"Enemy attack!"
Huo Jun, who slept with his armor still on, rolled straight off the bed and was on his feet in a blink. Before any aide could even announce the situation, he was already charging out of the tent.
He climbed to high ground inside the camp, swept his gaze across the darkness—and issued his order without hesitation.
"Break camp! Withdraw to Xie Valley! Hold Xieyu Pass!"
Wei Yan arrived a beat late. The moment he heard the order, he spun on his heel and ran back, shouting it at full volume as he went.
Correspondence between Wuzhang Plain and Hanzhong had never stopped. Letters from Fa Zheng arrived almost daily; every few days, there would even be a handwritten note from Pang Tong himself.
The possibility of a large-scale Cao army offensive had already been discussed in advance.
Pang Tong had offered only one piece of advice:
Retreat.
Wuzhang Plain was indeed easy to defend and hard to attack—but that only held when troop numbers were roughly comparable.
Relying on tactics like "strike where the enemy must rescue" or "attack mid-crossing," the camp at Wuzhang Plain had been as solid as a mountain.
But once the enemy committed overwhelming force, everything changed.
The Cao army needed only to cut off the Baoye Road and the Wuzhang Plain camp would be sealed off and starved out.
And now, during the dry season, it was the easiest time to act.
By Pang Tong's own estimate, Cao forces in Guanzhong numbered at least thirty thousand, with perhaps four thousand cavalry—several times the strength of the few thousand stationed at Wuzhang Plain.
With contingency plans already in place, Huo Jun made the decision instantly.
And Wei Yan carried it out just as decisively.
So when the Cao army finally reached the banks of the Wugong River, what they saw was not a panicked camp—
—but Han troops retreating in disciplined formation toward Xieyu Pass, and multiple columns of fire rising from the Wuzhang Plain encampment behind them.
"…Decisive,"
Du Xi, commanding the Cao vanguard, said with a trace of disappointment.
Liu Bei's troops had behaved strangely last year. Taking advantage of Cao supply shortages that prevented a full mobilization, they had carried out constant harassment raids—endlessly irritating.
As a result, many had assumed that the commander, Wei Yan, must be an arrogant, hotheaded type.
Yet now that Cao forces could deploy in full—
the enemy fled without the slightest hesitation.
They even burned a camp they had spent months constructing. No attachment at all.
"General," a nearby officer urged,
"Since they've withdrawn, we should force a crossing at once and pursue closely. Disrupt their formation."
"If they're allowed to hold the valley mouth, it'll be troublesome."
Du Xi cast him an approving glance.
"Derong could be serving comfortably as Minister of the Capital, yet insists on holding a mere commandery post and campaigning in person. Admirable resolve."
"Your suggestion is also sound."
He paused briefly.
"…Very well. Issue the order. Cross the river, pursue, seize the valley mouth, and drive off the rebels!"
Zhang Ji nearly rolled his eyes.
He couldn't help thinking that this Du Changshi really wasn't cut out to command troops. An order was an order—why deliver it like a court memorial at such a critical moment?
Yanking on his reins, Zhang Ji prepared to cross as well, roaring at the top of his lungs:
"By order of the general—pursue!"
But Du Xi suddenly remembered a letter he'd received earlier and hurriedly shouted after him:
"Derong! If you defeat the rebels, leave one or two alive! Ask whether the son of the Sima clan of Hedong has fallen into enemy hands!"
Zhang Ji didn't bother turning around. He simply waved a hand to indicate he'd heard, then galloped toward the riverbank to organize the crossing.
Du Xi, accompanied by a few guards, climbed to higher ground.
From there, the Cao army surged forward like spilled mercury. The Wugong River slowed them—but couldn't stop them.
Cao's troops soon collided with Liu Bei's forces.
In the chill of an early winter dawn, the clang of weapons wasn't especially striking—
—but the screams of the dying were.
That sound dragged Du Xi's thoughts back to Xie County, where he had once resisted Liu Biao's army and watched civilians slaughtered in droves.
That same county was now in enemy hands.
And during the Jing-Xiang campaign, it was said that Guan Yunchang had slain the Chancellor's elder brother, Cao Zilian, there.
Before the New Year, the Chancellor had even sent envoys to negotiate, asking that Cao Zilian's body be returned.
Guan Yunchang replied that he had personally killed Cao Zilian, and reopening the grave would be inauspicious. If the Cao clan wished to retrieve the remains, they should send a kinsman to handle it.
The matter ultimately went nowhere.
Only now did Du Xi fully understand—
The Chancellor intended to take it back himself.
This year's war had begun.
Guanzhong was the opening move.
But… Du Xi truly wasn't optimistic.
To the south lay Hanzhong—accessible only via the Baoye and Chencang Roads. Push Liu Bei too hard, and he could simply burn the plank roads.
To the west lay Yong and Liang Provinces—dominated by Ma Chao and Han Sui, whose forces were almost entirely Han and Qiang cavalry, swift as the wind.
At that moment—
Du Xi made a decision.
"Lu Zhao! Zhu Ling! The two of you take a detachment south, find a crossing, and strike the enemy's rear!"
Last year, Lu Zhao and Zhu Ling had led troops into Yong and Liang—only to be humiliated by Ma Chao.
Now was their chance to redeem themselves.
The two former surrendered generals bowed and acknowledged the order, shouting commands as they redirected their forces southward.
After splitting his troops, Du Xi found himself with no reserves to deploy.
All he could do was watch from horseback atop the rise.
"This enemy commander… truly has talent."
Zhang Ji's pursuit had gained little. The enemy retreat remained orderly and unhurried.
And what truly caught Du Xi's attention was their method.
Even while withdrawing, they weren't retreating in a solid block.
Two detachments peeled off to cover the rear—fighting while falling back.
Their rhythm of engagement was peculiar, alternating and overlapping in a way that provided mutual cover.
Du Xi watched for a long while and still couldn't see Zhang Ji scoring any meaningful gains.
Which meant—
He could only hope in Zhu Ling.
Turning his head, Du Xi saw Zhu Ling and Lu Zhao reaching the southern stretch of the Wugong River and beginning their crossing.
Huo Jun saw it too.
He reacted instantly.
"Wen Chang! Withdraw the army—keep the formation intact!"
Wei Yan nodded. At Wuzhang Plain, the two had long operated in a complementary command structure. The messengers adjusted seamlessly, shouting the updated orders.
Then Huo Jun bellowed again:
"Zhejiang sons—form up! Follow me and block the enemy!"
Seven hundred of Huo Jun's personal troops burst from the rear of the formation and charged with him straight into Xieyu Pass.
Zhu Ling had no idea what was happening. He assumed the enemy was in disarray.
Ecstatic, he urged his men to cross faster.
Though it was the dry season, this stretch of the Wugong River had just emerged from the Qin Mountains. The current was swift—far harder to cross than the northern ford.
Which only made Zhu Ling more anxious.
Then—
He saw the force that had broken away earlier suddenly rush back out of the valley mouth.
Straight toward him.
They're… blocking the crossing?
Zhu Ling frowned.
Everyone knew the principle of striking an enemy mid-crossing.
But did they not see how few they were?
At his side, Lu Zhao, with keener eyesight, cried out:
"Brother! They all have crossbows!"
"What are you panicking for?" Zhu Ling snapped.
"A thousand crossbows can only fire three or four volleys. What's there to fear?"
Hebei troops had crossbows too. Zhu Ling knew their limitations.
Lu Zhao's face darkened.
The weaknesses of crossbows were well known—but so was their lethality.
Even elite troops couldn't break crossbowmen without casualties.
And Lu Zhao had no intention of dying under a bolt.
Zhu Ling watched coldly as the crossbowmen reached the riverbank.
They raised their arms.
Bolts rained down.
This was one of the key differences between crossbows and bows.
Archers couldn't sprint and fire like this—their breathing would be ruined, their accuracy gone.
But none of that mattered.
Zhu Ling silently counted.
The soldiers struck by bolts fell into the river, lifeless, carried away by the current. He didn't spare them a glance.
Second volley.
Third.
As the enemy raised their arms again, Zhu Ling felt victory within his grasp.
Another volley flew.
Zhu Ling roared:
"They're out of bolts! Charge!"
Lu Zhao rejoiced and stepped onto the crude pontoon bridge, ready to lead the assault—
The response was a fifth volley.
Then a sixth.
Then a seventh—
Lu Zhao fell backward into the freezing river, a bolt driven clean through his throat.