Chapter Forty-Seven: The Campaign Against the Yellow Turbans (Part Eight)

“Very well! There’s no time to lose—set out at once!” said Lu Zhi.

“Yes, sir!”

Beyond the city of Wan, the Yellow Turban encampment stretched for miles. Flags rose up on all sides. The tallest banner was a white flag emblazoned with four large characters: “Avenge the Master’s Death.” Beside it, three yellow flags bore the names “Zhao,” “Han,” and “Sun”—the marks of the three great commanders of these Yellow Turbans: Zhao Hong, Han Zhong, and Sun Zhong.

In the main tent, Zhao Hong sat at the head. “Brothers, Wan is a key city for communication with Jing Province. Its defenses are tight. If we want to take it, we must exert our full strength. Otherwise, when the Han troops arrive, we’ll be in real trouble.”

Han Zhong nodded. “You’re right, brother. We may lack the famed Yellow Turban strongmen, but we do have over ten thousand crack troops. Promise them great rewards, and those refugees and bandits will give their all.”

Sun Zhong spoke up, “If you ask me, let’s use the secret arts to break their gates directly!”

Zhao Hong and Han Zhong considered this, then nodded. “Let it be so.” The previous defeat at Guangzong and Bo Cai’s fall had hit them hard. They needed to seize a city quickly to regain a sense of security, and for the bandit troops—who cared only for loot—they needed ample spoils to steady their morale.

The next day, the Yellow Turbans launched a fierce assault. The defender of Wan was grievously wounded by Zhao Hong’s secret art; Han Zhong and Sun Zhong combined their powers to breach the city gate. The Yellow Turban army poured in. Wan fell.

Meanwhile, Sun Meng, with Liu Bei, his two companions, and five thousand troops, hurried night and day. With Lu Zhi’s orders, they received provisions and passage at every town, reaching Wan in half a month, and pitching camp at the foot of a mountain.

Though the Yellow Turbans had held Wan for over ten days, the city was not fully under their control. An elder whose spiritual cultivation had reached the master’s level had surrounded a corner of Wan with a great formation. No matter how many Yellow Turbans entered, they became disoriented—either turning on each other or wandering out, lost. None knew how many remained inside. If the elder had not appeared each day, drifting in the mists like an immortal, they wouldn’t even know who was behind it.

“Commander Zhao! You must come up with something! The people inside keep harassing our brothers, and many have been killed!” complained a bandit leader. He cared nothing for the Taiping faith—only for strength and supplies. The enemy’s tactics were beyond his ability to counter; only the disciples of the Great Virtuous Teacher could handle this!

“Enough—go rest! Assign guards tonight instead of drinking and feasting. The Han troops could arrive at any moment!” Zhao Hong glared.

Seeing Zhao Hong’s temper, the bandit leader knew there was no better outcome to be had; he bowed and left quickly.

Han Zhong and Sun Zhong entered, faces pale. Their strength was lacking—despite using secret arts and medicines from Zhang Jiao, they were badly wounded.

“He wants us to act, I suppose,” Han Zhong said.

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“Hmph! They rush for loot faster than anyone, but cower at the first sign of danger! If you ask me, we should find a reason to kill him. Otherwise, those bandits will cause trouble sooner or later,” Sun Zhong said.

“Enough! They may be unreliable, but for now they’re our comrades. When the Han troops come, we’ll need their help,” Zhao Hong replied. “How’s the city gate?”

Han Zhong answered, “No good—it can’t be restored to its former strength. Unless we assign three thousand men to nurture it day and night, it’ll take half a year to recover.” Their secret arts were powerful, but the aftereffects were severe.

“Then assign some troops to camp outside! And you two, check out that maze formation. With such a place beyond our control, not only the soldiers, even I can’t rest easy,” Zhao Hong said.

Outside the city, Liu Bei and his companions listened to the scouts’ report, gaining a clear picture of Wan’s current situation.

“The city gate isn’t as strong as before. Those Yellow Turban bandits will surely send some troops outside to defend. We’ll charge them with cavalry to throw them into chaos—then, if someone slips inside, they can kill the three Yellow Turban commanders and seize the city in one blow!” Liu Bei looked at Sun Meng.

Sun Meng nodded. “Leave it to me.” Compared to Guan and Zhang, he was slightly stronger—and his appearance made it easier for him to infiltrate. Sneaking up on three Yellow Turban generals whose inner force was complete would be no trouble.

Within the city, beneath the great formation, many rescued civilians sat listlessly wherever they could. Only a handful of strong young men served as guards. Outside a woodcarver’s shop, two squads of soldiers were changing shifts.

Inside, a dozen prominent figures from the city sat anxiously, eyes fixed on a girl not yet ten years old. It was she who, after the Yellow Turbans stormed in, had activated her father’s formation to save them all.

But she was so young, her mental strength limited; every time she used the formation, she would fall unconscious.

Having just repelled another wave of Yellow Turbans, she had fainted again.

An elderly man hurried to support her, sighing, “Ah Chou!” He looked at his daughter, feeling ashamed. Why had he failed to unravel the secrets of that celestial book, leaving his child to bear this burden? She was only six.

It must be understood that people counted age by nominal years—some even added two; the girl with pale yellow hair was in truth only five.

“Huang Elder, this is the last packet of medicine. What shall we do after this?” someone handed him a bundle of herbs. He was not only the girl’s father, but also renowned and powerful—otherwise, how could he dominate so many family representatives?

“If you ask me, drive out some of the civilians. Were it not for their numbers, Miss Huang wouldn’t be suffering so!” said a clan youth, eyes greedy as he looked at Miss Huang. Even if her inheritance couldn’t be stolen, marrying her would still elevate his family.

“Enough! Don’t say such things. Driving them out would only deliver them to the Yellow Turbans—sending them to their deaths! I’ll take my daughter to rest. Do as you please.” With that, Huang Elder carried his girl into the inner room.

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The others left as well, exchanging glances and winding through alleys to a hidden house.

After another failed attempt to break the formation, Han Zhong and Sun Zhong’s injuries worsened. Still, they gained something: they discovered the formation could be learned by disciples at Bo Cai’s level.

Zhao Hong sighed, “In that case, just assign soldiers to guard that area. The main concern is outside the city—I’ll take some troops out to camp and guard against a surprise attack from the Han army. Affairs inside the city are up to you two.”

Han Zhong and Sun Zhong nodded—they would not sabotage Zhao Hong in this matter, as that would bring ruin on everyone.

The scouts reported: the Yellow Turbans had left the city to camp.

Liu Bei’s eyes lit up; now was the moment! “Brother Sun, Second Brother, Third Brother—ready the army! Now is the time to crush the Yellow Turbans!”

Zhao Hong led his troops from the city, encamping two miles away. His purpose was to guard the city gate, not to establish a separate camp.

But as the camp was being set up, the ground began to tremble.

“Horses! The Han army is here already?” Zhao Hong’s heart filled with dread. He rushed to the camp gate with his men.

“The Liu banner—who is this?” Zhao Hong saw the flag through the dust and grew more confused, issuing orders for his army to form ranks, channeling their energy, and preparing for attack.

On Liu Bei’s side, Sun Meng had disguised himself as an ordinary soldier. He fixed his gaze on the enemy formation, locking onto Zhao Hong immediately. He sent a message to Liu Bei; Liu Bei nodded and shouted,

“Heavenly troops have arrived! Villains, surrender at once!”