Rise of a Lonely City: From Exiled Prince to Ruler of the Nine Provinces

June 27th, the second year of Xuanji, night.

Thirty li northwest of Yingcheng lies a desolate body of water called "Wild Duck Pond".

The water vapor that rises during the day condenses into a thick, milky-white fog at night, pressing heavily on the river surface, reed marshes, and scattered sandbars.

The fog was sticky and damp, making it difficult to distinguish one's own fingers. Even the sounds of flowing water, croaking frogs, and chirping insects were swallowed up and blurred by the boundless whiteness.

Only in the distance, towards Yingcheng, could a few faint lights be seen, like ghostly eyes, appearing and disappearing in the mist.

After being repeatedly harassed by "migrant boats" for several days, the vigilance of the Yingcheng rebels was worn down and distorted by endless fatigue and paranoia, and they eventually became somewhat numb.

Especially in the pitch-black late night, the rebel sentries responsible for guarding the northwest waterways mostly huddled in their simple sentry posts or dozed off leaning against the cold battlements. They tended to attribute any slight sound in the fog to startled waterbirds, broken branches, or those annoying but harmless "straw boats" playing tricks.

After all, the main force of the Xia army is dozens of miles away, and the main focus is on the frontal defense of the river. This remote Yeyadang has complicated waterways and hidden currents, making it difficult for large ships to navigate. Could the Xia army possibly fly over here?

Unbeknownst to them, on the edge of this deadly waterway shrouded in both thick fog and darkness, a silent army, like a ghost in the fog, had completed its final assembly.

There were no lights, no horns, and not even the clanging of metal armor.

Only the suppressed breaths and the barely audible "splashing" sounds of oars and bamboo poles dipping into the water could be heard.

Hundreds of boats of varying sizes—including small fishing boats and sampans collected from the local people, makeshift bamboo rafts and wooden rafts, and even sheepskin rafts tied with driftwood—gathered silently in the shadows of the reeds on the shore, like fallen leaves floating on the water.

The ship was packed with people, a total of three thousand men personally selected by Zhou Meng. They were the elite of the "Wave-Treading Battalion" and a mix of the bravest veterans who were the first to cross the river.

Zhou Meng himself, having shed his signature heavy armor and wearing only a tight-fitting black water jacket, with waterproof mud smeared on his face, squatted on the lead, slightly larger, shuttle-shaped speedboat, like a black panther poised to pounce.

Beside him was Luo Heng, the captain of the Treading Waves Camp, dressed in the same attire and with eyes as sharp as an eagle.

Luo Heng was originally a fisherman's son from Chaohu Lake. He was skilled in swimming and familiar with rivers and lakes. After joining the army, he repeatedly made meritorious contributions and was promoted by Han Lie to specialize in naval scouts and raids.

"Is everything settled?" Zhou Meng's voice was extremely low, with the hoarseness typical of men from the north.

"All done."

Luo Heng nodded, his voice even softer, almost absorbed by the fog, "According to the route that the 'deception troops' have repeatedly explored and discovered these past few days, there is a shallow beach three miles ahead with a relatively slow current, called 'Old Stork's Beak'. There are many gravels underwater, which is barely enough to land."

The rebels had only set up one outpost there, with about twenty men. They had just changed shifts half an hour ago and were now at their most tired.

Beyond the checkpoint lies a rocky wasteland, beyond which lies the "Wild Duck Path" leading to the west gate of Yingcheng. Though difficult to traverse, it offers respite from the main roads and the main rebel force.

"it is good."

A fierce glint flashed in Zhou Meng's eyes. "Tell the brothers, once we're ashore, no talking, no lighting fires! Use knives, crossbows, and your fists! Take down the outposts as quickly as possible, then drive them onto the beach like nails! Whether the reinforcements can get up here depends on whether our three thousand heads are tough enough!"

The orders were relayed by word of mouth and quickly reached every ship. The three thousand assassins gripped their sword hilts and crossbows tightly, checking the short blades and grappling hooks at their waists.

No one spoke; only heavy breathing turned into white smoke in the mist and quickly dissipated.

The air was thick with the scents of tung oil, damp wood, and mud, along with an indescribable atmosphere that mingled with tension, excitement, and murderous intent.

"Set off."

With Zhou Meng's almost imperceptible gesture, hundreds of small boats and rafts, like arrows released from a bow, yet eerily silent, glided into the fog-shrouded river.

The oars entered the water with slow, even movements, as if afraid to disturb the sleeping, foggy night.

Luo Heng personally steered the boat ahead, knowing this waterway as well as the lines on his palm. He led the fleet, avoiding the main currents and rapids, and, under the cover of fog and night, like a ghost, cut towards the unknown darkness on the opposite shore.

The river is wide, and the power of the current is beyond imagination.

Even when choosing a relatively calm waterway, the icy river water was still turbulent, constantly trying to wash away and capsize the small boats.

From time to time, soldiers would murmur in surprise, or make the soft sound of objects falling into the water, but these were immediately stopped by the stern look and gestures of the officers in charge.

If someone accidentally falls into the water, their companions will grab them tightly and silently pull them back onto the boat so they can continue moving forward.

Everyone was on edge, battling the swaying boat beneath their feet, the icy river water, and the boundless darkness and thick fog.

Time seemed to stretch on endlessly in the silence and stealth.

After an unknown amount of time, the outline of land, darker than the night, finally began to appear faintly in the thick fog ahead, along with the shadow of a relatively flat mudflat.

"We've arrived at Old Stork's Beak."

Luo Heng's voice carried a hint of barely perceptible tension.

He raised his hand, and the fleet slowly slowed down until finally, the bow of the boat gently touched the slippery pebble beach.

There were no cheers, no commands.

The soldiers on the first batch of ships leaped down like cats, the icy river water instantly reaching their waists.

They gritted their teeth, resisting the urge to gasp, and struggled to drag the boat ashore or secure it with ropes.

Many others, carrying their crossbows already cocked, bent over and quickly spread out on the slippery pebbles to form a warning line.

Zhou Meng and Luo Heng also jumped off the boat.

Zhou Meng stepped on the wet, hard pebbles under his feet, then looked ahead in the fog at the earthen slope that rose above the mudflats—that should be where the rebels' outpost was located.

"Team one to the left, team two to the right, team three follow me, move up. Leave two teams to hold the beachhead and provide support for the follow-up." Zhou Meng's voice was cold and devoid of any emotion.

Three hundred elite soldiers from the Wave-Treading Battalion, skilled in night combat and stealth, split into three groups, like three streams of black water, silently creeping up the earthen slope.

The thick fog provided them with excellent cover, and the dew-dampened grass beneath their feet absorbed most of their footsteps.

Sure enough, there was a simple wooden sentry post on the top of the earthen slope, with dim, flickering lights shining from inside.

Outside the shed, two rebel sentries, each holding a spear, were leaning against a wooden pillar, their heads nodding off.

Further away, there seemed to be several figures huddled in sheltered spots.

Luo Heng made a hand gesture.

Dozens of crossbowmen knelt down in the fog and leveled their crossbows.

Other soldiers, armed with short blades and ropes, crouched low and slowly approached from both sides like cheetahs hunting their prey.

"Whoosh! Whoosh whoosh!"

A barely audible whirring of a mechanism.

The crossbow bolt pierced through the thick fog, accurately striking the throats and chests of the sentry and the few blurry figures.

They collapsed to the ground before they could even utter a sound.

Almost the instant the crossbow bolts left the bowstring, the soldiers who had been lying prone suddenly sprang up and pounced on the sentry post!

A few short, muffled groans and the sound of objects falling to the ground came from inside the shed, then silence fell.

The whole process was breathtakingly fast.

From landing to taking control of the checkpoint, it took no more than the time it takes for an incense stick to burn.

The stench of blood permeated the damp air, but was quickly diluted by the thick fog.

"Clean it up thoroughly, drag the body to the reeds behind. Leave the sentry post as it is, light the lamps, and don't let anyone notice anything amiss."

Zhou Meng quickly gave the order.

He walked to the guard post and looked towards Yingcheng.

The thick fog persisted, but faint lights of torches could be seen moving across the higher city walls in the distance.

"Luo Heng, lead your men half a mile forward and block that 'Wild Duck Path.' Set up plenty of tripwires and alarm bells. The rest of you, using the outpost as a center, dig makeshift fortifications and cut down trees to create obstacles. Before dawn, you must dig out a foothold on this beach!"

The three thousand elite soldiers immediately sprang into action.

Like tireless worker ants, they used their entrenching tools, knives, and even their bare hands to dig trenches and build breastworks on the slippery pebble beach and muddy ground.

The felled trees and reeds were quickly made into simple barricades and chevaux-de-frise.

Everything took place in silence and mist, with only the sound of iron rubbing against soil and gravel being deliberately suppressed.

Guided by the guide left behind by Luo Heng, the following ships crossed the river silently, one after another, transporting more soldiers, crossbows, and a small number of shields and spears ashore.

The beachhead, in the darkness, spread and fortified itself silently, like fungi.

The sky slowly turned a pale white through the thick fog.

The fog began to move and thin.

On the banks of Wild Duck Pond, below Old Stork's Beak, a bridgehead built on a rocky beach and simple fortifications is beginning to take shape.

Three thousand Xia soldiers, like nails, have been driven deep into the rebels' territory, which they considered absolutely safe.

As the first rays of sunlight struggled to pierce the fog and illuminate the mudflats, the sound of warning gongs and faint commotion finally rang out from the direction of Yingcheng in the distance—the rebels seemed to have finally noticed the unusual activity on the opposite bank of the river, and the Xia army that had appeared out of nowhere "behind" them.

But it was too late.

Zhou Meng wiped the mud and sweat from his face, gazed at the outline of Yingcheng that was beginning to stir in the distance, grinned, revealing a set of white teeth that looked sinister and excited in the gradually brightening morning light.

"The nail is driven in. Now it's time for our hammer to come down hard."