Zhu Ling believed his judgment should have been correct.
After all, Hebei was no stranger to crossbows.
Back when the First Emperor pacified the realm, one of the three elite forces he relied upon had been the mighty Ji Province heavy crossbowmen. Later, when General Yuan fought Gongsun Zan, two full contingents of crossbow troops had marched beneath his banners.
After Chancellor Cao took control of Ji Province, he personally inspected and reorganized the crossbow units. At Tong Pass, when Han Sui and Ma Chao were broken, the Ji Province crossbowmen had rendered notable service.
And Zhu Ling himself was a native of Ji Province.
If there was anyone who understood crossbow troops, it should have been him.
Yet now…
Lost in thought, Zhu Ling failed to issue an immediate order. On the pontoon bridge, the soldiers watched as General Lu Zhao toppled and vanished into the Wugong River. Without waiting for commands, they withdrew in silent coordination.
Seeing that their general's body had not surfaced, some quick-witted soldiers lashed iron hooks to long spears and used them to drag Lu Zhao's corpse from the icy water.
Zhu Ling did not look back.
He simply lifted his gaze toward the opposite bank.
Across the river, over a thousand bandit crossbowmen stood in three neat ranks. The foremost row held their crossbows leveled directly at the floating bridge, formations tight, posture disciplined.
The enemy's main force showed no sign of disorder. Zhu Ling could not see every detail of the skirmish there, but he could clearly tell one thing—
Their withdrawal was unhurried. Not chaotic. Not panicked.
This unit of crossbowmen had to be broken.
Relying on the pursuing detachment alone, it would be impossible to seize the Bao–Xie route!
The conclusion formed instantly in Zhu Ling's mind.
The next step was execution.
He gestured for his personal guards to help him don armor, issuing orders in a calm, methodical voice:
"Order the shield-bearers to form up front.
Anyone who retreats instead of advancing—behead them."
"Bring long shields.
I will lead."
Once armored, Zhu Ling carefully fastened his helmet. His right hand gripped a long shield; his left held an iron hook-staff. A hand halberd hung at his waist. He strode to the head of the pontoon bridge and took his position.
Behind him, shield soldiers assembled in loose clusters, forming ranks one by one.
Zhu Ling glanced sideways at Lu Zhao's corpse.
He said nothing.
He simply struck his iron hook against the iron-bound shield.
Clang.
The sound rang sharply through the cold air.
Another soldier followed suit.
Then another.
Soon, more weapons began striking shields—fear vented through rhythm and noise. The scattered clatter slowly aligned, becoming steady, unified.
Within fifteen breaths, what had begun as a single sound became a chorus.
Morale, which had been sagging moments ago, began to recover.
From higher ground, Du Xi observed everything clearly. He heard the sound as well.
He nodded, satisfied.
A glance to the rear of Zhu Ling's formation showed the military supervisors standing cold-eyed, ring-pommel sabers in hand.
Du Xi's expression softened.
"I had heard Zhu Wenbo commands troops with method," he said quietly.
"Now I see it for myself."
—
On the western bank of the Wugong River, Huo Jun watched intently.
Seeing the armored enemy general raise a long shield and step onto the pontoon bridge, Huo Jun felt a sharp pressure settle in his chest.
He counted silently.
When the enemy reached the midpoint of the bridge, Huo Jun raised his hand.
"Loose!"
A dense volley of heavy bolts roared forth.
The crossbows still found their mark—Huo Jun saw bolts punch through long shields, heard cries of pain from the advancing ranks.
But something was off.
Huo Jun's brow furrowed slightly.
After years of warfare in Yizhou, Hanzhong, and now Wuzhang Plains, he knew battle formations well.
Men on the brink of death did not scream like this.
Earlier volleys had either killed silently or left only a few fading groans before stillness.
This noise meant only one thing—
This volley had not achieved decisive results.
Zhu Ling stared at the bolt lodged halfway through his shield and exhaled softly.
The shield was wood plated with iron.
The bolt had pierced—but stopped.
There's a chance.
He shouted loudly, voice steady and forceful:
"The bandits' bolts lack power!
Hold your shields firm and victory is assured!"
Cao army morale lifted again—just a little.
The words reached Huo Jun as well.
His reply was simple.
"Form the one-five crossbow array.
Fire freely—half-breath intervals."
The Zhi River detachment immediately shifted formation. Some crossbowmen withdrew to the rear, abandoning their bows as drilled, merging into support lines.
One-five meant one crossbowman supported by five assistants.
From six men, only the most accurate shooter remained as the firing hand.
The crossbowman's sole task was to raise the heavy crossbow, aim, fire, drop it, and receive another already-loaded bow—again and again.
Behind him, five assistants stood in a line, each with assigned roles: collecting empty bows, mounting windlasses, stringing, removing windlasses, loading bolts, passing weapons forward.
"Free fire" was Huo Jun's own creation—shoot at will.
And so—
Just as Zhu Ling finished rallying his men, the Cao army was struck by an even fiercer storm of bolts.
Every breath came with a dull thump—bolts slamming into shields.
Screams and splashes punctuated the noise.
The advance slowed.
Zhu Ling's heart sank.
Before today, who would have believed Liu Bei's army possessed such powerful crossbows?
Though the army had long shields, many were crude wooden slabs. Iron-plated shields like his were rare.
At just over a hundred paces, wooden shields were already failing.
At fifty paces—
Even his iron-bound shield would not last.
Decision came in an instant.
Zhu Ling exchanged glances with several personal guards. They understood immediately and edged forward, raising shields alongside him.
They inhaled.
Then roared together:
"KILL!"
Bolts fell like locusts.
Shields rose like walls.
They advanced as one, forcing a path forward.
Relying on perfect coordination, Zhu Ling and his guards surged nearly forty paces without breaking formation.
But as expected—the closer they came, the heavier the bolts struck.
They became priority targets.
Zhu Ling heard the enemy commander's orders clearly now:
"Left and center—concentrated fire!
Right—suppressing fire as usual!"
Suppressing fire… Zhu Ling thought vaguely, but his feet never stopped.
At eighty paces, a guard grunted as a bolt struck—but he pushed on.
At sixty paces, two guards fell. The shield wall faltered.
At forty paces, three remaining guards—already unsteady—broke formation and charged ahead, sacrificing themselves to clear the way.
Zhu Ling's eyes went red.
Ten more paces.
A desperate thought formed:
Just a bit closer! If I reach the commander—he's no fierce general. Force him to react, and the formation may crack!
But despair followed.
The commander calmly raised an even larger heavy crossbow.
Aimed.
Released.
At that distance, the shot made Zhu Ling's scalp prickle.
Instinct seized him.
He rolled aside.
He lived.
Yet there was no joy—only frustration.
The roll broke his momentum.
The enemy recovered.
Even if he crossed the remaining distance, it would no longer cause chaos.
Behind him, the rallying cries had fallen silent. Many must have thought he'd been struck down.
Even when they realized he still lived—
The courage was gone.
Huo Jun saw everything clearly.
He spat and cursed:
"Damn bird-brained bastard!"
"Trying to copy General Guan and take my head?"
Another loaded crossbow was passed to him. He fired again—this time piercing the enemy general's arm.
Still, the Cao general rolled again, grabbed a shield, slung it on his back, and fled.
The Shu troops erupted in cheers.
From afar, Du Xi sighed.
Zhu Ling had done all he could.
Had he broken the formation, this thousand-man unit might truly have been annihilated—but identifying the existence of such crossbowmen was already worth the cost.
Otherwise, a feigned retreat into Xie Valley, followed by ambush fire from heights—
Losses would have been far greater.
Since the enemy had strong crossbows, iron-plated shields could be prepared.
Du Xi ordered calmly:
"Send two physicians to attend General Zhu's wounds."
"Order General Zhang—do not pursue deeply."
With Zhu Ling's retreat, this avenue posed no further threat. Zhang Ji grew cautious, fearing flank harassment.
Better to withdraw.
Only Lu Zhao had died. Losses numbered just over a hundred.
A small price to force the enemy's trump card into the open.
They are out of tricks.
The advantage is ours.
Later, Du Xi even had the leisure to console the grim-faced Zhang Ji:
"Derong, do not dwell on it.
Victory here does not decide Guanzhong—nor is Guanzhong decided here."
"The Xie Valley mouth is easy to defend. With the Wugong River before it, once we camp there, they cannot advance."
"General Xiahou said it clearly—we need only block the enemy from entering Guanzhong."
Zhang Ji nodded.
"Then I will build camp here."
Du Xi shook his head.
"No need. General Zhu is wounded—let him rest here."
"We move on. Best to seize the old route's plank roads."
Zhang Ji frowned—then realization struck.
"So… linking Bao–Xie and the old road means… attacking Yong–Liang? Ma Chao—ah! Qishan!"
Remote, yes—but passable. No plank roads required.
Du Xi nodded.
"With Wu grain secured, supplies are ample.
Seal the passes, pressure Yong–Liang, threaten Qishan—force the enemy to split."
—
And indeed, Liu Bei felt the pressure.
Upon entering Hanzhong, he was greeted by crowds lining the road.
For the people of Hanzhong, the events of four centuries ago felt like yesterday.
Once again, a Liu of imperial blood arrived, the Central Plains occupied by bandits.
History felt uncomfortably familiar.
Elders pointed, whispering that Liu Xuande looked exactly like Emperor Gao—as if they had seen Liu Bang themselves.
Many were refugees from Guanzhong, battered since Dong Zhuo's time.
Hope stirred.
Someone shouted:
"Can Imperial Uncle take us home?"
Silence followed.
Then eager eyes.
Liu Bei laughed heartily.
"That is precisely why I have come—
to reclaim the Three Qins and return north to Chang'an!"
Cheers erupted.
Amid the crowd, Kongming slipped away, seizing the bewildered Fa Zheng's hands.
"Where is Jiang Wei? Lead me at once."
Fa Zheng glanced at their lord.
Kongming smiled.
"No worry here. His Lordship excels at this."
They departed.
After a few steps, Fa Zheng paused.
"Jiang Wei has not yet dismissed class. But there is someone else—I wish you to meet."
"An unusual man?"
Fa Zheng nodded, leading him along another path.
They spoke of refugees, reclamation, water-powered workshops.
Kongming's curiosity grew.
At the riverbank, a young man crouched before a water mill, dismantling and reassembling a delicate wooden wheel.
Kongming knelt beside him, eyes shining.
"This joint—add a transverse gear. You gain another drive shaft and reduce wear."
"You were stuck here, weren't you?"
The youth nodded eagerly.
"I am Ma Jun of Fufeng, courtesy name Deheng.
May I ask—who are you?"
—