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

Onon River, east bank, midnight.

All that remained between heaven and earth was an indelible darkness, and an endless, icy wind.

Thirty thousand cavalrymen, like giant beasts lurking in the shadows of the riverbank, silently licked their wounds and gathered their last strength.

The warhorse was unsaddled and quietly chewed on the little left of the beans and dry grass, occasionally snorting wearily.

The soldiers stood back to back or huddled beside their warhorses, using each other's body heat and thick cloaks to ward off the biting cold.

There was no campfire, only a depressing silence, and the occasional, deliberately suppressed cough.

Xiao Chen did not rest.

He sat cross-legged on a felt rug next to "Treading Snow," and with the help of the faint starlight and moonlight obscured by the clouds, he wiped his sword one last time.

The sword reflected a dark luster in the cold night.

Zhao Tie stood beside him like the most loyal shadow, his hand on his sword, his gaze sweeping across the dark river and the opposite bank like a hawk.

On the opposite bank, in the valley at the southern foot of Langjuxu Mountain, a completely different scene unfolds.

Although separated by the wide but already frozen Onon River, the vast, brightly lit camp was still clearly visible.

You could even faintly hear the commotion carried by the wind—the crackling of the campfire, the mournful and joyful sounds of the huqin and morin khuur, the rough shouts and wild laughter of the men, and the screams and songs of the women, all mixed with the aroma of roasted meat and the sweet scent of milk wine, creating a scene of decadent revelry.

The Naadam Festival seems to be far from over, or rather, it has entered its most exhilarating phase.

The daytime horse racing, wrestling, and archery exhausted the warriors' strength, but also ignited the fervor in their blood.

Nighttime is a time for plundered wine, women, and boasting of war exploits.

The tribal leaders, nobles, and warriors gathered around a huge bonfire, drinking the strong liquor they had plundered from the border regions of the Great Xia, tearing into half-cooked beef and mutton, and boasting about their "achievements"—who had cut off how many Xia people's heads, who had seized the finest silks and porcelains, and who had abducted the most beautiful Han women.

In the center of the camp, inside the tallest golden-topped tent, decorated with gold and silver and covered with a white felt blanket, the atmosphere reached its peak.

Ashina Duoji, the young new ruler of the grasslands, was reclining on his throne covered with a white tiger skin, toying with an exquisite Longquan celadon wine cup in his hand, watching the Hu women dancing in the tent with hazy, drunken eyes.

He was a burly man, his face flushed with the effects of alcohol and smugness, and a wide grin beneath his hooked nose revealed teeth stained yellow by strong liquor.

Inside the tent, the various tribesmen, nobles, and other members of the tribes were slumped over, some already dead drunk, while others were still loudly playing drinking games and boasting about their bravery.

The air was thick and foul, a mixture of the smells of sweat, alcohol, mutton, and spices.

Around the large tent, mountains of "spoils of war" were piled up—silk, porcelain, bronzeware, tea, and even some stolen books and musical instruments, haphazardly stacked in a corner.

Outside the tent, the wolf riders guarding the tent could not resist the temptation of the aroma of wine and the noise wafting from inside. Many of them secretly passed around milk wine from their leather bags, dozed off leaning against their spears, or gathered around small fires to chat and laugh in hushed tones.

Vigilance? No, here, in their royal court, at their victory celebration after a "glorious victory," vigilance is the most inappropriate thing.

Scouts? The dispatched scouts reported that there was indeed a large Xia army in the south, but they were being closely "watched" by their warriors hundreds of miles away, slowly advancing northward. It seemed more like they were there to reclaim lost territory than to have some kind of cunning plan.

As for places further away? That's even more impossible. May the Eternal Heaven protect us; this is the upper reaches of the Onon River, the Langjuxu Mountains, the heartland of their steppe warriors, a sacred land that the Xia people have never set foot on!

Xia people? Those two-legged sheep are only fit to tremble behind city walls. How dare they come to the depths of this grassland? What a joke!

"Hahaha!" Duji gulped down the wine in his cup, then casually threw the porcelain cup on the ground, making a crisp shattering sound.

He spread his arms wide and proclaimed in the Di language, "My warriors! Blessed are the Eternal Heaven! This winter, our tents will be warmer, our women will wear silk, and our children will eat white flour! The land, wealth, and women of the Southern people will all be ours! This is just the beginning!"

An even more frenzied cheer and howl erupted from inside the tent.

Meanwhile, on the east bank of the Onon River.

Xiao Chen slowly stood up and returned his clean sword to its sheath.

He walked to the riverbank, bent down, scooped up a handful of icy river water, and splashed it on his face.

The biting cold invigorated him.

He looked at the dazzling and bustling "sea of ​​stars" on the opposite bank, his eyes devoid of any warmth.

"Cross the river." He uttered the two words, his voice calm yet carrying immense power.

There were no rousing pre-battle rallies, no unnecessary chatter.

The order was passed on swiftly and silently.

The engineers and soldiers who were already prepared and were good at swimming took the lead and silently slid into the icy river.

The river isn't very deep, but the current is quite strong, and there's a lot of floating ice.

Both man and horse gritted their teeth, enduring the chill that seemed to freeze their very bones, as they groped their way toward the other side.

The vanguard soldiers established a makeshift beachhead on the opposite bank, lowered ropes, and guided the following troops.

The process was slow and difficult.

Warhorses would occasionally stumble and slip, letting out suppressed neighs, only to be held tightly by their masters; soldiers would be swept away by floating ice or undercurrents, only to be rescued by their comrades.

But the army of 30,000 men, like an ant colony, resolutely and silently crossed the Onon River in this extreme cold and darkness.

The first quarter of the Yin hour, the darkest hour before dawn.

Thirty thousand elite Xia troops had all crossed the river and assembled behind a low hill less than five miles from the Di people's camp.

The warhorses were resaddled, the knights checked the bowstrings and scabbards, breathed on their frozen fingers to warm them, and moved their numb limbs.

Further back, the soldiers of the Shenji Battalion were silently conducting final checks under the officers' low commands.

The flintlock musket's bolt was repeatedly pulled to ensure smooth firing; the propellant and projectiles were carefully loaded into pre-packaged oiled paper packets; the gunners of the tiger-squatting cannon, with their frozen hands, stuffed pre-weighed gunpowder packets into the breech, filled them with exploding shells made of a mixture of iron balls and gravel, and inserted the fuses...

Xiao Chen, Zhang Meng, Zhao Tie, and Yang Zhen, the commander of the Shenji Battalion, gathered behind a slightly higher earthen slope to observe the Di camp one last time.

Most of the campfires in the camp had dimmed, with only a few large fires in the central area and some scattered lights still burning.

The noise had lessened considerably, but it hadn't completely subsided. Occasionally, bursts of unrestrained laughter and out-of-tune singing could be heard, sounding particularly jarring before the quiet dawn.

Most of the Di people, including the sentries, were clearly in a drunken stupor or half-asleep state.

"Your Majesty, all departments are in position," Zhang Meng said in a low voice, his voice trembling slightly with excitement and cold.

Xiao Chen nodded, his gaze falling on Yang Zhen: "Imperial Guard, are you ready?"

Yang Zhen took a deep breath, nodded vigorously, and his eyes flashed with a light that was a mixture of tension, excitement and destructive desire: "Your Majesty, five hundred Swift Thunder Guns and thirty Tiger Crouching Cannons are all in place and have ample ammunition. Target: the enemy camp center and the surrounding assembly area."

"it is good."

Xiao Chen took one last look at the first hint of dawn breaking on the horizon, then glanced at the vast camp in the distance, still shrouded in slumber and hangover, before slowly raising his right hand.

Time seemed to freeze at that moment.

A cold wind howled past, stirring up the snow on the ground.

Then, that hand suddenly swung down!

"Thump! Thump! Thump!"

Three deep, muffled beats, like war drums pounding in everyone's heart, suddenly rang out from behind the hills!

This is not the drumbeat of an attack, but an order for the Shenji Battalion!

Almost the instant the drumbeats sounded—

"Ready—Fire!"

Yang Zhen's hoarse roar drowned out the sound of the wind.

"Bang! Bang bang bang bang—!!!"

In the first row, one hundred flintlock muskets simultaneously spewed out dazzling flashes of light and thick smoke!

In the stillness of dawn, this sound was like a bolt from the blue! Then came the second rank, the third rank... five hundred muskets, firing three volleys in a very short time!

The scorching lead bullets, like the scythe of death, slashed through the cold air and whistled as they rushed toward the unsuspecting Di camp!

The tent was easily torn apart, and the sleeping Di people were hit by lead bullets. Before they could even scream, they were turned into bloody and mangled corpses in their sleep.

The campfire was struck, sparks flew, and ignited nearby blankets and furs.

This is just the beginning.

"Artillery—Fire!"

"Boom! Boom boom boom—!!!"

The thirty crouching tiger cannons, whose firing angles had already been adjusted, roared even more deafeningly!

The flames spewing from the cannons turned the gunners' pale faces, made from tension and cold, a bright red.

What was launched was not a solid iron bullet, but a "blooming bullet" filled with gunpowder, iron slag, and gravel!

These shells flew along low trajectories, landing in the densest area of ​​the Di camp, and then—

"Boom!!" "Boom!!"...

Explosions erupted one after another, sending flames soaring into the sky!

Iron fragments, gravel, and lead pellets swept outwards from the point of explosion in all directions!

In an instant, severed limbs, broken tents, and utensils were thrown into the sky, only to be swallowed up by crimson flames and black smoke!

The agonizing screams, so shrill they were inhuman, instantly drowned out the lingering echoes of the previous explosion, becoming the dominant melody of this hellish scene!

Fire! Explosion! Smoke! Death!

The Northern Di people, who had never experienced firearms bombardment before and whose knowledge was often unheard of, were completely dumbfounded at this moment.

Awakened from the deepest sleep or the most intoxicating revelry by this earth-shattering roar and destructive flames, immense fear instantly grips everyone's heart.

Was the Eternal Heaven angry? Was the Thunder God punishing them? They were bewildered and helpless. Some rolled off their beds, while others rushed out of their tents naked, only to be hit by flying shrapnel or stray bullets and fall down with cries of agony.

The warhorse, startled, neighed and broke free of its reins, charging wildly through the camp and trampling the bodies rolling on the ground.

The entire royal camp, centered around the golden tent, erupted into chaos like an anthill hit by a boulder, plunging into an unprecedented, hellish state of disorder!

Just as flames soared into the sky, screams filled the air, and the Di people were terrified—

Xiao Chen drew his sword, its blade pointing directly at the chaotic center of the camp, and with all his might, roared the order to attack:

"Sons of Great Xia—!"

"Follow my orders—kill!!!"

"kill--!!!"

Zhang Meng, who could no longer contain himself, had bloodshot eyes and was like a tiger released from its cage. He took the lead, waving the "Vanguard Dragon Flag" that was fluttering in the wind, and led 20,000 elite light cavalry who had been preparing for a long time.

Like two black torrents of steel, they suddenly poured out from both sides of the hills, launching a final and most deadly attack on the chaotic Di royal court with overwhelming force!

The thunderous hoofbeats and deafening battle cries, intertwined with the still-firing gunfire and exploding shells, created a symphony of death that shattered the Chanyu's dream and tore apart the last tranquility of the grassland before dawn.