer a total collapse, and they would be fortunate if even half their men managed to flee safely back into Guangzong.
Just as Zhang Jiao fell into a brief moment of hesitation and Lu Zhi began to ease his guard...
A sudden, deep rumble of thunder rolled across the sky.
Chapter 10