Outside Yuyang City, chaos reigned.
Thousands clashed in a desperate melee. Zhang Xin was surrounded deep within enemy lines, with barely a dozen riders left at his side. Beyond the encirclement, Hu Cai, Li Le, Zhang Niujiao, and Yang Yi fought frantically, trying again and again to break through.
But the Wuhuan cavalry dominated the battlefield.
They used their mobility to shatter the Yellow Turban formations, isolating groups of infantry and cutting them down piece by piece. In open ground, infantry without formation stood no chance.
As casualties mounted, panic began to spread.
"Hold steady! Hold steady!" Li Le shouted, his voice strained. He turned to Hu Cai. "Old Hu, think of something! At this rate, we won't just fail to save the commander—we'll all die here!"
Hu Cai clenched his teeth. "What can I do? Unless Nanlou suddenly drops dead, we can only hold on!"
At the mention of Nanlou, both men instinctively glanced toward the distant mound.
The Wuhuan troops were still there—but something was wrong.
"Wait… Old Hu, am I seeing things?" Li Le rubbed his eyes. "Where's Nanlou's banner?"
Hu Cai stared, then suddenly shouted, "You're right! It's gone!"
Li Le blinked in confusion. "What's going on?"
Hu Cai's eyes lit up. "Who cares? This is our chance!" He raised his voice and roared, "Nanlou is dead! Nanlou is dead!"
Li Le instantly caught on and joined in.
Soon, Yellow Turban soldiers all around took up the cry.
Hearing this, the Wuhuan troops instinctively turned to look.
The mound was empty.
The banner—the symbol of their leader—was gone.
Panic spread instantly.
If the banner had fallen, it meant only two things: their leader was dead… or had fled.
Either way, the battle had lost its meaning.
"Retreat! Retreat!" Wuhuan commanders shouted.
The army began to collapse.
—
"What…?" Zhang Xin stared in disbelief as the enemy around him suddenly scattered.
He had thought it was merely a bluff—but the Wuhuan were truly retreating.
"Move! Break out!" he shouted, quickly leading his remaining riders out of the encirclement.
He soon regrouped with Hu Cai and Li Le.
"What happened?" Zhang Xin demanded. "Is Nanlou really dead?"
Hu Cai shook his head. "We don't know. We just saw the banner disappear and shouted on instinct. Didn't expect them to actually retreat."
Li Le nodded rapidly. "Yes, yes!"
Zhang Xin frowned.
A banner couldn't simply vanish. Someone must have cut it down.
And whoever did it… had to be extraordinary.
"Search the area!" Zhang Xin ordered. "Find whoever helped us!"
The Yellow Turbans desperately needed capable men. A warrior who could break through enemy lines and strike the commander was priceless.
"General—over there!" Hu Cai suddenly pointed.
Zhang Xin turned—and froze.
A lone rider approached.
In one hand, he held a spear. In the other—a severed head.
His bearing was imposing, his presence overwhelming.
"Just… one man?" Zhang Xin's eyes widened.
Even after countless battles, he knew how rare true warriors were. A man who could fight five opponents was already exceptional.
But this man… had charged through hundreds?
As they drew closer, Zhang Xin studied him carefully.
Sharp eyes. Long beard. Commanding aura.
For a moment, a shocking thought crossed his mind.
Could it be…?
He steadied himself and called out, "I am Zhang Xin, courtesy name Ziqing. May I ask—was it you who cut down the Wuhuan banner?"
The man stopped, frowning slightly.
"It was me," he said calmly, lifting the severed head. "Nanlou's head is here as well."
A collective gasp rippled through the Yellow Turbans.
Zhang Xin's heart pounded.
"Such unmatched valor…" he said cautiously. "May I know your name, brave warrior?"
"I am Guan Yu, courtesy name Yunchang," the man replied, tightening his grip on his spear. "So—you are the Yellow Turban leader?"
Zhang Xin's expression changed instantly.
Guan Yu?!
Without another word, he suddenly turned his horse.
"Retreat! Back to the city!"
"Not good!" Guan Yu's eyes sharpened as he spurred forward in pursuit.
The sudden turn left the Yellow Turbans stunned—but seeing Guan Yu chase, they realized the danger.
Zhang Xin's horse, already exhausted from battle, could not outrun him.
In moments, Guan Yu closed the distance.
"Rebel! Die!"
His spear shot forward like lightning.
Zhang Xin barely twisted aside—the blade grazed his shoulder, tearing flesh and sending him crashing from his horse.
He rolled across the ground, dazed.
Guan Yu advanced, spear poised for the killing blow.
At the last instant, Zhang Xin's instincts flared.
With a desperate surge of strength, he drew his sword and slashed at the horse's leg.
A shrill cry rang out as the horse collapsed, pinning Guan Yu beneath it.
"You dare!" Guan Yu roared.
The surrounding Yellow Turbans rushed forward, weapons raised.
"Stop!" Zhang Xin shouted sharply. "Spare his life!"