The Wuhuan rider's blade slashed across Zhang Xin's arm, drawing blood—but before he could celebrate, Zhang Xin's personal guard drove a spear straight through him and knocked him from his horse.
"General, are you alright?" the guard shouted.
"It's nothing!" Zhang Xin urged his horse forward again, ignoring the pain. "Nanlou—don't you dare run!"
Hearing this, Nanlou only whipped his horse harder.
The two rode at full speed, one fleeing, one pursuing—locked at a tense distance of about a hundred paces.
Zhang Xin considered using his bow, but the range was too great. He needed to get closer.
Gritting his teeth, he drove his spear into his horse's flank.
The warhorse shrieked and surged forward.
One hundred steps… eighty… fifty…
"Closer… just a little closer!"
Now he could see the panic on Nanlou's face.
Zhang Xin tightened his legs, drew his bow, and fired.
One arrow—missed.
Two—evaded.
Three—dodged again.
On the fourth, Zhang Xin deliberately shot high. As Nanlou instinctively swerved to avoid it, Zhang Xin loosed a fifth arrow—
It arced through the air and struck Nanlou squarely in the back.
Nanlou groaned, clinging to his horse as he fled wildly toward Yuyang.
—
The Wuhuan cavalry near the city saw their leader being chased and rushed forward to intercept.
"Kill them all!"
Zhang Xin lowered his spear and charged straight through them.
One thrust—an enemy rider fell.
Two more came at him—he took their blows head-on, relying on his armor, then struck them down in return.
But more and more enemies closed in.
The Yellow Turban cavalry, already exhausted, began to slow.
The moment their speed dropped, the pursuing Wuhuan forces caught up.
In an instant, the formation collapsed.
They were surrounded.
—
On the city walls, Hu Cai and Li Le saw the danger.
"Open the gates! Send reinforcements!"
Troops poured out to rescue Zhang Xin.
—
Covered in blood, wounds across his body, Zhang Xin fought desperately with a handful of riders—but they could not break through.
Everywhere he looked, there were Wuhuan cavalry.
"So… this is where I die?"
For the first time, despair crept into his heart.
A single miscalculation—too few scouts—and everything had unraveled.
To make matters worse, his horse, pushed beyond its limits, faltered.
With a mournful cry, it collapsed—throwing Zhang Xin violently to the ground.
Pain exploded through his body. His vision blurred. Even breathing sent sharp agony through his chest.
Broken ribs.
His warhorse lay nearby, foaming at the mouth, convulsing.
A Wuhuan rider charged toward him, blade raised in triumph.
"My life… ends here."
Zhang Xin closed his eyes.
—
Clang!
A Yellow Turban cavalryman arrived just in time, parrying the strike and killing the attacker in a single motion.
More soldiers rushed in, forming a protective circle around Zhang Xin.
"General! Mount a horse!"
The man dismounted, helping him up.
Zhang Xin coughed blood and shook his head. "Leave me. I can't fight anymore. Break through while you still can… every survivor is a chance."
"How can you say that?" the soldier cried. "Without you, we would've died under Huangfu Song long ago! The Yellow Turbans cannot lose you!"
"Yes, Commander!" the others shouted. "We'll protect you—even at the cost of our lives!"
—
At that moment, a roar echoed from the direction of Yuyang:
"Kill the Wuhuan! Save the Commander!"
Hope surged.
"General! It's our reinforcements!"
"Good!" Zhang Xin forced himself onto a horse, ignoring the pain. "We break through—now!"
They charged toward the city.
—
Meanwhile, Nanlou had retreated to a hill with a small group of guards.
Though struck by an arrow, his injury was minor.
Looking down at the battlefield, he smiled coldly.
Victory was within reach. With Zhang Xin dead, his prestige would surpass all others.
Perhaps even the unification of the Wuhuan tribes…
"Your Majesty! Your Majesty!"
A panicked voice interrupted him.
"What now?" Nanlou snapped.
"Two Han warriors are charging toward us! You must flee!"
Nanlou scoffed. "Two men? Are my hundred riders not enough?"
But then—
He looked down.
A towering figure in a green robe cut through the battlefield like a storm.
Wherever he passed, Wuhuan riders fell as if harvested wheat.
None could withstand even a single blow.
In the blink of an eye, the man was within twenty paces.
Nanlou's face changed. "My horse—quick!"
He barely mounted when—
A figure appeared before him.
A face like a deity: red as a jujube, eyes like phoenixes, long beard flowing in the wind.
Before Nanlou could react—
A spear pierced his chest.
Darkness swallowed him.
He fell from his horse.
—
Silence fell over the battlefield.
The warrior dismounted, cut down Nanlou's banner, severed his head, and held it aloft.
No one dared move.
The Wuhuan warriors, struck with fear, instinctively parted to let him pass.
As he rode away, one man finally gathered the courage to shout:
"May we know your name, General?"
The warrior glanced back, his gaze like thunder.
"My name—Guan Yu."