Chapter 26: Fighting Through Blood and Fire

In the chaos of the melee, Zhao Ji thrust his iron halberd consecutively into three men. The fourth, clad in Han armor, did not die immediately and clung desperately to the shaft. Zhao Ji had no choice but to abandon the weapon, decisively drawing his sword to shear off the man’s jaw. He then gripped the sword with both hands and began to slash wildly through the crowd; whether they were Xiongnu spears, halberds, blades, or human limbs and torsos, everything parted before his edge.

Blood mist filled the air. Zhao Ji felt an extraordinary surge of adrenaline, devoid of any negative emotions like fear or disgust. Whoever stood before him, regardless of whether he could see them clearly, was met with a strike as soon as they drew near. The spearmen and shield-bearers following behind him dared not approach, instead splitting into two groups to engage the Xiongnu infantry. They could only watch helplessly as Zhao Ji, carrying the two battle flags on his back, drove deeper into the fray, drifting further and further away from them. The cries of the Han and the Hu drowned each other out, mingled with the wails of the dying, making it impossible to distinguish any words.

Finally, a Xiongnu warrior blocked Zhao Ji with a shield. Zhao Ji’s sword, unable to withstand the strain, snapped instantly. Without hesitation, he hurled the broken blade, piercing a Xiongnu slave armed with a wooden spear. As several more Xiongnu soldiers moved to close in, a flash of steel caught their eyes—Zhao Ji had drawn another sword. The Xiongnu hesitated, but before they could weigh their options, a dozen torches were hurled from the nearby barracks, followed immediately by a volley of crossbow bolts.

Zhao Ji vaguely heard someone shouting his name, but he dared not stop. The area he had carved out was limited; if he halted, the Xiongnu would immediately swarm the space. He lunged forward. Caught between hesitation and the pressure of those pushing from behind, the Xiongnu could only roar and charge. It was a foregone conclusion; under the flickering light of the fallen torches, the four Xiongnu soldiers were reduced to a pile of gore.

In an adjacent camp, Jia Kui and a dozen archers crouched on a rooftop, firing relentlessly at the Xiongnu attempting to close in behind Zhao Ji. After firing a dozen arrows, Jia Kui’s arms grew weary. He instructed those around him, "Conserve your strength. Focus on protecting the area behind Commander Zhao!"

In the diagonally opposite camp, Pei Xiu stood on high ground, shield in hand, observing the battle. He remarked to Shentu Lan, who was shooting from beside him, "Alan, that you survived an encounter with A-Ji is truly a blessing from the ancestors!"

Shentu Lan remained silent, drawing her bow to aim at a mounted Xiongnu rider shouting orders. The rider was struck by multiple arrows and tumbled from his horse. Shentu Lan continued to draw arrows, calling out, "A-Shang! Bring me a quiver!"

"Coming!"

Guan Shang hurried over with a quiver, but was suddenly struck in the back by an arrow. He nearly collapsed, yet he braced himself on the ground, crawled up, and delivered the quiver into Shentu Lan’s hands. Hu Ban, who was nearby shooting, leaped down and asked urgently, "Brother!"

"A minor wound. I’m wearing armor!"

Guan Shang handed another quiver of arrows to Hu Ban. Hu Ban patted Guan Shang’s shoulder and stood sideways to shoot, careful not to hit those in the opposite camp. He turned to Pei Xiu and shouted, "Seventh Brother! Let’s set fire to the place!"

"Not yet!" Pei Xiu observed the surroundings. "We cannot see them clearly, and they know even less of our true strength! If we set fires now, many of our men will be silhouetted, which will hinder our aim."

He had not yet joined the fray, allowing him to carefully observe the shifting tides of battle. "The Xiongnu are nearing their limit. Wait for the signal of the gongs!"

As he spoke, the Xiongnu began hurling torches toward both camps. Fanned by the night wind, the thatch on the roofs caught fire. Seeing the flames, Jia Kui and his men slid down their improvised ladders. As the thatch on the connecting barracks ignited, the light grew bright, and the vision of the battlefield cleared instantly.

Once on the ground, Jia Kui shouted to the supply team, "Push the carts! Scatter their ranks!"

"Ignite them!"

Xiangli Bao, the commander of the supply team, also armored and ready, barked orders to his men. The wooden gates were thrown open, and four burning carts rolled out in a line, smashing through the Xiongnu formation and cutting them into two isolated groups.

In the central passage, Zhao Ji’s sword snapped again, forcing him to snatch up a long spear from the ground. After dispatching two men in quick succession, he finally found a moment of respite; there were no living figures within five or six paces of him. Suddenly sensing a flicker of light, he parried an arrow with his spear and, without thinking, hurled it toward the source of the shot. The thirteen-foot wooden spear pierced the air with lethal speed. Liu Ping, who had been firing from horseback, was struck and pinned to the ground by the spear, his body twisting and convulsing in a grotesque posture.

"A-Ji!"

Hearing the call, Zhao Ji turned to see Wei Gu tossing a sword to him over a wall. Zhao Ji caught the scabbard, drew the blade, and turned to find a dozen Xiongnu retreating. They didn't even look back, fleeing straight toward the parade ground. By the light of the fires, he roughly estimated two or three hundred Xiongnu in the parade area. On the ground nearby lay at least a hundred more, mostly wounded but alive. One Xiongnu, particularly fierce and knowing he was doomed, crawled toward Zhao Ji, supporting himself with his left arm while holding a blade in his right. Zhao Ji didn't pause; he walked over and ended the man’s obsession with a single casual strike.

After killing him, Zhao Ji’s mind went blank for a moment; he didn't even know what to do next. Sensing the fighting still raging at the parade ground, he hurried toward it. Blood pooled on the ground, making the surface slick. By the time he arrived, the Xiongnu were fleeing toward the innermost reaches, seemingly attempting to scale the rammed-earth walls through the barracks. Wang Zhi was there, leading a dozen elite guards, hacking away with ferocious intensity.

Ximen Jian hurried to Zhao Ji’s side. "Shall we sound the gongs?"

"Sound them!" Zhao Ji finally recalled his objective. He said to the blood-soaked Ximen Jian, "Tell the Xiongnu: surrender and be spared!"

"Understood!"

Ximen Jian complied. Two of his Tiger Guards began striking their bronze gongs, the sound echoing like a retreat signal. Using the gongs to signal a pursuit was a clever ruse. The Tiger Guards were newly formed and had not undergone rigorous training in drum and horn signals, so they would not have instinctive reactions to them. As Ximen Jian turned to call for surrender, he glanced at Zhao Ji. The two red flags on Zhao Ji’s back were now soaked in blood, their fabric plastered against the bamboo poles, looking bare. His cloak was similarly drenched, clinging tightly to his frame. Ximen Jian’s gaze lingered on the dismembered Xiongnu remains on the ground. Sensing Zhao Ji turning to look at him, Ximen Jian quickly stepped forward and shouted, "By order of Commander Zhao: surrender and be spared!"

A Xiongnu soldier feigning death rose with a spear to stab at Zhao Ji, but Zhao Ji spun, slashed his blade diagonally, severed the wooden spear, and stepped forward to deliver a heavy, slicing blow. It was the first time Zhao Ji realized that if a blade were sharp enough, it could produce a truly explosive spray of blood.

Amid the sound of the gongs, the Tiger Guards charged from all corners of the camp. Pei Xiu and Wei Gu, watching from twenty or thirty paces away, saw Zhao Ji’s diagonal strike cleave a man in two. They exchanged a silent, knowing look, unable to fully decipher the expressions in each other's eyes.

In another direction, Wei Xing had just finished taking heads, holding three as proof of his military merit, when he saw Zhao Ji wiping the blood from his blade. For a moment, Wei Xing’s thoughts froze. He hung the string of heads at his waist and turned to pursue the small pockets of Xiongnu still resisting in the parade ground.

Outside the camp, Liu He could not halt his crumbling forces. He had only a dozen horsemen with him; no matter how he whipped the hundred or so fleeing soldiers, they refused to turn and fight. Some even wailed that his beloved son, Liu Ping, had been killed in action. Just as Liu He was about to cut one of them down, he saw the camp’s defenders surging toward them. The soldiers, who had barely caught their breath, turned and fled even faster. Liu He had no choice but to leap onto his horse and, accompanied by his retinue, gallop toward the northeast.

The Xiongnu threw down their torches and vanished into the night. The pursuit teams and the deception units, which no longer needed to pretend, gave chase. The burning barracks illuminated the night, and the news reached the garrison at Jiangyi. The garrison was split into two parts: one inside the city and one in the camp outside. Ma Zhi, the Commandant in the city, climbed the walls to watch, but he did no more than watch. He hailed from the Mashi clan—the "Shi" (矢) being the same as the one from which Lian Po had famously sent his arrows (矢). Because of the unsavory association, they often referred to themselves as the Ma clan. Only their fellow countrymen in Hedong would kindly supply the full original surname to distinguish them from the Ma clans of Guanzhong and Hebei. Even though his own nephew was in the Tiger Guard camp, Ma Zhi would not take the risk. If Jiangyi fell, the southern part of Hedong would have no defenses left.