In this realistic war game, only I understand the course of the battle.

When Sheng Yong deployed his 200,000-strong army on the south bank of the Jiahe River, it was still dark. The south bank was higher than the north bank, forming a natural, gentle slope with a flat and open top, suitable for large-scale deployment. He positioned his infantry on the slope, with musketeers in three horizontal rows in front of them, crossbowmen on the flanks, and cavalry at the rear. The entire line stretched diagonally from southwest to northeast, with the left flank against an abandoned section of the riverbank and the right flank extending to the edge of a sparse locust grove. The brilliance of this formation lay in its depth—even if the Yan army broke through the first musketeer line, there were still infantry behind; and if they broke through the infantry, there was a cavalry counter-charge. He didn't want to gamble with hidden trenches and poisoned crossbows like he had done at Dongchang; he wanted to fight a fair and square positional war, using firearms and numbers to crush Zhu Di on the riverbank.

The Yan army began crossing the river at Chenshi (7-9 AM). Zhu Neng led the main force of the city-breaking battalion in a frontal assault, the river water icy cold, the battering rams creaking and rattling on the cobblestone riverbed. Just as Gu Zhang's first wave of swordsmen and shieldmen stepped onto the south bank, Sheng Yong's muskets opened fire. Lead bullets splashed into the river, creating a spray of water. Shields were riddled with bullets, and two swordsmen and shieldmen were hit in the legs and fell to the riverbank, their blood staining a small patch of the shallow water red. Gu Zhang planted his shields in the sand, braving the bullets, and pushed forward ten paces, creating a crescent-shaped shield formation on the south bank.

Zhao Laoliu's second wave of battering rams followed closely ashore. The newly replaced wide-bladed iron-rimmed wheels were indeed more effective than the old wooden wheels on the soft mud of the riverbank, but the crossbow bolts fired from the side were too dense, and three of the laborers pushing the rams were shot down. Zhao Laoliu stuffed his pipe into his clothes, personally lifted the shaft of one of the battering rams and pushed it forward. Two arrows were stuck in the cotton armor on his back, but fortunately the arrowheads were stuck in the cotton and did not hurt his skin.

"Breaching team! Split the antlers!" Zhao Laoliu roared hoarsely. A gash was split in the antlers, but Sheng Yong's infantry formation remained motionless. The intervals between musket reloading were extremely short, and the second volley followed immediately. Shen Du stood on the earthen embankment on the north bank, watching the formation on the opposite bank through binoculars, his brows furrowing deeper and deeper. Sheng Yong's musket reloading speed was much faster than in Jinan, indicating that he had divided the musketeers into three shifts for rotating fire. After each volley, they would immediately retreat to reload, the second rank would take over, and the third rank would prepare. This rotational firing method could shorten the intervals between musket fire to less than twenty breaths, making it an almost impenetrable barrage for charging infantry. Even more troublesome were Sheng Yong's left and right flanks—the left flank was against the abandoned riverbank, where crossbowmen were ambushed, and the right flank could be vaguely seen moving cavalry in the locust grove. This was not a purely defensive formation; Sheng Yong was keeping a backup plan.

When the Yan army's first wave of attack was repelled by muskets, Tan Yuan led his personal guards to charge up the right flank. He was the commander of the Yanshan Central Guard, a veteran general who had risen in Beiping with Zhang Yu, and known for his fiery temper. Seeing Zhu Neng's breached city camp pinned down on the riverbank, he didn't wait for Zhu Di's orders and led three hundred cavalrymen to wade across the shallows on the right flank, targeting the crossbow formation on Sheng Yong's left flank. When Tan Yuan's horse charged onto the south bank, the crossbowmen on the embankment were indeed caught off guard—the first rank of crossbowmen was stringing their crossbows when he cut down four or five of them, crossbowmen and crossbows alike.

But this was the moment Sheng Yong had been waiting for. Behind the riverbank, musketeers who had been hidden in a shallow ditch suddenly stood up and fired a close-range volley. These were no ordinary muskets; they were new-style bronze muskets that Sheng Yong had transferred from the Nanjing Shenji Battalion, with longer barrels and more powder, capable of penetrating two layers of cotton armor at fifty paces. Tan Yuan's warhorse was hit in the head by a lead bullet and fell to the ground instantly. He rolled off the horse, his left leg trapped under the horse's body. His personal guards rushed forward desperately to drag him out, but Sheng Yong's crossbowmen had already surrounded him from the side. Tan Yuan, pinned under his dead horse, used his sword to prop himself up and cut down two Southern army infantrymen who tried to capture him alive. A third man stabbed him in the throat from behind.

"General Tan has been killed in action!" The messenger's voice boomed across the north bank.

Shen Du lowered his binoculars. His fingers clenched tightly on the hilt of his sword, his knuckles turning white. Tan Yuan was gone. This was another major general lost by the Yan army after Zhang Yu. Sheng Yong's musket formation was too thick; they couldn't break through it head-on. There were ambushes on the left flank of the riverbank, and cavalry in the locust grove on the right flank; they couldn't bypass either flank. The battle at Jiahe had become a war of attrition on the very first day.

Zhu Di remained stationary in the central army. When news of Tan Yuan's death arrived, he was standing on the north bank embankment, looking across the river through binoculars. He lowered the binoculars and told the messenger, "Retrieve Tan Yuan's body. All other units, retreat to the north bank." His voice was calm, but Zhu could see the veins on the back of his hand bulging as he gripped the binoculars.

That night, the Yan army camped on the north bank. They dared not let the campfires burn too brightly, lest they become targets for the crossbowmen on the opposite bank. Shen Du's legs were too weak to stand any longer, and he leaned against a supply wagon for a moment. Zhao Laoliu lit his pipe and, for the first time in front of Shen Du, took a deep drag; the smoke dissipated quickly in the moonlight. No one spoke. The battle fought during the day had been utterly humiliating—they couldn't break through from the front, they couldn't flank, two waves of attacks were repelled by musket fire, and in four hours they had lost thousands, including a general. Zhao Laoliu tapped his pipe on the ground, not quite clean, then tapped it again.

Shen Du looked up at the sky. The wind had been changing since nightfall. At dusk, a southerly wind blew, damp and cold, blowing in from the river and making the smoke from the campfire drift north along the ground. But around midnight, the wind suddenly changed direction—as if someone had flipped a switch in the sky, the wind came from the northwest, dry and fierce, carrying the scent of sand and withered grass. Shen Du stretched out his hand, feeling the force of the wind passing through his fingers—not a gentle breeze, but gusts, one after another, each gust stronger than the last.

He'd seen this kind of wind before at the Baigou River. He suddenly stood up, completely ignoring the pain in his left leg, and strode outside the tent. He grabbed a handful of sand and tossed it into the air. The sand was whipped up by the wind and flew southeast at incredible speed. "Zhao Laoliu," Shen Du turned around, his voice soft, but each word seemed to be straightened by the wind, "Go and call Huozhen. Now."

When Huo Zhen arrived from the horse archers' camp, he was still wearing a sheepskin vest and clutching that horse bone that he could never seem to finish whittling. Shen Du pulled him onto the earthen embankment and pointed towards Sheng Yong's camp on the opposite bank. "The wind will be even stronger tomorrow afternoon. A northeasterly wind, blowing into the Southern Army's positions from behind. Arrows fired with the wind will have a 30% longer range, while muskets fired against the wind will be smoked out, and the sand will blind your eyes. Your men will be shooting at stationary targets from horseback—"

Huo Zhen twirled the horse bone between his fingers. "You can win with your eyes closed." He grinned, revealing teeth yellowed from being soaked in mare's milk wine.

The next day, at noon. The northeast wind arrived as expected.

It didn't gradually intensify—it jumped directly from a gentle breeze to a raging northeasterly wind, just like the one that swept through the Baigou River. The dry wind howled in from the Yanshan Mountains, whipping up sand and withered grass from the riverbanks, turning both sides of the river a hazy yellow. Sheng Yong's banner struggled desperately in the wind, its flutter stretched taut, the flagpole creaking under the weight. Southern soldiers were blinded by the sandstorm; musketeers crouched behind cover, frantically rubbing their eyes, but the sand embedded in their eyelashes only intensified the pain. Sand filled the musket barrels, and several musketeers dared not load—the gunpowder mixed with sand could explode if ignited.

Sheng Yong stood on the high slope of the south bank, shielding his face with his sleeve, trying to make out the Yan army's positions through the sandstorm. He couldn't see anything. The sandstorm had swallowed the entire riverbank, and he could only vaguely hear a sound mixed with the wind—not the wind, not the water, but the sound of horses' hooves.

The Yan army launched a full-scale attack. The main force of the breaching camp did not follow the route of yesterday. Zhu Neng placed all the thickest shields in the first rank, followed closely by spearmen, pushing battering rams to crush the enemy. But the truly fatal blow was not from the front, but from the left flank. Huo Zhen led three hundred elite cavalry of the Duoyan Three Guards, taking advantage of the tailwind, to outflank from the northwest. The sound of their horses' hooves was drowned out by the sandstorm, and the mounted archers drew their bows and nocked their arrows on horseback, the wind sending the arrows farther and more powerful. Before Sheng Yong's musketeers on the left flank could even see the enemy, arrows had already emerged from the sandstorm and pierced their shoulders and thighs. They wanted to return fire, but the headwind slowed their musket reloading by half, the smoke didn't clear, and their vision was reduced to only three steps ahead.

Shen Du led his centurion to wedge into the left flank from the front. His sword was new—it had been forged by Zhu Neng at a blacksmith's shop in Beiping, made of meteorite iron with a broad blade, half a pound heavier than before, but with greater power and resilience in its strikes. Zhao Laoliu pushed his battering ram aside, smashing through the antlers on the left flank, a pipe dangling from his mouth, and shouted hoarsely to the recruits beside him, "Don't look north! Look south! The wind is coming from behind, so you're with the wind! He's against the wind, he can't even see your face!" Amidst the deafening battle cries, the recruits gripped their spears and charged forward desperately, kicking hard at the slippery muddy ground whipped up by the wind and sand. The passivity of a soldier crossing the river accumulated with every step Shen Du took towards the enemy, his strength flowing into his right arm. He was the first to charge into the Southern Army's left flank infantry formation, cleaving down a spearman blocking his path with a single blow.

Sheng Yong's entire left flank began to collapse from the edges towards the center. Soldiers couldn't find their generals, generals couldn't see their flags, muskets were clogged with sand, and crossbow strings were stretched thin by the wind. Without orders, the fleeing soldiers began to throw down their weapons and run south. Zhu Neng led his cavalry in a frontal assault; his ghost-headed saber clattered in the wind, striking down the flag bearer in front of Sheng Yong's central army banner with a single blow. The banner swayed a few times in the wind before crashing to the ground.

Sheng Yong was dragged off the battlefield by his personal guards. As he was helped onto his horse, he tried to turn back to rally the remaining troops, but his horse was already swept away by the torrent of fleeing soldiers and galloped south uncontrollably. The 200,000-strong army collapsed in the sandstorm, suffering more than half casualties. The remnants abandoned all their artillery and supplies, retreating in disarray towards Dezhou. The south bank of the Jiahe River, from the riverbed to the locust grove, was littered with abandoned weapons and armor, overturned musket racks, and dead warhorses.

After the evening wind subsided, Shen Du walked alone to the riverbank. A pool of dark blood remained where Tan Yuan had fallen the day before, refusing to dissipate in the wind. He stood beside the blood for a while, planted his sword in the mud, then reached out to hold the hilt and bowed slightly in the direction of Tan Yuan's death. "General Tan," his voice was soft, carried by the wind across the river, "we won."