In less than half an hour, Zhang Xin led his troops to the banks of the Ru River.
Across the frozen expanse, Tadun stood waiting with over seven hundred Wuhuan warriors, their ranks tight and ready.
Zhang Xin did not rush.
He simply reined in his horse and faced them from across the ice.
Though the river was frozen solid, the surface stretched hundreds of meters wide. Warhorses would lose their footing on it—charging across would be suicide.
He had brought spare mounts. Even if the enemy fled for a full day, he could still catch them.
There was no need to waste lives here.
If anything, the Wuhuan should be the anxious ones.
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By the hour of Shenshi, Zhang Xin ordered a retreat of ten li and set up camp. Scouts were sent out to watch the enemy closely.
"My lord, what should we do?" Wu Yan asked, unease written across his face.
Tadun frowned, silent for a long while before sighing.
"There's only one option now… we ask my uncle for help."
He clearly disliked the idea.
But there was no other choice.
"If we send riders now, each with three horses, they can reach Liucheng in three days at best," Tadun calculated. "My uncle will need two days to gather forces, and another five to march here."
He looked at Wu Yan.
"We only need to hold for ten days."
Wu Yan swallowed. "Ten days… can we last that long?"
"We must. Whether we can or not."
That very night, riders were dispatched at full speed toward Liucheng.
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For the next two days, the two armies remained locked in a silent standoff.
On the third night, Zhang Xin sat in his tent, deep in thought.
Something wasn't right.
He had traced the Wuhuan's path and calculated their supplies. The grain they had seized should have lasted no more than three days.
Yet here they were—still holding their ground.
And for days now, they had been focused entirely on him. No raids. No resupply.
So where were they getting food?
Zhang Xin's own provisions were nearly gone. He had only brought ten days' worth—six had already passed.
Why weren't the Wuhuan in a hurry?
After a long pause, he summoned Guan Yu.
"Brother Yun," he said, "what do you think they're planning?"
Guan Yu stroked his beard thoughtfully. "Could they have sent for reinforcements from Liucheng?"
"I considered that," Zhang Xin replied. "But even if help comes, it will take at least ten days. By then, they should have starved."
"They can slaughter their horses," Guan Yu said calmly.
Zhang Xin froze—then slapped his forehead.
Of course.
The Wuhuan were cavalry. He had assumed they would never kill their mounts.
But if their goal was simply to hold the river…
Seven hundred cavalry or seven hundred infantry—it made little difference.
And if they held out long enough, reinforcements would arrive.
"I nearly made a grave mistake…" Zhang Xin murmured, glancing at Guan Yu with gratitude.
Guan Yu smiled faintly, stroking his beard.
After a moment's thought, Zhang Xin spoke again.
"Brother Yun, take two hundred cavalry under cover of night. Move downstream and find a crossing point."
"Tomorrow, I'll hold them here. When they're distracted—you strike."
Guan Yu nodded. "Leave it to me."
__
On the fourth day, the standoff continued as usual.
At noon, Tadun suddenly burst into laughter.
"What's so amusing, my lord?" Wu Yan asked.
"I'm laughing at Zhang Xin's incompetence," Tadun sneered. "Four days, and he's still foolishly facing us head-on."
He smirked.
"If it were me, I would have already sent troops downstream to cross and attack from behind."
Before his laughter faded, a rider came galloping in, panic on his face.
"My lord! Enemy cavalry has crossed downstream! They're less than five miles away—led by that red-faced, long-bearded general!"
Tadun froze.
Wu Yan's expression darkened.
Your mouth really is cursed.
"My lord, what do we do?!" Wu Yan urged.
"What do we do?" Tadun snapped back to reality.
"Run! Head for the mountains!"
The mere mention of Guan Yu had shattered his will to fight.
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Zhang Xin had been watching closely.
The moment the Wuhuan began to retreat, he roared:
"Wrap the hooves!"
The cavalrymen quickly bound their horses' hooves with cloth to prevent slipping on the ice.
"Charge!"
The Wuhuan horses, weakened from days without proper feed or salt, could barely run ten li before the Yellow Turbans caught up.
"Into the mountains! Hurry!" Tadun shouted.
Leaving a rear guard to delay the enemy, he fled with the remaining three hundred men toward Yanshan Mountain, abandoning most of their horses.
__
After crushing the rearguard, Zhang Xin pressed the attack up the mountain.
But the terrain was treacherous—horses were useless here.
The Yellow Turbans were forced to fight on foot.
Tadun personally led the defense, ordering stones to be hurled down the slopes. Dozens of attackers fell before they could even approach.
Zhang Xin had no choice but to withdraw.
Instead, he surrounded the mountain and used the abandoned horse carcasses as rations. At the same time, he sent for reinforcements from Wuzhong and Yuyang.
If this dragged on, Qiuliju's army would arrive.
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On the seventh day, reinforcements finally came—Zuo Bao with eight hundred cavalry.
After two days of rest, Zhang Xin ordered another assault.
Two hours later, they were driven back again, suffering heavy losses.
Zhang Xin was trapped in a dilemma.
Retreat now—and all their efforts would be wasted.
Continue—and risk being crushed by incoming reinforcements.
After careful thought, he made his decision.
Three more days.
If the mountain could not be taken, they would withdraw.
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On the eighth day, the assault intensified.
The Wuhuan, knowing help was near, fought with desperate resolve.
The Yellow Turbans were forced back once more.
On the ninth day—
Snow began to fall.
The mountains turned white.
The Wuhuan erupted in cheers, their morale soaring.
Zhang Xin attempted another attack, but the snow made the slopes treacherous. Soldiers slipped and fell, unable to advance.
He withdrew again.
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On the tenth day, as Zhang Xin prepared yet another assault, a scout rushed in.
"General! Qiuliju has arrived with five thousand troops! They are less than thirty li away!"
Silence fell.
Zhang Xin closed his eyes briefly, then exhaled.
"…Withdraw."
A long, weary sigh escaped him.
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