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Time seemed to slow down at this moment, and all surrounding sounds faded away...
The dim sky cast the world in shades of gray and black, with the only splash of color being Fei Qian himself and the Zheng Jian soldier standing before him.
Huang Cheng, running toward him from the side, was shouting something at the top of his lungs, but Fei Qian heard none of it. His mind was entirely fixated on the soldier's ferocious expression and the gleaming blade in his hand.
Human perception was strange—sometimes, even without words or actions, one could sense the other's emotions. The Zheng Jian soldier saw Fei Qian standing motionless, gripping a spear but making no defensive move, and his heart surged with triumph. Quickening his pace, he swung his blade down in a deadly arc!
Death had never felt so close, as if the cold hand of the Reaper had already settled on Fei Qian's neck, sending every hair on his body standing on end.
Should he retreat?
Should he flee?
Or—
"Thrust! Stab him!" Huang Cheng roared at Fei Qian. Having tightly wrapped cloth around his sword hilt to prevent blood from making it slippery, he couldn't even throw his weapon to save Fei Qian now.
Perhaps there was no time left to retreat. Perhaps Huang Cheng's shout snapped him out of his daze. Whatever the reason, Fei Qian's body moved on instinct, executing the basic spear thrust he had practiced thousands of times at dawn.
His hands gripped the spear firmly—one forward, one back, one palm up, one down. He stepped half a pace forward, pushed off with his back foot, twisted his waist to channel the force, and drove the spear forward along his hip, the shaft pressed against his body as the tip shot straight toward the enemy.
Fei Qian felt the spearhead shudder as if meeting resistance, followed by a "thunk"—like piercing thick rubber or tough leather.
The Zheng Jian soldier froze. His vicious grin stiffened, then twisted into disbelief. The war blade he had raised high dropped limply to the ground. His hands clutched at the spear embedded in his body before he collapsed to his knees, his eyes locked onto Fei Qian. He muttered something unintelligible, then toppled sideways—dead.
"I… I killed someone!"
The moment the spear struck home, Fei Qian instinctively let go and stumbled back two steps. Before he could fully process the fact that he had just taken a life, another Zheng Jian soldier rushed in, seizing the opportunity to strike while Fei Qian was unarmed and disoriented.
Fortunately, Huang Cheng had already closed the distance. He stabbed the soldier from behind before spinning to shield Fei Qian, scanning for any remaining threats while shouting, "Young Master Fei! Are you alright?!"
"I—I'm fine!" Fei Qian forced himself out of his daze. He grabbed the spear still lodged in the corpse, his gaze briefly meeting the dead soldier's unblinking eyes. A reflexive urge to look away was violently suppressed, his neck cracking audibly from the strain.
He yanked at the spear twice, but it wouldn't budge. Gritting his teeth, he planted a foot on the corpse—the unsettling sensation of flesh neither soft nor firm beneath his boot making his heart pound wildly—and wrenched the weapon free. Blood gushed out in a spray, speckling his clothes with crimson droplets.
"Shuye! Push down the last scaling ladder!" Fei Qian raised his spear and pointed toward the corner of the wall.
Seeing that Fei Qian had regained his composure, Huang Cheng responded with a loud affirmation and charged toward the final ladder. With the help of other soldiers, they swiftly cut down the remaining Zheng Jian troops on the wall and toppled the last ladder.
Fei Qian forced himself not to look at the corpse again. Instead, he surveyed the battlement, confirming that all enemy climbers had been eliminated, before gathering his surviving men atop the gatehouse.
Peering down from the wall, Fei Qian could still make out the scene despite the fading light. Below, a seething mass of Zheng Jian's soldiers choked the area around the gate, shoving and jostling in their desperation to be the first inside.
Realizing the urgency, Fei Qian immediately ordered dry grass and torches to be lit. However, the braziers—positioned farther away to prevent accidental fires—had mostly been knocked over during the fight. Only one remained intact.
Huang Cheng hastily wrapped his blood-soaked sleeve around his hand and, ignoring the brazier's scorching heat, carried it over.
Several soldiers thrust torches and bundled dry grass into the flames, quickly igniting them. Fei Qian grabbed a torch and rushed to the inner wall side, signaling to Zhang Liao in the street below...
Every last Zheng Jian soldier was surging toward the gate. Though the door had only been breached in one spot, it had captured their full attention. Even those who had been preparing to raise another ladder abandoned the idea, joining the frenzied rush to force their way in.
The battering ram, having earlier smashed a gaping hole in the gate, had been driven too hard—its frame collapsed in the gateway, the log jammed in the opening, now useless...
Soldiers on both sides stabbed wildly through the breach with spears, agonized screams rising intermittently as men were struck.
As dusk deepened, Zhang Liao stood in the long street, anxiously watching the gatehouse. At this point, if Fei Qian failed to act in time, the entire plan would collapse—no matter how well-conceived, it would amount to nothing.
Then, suddenly—firelight flared atop the gate. A figure waved the torch like a beacon of hope. Zhang Liao's face lit up with relief. He whistled sharply, and the soldiers desperately holding the gate immediately abandoned their posts, scattering to either side.
The Zheng Jian troops, abruptly freed from resistance, hesitated. A few bold ones peeked through the breach, then whooped in victory, scrambling inside. They worked frantically to remove the massive crossbeams barring the gate and heaved the doors open.
But the ram's log still blocked part of the entrance. Some soldiers tried to dislodge it, but the impatient horde behind them couldn't wait—they squeezed through the narrow gap in a chaotic flood.
Just as more troops prepared to push in, the thunder of hoofbeats echoed from behind. Zheng Jian and a Yang-clan officer led two hundred cavalry charging forward.
"Clear the way! Make way for the Magistrate!" Zheng Jian's guards bellowed, lashing out with whips to drive the infantry aside.
The flow into the city stalled. Many foot soldiers, already at the gate, reluctantly edged sideways, grudgingly forming a path...
The wreckage of the ram and other siege equipment littered the area, further slowing the advance.
"Damn these bastards! We risk our lives breaking the gate, and these mounted pricks swoop in to steal the glory!" A soldier spat in disgust, glaring at Zheng Jian and the Yang officer forcing their way to the front.
Such curses did nothing to stop the cavalry's advance. Yet the infantry's resentment meant the path opened sluggishly, preventing the horsemen from picking up speed. They were forced to inch forward, entangled in the press of bodies...