Chapter Forty-Four: Campaign Against the Yellow Turbans (Part Six)

In the main camp of the Yellow Turbans in Yingchuan, the commander, Bocai, was filled with sorrow. The reason was clear: he had received word that his teacher and savior, the leader of the Yellow Turban Army, Zhang Jiao, was at death’s door.

“Damn Lu Zhi, damn the imperial court—damn them all!” he growled, his rage threatening to overwhelm his reason. Grief was steadily drowned out by wrath, and finally, he made up his mind.

Bocai took out a jade box. Inside lay a single pill and a talisman. Both had been gifts from Zhang Jiao—the pill, to preserve his life; the talisman, to unlock his full potential. Either one could save him from a desperate situation, but taking both together would massively drain his life force, granting him the martial prowess of the Manifestation Realm for half a month, after which his internal energy and spirit would be utterly exhausted, and he would have but a year left to live.

Under normal circumstances, he would never have considered this path. But now, he no longer cared about anything else.

He removed his armor and donned the robes of the Taiping Sect. Before the altar bearing Zhang Jiao’s memorial tablet, he bowed and offered incense.

“Master, your disciple lacks filial piety and will precede you on the journey! I will see to the men of the Yingchuan Yellow Turbans!” With three kowtows, blood seeped from his forehead, staining his yellow scarf.

He swallowed the pill and talisman. Instantly, his inner energy surged, and he felt the power of the Manifestation Realm awaken within him.

Meanwhile, in the imperial camp, Huangfu Song, deep in discussion, was suddenly struck by a sense of dread. He strode outside and looked toward the Yellow Turban encampment.

“This is bad! The rebel leader is breaking through to the Manifestation Realm! All troops, stand by and ready yourselves!” Huangfu Song issued orders at once, but he had underestimated Bocai’s resolve.

“Huangfu, old man! Today, you and these tens of thousands of imperial soldiers shall be buried with the Great Teacher!” Bocai’s voice echoed from the sky, and in the next instant, a blade of light crashed down on the gate of the imperial camp, shattering it instantly with the momentum of the Yellow Turbans’ gathered energy.

“For the Great Teacher, charge with me!” Bocai roared as he descended from the heavens. The gates of the Yellow Turban camp flung open, and the massed ranks surged forward like a yellow tide, crashing against the imperial camp.

“Hold steady! Re-form your lines and retreat slowly!” Huangfu Song, ever the famed general, kept his composure and issued swift commands.

Zhu Jun called out, “Yizhen, I’ll prepare the rations. There’ll be no trouble at Yingchuan City.”

Huangfu Song nodded. Now was not the time for direct confrontation; a tactical retreat to a fortified city was the wiser course. “Gongwei, I leave the rear guard to you!”

Zhu Jun nodded and hurried off. He trusted Huangfu Song’s ability to safeguard the army’s survival. The greatest disaster would be to lose too many provisions in this assault.

“Huangfu Song! Come out and meet your end!” Bocai, bathed in a golden light, appeared at the front of the Yellow Turban ranks, sword flashing as he charged into the imperial camp.

—

Outside Guangzong City, Liu Bei stood watching the desperate defense mounted by the Yellow Turban soldiers atop the walls, his eyes narrowed in thought.

Zhang Fei rushed over. “Brother, we’ve been repelled again!” He spat in frustration. “Didn’t they say that rebel Zhang Jiao was as good as dead? Why are these Yellow Turbans still fighting like madmen? And those imperial soldiers don’t seem to be giving their all either! If it weren’t for that oppressive energy, I’d have stormed the walls ages ago!”

He had finally reached the Manifestation Realm and become a formidable warrior, yet the battlefield left him stifled, unable to utilize his full strength.

“Enough. Have the men return to camp and rest.” Liu Bei clapped Zhang Fei on the shoulder. “Don’t worry, Third Brother. This city can’t hold out much longer. When the walls fall, we will have our chance for glory.”

Back at camp, a messenger arrived at Liu Bei’s tent. “General Liu, the commander wishes to see you and your brothers.”

In Lu Zhi’s command tent, Sun Meng sat reading the military treatises Lu Zhi had provided. He spent every spare moment immersing himself in these works, knowing he might not be able to take them back with him—memory was essential. Fortunately, since reaching the Manifestation Realm, his mind had grown sharper, his memory much improved. While he couldn’t claim full understanding, he could at least commit them to memory.

At this moment, Liu Bei and his brothers entered.

“Teacher.” Liu Bei bowed, and Guan and Zhang followed suit.

“Good. Xuande, though Zhang Jiao is dying, the rebels in the city have become cornered beasts, and their morale remains high, so we must wear them down. But the court grows impatient with our progress. I have received urgent orders to take Guangzong quickly and bring back Zhang Jiao’s head. Do you have any good strategies?” Lu Zhi set down his book and looked at Liu Bei.

A glimmer of delight flashed in Liu Bei’s eyes—his teacher was offering him an opportunity to earn merit. He considered for a moment before replying, “Though Zhang Jiao is near death, he yet lives, and that is why the rebels have not lost heart. However, he cannot control the city alone. If we focus our assault on one gate and feint at the other three, the commanders defending the city will grow dissatisfied after a few such attacks. With Brother Sun’s divine archery and his ability to send his voice into the city, we might even sow discord among them. Perhaps it will yield surprising results.”

Lu Zhi turned to Sun Meng. “Oh? Brother Sun, you have such skills?”

“It’s just a secret technique. But with the city shrouded in that oppressive energy, I fear I can only reach the ramparts,” Sun Meng replied. This world was one of high martial prowess, but not of supernatural or immortal arts—no matter how strong a warrior, he was dwarfed by the combined force of tens of thousands, and many techniques were suppressed.

With Sun Meng’s assurance, Lu Zhi thought for a moment and nodded. “Very well. Xuande, you will lead the main assault.”

“Yes, Teacher,” Liu Bei replied, barely able to contain his excitement.

After the three left, Lu Zhi sighed.

Sun Meng asked, “Brother Zigan, what troubles you? Is the plan not sound?”

Lu Zhi replied, “This plan would work far better five days from now, when Zhang Jiao is certain to die. But the imperial envoys are nearly here, and if we cannot take the city, we will need to put on the appearance of a great battle.” He was more suited to steady, methodical warfare; if not for Sun Meng’s inadvertent strike that broke Guangzong’s formation and gravely wounded Zhang Jiao, he would never have pressed the assault so urgently.

The next day, Liu Bei watched as the army charged Guangzong’s walls. “Second Brother, Third Brother, take two hundred picked men each and attack from the corners when the chance arises.” He turned to Sun Meng. “Brother Sun, I’m counting on you.”

That morning, Liu Bei had asked Sun Meng for help—not to do anything extraordinary, just to pick off a few defenders where Guan and Zhang attacked, giving them a chance.

Sun Meng had no reason to refuse. He watched as Guan and Zhang stormed the walls, drew his divine bow, and loosed three arrows at once, each felling an enemy. Twice he fired, twice he scattered the defenders’ formations atop the ramparts.

Seeing their chance, Guan and Zhang leapt from the siege ladders and broke onto the wall.

According to plan, Sun Meng followed up with arrows imbued with inner energy and sound.

For the time it takes a stick of incense to burn, the brothers fought furiously before being repelled by the Yellow Turbans.

After lunch, the assault was renewed. After dinner, the same. After two days of such attacks, Guan and Zhang both noticed that the resistance atop the walls had noticeably weakened.

Within the city lord’s mansion of Guangzong, He Man erupted in fury. “Zhang White Rider, what’s the meaning of this? The imperials have been attacking furiously, and not only has support from your side dwindled, even our food has been cut!”

Zhang White Rider, dressed in mourning, replied, “The city has been besieged for so long—there’s barely enough food for anyone! You heard Master’s orders: we’re to break south and join Generals Earth Duke and Man Duke!”

“I don’t care!” He Man kicked over the table. “If we’re to break out, my men won’t be left behind!” He grieved for his losses over the past days.

“We all have our orders; this was settled before—” Zhang White Rider began, but was interrupted when a man, his face set and sorrowful, strode in and said in a low voice:

“Master has passed away!”