Han Ji

Tadun's body lay in the blood and mud. His head had already been removed, and his body lay sprawled on the ground, his shoulders curled up, his fingers still digging into the mud in the same position as when he had gripped the scimitar.

His wolfskin robe was pierced with several holes by the knife, revealing the white lining, which was stained a purplish-black. One of his boots had fallen off, and his exposed foot was clad in a fur sock with several holes.

Zhang Wu planted Tadun's head on a long spear. He carried the spear to the highest mound in front of the battle lines, planted the shaft in the ground, and then pulled it out. Blood flowed down the shaft, soaking his fingers and making them sticky.

He held the spear above his head, his voice hoarse but piercing. The human head on the spear tip had a drooping chin and an open mouth, revealing yellow teeth. The eyes weren't fully closed; half the whites of the eyes rolled back, appearing bluish in the midday sun.

The Wuhuan soldiers who were still resisting stopped. They stopped wielding their swords, stopped drawing their bows, and stopped moving. A Wuhuan rider on horseback looked up at the thing on the spear, and the curved sword in his hand fell from his loose fingers, the tip sticking up and dangling in the mud.

He dismounted and knelt down. One knelt, and others followed suit, collapsing to the ground in droves, like waves of grass swaying in the wind. Scimitars, spears, and quivers were scattered everywhere.

The surrendered Wuhuan soldiers were ordered to walk down the mountain to the open ground in batches. At the front were some older soldiers, their faces etched with the marks of time and sand, walking quickly with their heads down, not daring to look to either side.

The young men following behind were barefoot; they had lost their boots while running away, and the soles of their feet were cut by gravel, leaving bloody footprints with every step. Behind them were wounded soldiers; some clutched their arms, their sleeves soaked with blood; some were being helped along, one leg dragging on the ground; some had been stabbed in the chest, and blood gushed from the wound with every breath.

Qian Zhao's special operations battalion searched the hillside for any remaining survivors. They searched from the shady side of Bailang Mountain to the sunny side, from the mountainside to the foot of the mountain. People were hiding in the crevices of the rocks, and they were pulled out one by one.

Some men were hiding in the bushes, huddled together. When the men pulled them out, they buried their heads even deeper. After being pulled out, they collapsed onto the grass, trembling. Dozens of personal guards, Tadun's personal guards, were also hidden in the ravine. They refused to surrender.

Surrounded in a small valley, having run out of arrows, they charged upwards with knives. Qian Zhao did not try to persuade them to surrender; a volley of crossbow bolts felled them all. The mountain fell silent. The yak tail banner was still planted in front of Tadun's tent. Qian Zhao went over and pulled out the flagpole. The banner fell, and the yak tail scattered in the mud, a wisp of white fluff billowing in the wind.

Jia Xu ordered an inventory of the battlefield. From the exit of Beigou to the foot of Bailang Mountain, several miles had been traversed, and corpses lay scattered everywhere—some Wuhuan, some of their own; some human, some horse-drawn. The fallen soldiers were pulled from the pile of corpses one by one, their faces identified, and their battalions and names registered.

The registered bodies were moved to the supply wagons behind the battlefield. The weather was still cold, and the corpses hadn't started to stink, but the stench of blood was so strong it was almost unbearable, causing some of the younger soldiers to gag.

There were more horse carcasses than people. Hundreds of dead horses were piled up at the foot of the mountain, their legs stiff and stretched upwards, their bellies swollen and round. One horse was not quite dead yet, lying on its side on the ground, a bloody hole in its belly squeezing out blood bubbles that swelled and shrank.

Zhao Yun walked over, looked at the horse's eyes, drew his short sword, and stabbed the horse in the neck. Blood splattered on the tips of his boots, and the horse trembled a few times before going still.

Yuan Xi and Yuan Shang fled. Zhao Yun led his cavalry in pursuit northward for over two hours, until they reached a wetland several dozen miles north of White Wolf Mountain. The reeds in the wetland were withered and half-fallen, and a thin layer of ice had formed on the water.

The hoofprints scattered at the edge of the wetlands, and to the north lay the vast grassland, making it impossible to discern which direction to take. As dusk began to fall, a wind picked up across the grassland before twilight, rustling the dry grass, and nothing could be seen in the distance.

Zhao Yun reined in his horse and stopped at the edge of the wetland. As he walked back, he encountered several stragglers from the Wuhuan army. When the stragglers saw him coming, they threw down their swords, knelt on the grass, and pressed their heads to the ground without moving.

The prisoners were led to an open area at the foot of White Wolf Mountain. There were over ten thousand surrendered Wuhuan soldiers, sitting in a dense, dark mass. The news of Tadun's death weighed heavily on them; the air was still, broken only by the rustling of the grass, the snorting of horses, and the coughs of some. Some of the surrendered soldiers spoke in hushed tones, but were silenced by the guards and fell silent afterward.

Liu Bei rode his jade-white steed out of the formation and walked in front of the surrendered soldiers. The steed's hooves rustled on the dry grass. The horse stopped and pawed the ground with its hooves.

Liu Bei didn't speak, but first looked around. His gaze swept from front to back, from left to right, taking in the faces of all ten thousand people. Some lowered their heads, not daring to meet his eyes, while others raised their heads, wanting to see clearly what the man who killed Tadun looked like.

"Where is Building 1?"

A commotion arose among the surrendered soldiers. Someone pointed behind them. The personal guards dragged Lou Ban out from among the surrendered soldiers. When the old chieftain was pulled out of the crowd, his body was hunched over, and his robe was torn askew, revealing most of his thin, withered arm. He walked to Liu Bei's horse, stopped, and did not kneel.

"I am Louban. The chief of Louban tribe."

Liu Bei looked down at him. "What is your relationship with Tadun?"

"He is my nephew. But after he married the sister of Nengchen Dizhi from western Liao, he disowned me as his uncle. This time when he went south, he put my son in Beigou to shield him from the attack, while he himself stayed behind."

"Are you willing to surrender?"

"I am willing to surrender." Louban said these two words in a flat tone, as if stating a fact. "Tadun is dead, and the three tribes of Wuhuan have lost their leader. If I don't surrender, others will. If I surrender, my tribe can still live."

Liu Bei nodded. "Your men are your own responsibility. The wounded should stay and be treated, and the dead should be buried according to your tribal customs. Come back to Ji County with me in a few days." He paused, then added, "And what about Nengchen Dizhi?"

"He ran away. He ran towards western Liaoning. His tribe is large and has many cavalry. He knows he can't defeat you, but he won't surrender immediately. He'll wait in western Liaoning until you leave before coming out again."

"He won't be able to wait." Liu Bei turned his horse around and headed back.

Night fell. Bonfires were lit at the foot of White Wolf Mountain. Not three, but dozens, arranged in a circle around the campsite. The fires burned fiercely, sparks rising into the air before going out.

The soldiers sat by the fire, roasting and eating their dry rations. Some used the tip of a knife to skewer dried meat and roast it over the fire, even when it was burnt, they stuffed it into their mouths and chewed it until their mouths were full, with oil overflowing from the corners of their mouths, which they then wiped with their sleeves.

Someone was using their helmet to scoop water, but water was leaking from a gap at the bottom of the helmet, so they quickly poured it into their mouths. Someone was bandaging their wounds; a medic was squatting on the ground stitching up their wounds, and a wounded soldier was biting a wooden stick, with deep teeth marks on the stick.

The captured horses were gathered together, with a large area of ​​horse posts. Zhao Yun was counting the horses, checking each one for teeth, hooves, and injuries.

He allocated the good horses to the cavalry, and handed the wounded horses over to the supply battalion for slaughter and meat. The horse meat was cut into strips and hung over the campfire to roast, the horse fat sizzling as it dripped into the fire.

"Send Tadun's head back to Chang'an," Liu Bei said.

"Send the head to Hebei, so that all the prefects of the border counties can see it. The leaders of the various tribes beyond the Great Wall should also see it."

"Would a capable minister rebel again after resisting?"

"Yes." Jia Xu flipped the chess piece over, and it landed on the table with a clatter. "The Wuhuan tribes, numbering over a dozen, have been suppressed by Tadun for many years. Now that Tadun is dead, everyone wants to be the Chanyu. Nengchen Dizhi has troops under his command, so he definitely wants to be the Chanyu. Louban is an old chieftain with high seniority, so he will also compete. Let them compete among themselves. We don't need to fight; we can wait for them to finish their internal strife before cleaning up the mess."

Liu Bei remained silent for a moment. He stood up and walked outside the tent. The starry sky over the grassland outside was very low, the stars densely packed together, and the Milky Way stretched across the sky like a blurry gray ribbon from north to south. The night wind on the grassland was cold, stinging his face. In the distance, horses neighed, their calls carrying far through the night.

Guan Yu walked over to him. The two stood there for a while, then Guan Yu spoke.

"Yuan Xi and Yuan Shang have fled."

"They can really run! These two have incredible resilience." Liu Bei gazed at the vast, dark grasslands to the north. "The grasslands can't accommodate people without tribes. The Wuhuan won't take them in anymore. Tadun is dead, and no one is there to support them. They'll either freeze to death on the grasslands or run back to Han territory to surrender."

"If they surrender, should we accept them?"

"I won't take him," Liu Bei said. "Yuan Shao's son, if he wants to take the surname Yuan, he can forget about living."

After he finished speaking, he turned and walked into the tent. The tent flap was drawn, obscuring the dim light inside.