Chapter 23: A Single Horse Length

Zhang Cheng’s breathing gradually steadied, and the color returned to his face. Sitting in his saddle, he spoke to Chen Zhong beside him:

"See how the injured men are faring, tally the battle results, and report back to me."

Chen Zhong replied, "Understood," then turned his horse and rode off with a few guards.

Zhang Cheng then instructed Chen Zheng to keep a close watch on the Qing cavalryman who had been struck by Chen Zhong’s mace, ensuring he did not die. The captive had suffered internal organ damage and was certainly beyond saving, but he was not yet dead; however, he was now in no condition to be interrogated about the situation of the Qing forces in Mafang Village.

Before long, Chen Zhong returned with Hu Dake from the rear guard. Hu Dake was clutching a small, rat-tail-like braid attached to a bald scalp—the head of the final Qing cavalryman who had attempted to flee to the north.

"Commander, we’ve finished them all. Ten Tatars, and not a single one escaped."

Hu Dake arrived beside Zhang Cheng, dropped the bloody head, dismounted, and continued, "I intended to take a prisoner, but this fellow was far too fierce. He injured three of my good men, so in the end, we had no choice but to kill him."

Zhang Cheng nodded at him and asked with concern, "How are the brothers' injuries?"

"It’s nothing, just flesh wounds," Hu Dake replied, then stepped closer and asked, "I heard from Chen Zhong that you were injured, Commander?"

"I am fine; it is nothing," Zhang Cheng answered. He turned back to Chen Zhong and asked, "What is the report?"

Chen Zhong cupped his hands and replied, "Reporting to the Thousand-Man Commander, our unit killed nine of the enemy and captured one. The prisoner is severely injured and likely won't last long. We seized five enemy horses and recovered nearly two hundred and fifty taels of silver. On our side, two men were killed, and seven were wounded, one of them quite seriously."

Zhang Cheng pondered for a moment and said to Chen Zheng, "I order your forward guard’s first company, second platoon, to remain here to tend to the wounded. Make sure that prisoner is kept alive; gag him if you must, but do not let him die."

Chen Zheng acknowledged the order: "I shall obey."

Zhang Cheng continued, "The units will rest briefly and depart in the time it takes for a cup of tea. Dake, you take the rear guard to the front. My unit will take the center, and Chen Zheng will bring up the rear. Send out the scouts; we are not far from Mafang, and we must not be careless or alert the Tatars."

The men accepted their orders and went to make arrangements. Accompanied by Chen Zhong, Zhang Cheng went to visit the four wounded men. The one struck by an arrow in the abdomen appeared the most critical. Like the others, the bleeding had been stemmed, but the arrow shaft had only been cut short; it could only be extracted once they returned to camp. After offering a few words of comfort, they prepared to set out.

***

About four miles north of Mafang Village, a road, not particularly wide, wound through a willow grove, barely allowing four horses to ride abreast. Thirty-three cavalrymen, clad in armor and helmets, rode southward.

These were the men of the first platoon, second company, of the left guard—a unit under the command of the thousand-man cavalry division led by Zhang Yan, a regional vice commander of the Xuanfu Garrison. To avoid collisions, they rode in pairs, divided roughly into three waves.

The front and rear waves consisted of ten riders each, with thirteen in the center, spaced about forty paces apart. About half a mile behind them, the thunder of hooves announced the arrival of eighty more riders.

The sun had traced an arc across the sky and now hung lazily on the western horizon. Its pale, waning light shone upon the yellowing leaves that had begun to fall, reflecting a golden glow.

The men, however, had no heart to admire the view; they spurred their horses, anxious to cover the ground. The first wave of ten Ming cavalrymen entered the willow grove.

Zhang Guangda, having found no trace of Qing scouts near Tangshan with his left guard, had been following Zhang Cheng’s orders to rendezvous at Mafang when they encountered the messenger Zhang Cheng had sent. He immediately regrouped his forces, keeping one squad in the lead while he personally led the main body to bring up the rear, heading straight for Mafang.

Assuming the Qing forces were gathered at Mafang resting, and fearing for Zhang Cheng’s safety, he had pushed his horses to their limit, driving them hard.

The second squad of the left guard’s second company, led by the squad leader Liu Quan, followed about fifty paces behind the first squad, galloping into the road through the willow grove.

It was October, and the autumn chill was biting, especially in the north. The cold wind whipped through the withered branches and yellowed leaves, creating a rustling sound that echoed through the woods. The rhythmic beat of horse hooves against the ground was particularly loud, mingled with the clatter of armor plating, weaving together a strange, melodic composition.

The road was covered in fallen willow leaves, which crunched crisply under the hooves. There were no birds in the grove—presumably, they had flown south for the winter—nor were there any small animals scurrying about. Apart from the sound of the cavalry, there was no other movement; the place was as deathly and terrifyingly silent as a graveyard.

For the sake of caution, Liu Quan shouted from his saddle: "Spread out! Keep a horse's length between you! Move quickly, and keep an eye on the woods!"

The tight formation loosened at his command, and their speed increased. The grove remained silent, but the stillness gave Liu Quan a sense of intense pressure, making the hairs on the back of his neck stand up.

He shivered involuntarily, a vague sense of unease creeping over him. His eyes darted around like a lantern, scanning the deathly quiet grove.

As his peripheral vision swept the eastern side of the grove, he suddenly caught sight of a few glints of cold steel amidst the golden light of the setting sun.

"Whoosh... swoosh... swoosh..." Immediately after, the sound of arrows slicing through the air erupted from the trees.

"Ambush!"

Liu Quan spotted the danger and shouted a warning to his men. He turned his head to look at the eastern woods, only to see a cold glint hurtling straight toward his face.

He instinctively dodged, but the arrow grazed his left ear, slicing away a piece of his earlobe and instantly staining his left shoulder with blood.

"Ah!"

A scream followed. A rider to Liu Quan’s right, slightly behind him, was struck by a heavy arrow that pierced through his ear protector, entering his left ear and exiting his right. He only managed half a cry before falling from his horse, dead. His riderless mount, panicked, kicked up its heels and bolted forward, leaving its master behind.

"Dismount! Kill the slaves!" Liu Quan shouted.

He threw himself from his horse, not forgetting to strike the animal’s rump with his three-barreled musket to goad it into fleeing the danger zone. As he hit the ground, he rolled toward the eastern side of the road, hiding behind a willow tree. He raised his musket but dared not move, uncertain of the number or positions of the hidden enemies.

A stout rider, as he dismounted, was struck by an arrow in his right calf. Before he could even cry out, another arrow flew in, piercing his throat through a gap in his neck armor. He collapsed, stone dead, forever parted from the brothers he had lived and fought beside.

Just as the riders of the second squad dismounted, the forest floor, covered in a thin layer of withered leaves, suddenly erupted.

A Qing cavalryman in light armor let out a strange howl and sprang from the ground. Before the last rider could react, a heavy mace smashed into his chest, and he fell with a thunderous crash. The Qing soldier kicked off the ground, leaped again, and brought his mace down hard on the helmet of the fallen Ming soldier.

The black helmet was sent flying, and the soldier's head was reduced to a bloody, unrecognizable mess.