Chapter 17: A Battle Made with No Retreat

Southern part of Shanggu Commandery.

"Traitor! You dared to kill loyal subjects and claim credit, yet you still won’t stop—you even dare to secretly let Hu barbarians cross the border! Do you not fear for the lives of your entire clan?!"

Zou Jing, the Protector of the Wuhuan, stood up, gripping his long spear, and spat a mouthful of blood onto the ground. Gritting his teeth, he glared fiercely at the scar-faced official before him.

Several bodies lay on the ground—they were Zou Jing’s personal guards.

Around them, about a hundred Hu cavalrymen with braided hair stared at Zou Jing with hostile eyes.

“Protector Zou, you are mistaken… You are the commander overseeing the Hu. The ones who killed loyal subjects and let the Hu cross the border are not our subordinates, but you yourself…”

The scar-faced official rode forward a few steps, looking down at Zou Jing from his horse, stroking the scar on his face as he sneered coldly. “That’s why Protector Zou incited rebellion among the county people and was attacked to death by the mob…”

“Shameless traitor! You dare to slander me…”

Zou Jing raised his spear. “You, a mere military staff officer, wouldn’t dare to assassinate me on your own. Who ordered you to do this?!”

“Protector Zou, perhaps you should ask the Lord of the Underworld in Youdu; he knows everything…”

The scar-faced military staff officer laughed fiercely and waved his hand. “Kill him!”

The Hu cavalrymen surged forward, brandishing their blades and encircling Zou Jing.

“Die!”

Zou Jing shouted loudly but paid no heed to the Hu men rushing at him. He raised his spear and charged straight at the scar-faced officer without hesitation.

The scar-faced man probably didn’t expect Zou Jing to still be capable of fighting. His expression changed, and he tried to pull his horse back.

But the horse was slow to retreat, and Zou Jing managed to close the distance.

The scar-faced man hastily leapt off his horse, tumbling and scrambling, finally finding refuge behind several Hu cavalrymen.

Zou Jing was momentarily blocked by the scar-faced man’s horse, so he swiftly mounted his own horse, speared a Hu rider in front of him, and spurred his mount to continue the charge toward the scar-faced officer.

As he mounted, several Hu blades slashed at him, cutting his armor and grazing him twice on the horse’s back.

Zou Jing’s armor was well-made; although he suffered a few cuts, they were flesh wounds and not fatal.

The horse, stung by the two cuts, let out a wild neigh and lunged forward with great force. At that moment, the scar-faced man was retreating and dodging, which disrupted the Hu formation. Riding the horse, Zou Jing broke through the encirclement.

Seeing no one ahead, Zou Jing realized he had accidentally broken free. He glanced back, then bent forward to protect his neck as he pushed onward.

This was no longer a charge to kill but a desperate flight for survival.

“Quick, pursue! Don’t let him escape!”

The scar-faced man, sitting on the ground and somewhat flustered, hurriedly called for the Hu men to give chase.

Several Hu raised their bows and drew arrows, aiming at Zou Jing.

Their shooting was accurate—three arrows struck Zou Jing’s back, and one hit the horse’s rump.

However, the Hu used mounted bows and wolf-tooth arrows, which lacked the power to pierce armor when fired at a distance. The arrows stuck in Zou Jing’s back, but he continued to gallop fiercely.

The horse, after being hit by an arrow, actually ran faster but was panting heavily, clearly unable to maintain the pace for long.

Nearly a hundred Hu cavalry tightly pursued from behind.

...

“Jiuchi, are you certain the Hu are here?”

Liu Bei led his ragtag army marching northwest, now reaching the Juma River about forty miles northwest of Zhuo County.

At present, the mounted criminals were indeed a disorderly force—armed with swords, spears, halberds, axes, and wolf-tooth clubs—a chaotic assortment.

“Right around here. I saw them watering their horses by the river—about thirty men, but over a hundred horses,” Jiuchi nodded, pointing to the north bank of the Juma River. “My lord, look at the horse droppings by the riverbank. They should still be nearby.”

Indeed, the riverbank was littered with horse droppings, several campfires, and many horseshoe prints.

Judging by the number of fires, roughly thirty people seemed to be there.

Zhang Ba, who was poor with numbers, confused the number of Hu men with that of their horses.

“Hm, after this job, you’ll all become cavalrymen!”

Liu Bei nodded.

Before coming, he had worried the mounted criminals might be reluctant to engage the Hu in open battle.

In recent years, the Xianbei raided the border annually with great force. The mounted criminals were untrained, and Liu Bei feared they might be intimidated.

Unexpectedly, after Jiuchi’s reconnaissance, these men all enthusiastically volunteered, determined to strike.

Their logic was simple and blunt.

They thought if it were winter or if the Hu outnumbered them, it was best not to provoke them, because the Hu cavalry was fast.

But if it was not winter, and the Hu had fewer men but many horses, then they had to attack—again because the Hu horses were fast.

Fast horses meant great value.

They said the Hu fought desperately in winter, but now it was late March—not the Hu’s most ferocious season.

Moreover, if there were only twenty or thirty men but over a hundred horses, they were probably Hu horse traders—fat and juicy prey.

Most Han people in Youzhou were not afraid of small groups of Hu, only resentful.

Though the Hu raided Youzhou every year, most able-bodied Han did not fear them, only hated them.

This was still the Great Han.

Although these were the final days of the Han, the spirit left by Emperor Wu still lingered.

Of course, there was another reason.

Over the years, far more civilians had suffered at the hands of corrupt officials than from the Hu.

The Shanggu troops where Zhang Ba and Jiuchi originally belonged often killed loyal subjects and then blamed the Xianbei leader Tanshihuai.

To the people of Youzhou, the Xianbei, horse bandits, and county troops were no different—all equally disastrous soldiers.

The mounted criminals had mostly been horse bandits before.

“Shh, don’t speak!”

Jiuchi suddenly raised a finger, dismounted, and lay prone, listening. “My lord, I hear horseshoes… coming toward us!”

“Prepare for battle!”

Liu Bei took a spear from Zhang Ba and ordered the mounted criminals to ready themselves.

He gave no complex tactical instructions because these men only knew two tactics:

Either charge headlong or ambush.

More precisely, either charge in a mass or hide first and then charge.

Oh, and a third: scatter and flee when losing.

They were a rabble, untrained, no choice.

Now by the bank of the Juma River, with no cover, they had to fight with their backs to the river—essentially a fight to the death.

The ragtag group formed a poor skirmish line, about twenty horsemen scattered on the flanks and over a hundred foot soldiers in the center.

They stood widely spaced because many were readying lassos and bolas, which required room.

Just as the formation was set, a horse column appeared ahead.

“They’re coming… looks like someone’s being chased by the Hu?”

Jiuchi’s keen eyesight and hearing far surpassed ordinary men—why this skinny, short man was the gang leader.

“Prepare to advance… charge!”

Liu Bei’s eyesight was also sharp. Seeing this, he ordered the charge immediately to prevent the Hu from fleeing once they realized the enemy was numerous—Hu horses were fast, and they couldn’t be caught if they ran.

But the Hu did not flee; instead, they charged even faster.

Liu Bei immediately regretted his order.

Jiuchi had said the Hu numbered only twenty or thirty men with over a hundred horses.

Yet Liu Bei now saw what looked like over a hundred cavalrymen charging—each horse seemingly mounting a rider.

“My lord… this isn’t the Hu I saw before!” Jiuchi suddenly panicked. “These are Tanshihuai’s troops! The Xianbei mounted archers!”