The Clash

Cao Cao drew a sharp breath. “There are at least forty thousand men in the moth-rebels’ formation. Have they emptied their nest?” He had assumed the Yellow Turban Army would merely dispatch a small force to challenge the Han army and test each other’s mettle. He had never expected them to deploy their entire host, leaving him utterly bewildered. Fu Xie spoke up: “More than half a month ago, Zhang Jiao dispatched a detachment of fifteen thousand men to storm cities and capture strongholds, taking several counties before joining forces with Zhang Bao’s rebel moths at Xiaquyang. According to intelligence gathered by our scouts, that detachment has not yet returned, nor has there been any unusual movement from Zhang Bao’s force, which remains holed up training in Xiaquyang. Guangzong currently holds only forty thousand combat troops. They truly have committed everything.” At these words, everyone fell silent. Why was the Yellow Turban Army disregarding all conventional military strategy? Did they truly have some hidden scheme? Dong Zhuo’s eyes shifted, and he spoke up: “Lord Lu, do you see this supposed ‘Holy Venerable Huang Tian’ across the field?” Lu Zhi and Zong Yuan squinted into the distance, but nowhere among the Yellow Turban ranks could they spot a five-year-old child. Indeed, even now they still believed Huang Tian was merely a five-year-old boy. “I see nothing,” Lu Zhi said in a muffled voice. “Furthermore, I believe the Holy Venerable Huang Tian must hold an even higher status among the moth-rebels than Zhang Jiao, the Great Virtuous Teacher himself. If he were taking the field, the rebels would surely be shouting with earth-shaking joy, kneeling and praying. Judging by their demeanor now, the Holy Venerable Huang Tian is not in their ranks.” Cao Cao laughed aloud. “What Holy Venerable Huang Tian! In my view, he is nothing more than some rustic sorcerer peddling cheap parlor tricks! Seeing our mighty host bearing down upon them, terror has seized them, and they dare not take the field!” Lu Zhi remained silent, while Zong Yuan let out a cold snort. If, as Cao Cao claimed, the Holy Venerable Huang Tian was merely a rustic sorcerer, would that not make the two of them utter fools who had been duped by simple sleight of hand? At that moment, a fleeting thought crossed Zong Yuan’s mind—he almost wished the Holy Venerable Huang Tian were a genuine god, just so Cao Cao might be taught a proper lesson. Yet in the very next instant, he banished the thought. *If it were mere sleight of hand, that would be a blessing. I fear it is not. If an actual god has descended into this world, the Great Han may well be doomed...* Huangfu Song coughed lightly. “Since the moth-rebels wish to contest us in a pitched battle, we shall oblige them. We possess forty thousand men, and our soldiers, mounts, and armor are all far superior to theirs. How could we shrink from battle? Pass my command: raise the standards! Beat the drums! Deploy the battle formation!” As the command was relayed, the heavy, mournful thrum of war drums resonated across the plains. Columns of the Han army poured from the encampment like a scarlet tide, forming ranks across the level expanse. Banners whipped in the wind, and halberds gleamed with chilling light. *Rumble, rumble—* The thundering drum of hooves shook the earth. Leading his personal contingent of fifteen hundred cavalry along with the fifteen hundred Sanhe cavalry assigned to him by Huangfu Song—three thousand horsemen in all—Cao Cao swept past the front of the Han battle formation, rousing wave after wave of cheers. Nest carts and watchtowers were erected high into the air. Han soldiers climbed into the observation baskets to look out over the Yellow Turban battle lines, standing ready to wave command flags and report the enemy’s every move. Plumes of dust billowed across the battlefield, obscuring visibility. Accompanied by Lu Zhi and Zong Yuan, Huangfu Song ascended the central tower. From this vantage point, he could clearly survey Fu Xie’s division in the vanguard, Cao Cao’s division on the left flank, Dong Zhuo’s division on the right flank, his own elite central host, and the small force left behind to guard the encampment. Outside Guangzong, the two armies of equal size had yet to engage in earnest. Only light outriders roamed the flanks, exchanging arcing arrows to drive off enemy scouts and skirmishers. *Whoosh—* The Han army’s commander standard swept forward. Upon the command platform, a burly, thickset soldier pounded the war drum with all his might, setting every heart pounding to the rhythm. “Advance from the ranks!” A roaring shout went up. Fu Xie’s vanguard of ten thousand men stepped forward in unison, their steady tread and the rustling clash of lamellar plates instilling a reassuring sense of discipline. At the same time, the Yellow Turban Army rolled forward. In the very front marched lines of saber-and-shield bearers, holding their bucklers half-raised to ward off the volley of arrows that was sure to follow. As the two armies closed the distance, each paused briefly to dress their ranks. Breaths came heavy and ragged. Be it Han soldier or Yellow Turban rebel, all stray thoughts vanished, leaving only the sight of the opposing enemy and a raw, singular impulse to kill! Another thunderous shout rang out, and both lines surged forward once more. At last— “Loose arrows!” A cloud of arrows rained down like a swarm of locusts. The frontline Yellow Turbans raised their shields in defense. Most of these shield-bearers were former Han imperial soldiers, well-versed in weathering volleys of arrows. The projectiles clattered and pinged against their shields, merely slowing the Yellow Turban advance by a fraction. Immediately afterward, clusters of arrows arced up from the Yellow Turban ranks, plunging into the Han formation and pinning more than a dozen unfortunate souls to the earth. After several exchanges of arrows, the two armies finally collided head-on. Howls and roars like wailing ghosts and baying wolves erupted across the field. Ring-pommel sabers flashed with chilling brilliance, carving through flesh and sending plumes of blood flying. Pikemen and halberdiers followed close behind the shield-bearers, thrusting their weapons through gaps in armor—stabbing into throats, armpits, and unarmored feet. The brutal clash swiftly soaked the earth in crimson, turning the ground into a mire of red. Soldiers fought desperately, their boots slipping on a slick sludge of mud, gore, and entrails. Severed limbs flew through the air as men fell in rapid succession. The dead stacked in layered heaps, growing so thick they formed a low rampart. Wave after wave of soldiers climbed atop the low wall of corpses to swing their sabers and thrust their spears. Every clatter of spearhead against armor was accompanied by spraying bits of flesh and shattered plates. He Yi, the qushuai commanding the Yellow Turban vanguard, calmly directed his men in their struggle against Fu Xie’s division. Yet compared to the Han regulars under Fu Xie, his composite force of original Yellow Turbans and turned Han soldiers lacked cohesion in close-order combat, and their line was steadily being pressed back. Just then, the heavy thunder of approaching hooves rolled across the field. He Yi turned to look: plumes of dust were rising from his own main line as a two-thousand-man cavalry unit charged forward to reinforce the vanguard. From his high tower, however, Huangfu Song saw the Yellow Turbans’ movements clearly. He signaled with the command flags, stirring Cao Cao’s cavalry into motion. At Cao Cao’s barked order, the horsemen surged across the earth with a rumbling roar. Mounted high with the wind rushing against his face, Cao Cao felt the blood surging in his veins. Leading nearly three thousand horsemen, he cut across the battlefield to intercept the Yellow Turban cavalry, severing their route to the frontline. *Twang, twang, twang—* The Han horsemen drew their bows and loosed, sending a dense black sheet of arrows raining down. The Yellow Turban cavalry answered with volleys of their own. Riders on both sides took fatal hits, tumbling from their saddles only to be trampled to pulp beneath the pounding hooves. After several rapid volleys, the cavalry units crashed together in close combat. *Clang!* Steeds crossed and blades collided with savage force, scattering bright sparks. Cao Cao led his men straight through the Yellow Turban formation, wheeling around to pull away, loosing another volley of arrows, and using their momentum to clash blade-to-blade once more. Along the flanks of the battlefield, riders were thrown from their saddles one after another, leaving riderless horses to let out mournful cries. Yet the frenzied soldiers, their vision crimson with bloodlust, noticed none of it. They did nothing but draw their bows, wheel their mounts, and slash wildly—until a stray arrow pierced them or a blade cleaved them from their horses. Only when their backs hit the freezing dirt did they realize that death was upon them. *Squelch—* A stray hoof crushed an eyeball, plunging the dying soldier's world into eternal darkness...