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

At midnight, all was quiet.

The camps that stretched out during the day have now mostly disappeared.

The campfires all went out, leaving only cold ashes and messy tracks of carts and hooves.

In the central army camp, the commander's flag with a black background and a golden dragon still fluttered slightly in the night wind, but the flag was now empty.

Thirty thousand of the most elite cavalrymen, selected from the best, gathered silently like streams converging in the dark night in a sheltered depression on the north side of the camp.

There were no torches, no human voices, only the occasional uneasy snorting of warhorses, and the slight rustling of leather armor, scabbards, and bowstrings.

Each person is provided with three horses: one for riding and two for carrying ten days' worth of dry rations, spare arrows, a small amount of drinking water, and necessary items for keeping warm.

The excess supplies, including tents, cooking utensils, and even some spare armor, were left on site to be handled by the main force later.

Xiao Chen also changed into a set of black leather armor that was no different from that of an ordinary officer, with a dark cloak over it.

He stroked the neck of his black steed, "Treading Snow Black Steed," whose only hooves were white, and calmly swept his gaze across the silent steel forest before him.

The moonlight was obscured by thin clouds, letting through only a pale, pale glow, barely outlining the silent silhouettes of the horsemen, like a group of black phantoms about to pounce on their prey.

Zhang Meng stood at the very front, leading his horse, like an iron tower.

Zhao Tie then hid behind Xiao Chen, his eyes scanning the darkness warily.

Several selected night guides, the most familiar with the routes in northern Mongolia, were already waiting at the front of the line. Like foxes on the grassland, they almost blended into the night.

"Listen up, everyone," Xiao Chen's voice was not loud, but it clearly reached the ears of every captain and lieutenant, and then they relayed it to every soldier.

"On this journey, we will not light fires, make noise, or travel alone. Men will be gagged, and horses will have their hooves wrapped. All actions will be guided by drums, horns, and flags. Small enemy units will be dealt with by General Zhang Meng at the vanguard, and every effort will be made to ensure that not a single enemy escapes. If we encounter a large enemy force, we will avoid it if possible; if avoidance is not possible, we will fight swiftly and decisively, leaving no survivors! We have only one objective—Mount Langjuxu, Ashina Duoji's golden tent! Do you understand?"

"Understood!" came the low, suppressed reply, like muffled thunder rolling across the ground.

Xiao Chen said no more, took out a bone whistle carved with a wolf's head from his pocket, and put it in his mouth.

"Whoosh—whoosh whoosh—whoosh—"

Three short and one long whistle, sharp and eerie, like the cry of an owl, pierced the silence and dissipated in the wind not far away.

This is the signal to depart.

The lead night guide, like a hunting dog on command, gently nudges its horse's flank and disappears into the darkness first.

Immediately afterwards, Zhang Meng waved his hand, and 20,000 vanguard light cavalry, divided into several groups, followed silently like outstretched tentacles.

They bear the important responsibility of scouting, clearing, and providing early warnings.

A moment later, Xiao Chen took a deep breath of the chilling air and gently spurred the horse's flanks.

"Treading on Snow" takes its first steps, steady and powerful.

Zhao Tie led 10,000 "Iron Falcons" heavy cavalry and skilled archers, like a black tide, closely following behind and protecting the emperor in the center.

Thirty thousand cavalry, nearly one hundred thousand horses, when they moved, should have caused an earthquake.

But despite the strict ban and thorough prior preparations, it only produced a dull rumble like distant thunder, which was quickly drowned out by the howling north wind.

This massive army, like a silent black python, slid into the boundless darkness of the grassland and quickly disappeared, as if it had never existed.

Day 1, dawn.

The team took a short rest at the bottom of a riverbed that had long since dried up.

The men and horses drank water and ate cold, dry rations and beans.

There was no fire, and the food froze solid, but no one complained.

The night scouts went out to scout ahead and reported that there were no enemy traces within twenty miles ahead.

Like the soldiers, Xiao Chen ate dried meat and fried noodles with the cold water from his water bag.

His gaze remained fixed on the few guides and night watchmen, who were gathered around a simple leather map, gesturing with pebbles and blades of grass, and arguing in hushed tones.

There are no roads or obvious landmarks on the grassland; one must rely entirely on the sun, moon, stars, the distribution of water and grass, and the terrain and landforms in memory to determine direction.

The slightest deviation could lead to utter ruin.

"Your Majesty, the direction is correct, but at this speed, it will take more than eighty li a day to arrive within ten days."

An elderly night watchman, his face scarred and menacing, said in a low voice, "The horses, I'm afraid..."

"Horses are our legs, but more importantly, they are our life."

Xiao Chen swallowed the last mouthful of fried noodles, patted the crumbs off his hands, and said, "Issue the order to strictly enforce the horse-changing policy. Every hour of riding, horses must be changed. No one is allowed to try to save energy and exhaust a horse. Quartermasters of each unit must keep a close eye on the horses' condition. If there are any signs of injury or illness, report them immediately. If necessary... abandon the pack animals to save the warhorses."

The order was relayed.

The army, like a sophisticated machine, started up again.

The advantage of having one rider and three horses began to show: the rider could take turns resting, and the horses could also catch their breath.

However, prolonged galloping is a huge drain on both the rider and the horse.

In the afternoon, fine snowflakes began to fall from the sky, mixed with ice pellets, which stung my face.

Visibility became blurred, and the cold wind grew stronger.

The third day, night, lost.

A sudden "white blizzard" struck the team.

A fierce wind whipped up snowflakes, plunging the world into chaos, so dark that one could not see their own hand in front of their face.

The column was forced to stop, and everyone dismounted, huddled together, using their bodies and blankets to shield their warhorses from the wind and snow.

The guide also lost his way and could only rely on his senses and judgment of the wind to barely keep the road from dispersing.

The snowstorm lasted for nearly two hours.

When the wind stopped and the snow ceased, and the sky revealed sparse stars again, the team had already deviated from the planned route.

Worse still, several weak packhorses collapsed from the cold and exhaustion, never to rise again.

"Your Majesty, we may have strayed too far west." The guide's voice carried uncertainty and a hint of fear.

Xiao Chen looked up, trying to find the Big Dipper in the starry sky, but the clouds had not yet dispersed, and the starlight was dim.

He paused for a moment, then took out an exquisite bronze compass from his pocket and placed it in his palm.

After a slight shake, the magnetic spoon slowly pointed in one direction.

"This shall be the standard."

Xiao Chen's voice was calm, without reproach. "Adjust the course. Send out your most capable night scouts to explore thirty li each in the southeast, due east, and northeast directions, looking for rivers or significant terrain features. The rest of you, rest where you are, but do not dismount and be ready to depart at any time."

His composure inspired the somewhat flustered generals.

The course was recalibrated, and the team set off again after losing a small number of packhorses and supplies.

However, a shadow fell over everyone's heart.

Time is slipping away, little by little.

On the fifth day, an encounter occurred.

A nomadic caravan of about a hundred Di people ran into Zhang Meng's vanguard scouts during their migration.

Both sides were taken aback for a moment.

The Di people clearly did not expect to encounter such a large and well-equipped Xia cavalry force in their own territory, while Zhang Meng cursed his bad luck inwardly.

Without any hesitation, Zhang Meng personally led a squad of elite cavalry to charge forward.

The battle was brief but brutal.

Although the Di people were brave, they were at a significant disadvantage in terms of numbers, equipment, and training, and were caught off guard.

Most were quickly killed, and the few who tried to escape were caught up and shot by the Xia army scouts patrolling the perimeter.

Amid the chaos, two Di riders, relying on their superior horsemanship and familiarity with the terrain, managed to break through the encirclement and gallop off to the northeast.

"Chase them! Don't let a single one escape!" Zhang Meng's eyes were bloodshot. If the news leaked, the raid plan would be ruined.

Several squads of Xia army light cavalry pursued them like arrows released from a bow.

The chase lasted for nearly half an hour, and finally, near a glacier, the two Di people were shot off their horses.

But before one of them fell from his horse, he seemed to have shot a whistling arrow into the air, the sharp sound carrying far across the open grassland.

Zhang Meng returned with a livid face to report. Xiao Chen listened and simply nodded.

"We should not linger here. Let's speed up and cover at least thirty li today."

Xiao Chen gave the order.

That whistling arrow was like an alarm bell, striking a chord in everyone's heart.

Their movements may have been discovered, at least alerting the nearby Di people.

They are now racing against time, racing against the speed at which the Di people can deliver messages.

On the seventh day, horses began to show signs of injury and illness in large numbers.

The long march, lack of sufficient fodder, and harsh weather caused many warhorses to become lame, have diarrhea, and become exhausted.

Despite the transfers, the losses are still increasing.

Horses that fell behind or could no longer keep up were abandoned, and the supplies they carried were reduced to the bare minimum. Some soldiers even began to discard their spare arrows, keeping only their bows, swords, and a few days' worth of rations.

Morale inevitably declined.

Exhaustion, cold, and uncertainty about the future felt like invisible shackles.

Surprisingly, the army as a whole continued its silent march.

On one hand, there was extremely strict military discipline; on the other hand, His Majesty the Emperor was always with them.

Xiao Chen's "Treading on Snow" also showed signs of fatigue, but he still rode on his horse with his back straight.

The soldiers saw that the emperor ate the same food as them, or even less, and that when he camped at night, he would simply wrap himself in a cloak and doze off against his horse's belly for a short while.

"If His Majesty is so gracious, what complaints do we have?" These words were silently passed among the ranks.

Day 8, night.

One of the night watchmen sent out finally brought back solid good news—they had discovered a wide Onon River channel that matched the description, sixty miles to the southeast!

Moreover, the outline of the distant mountains on the opposite bank of the river vaguely matches the topographic map of Langjuxu Mountain!

Hope, like a spark in the darkness, instantly ignited the exhausted army.

Xiao Chen immediately ordered a turn to the southeast, proceeding at full speed towards the Onon River.

He even ordered the killing of some of the packhorses that were already showing signs of fatigue but could still run, and to roast their meat so that the soldiers could have a good meal and replenish their strength.

Horse meat is coarse and has a strong, gamey smell, but at this moment, it is nothing short of a delicacy.

Day nine, dusk.

Thirty thousand cavalrymen, like ghosts returning from hell, finally arrived at the east bank of the Onon River.

Exhausted and weary, their armor covered in dust, many had cracked and bleeding lips and sunken eyes, but all their eyes were fixed on the undulating shadows of the mountains on the west bank of the river in the twilight.

Langjuxu Mountain is right in front of us.

The night watchman confirmed again that a large amount of smoke was rising from the valley on the southern slope of the mountain, which was particularly conspicuous in the twilight.

In the wind, one could vaguely hear the clamor of voices, the neighing of horses, and even... joyful Hu music?

Xiao Chen rode his horse to a high slope, gazing at the opposite bank.

Nine consecutive days of almost non-stop driving left him feeling extremely exhausted, but a flame was burning fiercely in his chest.

He turned around and looked at the army behind him, which, though haggard, had regained a bloodthirsty glint in their eyes.

They did it. They made a 400-mile raid, traversing wind and snow, overcoming difficulties with horses, supplies, and disease, and like the sharpest arrow, they silently shot at the prey's doorstep.

"Dismount to rest, feed the horses, let them eat, and check their equipment."

Xiao Chen's voice was hoarse from thirst, yet it carried a metallic quality, "You must not remove your armor, you must not stray far. Midnight..."

He paused for a moment, his gaze sweeping over the faces eager for battle.

"Cross the river at midnight. Destination: the golden tent of the Di chieftain in the southern valley."

"Let us give that great Chanyu, who is currently indulging in drinking and revelry, an unforgettable surprise."

The clamor from the opposite bank drifted faintly on the wind, like the prelude to a celebration.

In the darkness and silence here, the blade of vengeance has been drawn, waiting only for the final strike.