Han Ji

After passing through Huguan Pass, before dawn.

Zhao Yun and Qian Zhao lay prone in the bushes for most of the night. As the first rays of dawn pierced through the mountain ridge, Zhao Yun stirred. His shoulders and neck were stiff, and his joints cracked with every movement. He slowly raised himself and looked down through the branches and leaves of the bushes.

On the terrace behind the pass, the high-ranking officials' grain and fodder storage still stood there. The soldiers on night watch squatted by the dying fire, dozing off, their chins nodding. Next to the haystack, a soldier was urinating, the urine steaming on the frozen ground.

Further away were several tents behind the pass, with lanterns hanging in front of the tent doors. The candlelight inside the lanterns was almost gone, and the flames were shrinking back bit by bit.

Qian Zhao also got up. His eyes were bright in the morning light, and his lips were dry and chapped. He pointed with his finger to a depression below the terrace, where more grain bins covered with tarpaulins were piled up.

"The main grain supplies are in the low-lying areas. What's on the stage is fake."

How did you know?

"The grain bins are newly piled up. The bottom wasn't compacted, there were no drainage ditches around them, and too much grain was scattered on top. If it were real grain, high-ranking officials wouldn't be willing to scatter so much grain." Qian Zhao pointed to the scattered grains on the ground.

Zhao Yun examined it carefully. The grain bins on the platform were indeed piled up haphazardly, the tarpaulins weren't tightly packed, and when the wind blew, the corners of the tarpaulins lifted, revealing the brownish-yellow grain husks inside. The grain bins in the depression below the platform were different; the tarpaulins were stretched taut, drainage ditches were dug around them, and sharpened wooden stakes were driven into the ditches.

"The high-ranking official used us as bait. He wanted to lure us here to burn, and then attack us from both sides." Qian Zhao raised his hand and pointed to the hillsides on both sides of the depression. Sure enough, there were thatch bushes on the hillsides, and a few lights were shining from the thatch bushes. It was the soldiers on night watch smoking.

Zhao Yun took out a small cloth map from his pocket, marked the location of the depression on it, and then put the map back in his pocket, saying to Qian Zhao, "Wait until the frontal battle begins. We'll make our move when the frontal battle is at its most intense. By then, Gao Gan won't be able to attend to the rear."

It was past mid-morning. The sound of drums came from the front. Through the mountain wall, the drums sounded muffled, like someone beating a broken drum in the distance, but the rhythm was clear. The drumbeats became more and more frequent, from once every two breaths to once every breath, and then twice every breath. This was Zhang Fei urging his foot soldiers to charge upwards.

The shouts of battle echoed from the other side of the wall. The shouts mingled with the drumbeats, making it impossible to discern the exact words being shouted; all that could be heard was the simultaneous roar of thousands of mouths. The roars struck the mountainside, bounced back, and crashed against another mountainside, causing the entire valley to reverberate.

Zhao Yun heard the muffled thud of the chariot hitting the city gate. The sound was different; it was like an iron-tipped chariot striking a rock, the ground shaking. He turned to look at the people behind him; a pair of eyes, close together in the shadows of the bushes, were both bright, but neither made a sound.

The battle raged for another half an hour. The sound of ramming vehicles stopped a few times, then resumed. The shouts of battle rose and fell, like waves crashing against rocks. At one point, the defenders' gongs sounded, urgent and rapid, indicating that an opening had been made in the city wall to mobilize reserves.

The sun rose, illuminating the entire terrace behind Huguan. Zhao Yun raised his hand and pressed down, signaling everyone to remain prone. Sunlight elongates shadows; moving now would expose the shadows before the people themselves.

Another half hour passed. The sound of chariots colliding suddenly stopped for a moment, then the drumming paused for a few breaths before resuming. This time the drumbeats were even more intense; the drumsticks weren't just striking, they were pounding. The sound of the drum stands breaking could even be faintly heard. Zhang Fei was desperately urging his troops on; the casualties must be considerable.

Zhao Yun said, "Now."

He stood up. Five hundred people followed suit. Those whose legs were stiff gritted their teeth and stomped their feet twice, their calf muscles tensing.

Qian Zhao led twenty men from the special operations battalion down first. They walked down the mountainside, hugging the shadows, their footsteps making no sound on the gravel. After walking several dozen steps, Qian Zhao squatted down to check if the soldier who had been dozing in front of the grain bin was still there.

The soldier was still there, his head tilted to his chest, drool dripping onto his knees. He beckoned the man on his right to creep up behind him, his left hand covering his mouth, his right hand drawing a knife and slashing his throat. Blood splattered onto the tarpaulin of the grain bin, the sound soft, like tearing cloth.

The other guard nearby was startled awake. Just as he looked up, another knife was plunged into his throat. The knife was pulled out, leaving a trail of blood on the frozen ground.

The soldiers lying in ambush on the hillsides on both sides of the depression were dozing in their huts. They had kept watch all night but no one came to attack, and when dawn broke, they thought no one would come, so most of them took off their armor and lay down to sleep in their huts.

A sentry who hadn't slept was crouching on a rock, peering into the depression. He had barely opened his mouth when he saw several figures approaching the grain bins when a crossbow bolt pierced his left eye socket. His head snapped back, he tumbled off the rock, hit it, rolled a few times, and landed in the grass.

It took Qian Zhao's special operations battalion quite a while to clear the sentries around the depression. The clearing was swift, each move swift and decisive, without any unnecessary movements or alerting those nearby. After clearing the last sentry, Qian Zhao squatted down at the entrance of the depression and waved his arm towards the mountain.

Zhao Yun led his men down. Even the lightest footsteps of five hundred men pressed forward, creating a rustling sound. Before the grain-storing soldiers in the low-lying area could react, Zhao Yun's men had already blocked their escape routes.

A grain officer ran out of his tent and drew his sword. Just as he raised it, Zhao Yun rushed forward, flicked his wrist with the back of the blade, and the sword flew out and stuck in the snowdrift. The grain officer fell to the ground with a thud.

Zhao Yun pointed the tip of his knife at his throat: "Where is the grain?"

The grain official's face was deathly pale as he pointed to the three large oilcloth sheds in the depression.

The high-ranking officials' actual provisions were piled under three large tarpaulin sheds in the low-lying area. Each shed contained at least several hundred bushels of grain—millet, wheat, and beans—stacked neatly, with the sacks tightly tied with hemp rope. Next to them were several large pots, the bottoms of which were covered with burnt black crust from cooking porridge.

Zhao Yun ordered it to be burned. His men smashed oil canisters onto the grain bins, igniting them as soon as they were lit. Oil seeped from the canisters and spilled all over the ground. Someone threw a tinderbox on top, and the fire roared up, the flames leaping higher than a person.

Three grain silos caught fire simultaneously. The fire spread rapidly, the grain crackling and popping as it burned, billowing black smoke that rose straight into the air, its column appearing black in the morning light.

On the city wall of Huguan, Gao Gan was supervising the battle from the arrow tower when he suddenly felt something was wrong behind him. He turned around and saw thick smoke rising from behind the pass, a thick column of smoke that obscured half the sky. He was stunned for a moment.

"Supplies!" The high-ranking official took off running behind the arrow tower.

Standing on the city wall and looking back over the pass, thick smoke covered the entire depression, and flames leaped out of the smoke, glowing red, as if the whole mountain was on fire.

"Where did the enemy troops come from behind the pass?"

"They're Liu Bei's men. They've circled around to the rear of the pass." Guo Fu's voice was dry.

"Go and save them quickly!" The high-ranking official gritted his teeth.

Guo Fu sent men to run behind the pass. But the defenders on the city wall also saw the thick smoke; some put down their swords and peered behind the pass, while others quietly moved back. This psychological blow was more fatal than a frontal assault: "The supplies are burned, what's the point of defending?"

Gao Gan drew his sword and slashed at the battlement, sparks flying onto his face. "I'll kill anyone who tries to run! Defend the city! If we run out of grain, we still have the city's reserves!"

But the garrison's expression had changed.

After passing through the pass, Zhao Yun burned the grain and set up a defensive line at the exit of the depression. He told Qian Zhao to give the signal. Qian Zhao lit three smoke rockets and fired them into the sky, the smoke rockets leaving red trails as they soared into the air.

The front of Huguan Pass. Through his binoculars, Liu Bei saw a red column of smoke rising in the west, first as a thin line, then splitting into three, curving and hanging in the air. He lowered the binoculars.

"Zilong has succeeded. Send the order to Yide: all-out attack."

The drumbeats changed. It wasn't the previous rapid, charging drums, but slow, heavy drums, each beat like a heartbeat. Thump! Thump! Thump! All the infantry phalanxes pressed forward together.