The core principle in dealing with a night raid was simple: stabilize the battle line.
No matter how fierce the assault, the side being attacked at night was still fighting from within its own camp. As long as a full-scale rout—a camp collapse—did not occur, the defenders held the advantage of terrain.
Stabilize the line, and the attackers would withdraw on their own.
This was the most effective response to any night assault.
So when Xiahou Yuan awoke inside the central command tent, the first thing he did was swiftly throw on a set of light armor, then don a helmet that was deliberately conspicuous and easy to recognize.
The moment he stepped out of the tent and encountered Zhang Ji and Du Xi, he gave orders without explanation.
"Have the drums beaten."
On a chaotic battlefield, drumbeats were the simplest and most effective way to transmit commands. No matter how loud Zhang Fei's voice was—could it possibly overpower war drums?
Zhang Ji immediately accepted the order and rushed off. Xiahou Yuan, meanwhile, summoned his personal guards, ordering them to erect the commander's banner near the central flag and to light as many torches as possible—no cost spared—to flood the entire camp with light.
Xiahou Yuan also had a very clear understanding of his own role.
He climbed onto the watchtower and had his guards shout commands at full volume, making sure the soldiers could clearly see him standing there—alive, unbroken, and very much not fleeing—so as to halt the spreading panic.
It had to be said: the effect was immediate.
Though the watchtower was bitterly cold, Xiahou Yuan could clearly see the situation unfolding below.
It was like lighting a small flame on a field of dry grass—the glow of torches gradually spread outward, centered on him.
Torchlight, belated drumbeats, and the shouting of his personal guards temporarily drove away the fear gripping the Cao soldiers.
A sense of stability slowly radiated outward from Xiahou Yuan's position.
He finally let out a breath of relief.
This is how it should be.
As long as the line stabilized, the enemy's night raiders would inevitably pull back.
If they could endure tonight, perhaps it really was time to seriously consider Du Zixu's proposal to withdraw.
Truth be told, Du Xi wasn't wrong. With the offensive bogged down, retreat was now a reasonable option.
They could station troops at Chencang and Qian County, sealing off the two key routes—River Valley Road and Jieting—that led from Yong and Liang Provinces into Guanzhong.
Once his elder brother finished off Guan Yu in Jing Province and avenged Zilian, there would be time to deal with Yong and Liang properly—and to retake Hanzhong from Liu Bei.
But…
The moment Zhang Fei's voice surfaced in his mind, an unexplainable fury rose in Xiahou Yuan's chest. His waist and abdomen still ached faintly.
They really meant to kill me. Utterly vicious.
That was why he admitted, deep down, that there was personal stubbornness mixed into his insistence on remaining at Linwei.
But now…
They had no choice but to retreat.
Grain supplies, bolstered by aid from Jiangdong, were sufficient—but fuel for warmth was running dangerously low.
Now came a night assault. Morale had already sunk to rock bottom. Even if they pressed the siege, all it would do was elevate Zhang Fei's reputation.
Standing on the watchtower, Xiahou Yuan suddenly felt strangely idle.
His voice wasn't particularly loud to begin with, and he was still recovering from injury. All he could do was stand there, letting the soldiers look up and see the unmistakable plume atop his helmet—anchoring their morale.
But soon, something felt wrong.
As more torches were lit…
As multiple drum platforms synchronized, their beats rolling across the battlefield…
As the threat of a camp collapse was quietly extinguished…
The enemy should have withdrawn.
So why were the sounds of fighting at the main gate growing louder instead?
Moments later, a messenger came sprinting over. The cold was brutal—Xiahou Yuan watched the man slip and fall, scrambling to rise and report.
Before he could speak, Xiahou Yuan heard it again—
Zhang Fei's booming roar, full of breath and fury:
"The main gate is breached! The Cao army is defeated!"
The main gate—
Xiahou Yuan snapped, "The main gate has fallen?!"
The messenger, helped up by fellow soldiers, dropped to his knees at once.
"The enemy has broken in!"
They've broken in!
Xiahou Yuan's heart tightened. Zhang Fei was acting like a madman—forcing soldiers to attack through the freezing night?
Such abuse of troops. Such reckless intent to kill him outright.
A trace of sorrow surfaced in his heart, but it never showed on his face.
After a brief pause, Xiahou Yuan made his decision.
"The central army advances."
They would meet the enemy head-on.
He didn't know how Zhang Fei had driven his men to ignore death and cold alike, but reclaiming the main gate was now the top priority.
If the enemy could move in and out of the camp at will, then the camp itself was no longer defensible.
His guards voiced no objections. Orders were relayed throughout the camp.
Since they were now fighting through the freezing night, attendants quickly brought heavy winter clothing and helped Xiahou Yuan layer up.
"Derong, look—General Xiahou is moving forward!"
Du Xi and Zhang Ji were standing atop a drum platform with excellent visibility, clearly watching troop movements.
Zhang Ji didn't respond. He simply swung the drum mallet again and again, hammering the great drum before him.
He failed to notice the deep, barely concealed anxiety in Du Xi's voice.
Du Xi was a renowned scholar, well-versed in military texts.
And he understood one thing very clearly:
Zhang Fei was no fool.
For him to launch a night assault and fight this fiercely without retreat meant he was relying on something.
Something the enemy had—and Cao's army did not.
Something the enemy understood—and Cao's army did not.
That difference might well decide the outcome of this night.
Fully armored and mounted, Xiahou Yuan drew in a deep breath.
The icy air surged into his lungs, making him shudder involuntarily.
But Zhang Fei's image quickly drowned out the cold.
With a light squeeze of his legs, Xiahou Yuan led the newly stabilized central army forward toward the main gate.
Mounted and fully armed, Xiahou Yuan looked imposing—impossible to miss.
As more Cao soldiers gathered around him, their nerves steadied. Together, they advanced toward the gate.
He could hear soldiers sneezing as they marched. Anxiety gnawed at him.
This must end quickly. Zhang Fei must be driven off.
With Xiahou Yuan's arrival, the Cao troops locked in combat at the gate grew even more ferocious.
One soldier hurled himself forward, trying to grab Zhang Fei around the waist—but before he could reach him, Fan Jiang's iron hook tore into him, ripping away a chunk of flesh.
The cold dulled the pain. The soldier didn't even scream—his movements simply slowed.
Zhang Da, already poised, swung his ring-pommel saber with both hands, ending the threat in a single stroke.
Zhang Fei said nothing.
A short spear suited for infantry combat whirled in his hands like a storm. One sweeping strike sent multiple Cao soldiers flying.
"General!" Fan Jiang shouted—he had spotted Xiahou Yuan.
Zhang Fei's reply was brutally concise.
"Follow me!"
Xiahou Yuan had thought he was the one pressed for speed.
But Zhang Fei was even more impatient.
The instant Xiahou Yuan laid eyes on him, he saw Zhang Fei smashing through Cao troops, spear sweeping left and right—then charging straight toward him.
Xiahou Yuan did not move.
No command was needed. His guards reacted instinctively.
As they shifted, ordinary soldiers surged forward, placing themselves between Zhang Fei and Xiahou Yuan.
Zhang Fei was known for his valor—but this was infantry combat.
Did he think himself a reborn Xiang Yu?
Xiahou Yuan also keenly noticed something else: after Zhang Fei launched his charge, his forward troops had become disconnected from the rear.
He immediately issued a crisp order:
"Cut them off! Encircle and kill him!"
Zhang Fei had tried to kill him before—now Xiahou Yuan would show no mercy.
All the pent-up fury poured into that command.
He was determined to succeed.
But reality rarely unfolded as planned.
In Xiahou Yuan's mind, even if Zhang Fei could fight a hundred men alone—was he stronger than the Hegemon King of Chu?
Xiang Yu had fallen to encirclement. Zhang Fei should have followed in moments.
Yet Xiahou Yuan quickly realized something was wrong.
First, the area near the main gate was cramped. Only a limited number of soldiers could engage Zhang Fei at once.
Second, Zhang Fei weaved through the crowd with terrifying agility. His short spear left afterimages—and instead of being captured, he was steadily closing in.
Xiahou Yuan narrowed his eyes.
It wasn't that Zhang Fei was fast.
It was that the Cao soldiers were slow.
They had been resting, warming themselves, dreaming of a hot meal at dawn.
Zhang Fei's night raid dragged them out into the freezing dark.
The fact that the camp hadn't collapsed was already a blessing.
Expecting full combat effectiveness under hunger and cold was sheer fantasy.
Xiahou Yuan could see it clearly now—some soldiers' legs trembled uncontrollably. Not from fear, but from the cold.
Zhang Fei's men were different.
Their faces were flushed. Steam almost seemed to rise from their heads, as if the cold meant nothing to them.
Alarm bells screamed in Xiahou Yuan's mind.
But there was no room left to choose.
Morale had only just been stabilized. Turning and fleeing now might save his life—but it would trigger an instant collapse.
As Zhang Fei broke through again and again, drawing closer, Xiahou Yuan's mind strangely calmed.
He drew his blade and pointed it at Zhang Fei, unleashing his first roar of the night:
"Die without retreat!"
His guards echoed him at once.
"Die without retreat!"
They shouted it—and lived it.
When normal encirclement failed, the guards used their own stiff, freezing bodies as weapons, hurling themselves into Zhang Fei's spear, locking onto his legs to create openings for others.
That shout became a signal.
Zhang Fei realized no one feared his spear anymore. They charged straight into it, heedless of death, just to slow him down.
Two guards clamped the spear with their chests.
Zhang Fei abandoned it.
That wasn't a problem for him.
Muscles bulging, teeth clenched, he hurled off the soldiers clinging to him. He seized a ring-pommel saber from a Cao soldier and glared at Xiahou Yuan.
His intent was unmistakable.
But more Cao soldiers flooded the path.
"General!" Fan Jiang shouted from behind, forcing Zhang Fei to glance back.
The suicidal resistance of Xiahou Yuan's guards was troublesome for Zhang Fei—but catastrophic for Fan Jiang and Zhang Da.
One of the elite guards who had charged in with Zhang Fei was already dead. The rest could only form a defensive knot, unable to advance.
Zhang Fei cast one last regretful look toward Xiahou Yuan.
Then he turned back to rescue his men.
Killing intent flared in Xiahou Yuan's eyes.
Zhang Fei had been forced back—but at the cost of his guards' lives.
And worse—
If Zhang Fei could break through once, he could do it again.
Everyone knew it.
With Zhang Fei's failed attempt on Xiahou Yuan, the night assault finally came to a pause.
The next day, a worried Du Xi finally heard the command he had long awaited:
"Withdraw to Chencang."
Staring at the still-unmoved walls of Linwei, Xiahou Yuan felt his heart bleeding as losses were tallied.
But soon, he realized he had bled too early.
A messenger rode into camp.
Du Xi leapt to his feet in disbelief.
"Chencang has fallen?!"
Given Du Xi's deep knowledge of Guanzhong deployments, he immediately pressed:
"What of General Zhang Junyi?"
There were only two main routes through Guanlong. River Valley Road was firmly held—how could a large enemy force have appeared in their rear?
The messenger lay prostrate, unmoving, his report clear and precise.
"The enemy at Jieting was overwhelming. General Zhang, outnumbered, retreated to Yong County."
"Over fifteen thousand enemy cavalry assaulted Chencang. Reinforcements failed. Chencang has fallen."
A name flashed through Du Xi's mind.
Zhao Yun.
This cavalry had to be led by Zhao Yun's elite riders, reinforced by Ma Chao's Qiang cavalry.
Ma Chao alone was merely a defeated foe of Cao Cao, his Qiang riders little more than bullies of the weak.
It had to be Zhao Yun.
The realization chilled Du Xi to the bone.
A name surfaced unbidden:
The Iron Cavalry of Xiliang.
His body nearly collapsed.
Xiahou Yuan, seasoned as he was, decided swiftly.
"Break camp immediately! Abandon baggage! Return at once—retake Chencang!"
But fate seemed determined to oppose him.
No sooner had the order been issued than another messenger burst in.
"General! The enemy at Linwei has deployed in full force and is advancing to attack!"
Xiahou Yuan laughed in rage.
"They are few! Do they think a night raid means I can be bullied?"
Go out to engage the enemy"!! Kill Zhang Fei first—then march east, retake Chencang, and behead that brat Ma Chao!"
Inside the tent, Xiahou Yuan raged.
On the battlefield, he stood silent—face pale.
Zhang Fei sat on horseback, looking slightly drowsy, complaining:
"That physician Zhang's cinnamon twig decoction really works. A few big bowls with some cane sugar, and I fought all night without feeling cold. Just… my stomach feels a bit off now."
"Big Brother better thank Physician Zhang for me."
Beside him, mounted on a tall horse, Liu Bei smiled warmly.
"You can thank him in person once Physician Zhang arrives in Guanzhong."
Behind them stood not only Linwei's troops, but over ten thousand reinforcements brought by Liu Bei.
The Linwei army was already elated from the successful night raid. With reinforcements, morale soared.
After a few words with Zhang Fei, Liu Bei naturally assumed command and pointed forward.
"Reclaim the Three Qins—today!"