Han Ji

In the afternoon, Liu Bei held a private meeting in the central army. Zhang Fei, Zhao Yun, and Qian Zhao each led 1,200 cavalry, while Liu Bei himself led a personal guard of 1,400 cavalry, bringing the total to 5,000 elite cavalry.

Each person received three days' worth of dry rations, consisting of real dried biscuits and jerky. The horses were fed concentrated feed, their horseshoes were re-inspected, and those worn down were replaced with new ones.

Each person was equipped with a bow, thirty arrows, and a sword. Zhang Fei also carried his serpent spear, while Zhao Yun carried his spear and had his short sword tucked behind his waist.

As evening fell, Guan Yu arrived outside the central command tent. Liu Bei was squatting on the ground fastening the leather straps on his boots. After he finished, he stood up and saw Guan Yu.

The two stood facing each other for a moment.

Guan Yu said, "Brother, Wuchao has been burned down. This time, Yuan Shao is finished."

Liu Bei said, "You must hold the line here too. He still has three elite battalions in his camp. Once he hears that Wuchao is on fire, he will attack from here like a madman. I haven't left you many men, so you must make a name for yourself."

Guan Yu adjusted his wrist guard. "Alright."

Liu Bei reached out and pressed Guan Yu's shoulder. He then lowered his hand, mounted his horse, and spurred it onto the ground.

it's dark.

Five thousand cavalrymen emerged from a small gate on the west side of the camp, one horse after another, their hooves wrapped in cloth, their muzzles bristled, and each rider could hear his own breathing. No one spoke. Torches were not lit, and the moonlight was too faint to discern faces.

Qian Zhao led thirty special forces soldiers at the front. Each of them had a short wooden stick in their mouth to prevent coughing and sneezing. They walked ahead for fifteen minutes, creating distance between themselves and the main force.

The night was quiet. The sound of the Yellow River drifted in from afar, muffled and distant. Occasionally, a night bird would call out and then fly away.

The men, led by the enemy, crept to the vicinity of the ferry crossing on the north bank. Lights were on in the checkpoint at the crossing. Three Yuan soldiers sat around a fire, their rifles resting against a rock. One was dozing, while the other two spoke in hushed tones.

Qian Zhao lay prone on the ground, the short wooden stick between his teeth. He turned and made two hand gestures. Four special forces soldiers crept past from either side. Where the firelight couldn't reach, everything was black, and the four figures blended into the night.

A short knife was drawn. It wasn't for slashing, it was for stabbing. A special forces soldier covered the mouth of the speaking guard, the tip of the knife piercing the back of his neck. He pulled it out, blood splattering onto his hand, warm for a moment, then cooling. The man struggled twice, his legs straightening. Before the other guard could even turn around, the back of his neck was also pierced. The one who had been dozing had his neck snapped.

Thirty sentry posts were taken down one after another. When the special forces soldiers returned to the ferry crossing, blood was still dripping from their scabbards.

Qian Zhao stood up and waved his torch a few times toward the opposite bank.

Five thousand cavalrymen began to cross the river. The water only reached the horses' bellies. The horses' hooves pounded the stones on the riverbed with a dull thud. Water splashed up, hitting the horses' legs and the men's faces, icy cold.

The horses moved slowly across the river, the riders gripping their manes and urging them on in low voices. Once across, the cavalry regrouped. Zhao Yun's cavalry were the last to cross, their horses carrying spare oil canisters.

Qian Zhao was already waiting on the north bank. He pointed in a direction, and the cavalry headed west.

The road was a narrow path, flanked by wasteland and bushes. The night was dark, and the moon was obscured by clouds. No one lit torches. The flint and steel were all tightly wrapped in linen, to prevent any accidental sparks from igniting.

Zhang Fei rode on his black horse, his spear held horizontally in front of the saddle. He also had a wooden stick between his teeth. He leaned forward, his eyes wide open, as if he could see something in the darkness. His horse was panting heavily.

Liu Bei rode a white horse. He walked in the center of the army, surrounded by his personal guards. He looked ahead, where in the darkness he could only vaguely make out the backs of the heads of the cavalrymen and the ears of their horses. The wind rustled through the bushes.

They walked for about two hours. The moon peeked out from behind the clouds for a short while, illuminating the lights of Wuchao ahead. They were very far away, just a few yellow dots, like sesame seeds scattered on the horizon. Then the moon disappeared back into the clouds, and the lights vanished again.

Liu Bei reined in his horse. The column came to a halt. Zhang Fei came from the front, still holding the wooden stick in his mouth, and took it off.

"Brother, the Crow's Nest is just ahead. I can see their lights."

Qian Zhao also came over, tucking the short wooden stick into his waistband. "The scouts report that there's nothing unusual at Wuchao Camp. They haven't spotted us. The two patrol teams just finished their rounds and have gone back to sleep. The lights are still on in Chunyu Qiong's tent. The scouts heard people urging each other to drink inside."

Liu Bei asked, "Is he still drinking?"

Qian Zhao said, "They're still drinking."

Liu Bei turned to look at Zhang Fei. "Yide, you lead the suicide squad first. Remember, break through the fence, don't linger, charge straight to the haystack. The haystack is in the middle of the camp, slightly to the west, next to the granary. The haystack has been doused with moisture-proof kerosene, it'll catch fire easily."

Zhang Fei said, "I know."

He turned his horse around and went back. He selected a hundred men, each with a bundle of firewood tied to their back and a can of kerosene hanging from their saddle. He himself hung his spear on his saddle, replaced it with a thick-backed sword, three feet long, the blade freshly sharpened. He slung the sword over his shoulder and led the suicide squad forward.

Dawn was breaking. A hint of deep blue appeared in the eastern sky.

Zhang Fei began to charge.

A hundred horses accelerated simultaneously. Their hooves thundered on the hard ground. The two watchmen heard the noise and came out. They saw a group of cavalry charging out of the darkness, the leader a burly, dark-skinned man holding a thick-backed sword, the blade reflecting the last rays of moonlight.

The guards shouted. Their shouts were shrill. People in the tents behind the fence awoke with a start, and some tried to crawl out. But it was too late.

Zhang Fei's black horse crashed into a willow fence. The fence snapped with a crack, the break rough. The horse charged through, knocking over a taxi driver who had just crawled out of a tent. Zhang Fei slashed down the man blocking his way, blood splattering on the horse's neck. The horse was startled but then bolted again.

"The haystack!" Zhang Fei roared. His voice echoed throughout the camp.

A hundred daredevils followed him and charged in. Someone threw an oil canister, which smashed on the haystack. A tinderbox was thrown up, and flames roared up.

The haystack was ablaze. The flames were yellow and grew higher and higher. Wuchao's granaries were piled up next to it, their outer layers coated with a thick layer of moisture-proof kerosene, which, when exposed to an open flame, acted like dry firewood doused with boiling oil. The fire spread from the haystack to the granaries, and the entire center of the camp was engulfed in flames.

Crow's Nest. Before dawn.

Half an hour after Zhang Fei's suicide squad stormed into the camp, Liu Bei's four thousand cavalry arrived. Several sections of the palisade were breached, and the cavalry charged in through different gaps. Some launched fire arrows, others threw oil canisters, and still others struck flint and steel on dry straw. Flames erupted simultaneously from all sides, like a gaping maw, sealing off the camp.

The fire spread rapidly. The haystacks were dry, the burlap sacks outside the grain bins were dry, and the kerosene was readily available. The flames leaped from one zhang (approximately 3.3 meters) high to three zhang (approximately 1.3 meters) high, then to five zhang (approximately 1.3 meters) high. The firelight illuminated half the sky.