A convoy stretched too long was, by nature, a disaster waiting to happen.
Too thin, and you couldn't defend both ends.
Too slow, and you were inviting trouble.
But if they panicked and suddenly bunched together, that was even worse—it was practically hanging up a banner that read:
We see you. Come kill us.
Zao Ying's voice was low, steady, carried only to those riding closest to her.
"If they're setting an ambush," she said, "they won't move until we're right beside the village. That's the kill zone. We need to close up before we reach it."
Tie Niaofei flashed a grin.
"Heh. Then I've got an idea."
He turned in his saddle and jabbed a thumb at Zheng Daniu.
"Go act like you're starving. Hit the first cart. Dig around for food. Then—" his grin widened, "—accidentally knock it over."
Zheng Daniu blinked.
Then blinked again.
"…Oh!" His eyes lit up. "If the first cart tips, everyone'll rush forward to see what happened. The whole line'll squeeze together!"
Zao Ying chuckled softly. "That's right. Go. Quickly."
Zheng Daniu rubbed his belly and laughed. "No need to pretend. I really am hungry."
He lumbered toward the lead cart, one hand clutching his stomach, the other dangling uselessly at his side. Drool practically threatened to spill from the corner of his mouth. His expression was so pitiful it bordered on tragic.
No acting required.
He rummaged loudly through the cargo, muttering to himself, then suddenly grabbed a heavy sack and yanked.
The cart lurched.
Wood creaked.
Then—
CRASH!
The entire cart toppled over.
The horses screamed in panic, rearing and stamping. The second cart slammed forward before its handler could react, crashing into the first. Then the third. Then the fourth.
Chaos rolled forward like a wave.
In the span of a few breaths, the gaps between carts vanished.
Fifty wagons collapsed inward, nose to tail, curling into a tight, compressed mass—like a giant caterpillar knotting itself up.
Inside the village, the bandits didn't move.
Not yet.
Right on cue, Tie Niaofei and Zao Ying shouted together, their voices sharp as drawn blades:
"Convoy leaders! Front and rear—connect! Form a defensive ring!"
Zheng Daniu roared, a feral sound ripped from his chest. He planted both feet, grabbed the overturned cart, and heaved.
Wood groaned.
Iron screamed.
With one brutal motion, he flipped the massive wagon upright.
From afar, the bandits stared.
That… was not normal human strength.
At the same moment, the lead cart and the rear cart wheeled inward, closing the circle. Horses were dragged inside. Drivers scrambled inward. Infantry vanished behind the wall of wood and iron.
In the blink of an eye, the convoy had transformed into a fortified ring.
Only then did realization hit the ambushers like a hammer.
They'd been seen.
They'd been played.
Cao Cao burst from hiding, face twisted with fury.
"The ambush failed!" he roared. "Frontal assault!"
Dongshan Hu exploded out of a village house, saber raised, charging straight toward the carts.
From the woods beyond the village, Chuang Tatian emerged with his men, surging forward to strike from another angle.
Too late.
The cart ring was complete.
Tie Niaofei and Zheng Daniu withdrew inside the circle. The wagons stood wheel to wheel, stacked with supplies—an instant wall.
But Zao Ying didn't retreat.
She lifted two fingers to her lips and let out a piercing whistle.
"We charge!" she snapped. "No need to clog the infantry's space!"
"Alright!"
"Let's ride!"
Three hundred cavalry burst forward, hooves thundering.
By pure misfortune—or perhaps fate—their chosen direction led straight toward Chuang Tatian.
The man was famous for his recklessness, for charging even when death was obvious.
But when he saw the cavalry turn—not pass by, not hesitate, but deliberately angle straight toward him—
His blood ran cold.
Infantry.
Against cavalry.
Head-on.
No bravery could stop that.
"HALT!" Chuang Tatian bellowed. "Halt! Spears up!"
Men skidded to a stop. Swordsmen recoiled. Spearmen surged forward, planting their feet, raising a forest of spearpoints—tight, fast, disciplined.
Zao Ying watched, impressed despite herself.
They've learned, she thought. This isn't the rabble from years ago.
But it didn't matter.
Her cavalry didn't charge.
They shot.
"Loose!"
Kaiyuan bows thrummed. Hand crossbows snapped.
Arrows rained down as the riders slowed, wheeled, and circled like wolves around a trapped beast.
Men screamed.
Bodies fell.
Chuang Tatian cursed, rage and fear choking his voice.
"Dongshan Hu! I'll hold them—attack the convoy, you idiot!"
Dongshan Hu was already moving.
Fifty carts. A hundred defenders, at most.
Against him?
Easy.
As long as he closed the distance—
"Don't let them get close!" Zheng Daniu bellowed.
He swung his arm.
A black iron sphere arced into the sky.
Zheng Daniu.
Silver medalist of the Gao Family Village throwing competitions.
Foundational grenadier.
The grenade flew eighty meters.
High.
Perfect.
It dropped straight into Dongshan Hu's formation.
BOOM.
The explosion punched the ground flat.
Men collapsed mid-step.
The rest froze.
"What in the hells was that?!"
Then—
BANG! BANG! BANG!
Gunfire erupted.
The "drivers" behind the carts rose as one.
Every single one held a rifle.
Chassepot rifles.
Fast. Accurate. Relentless.
This wasn't a fight.
It was a slaughter paid in lead.
Bullets tore through flesh.
Men dropped instantly—or screamed as they bled out in the dirt.
Dongshan Hu stood there, stunned, brain blank.
A subordinate tackled him flat.
"Third Master! Down! Get down!"
Dongshan Hu pressed his face into the earth, heart pounding.
And in pure disbelief, he shouted—
"Are you kidding me?! With firepower like this, why are they pretending to be Jin merchants?! Wouldn't it be easier to just revolt?!"
The battlefield answered him with gunfire.