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

Wu Jie stood atop the city wall of Gaocheng, watching plumes of smoke rise from the distant horizon. Those were the cooking smoke of the Yan army—not just one column, but at least a dozen, scattered among the wheat fields and reed marshes on the south bank of the Hutuo River, their smoke curling crookedly into the morning light. The Yan army had arrived. Not to besiege the city, but to challenge him to a decisive battle.

Zhu Di defeated Sheng Yong at Jiahe, breached Wu Jie's city defenses at Zhengding with water, and forced Zhuang De to surrender at Nanpi. Now he turned his attention to Gaocheng. Gaocheng was small; its city walls, rebuilt during the Hongwu era, were rammed earth walls no more than 25 feet high. There was no moat outside the city, only a dried-up old ditch. But Gaocheng's location was crucial—it straddled the border between Zhengding and Dezhou, the last vital passage on the Hebei Plain that could block the Yan army's southward advance. Losing Gaocheng would allow the Yan army to advance unimpeded, directly threatening Jinan.

"We can't defend the city," Wu Jie said, putting down his binoculars and turning to Ping An behind him. Ping An had just arrived with 30,000 cavalry from Zhengding to join them. His armor was still covered in mud splattered from the breakout, and his horse's mane was matted with sweat. He had been caught off guard by Zhu Di's flood attack outside Zhengding; almost all of the outer defenses of the city walls had been washed away by the flood, forcing him to abandon the city and retreat to Gaocheng. He didn't speak, but the look in his eyes said it all—he had already experienced the Yan army's siege prowess in Zhengding, and he wasn't confident he could defend the city again.

Wu Jie pointed to the open ground outside the city: "Gaocheng's city walls are too low, and the moat outside the city has been dry for many years. Being trapped in an isolated city is exactly what Zhu Di wants us to do. He has been fighting all the way from Jiahe to Zhengding, not giving his opponents a chance to breathe in every battle. If we stay in the city, he will destroy all the defensive structures outside the city, such as the fortifications and tunnels, just like he did when he captured Zhengding. Rather than being passively attacked, we should take advantage of our current numerical advantage and go out to fight him in open battle. We have 80,000 men, while the Yan army has less than 60,000. In a direct confrontation in the open, we have more men."

Ping An remained silent for a moment, then nodded. He knew Wu Jie was right. But the Yan army centurion he had seen in Zhengding—the young man who planted flags on the city walls and built dams on the riverbanks to release water—had left him with an inexplicable premonition. He didn't tell Wu Jie about this feeling, but simply said, "I'll go arrange the cavalry."

Meanwhile, at the Yan army camp, Shen Du stood atop an abandoned watermill on the south bank of the Hutuo River, holding a monocular telescope he had captured from Zhengding. The mill's stone walls were riddled with holes from the wind, but the roof beams still held up. From his vantage point, he could see the entire open area outside Gaocheng City. His centurion's quarters had set up a makeshift camp below the mill. Zhao Laoliu was squatting beside the millstone, sharpening his short-handled axe with a whetstone. After a few strokes, he would hold it up to the light to check the blade, a lit pipe dangling from his mouth as he muttered to himself.

Shen Du stood atop the mill for a long time, observing the landscape. The terrain outside Gaocheng was clearly visible—to the north lay the old course of the Hutuo River, its riverbed mostly dried up, leaving only a few puddles gleaming white in the sunlight. To the south stretched open wheat fields, the wheat just beginning to sprout ears, their green expanse rippling in the wind. To the west was a low earthen ridge, overgrown with jujube bushes that had withered all winter and yet to turn green again. To the east, the terrain was flat, but several abandoned brick kilns lay scattered about, their crumbling walls and earthen-yellow outlines peeking out from the wheat fields.

Then he saw the Southern army's main camp. Wu Jie hadn't contained his troops in the city, but instead set up camp on the high ground southwest of Gaocheng. The camp of 80,000 men stretched from the high ground to the edge of the wheat fields, banners flying densely, and muskets arrayed in three rows facing north—directly towards the direction the Yan army might attack. The cavalry camp was behind the infantry, and the dust kicked up by the horses could be seen.

"Wu Jie has left the city." Shen Du jumped down from the top of the mill, his left leg limping slightly as he landed, but he didn't stop and went straight to Zhao Laoliu. "He's pulled the main force out of the city to fight us in open battle."

Zhao Laoliu put his short-handled axe on the ground: "Not defending the city but fighting in the open field? This Wu Jie is quite bold—it seems that no Southern army has ever dared to fight in the open field outside the city since Dezhou to Jinan."

"Because he knows that Gaocheng's walls are too low to hold." Shen Du squatted down and used his dagger to draw the approximate terrain outside Gaocheng on the muddy ground. "Eighty thousand men against sixty thousand, a numerical advantage. Wu Jie chose to camp on the high ground in the southwest, which is advantageous for his muskets and cavalry, as it offers a commanding view and an open front. If this formation attacks from the front, his cavalry will be cut down several times by his muskets."

Gu Zhang removed the bandage from his mouth and walked to the mud map: "How about we go around from the side?"

Shen Du tapped his dagger on the earthen ridge on the west side of the high ground: "The jujube bushes on this ridge to the west are too dense for cavalry to pass through, and infantry can barely squeeze through but their formation will break. The brick kiln to the east is just ruins, so cavalry can't spread out there either. Wu Jie chose this location strategically—he blocked both sides, forcing us to charge from the front." He plunged his dagger into the mud. "But field battles aren't like sieges; you don't necessarily have to flank them. The weakness of the high ground isn't on the sides, but on the wind direction."

Zhao Laoliu was taken aback for a moment: "Wind direction?"

"The wind over Jiahe." Shen Du stood up, walked outside the mill, and stretched out his hand to test the wind direction. "Right now, it's a southerly wind, blowing from behind the Southern Army towards us. But these past few days, the afternoon wind has shifted—from south to northeast. Once it shifts to northeast, Wu Jie's muskets are half useless. Firing with the wind, the smoke doesn't dissipate; firing against the wind, reloading is slower, and the sand and dust blind the musketeers, making it difficult for them to even aim. The musket archers on the downwind side can increase their range and suppress the enemy more easily."

He summoned the messenger Zhu Neng had assigned to him: "Go and report to General Zhu Neng that the enemy has set up camp on the southwest highlands. The centurion's office suggests not rushing the attack and waiting for the wind to change direction in the afternoon. Also, ask General Zhu Neng to position the main force of the central army directly north of the highlands, feigning an attack, so that Wu Jie thinks we are going to charge from the front, thus drawing his attention to the north. Huo Zhen's mounted archers should circle around to the west and ambush behind the earthen ridge—the cavalry cannot cross the ridge, but the mounted archers can dismount and walk through the jujube thickets, sneaking past from the west side of the ridge. Wu Jie should place his cavalry behind the infantry formation, so Huo Zhen can emerge from behind the ridge and attack his cavalry assembly point."

Sheng Yong suffered from the sandstorm at Jiahe, but his military report had not yet reached Gaocheng—or rather, it had reached Gaocheng, but Wu Jie had not seen the wind with his own eyes, and he could not understand why the Yan army suddenly became stronger in the afternoon.

The Yan army's feigned frontal attack began at 9:00 AM. Zhu Neng personally led three thousand infantrymen from the north, pressing towards the high ground. The drums thundered, banners fluttered, and battering rams led the charge, followed by infantry in neat horizontal lines. Wu Jie, standing atop the high ground, saw the Yan army's battering rams advancing towards his position and immediately ordered the musketeers to load and prepare to fire, and the entire infantry formation moved into battle positions. He was certain that the Yan army's main attack was from the front—exactly the same offensive Sheng Yong had faced at Jiahe.

Then the wind came. At noon, the south wind suddenly stopped. The banners fluttering on the high ground hung limply as if their bones had been removed. The air stagnated for less than the time it takes to brew a cup of tea, and then the wind howled in from the northeast—just like the wind from the Baigou River and Jiahe River. The dry northeast wind whipped up the sand and dust from the high ground and the bits of grass from the wheat fields, turning them into a yellowish-gray sandstorm that pelted down on the Southern Army's positions.

Wu Jie's musketeers were blinded by sand and dust; some crouched behind cover, frantically rubbing their eyes, while others had gunpowder scattering all over their hands while loading. Several musket fuses were blown out by the wind, only to be extinguished again after being lit. The intervals between musket fire stretched from twenty breaths to almost the time it takes to brew a cup of tea—on the battlefield, this interval was enough for an elite cavalry unit to break through the musket's blockade.

Zhu Di raised his sword on the north side of the high ground. Behind him were four thousand elite cavalry, all of them pulling down their visors to shield themselves from the sandstorm. Their warhorses pawed restlessly, but the reins were gripped tightly. "All troops—" Zhu Di's voice was torn to shreds in the wind, but everyone could see his sword. "Charge!"

Four thousand elite cavalry launched a real charge from the north. This time it was not a feint. The warhorses, running with the wind at their backs, were nearly twenty percent faster than usual. Their hooves crushed the dry earth, and dust billowed from behind the cavalry ranks, carried forward by the wind, looking from afar like a black tide engulfing the highlands. Zhu Neng charged alongside Zhu Di's cavalry—his right arm burns had mostly healed, and the copper rings on his saber jingled in the wind.

Wu Jie's infantry formation was obscured by the sandstorm; the spearmen's lances were shattered by the wind, and their shields were torn and flipped outwards. When the first rank of cavalry charged into the infantry, the Southern army's front-line spearmen hadn't even had time to straighten their spears. Zhu Di personally beheaded the first Southern army captain blocking his path; his black horse's hooves crushed half of the shield, and the cavalry behind him surged through the gap, their scimitars and iron spears creating a shower of blood on the high ground.

On the western earthen ridge, Huo Zhen's mounted archers had emerged from the jujube bushes. They dismounted, walked across the ridge, and remounted on the west side. Huo Zhen fastened his horse's frame to his belt, drew his recurve bow to its full draw, and shouted in broken Chinese to the three hundred mounted archers behind him: "Five rounds! Shoot and disperse!" Shen Du strode through his own spear formation, slashing his sword towards the high ground: "Mounted archers, suppress the enemy's rear flank! Zhao Laoliu, Gu Zhang—follow me and weave in from the middle!"

The infantry of the centurion's garrison followed closely behind the swordsmen and shieldmen, pushing two light battering rams head-on into the weakest gap on the left flank of the Southern army's infantry formation—a spot that had originally been the junction of the musket and spear formations, but had left a brief opening after the musketeers were forced back by the sandstorm. In the first wave of the charge, Shen Du severed the spear shaft of the Southern army's left-wing flag bearer, Zhao Laoliu pushed the battering ram overturning the chevaux-de-frise that were trying to block the gap, and Gu Zhang's spearmen rushed out from behind the battering rams, pushing the Southern infantry on both sides of the gap back to the left and right.

The high ground descended into chaos. The Southern army's muskets were largely ineffective in the sandstorm, and their cavalry were pinned down in their assembly area by Huo Zhen's mounted archers, unable to advance and support the infantry. Wu Jie attempted to reorganize the infantry under his command flag, but the Yan army's cavalry had already pressed forward from the front and left flank simultaneously. Ping An led his personal guard cavalry out from the right flank, attempting to outflank Zhu Di, but was intercepted head-on by Chen Mao's light cavalry. The two armies clashed in the wheat field, scimitars against scimitars, hooves against hooves, mud and broken wheat stalks flying into the air.

The battlefield turned in favor of the Yan army. From afternoon until evening, the Southern infantry formations were gradually compressed, and the cavalry suffered heavy losses in the fierce fighting. Wu Jie was dragged out of the battle by his personal guards, while Ping An led the remaining troops in a breakout to the southeast. Of the 80,000 troops who left the city, less than 20,000 remained in the rout—black smoke billowed beneath Gaocheng, and abandoned banners, muskets, supply wagons, and armor of the Southern army lay piled up along the retreat route, stretching for miles.

The wind died down, and the setting sun painted the battlefield a dark red. Shen Du sat beside an abandoned grain cart belonging to the Southern army, his sword resting on his knees. His left leg was completely giving way—from the charge to the pursuit, he had followed the cavalry for miles, repeatedly aggravating his old wound, which now throbbed with pain. Zhao Laoliu also sat on the ground, a pipe dangling from his mouth, which he finally managed to light. He took a deep drag, exhaled a puff of smoke, and uttered a hoarse, incoherent sentence: "The wind is like this at Jiahe too."

Shen Du didn't reply. He looked up at the black flag of the Yan army rising atop Gaocheng—Zhu Neng had already sent men into the city to take over its defenses. Wu Jie had fled, Ping An had fled, but Gaocheng had fallen. The Yan army no longer had any real rivals on the Hebei plain. But he knew in his heart that this battle wasn't over yet. Sheng Yong was still in Dezhou, and Tie Xuan was still in Jinan. As long as these two men remained on the city walls, the imperial defenses in Shandong wouldn't have collapsed.

Huo Zhen dismounted from the earthen ridge, a string of captured Southern Army captain's badges hanging from the horse's neck, jingling with each step. He pulled the horse's bones from his belt and said to Shen Du in broken Chinese, "Your fighting style is becoming more and more like a wolf on the grasslands—waiting for the wind before biting the neck."

Shen Du couldn't help but chuckle, wiping the dirt from his face with the back of his hand, and slowly stood up, leaning on his sword. "Next is Dezhou. Sheng Yong lost once at Jiahe, he won't lose again at Dezhou. Dezhou's defenses are much stronger than Gaocheng's, and its reserves of muskets and crossbows are much greater." He sheathed his sword, turned around, and gazed into the distance in the direction where the remnants of the Southern Army had retreated into the twilight. "But we won't give him another chance like we did at Dongchang."