"In weather like this, how can there be thunder?"
Zong Yuan looked up at the sky in bewildered apprehension. The sun hung high, and the azure expanse was clear as washed jade, devoid of the slightest hint of storm or rain.
Yet in the very next instant, the blue sky rapidly dimmed to a sullen gray. Dark clouds gathered across miles of the heavens, pressing down in thick, suffocating layers that blotted out the brilliant sunlight.
Zong Yuan was struck dumb, his lips trembling. "Th-this... how could the sky change in the blink of an eye? Are these moth-rebels truly not fated to perish today?!"
If a heavy downpour fell, the massive advantage the Han army had seized would vanish without a trace.
The reason was simple.
First, once rain fell, the armor worn by the Han soldiers would soak through and grow far heavier, draining their stamina immensely and making prolonged combat nearly impossible.
Second, their superior bows and crossbows would be severely compromised: the strings would slacken, and the fletching on the arrows would grow wet and warped.
Third, the Han army's elite Sanhe cavalry would be utterly unable to gallop across muddy ground; doing so would only cause the horses' hooves to slip, sending mounts and riders tumbling head over heels.
Most critically of all, while a drizzle was manageable, a torrential deluge would inevitably blind everyone's vision. Soldiers locked in the melee would be completely unable to see the flag signals from the center army, nor would they hear the drums and horns, plunging the entire host into disarray where every man fought solely for himself.
This was an outcome Lu Zhi and Zong Yuan could never accept. The Han army's greatest strength over the Yellow Turbans was order. Relying on disciplined formations, they could easily shatter the disorderly rebels.
If that order were lost, and armor and bows were rendered useless, it would be terribly difficult for the Han troops to fight an enemy that outnumbered them two to one.
"Lord Lu!" Zong Yuan turned to Lu Zhi, his expression frantic.
Lu Zhi was equally dazed. Only a moment ago the sky had been clear, yet now dark clouds bore down like an invading host. Could Heaven truly be so unreasonable?
"Eldest Brother, it's going to rain! And from the looks of it, it won't be a light drizzle either!"
Aboard his carriage, Zhang Liang let out a long, heavy breath of relief. If a downpour descended, the Yellow Turbans could easily break off engagement with the Han army and retreat safely inside Guangzong.
Truth be told, he had never wanted to fight a desperate pitched battle; he believed holding the city was far better. What if reinforcements arrived from Yellow Turban forces elsewhere?
There were thirty-six divisions across the realm!
Surely one of them could come to their aid?
Had his most revered elder brother, Zhang Jiao, not insisted so fiercely, Zhang Liang would never have agreed to march out and face the Han forces in open battle.
Events had unfolded just as he feared. Even though the Yellow Turban soldiers fought with no regard for their lives, they were steadily forced back before the Han army's relentless offensive.
Fortunately!
Heaven was sending rain!
At this moment, he felt an urge to roar at the heavens, venting all the stifling dread coiled in his chest.
Zhang Jiao also breathed a silent sigh of relief, yet the heavy stone pressing against his heart did not lift. Even if the rain preserved their army today, what purpose would it serve?
Lu Zhi held Guangzong under tight siege. They had no way to escape. Breaking out with the main force was an impossible goal, and breaking out with a small detachment was no different from total defeat.
Their only other option was to remain trapped in an isolated city, praying for reinforcements. Otherwise, once the provisions ran dry, they would still have to march out and fight the Han army—only then, they would possess even less tactical leeway.
Zhang Jiao's gaze grew deep and distant as he looked toward the Han army, as though he could make out Lu Zhi standing in the center ranks. Sensing something across the distance, Lu Zhi glanced toward the towering banner of the General of Heaven and let out a cold snort.
"Sound the gongs to withdraw."
Zong Yuan relaxed and was just about to order the signal flags raised to beat the retreat when the dark clouds overhead thickened further. A fierce gale swept up, howling across the land and churning up blinding curtains of dust.
*Rumble—!!*
Dense purple lightning tore through the sky. Rolling thunder drowned out the pounding war drums, carrying a suffocating, solemn weight that struck instinctive dread into the soldiers locked in mortal combat. They ceased their blows and stepped back warily, slowly disengaging from the enemy.
The majors, platoon leaders, and other field officers did not shout or reprimand them; instead, they looked back toward the command post, waiting for the gongs of retreat.
They all understood that once the downpour began, this battle could not continue.
Right then, a colossal opening suddenly ruptured through the middle of the dark clouds. Countless thunder-dragons converged there, staining the rift a majestic purple, like the mythical eye of a thunder god.
In a flash, the thunder-dragons surged together, unleashing a pillar of lightning nearly ten feet thick. The gargantuan beam of purple radiance pierced straight down from the heavens into the earth, visible with absolute clarity from dozens of miles away.
Every soul present—Han soldier and Yellow Turban alike, Zhang Jiao and Zhang Liang, Lu Zhi and Zong Yuan—froze in utter shock, their mouths hanging agape.
They had seen lightning before, and some had even witnessed bolts splitting great trees. But those flashes were merely the thickness of a chopstick to the naked eye. This bolt was nearly ten feet across!
Not only had they never seen such a thing—they had never even imagined it!
To their minds, only gods and immortals could wield such sublime power. After a brief stupor, countless soldiers fell to their knees in terror, begging the deities to appease their wrath.
None of them knew why the gods were angry, or even if they were truly angry at all.
Yet they knelt nonetheless, offering their trembling reverence to the divine.
As the commander-in-chief of the Han army, Lu Zhi naturally would not kneel, but all his dignity was cast aside as his hands gripped the wooden railing. He stared, completely undone, at the magnificent pillar of light bridging heaven and earth.
"What... what is this?!" he muttered.
"What is this?!" Zhang Jiao was equally stunned, his grip on his nine-section staff instinctively loosening.
In the next instant, an even more astonishing sight appeared. Within the massive pillar of purple lightning emerged an infant wrapped in swaddling clothes. The babe seemed fast asleep, drifting slowly downward along the beam of light.
Beneath the gaze of tens of thousands, the child finally touched down safely, landing upon a small patch of open ground right at the foremost clash of the two battle lines.
Beside the infant, several hundred Han and Yellow Turban soldiers exchanged stunned glances, then dropped to the ground in deep prostration.
"An immortal has descended! An immortal has descended into the world!!" someone could not help shouting.
One voice cried out, and ten thousand echoed in response. Shouts of an immortal's descent resounded across both armies, and countless men prostrated themselves, professing their piety.
At that very moment, the commanders of both armies roared orders almost in unison:
"It is the Yellow Sky manifest! The reincarnation of the Sacred Venerable of the Yellow Sky, Zhonghuang Taiyi!! All forces, charge forward and protect the Sacred Infant!!"
"That is the blessing of Emperor Gao, an immortal infant sent from the heavens for the Great Han! All troops advance, protect our Han's divine soul!!"
Great banners fluttered, war drums thundered, and the pounding of hooves shook the earth. After a fleeting moment of hesitation, the Han soldiers and Yellow Turbans hurled themselves into the fray once more, their faces twisted with ferocity.
Flying arrows, battle-axes, sweeping halberds, savage blades, and roaring shouts... the entire battlefield turned into a swirling vortex of slaughter centered around the heaven-sent child.
Severed limbs flew, blood splattered, and heads rolled across the earth like scenes from hell. Yet amidst such bloody savagery, not a single person dared set foot within several feet of the infant.
Tens of thousands roared and screamed, but the child remained sound asleep.
Chapter 11