Ambush at Mount Lingmeng
In some year of the Jian'an era, autumn winds swept cold across the mountains of northern Liyue. Withered grass and trees rustled in the gusts, as if foretelling a bloodbath to come.
Yuan Shao was frowning over a military map when an urgent report arrived from Chunyu Qiong at Qiaoying Manor. Pang Tong, under Liu Bei's command, had somehow infiltrated Liyue. Though his force was small, it struck deep into Yuan's army like a sharp blade. Without immediate reinforcements, Chunyu Qiong's garrison would not last a month.
"Who will go to reinforce Chunyu Zhongjian?"
Yuan Shao's voice echoed through the command tent. His generals exchanged glances. At last, one stepped forward: Qu Yi.
"I volunteer, General."
Qu Yi's voice boomed. Clad in dark armor, a long sword at his waist, his brow bore the sharpness of a seasoned warrior. Renowned for his ferocity, he had crushed Gongsun Zan's elite White Horse Volunteers at the Battle of Jieqiao. Yuan Shao readily approved his request.
"Excellent!" Yuan Shao clapped his hands. "You shall have five thousand elite soldiers. Relieve Qiaoying Manor at once."
"I obey your command!"
Qu Yi cupped his fists, turned to muster his troops, and marched out that same day.
The army headed south, passing through Hejian and Pingyuan, soon entering Liyue. Its terrain was unlike the Central Plains: endless mountains, crisscrossing valleys, roads hidden amid dense woods and perilous peaks. Though accustomed to the north, Qu Yi knew the dangers of mountain marches. He sent scouts ahead, and the army advanced in strict silence, never slacking.
One afternoon, they reached a narrow pass called Mount Lingmeng. Two cliffs loomed on either side, with a path so tight only a few riders could pass abreast. Steep, jagged rocks and thick foliage almost blotted out the sky. Qu Yi reined in his horse and frowned at the gloomy trail ahead.
"General, the terrain is treacherous. There may be an ambush," his deputy warned quietly.
Qu Yi nodded, about to order a halt — when a whistle shrilled from above. Immediately, logs and stones crashed down, sealing both ends of the path.
"Damn! We've been trapped!"
Qu Yi's heart sank. He drew his sword. "Form up and defend!"
Before his words faded, countless banners rose on the cliffs. Great flags bearing the characters Pang and Zhao snapped in the wind. Arrows rained down. Caught off guard, Yuan's soldiers fell in chaos, screams rising one after another.
"Pang Tong, you cur! Zhao Yun, you brat! How dare you ambush me! Face me in battle!" Qu Yi roared, swinging his blade to deflect arrows. Several struck his dark armor but failed to pierce it.
A clear laugh came from above. A figure in a silk headband, waving a feather fan, stood on the cliff: Pang Tong.
"General Qu Yi, long time no see. This shall be your grave."
On the opposite cliff, a general in white robes sat atop his horse, his silver spear glinting coldly in the sun: Zhao Yun. He looked down with sharp, piercing eyes.
"I am Zhao Yun of Changshan. I am here to take your life!"
With that, Zhao Yun gripped his spear and leaped off the cliff. His horse landed on a boulder, sprang again, and landed lightly before Qu Yi like a bird. His white robes stood out vividly amid the chaos, spear tip aimed straight at Qu Yi's throat.
"Come then!"
Zhao Yun's ferocity only enraged Qu Yi. He charged forward, slashing his sword with crushing force toward Zhao Yun's face — his signature Mountain-Splitting Strike.
Zhao Yun remained calm. His wrist twisted, and his spear shot forth like a striking serpent, knocking precisely against the sword's blade.
Clang!
A deafening crash. Qu Yi's arm went numb; his sword veered sharply. He was stunned by Zhao Yun's immense strength.
The two riders circled and clashed dozens of times in an instant. Qu Yi's swordsmanship was wild and powerful, each strike fearless enough to split man and stone alike. Zhao Yun's spear work was agile and swift, blooming like pear blossoms one moment, striking like thunder the next, always targeting gaps. Blades and spears clashed, raising clouds of dust.
The battle between Yuan's army and the ambushers reached a fever pitch. Pang Tong commanded calmly from the cliff. Though outnumbered, the ambushers held the high ground. Archers kept up relentless fire, while infantry charged down the mountain paths. Yuan's forces were cut into segments, unable to support each other, and slowly fell into disarray.
Qu Yi grew more alarmed by the second. He had thought Zhao Yun just another ordinary general under Liu Bei. Now he saw his true prowess: fast, precise, and cunning, slipping past his blade by a hair's breadth and striking before he could defend. After another ten rounds, Qu Yi began to tire, his breathing heavy.
"Now you die!"
Zhao Yun spotted an opening. With a sharp cry, his spear accelerated like a silver dragon piercing the sword's shadow, thrust directly at Qu Yi's heart.
Qu Yi desperately parried — but too late. The spear tip grazed his blade, slid upward, and thud — pierced his left shoulder.
Agonizing pain shot through him. Qu Yi grunted and staggered. Zhao Yun pressed his advantage. His wrist flicked, the spear withdrew and lunged again, lightning-fast, straight for Qu Yi's throat.
Despair flashed in Qu Yi's eyes. He tried to dodge, but it was too late.
Squelch.
The spear tip tore through his neck. Blood gushed out. He stared at the white-robed general in disbelief. His sword slipped from his hand and clattered to the ground.
Zhao Yun slowly pulled out his spear. Blood dripped from the tip, blooming eerily on the earth. Qu Yi's body swayed and fell from his horse, eyes still wide open, unwilling to accept his sudden defeat.
"General!"
Seeing Qu Yi dead, Yuan's soldiers lost all morale. They dropped their weapons and surrendered. Zhao Yun stood over the body, a few splatters of blood on his white robes making him look all the more heroic. He looked up at Pang Tong on the cliff, who nodded slightly, signaling a retreat.
The setting sun slanted through the crevices of Mount Lingmeng, dyeing the battlefield blood-red.
Qu Yi's death not only ruined the relief mission to Qiaoying Manor — it spread terror through Yuan Shao's army. If even their fiercest warrior had fallen in Liyue's mountains, this war against the Teyvat Alliance seemed doomed from the start.
And the wind of Mount Lingmeng continued to howl through the valleys, as if recounting the brutality and impermanence of this slaughter.