Jinting Han people

Chapter 2: The Chengdu Fire
"General, we are surrounded."

As Zhang Yi uttered these words, shouts and cries of killing erupted from all directions, rising and falling like raging waves, seemingly without stopping. The surrounding flames had converged into a sea, scorching waves of flame surging and boiling between the eaves, making the once pitch-black night as bright as day. Even in the dark room, the light still filtered through the bamboo curtains of the window, stretching the shadows of everyone inside like long snakes, dancing continuously on the wall.

Jiang Wei glanced at Zhang Yi. His bloodshot eyes, reflecting the distant firelight, danced like fireflies. His expression was intriguing, a blend of exhaustion and deep compassion. He licked his chapped lips and sighed, "I know."

"General, what's next?" Ju Fu opened his only remaining eye. The towel slanted across his forehead was soaked with blood, mixed with cold sweat, leaving a few shallow lines along his dark cheek.

Jiang Wei thought bitterly. Yes, even in this desperate situation, he was still a great general of the Han Dynasty. Before the last hope was shattered, before the last Han soldier died, he had no reason to give up. Because, this was what his teacher had expected of him thirty-five years ago.

In that moment of recollection, Jiang Wei seemed to have returned from old age to youth, his frustration at his plan's failure replaced by a sense of calm. He straightened his body and said slowly and firmly, "Someone must rush out and take the troops outside the city away."

"Is there still a chance?" Jiang Bin asked. It was obvious that he did not understand the order, or rather, he did not know where the hope was.

"There's no chance." Jiang Wei spat blood on the ground and continued to explain, "But as long as people survive, there's always a chance."

With that, Jiang Wei slowly drew the sword from his waist. The broken blade scraped against the scabbard, making a hissing noise, yet it seemed to possess a magical power, silencing everyone present as they watched the elderly general polish his sword in the darkness. This precious sword, the Zhangwu Sword, had been bestowed upon Jiang Wei by the Emperor, and had been his companion for over thirty years. Jiang Wei had used it to issue orders countless times, but just now, it had been stained with blood for the first time, and then had been used to decapitate four men, leaving four more scars on its surface. Therefore, Jiang Wei polished the sword with exceptional concentration and meticulousness.

The general's graying hair and the fine lines between his brows and eyes made his followers fall silent. This old man, since entering Shu at the age of twenty-eight, had been busy with military duties, remaining unmarried and childless. He had always distributed all his earnings to the people of Shu. Right and wrong might be difficult for him to judge, but his moral character was impeccable. But was such a man to be buried here today?
Suddenly, several arrows whistled in, shattering the bamboo curtain and pinning it firmly to the earthen wall behind them. Light and heat blew in with the wind, illuminating everyone's faces. The Wei soldiers shouted and cursed, urging them to surrender and die, but everyone in the room remained motionless.

Jiang Wei scanned the expressions of his followers. Those still with him were mostly veterans, their skin wrinkled like the wind-worn rocks on the Didao Mountain Trail. They were covered in wounds, exhausted, and filled with murderous intent. But there were also three young men among them, their fear evident in their expressions and movements: this was the first time they had ever been so close to death, and their legs and pupils were shaking uncontrollably.

It was a look of yearning for hope. Even in desperate situations, these young people instinctively wanted to live, but the dignity of youth made them refuse to accept such weakness. Thus, their eyes were sometimes as clear as a mountain spring, sometimes as bleak as fallen leaves. Jiang Wei was familiar with this look, and now he liked it too. He believed it was the only way to greatness.

Jiang Wei then called out the three of them and instructed them, "We'll be leaving soon. The three of you will head west. Don't look back. Make sure you reach the military camp alive."

This sudden command bewildered the young men. They didn't understand the general's deeper meaning, but they could hear the weight of his words: the general had resolved to die so they could live. The three young men felt a sense of relief, but then a sense of shame, for a true warrior didn't need to rely on others for survival. This shame compelled the young men to refuse, but the glint in the general's eyes silenced them all.

Finally, a young man asked with difficulty: "General, what happens next?"

"Find a place to hide and wait." Jiang Wei watched them and said, "Wait as long as you can."

"Waiting for what? How long?" The young man wanted to ask again, but time didn't allow it. The Wei army outside the room was gradually approaching, mixed with the sound of horse hooves and whistling. Jiang Wei glanced at the three people and immediately led the others out.

With unwavering steps, he passed through the shadows of the shattered walls and then stood still. Under the blazing firelight, Jiang Wei, holding the Zhangwu Sword in one hand and one hand behind his back, looked down upon the tens of thousands of Wei soldiers before him like a god. Beside him stood sixteen veteran comrades who had fought alongside him for decades, while behind him lay the burning Chengdu Jin Palace. The flames had already burned the moon red, and the smoke filled the sky all night long, gathering countless dark clouds above, seemingly poised to descend at any moment.

This awe-inspiring spectacle terrified the Wei soldiers surrounding him. They had heard of Zhang Fei defending the Broken Bridge and driving back a thousand enemies, but this was their first time witnessing it. Awestruck, they unanimously drew arrows from their quivers, nocked their bowstrings, and stretched their horn bows to full heights. But for some reason, the Wei soldiers didn't immediately release their bowstrings. Was it lack of courage? Or perhaps a feeling of respect? Regardless, everyone within the flames fell silent.

They heard an old man shouting, "The great Han general Jiang Wei is here, come quickly and fight to the death!" The Wei soldiers responded with a rain of arrows as expected.

In this way, the seventeen veterans began the last battle of their lives. This battle was not for victory, nor for breaking through the encirclement, but was dominated by a very simple desire, which was to kill one or more enemies before falling down, and never surrender.

Like a tide, the Wei soldiers surged towards the Han army, and the sounds of fighting rang out once more. But this was no longer about victory or defeat, no matter the protests. It was simply a call to action, a need to prove their existence. And heaven responded, sending down a gentle spring rain that clung to the armor and blades of both sides.

Liao Hua and Ju Fu were both nearly crippled and soon fell in the black stream of Wei soldiers. Zhang Yi, who had been following Jiang Wei, had been wounded in more than a dozen places. Bleeding profusely, he collapsed to the ground, unconscious. A moment later, he suddenly raised his head and opened his bloodshot eyes, but he didn't see the general, Jiang Wei. Just then, a group of people ran past him. He picked up a dagger from the ground and hurled it at the enemy, striking a Wei soldier in the head. The soldier screamed and fell to the ground. "Another gain!" Zhang Yi cursed in his throat and fell to the ground, dead.

Jiang Wei had already suffered four arrow wounds and six knife wounds. Zhao Tong, Jiang Bin, and Guan Yi were still with him, all wounded. The four of them fought their way to a hillock, surrounded by a dense, endless enemy force. A red-armored enemy general led a volley of arrows. Jiang Wei was struck by another arrow in the left chest. He pulled out the arrow, shouted loudly, and leaped from the hillock, charging directly in front of the enemy general. His chipped Zhangwu sword struck his target's neck once again. But this time, the enemy's head didn't fall. With a sizzling sound, Jiang Wei's hand lightened, blood splashed onto his face, and the sword's blade snapped in two.

The rain grew heavier, dripping down on the dirt, the bodies, and the flames. A strong wind blew, rustling the newly green treetops and causing the fire to flicker. Finally, there was a flash of spring thunder, a white flash, and then a thunderclap that exploded overhead.

This cry awakened Jiang Wei, as if he had received some kind of omen, knowing he was nearing death. His aged body was now covered in blood, and every muscle in his body was groaning. Yet he continued to wield his broken sword, slashing and killing, while shouting the following words, encouraging his remaining soldiers and responding to the heavens who were watching over his soul:

"The martyrs are above, the warriors sacrificed their lives! As long as the heavens are there, the Han Dynasty will not perish! Kill! Kill!"

He was struck again in the back, his body swaying violently, nearly falling to the ground. But Jiang Wei quickly used his left hand to support himself on the ground, turned around, and killed an enemy. Only then did he finally realize that he was the only one left in the Han army. But was he really alone? In a trance, Jiang Wei saw countless souls. They stood beside him, silently watching him, led by a familiar face that had long been dead, smiling and nodding at him.

The illusion lasted only a moment, quickly dissipating like the tide. The spirits instantly transformed back into the cruel Wei soldiers in the dim light. They formed a circle, cautiously sizing up the dying old man. Some urged him to surrender. Humiliated, he stood up straight and angrily declared, "In the Han Dynasty, there are only beheaded generals, not surrendered generals!" But his voice was already weak, low, and incoherent.

In a moment, he was struck twice more in the chest, one piercing a lung, the other piercing his heart. This finally caused him to collapse, and he lay in the muddy water, his broken sword lying on the ground beside a still-smoldering bonfire. His eardrums still rang with the clash of swords and the shouts of battle, yet he vaguely felt, as if in a dream, that he was still fighting, still shouting. Yet, he also vaguely knew that he was gravely wounded, lying on the ground, bleeding profusely.

Did the young man escape? A seemingly plausible thought flashed through Jiang Wei's mind, but it quickly became another question: Was the Han Dynasty truly doomed? Unwilling to give up, Jiang Wei struggled, using up his last bit of strength. He made a wish, then grunted and completely lost consciousness.

The dark sky was crisscrossed with white light, and thunder erupted like a tide. Rain poured down, washing blood and ashes into the river, leaving behind only a charred ruin. People were astonished by the scene, whispering, "Spring thunder is common in this season, but strong winds and thunder are extremely rare. Could it be that Jiang Wei's spirit has transformed into a fierce ghost, wreaking havoc in the sky?"

So someone curiously cut open Jiang Wei's chest and pulled out a gall bladder as big as a bucket from the blood-soaked chamber. The Wei soldiers looked at each other in bewilderment, thinking that the rumors had been confirmed, and then carefully crushed the gall bladder.

The night ended, the thick clouds dispersed, the sun rose again, and a new day began. The people hailed that day as the starting point of the new empire, and the following year, the era name was changed to Taishi, meaning peace had begun anew. Then they began rebuilding Jinguan City. They carved tombstones on the bones, rammed earth walls atop the ruins, planted mulberry trees amidst the ashes, and relocated refugees from the city walls. Then, the broken swords turned to dust, the tombstones were covered with moss, and no trace of the bloody battle remained.

　I have manuscripts for the new book, and I guarantee that the daily update will be no less than 4,000 words. I hope everyone will vote and read more. Your support is my motivation to update.

　　
　
(End of this chapter)