Chapter Thirty-Six: Clash (Part One)

A rally that was meant to be brimming with passion and fervor had, due to unforeseen circumstances, veered wildly off course. Fortunately, Xu Kang's quick reaction put an end to it before matters could spiral out of control.

“It seems that from now on, we must be very careful with slogans. Our language is so vast and profound, full of pitfalls at every turn,” he mused. The thought of giving Strong Pig a new name suddenly occurred to him, but after pondering it for a moment, he realized he couldn’t come up with anything better. Resigned, he let the idea go.

"Never mind. Instead of wasting energy on a pig’s name, I’d do better to rest and recuperate. Last night took a heavy toll on my spirit—now is the time to restore and strengthen myself. I must rest well," he told himself.

Once Xu Kang made a decision, he acted on it without delay. Closing his eyes, he leaned back against the side of the carriage and soon fell asleep.

When he awoke, dusk had already settled.

"Wait, isn’t this just like yesterday?" he frowned, glancing at the sun sinking in the west. "This can’t go on. Living with days and nights reversed is unhealthy. Worse, if something happens, I’ll be too slow to respond. I must reset my body clock!"

With that resolve, he gave up the idea of spending another night making magical bread. When the soldiers finished setting up his tent, he went straight inside to rest.

But Zhao Hong and Zhang Cheng had no way of knowing his intentions. Worried he might wander off in the night and get lost, they assigned several soldiers to guard his tent. In the latter half of the night, they even checked in personally to make sure he was still there before finally allowing themselves to sleep.

The pair truly racked their brains over the wellbeing of their commander.

Thankfully, such days were nearly at an end. According to the scouts’ reports, it would take no more than two days to reach Changshe County. As far as Zhao Hong and Zhang Cheng were concerned, once they entered Changshe’s borders and joined forces with Lu Zhi’s army, Xu Kang could command the rear while they fought on the front lines against the Yellow Turbans, free of worry.

As for victory or defeat—they had considered that before setting out, but not anymore. With a man like Xu Kang presiding over them, how could they possibly lose?

With this confidence, the two drove the soldiers to maintain an impressive marching speed, covering forty li per day. In three days, they had traveled over a hundred and twenty li.

Now, with less than thirty li between them and Changshe—and their long-awaited rendezvous nearly at hand—a scout’s urgent cry sent a tremor through the entire army.

“Enemy attack! The Yellow Turbans!”

Xu Kang, who had been casting [Create Food and Water] inside his carriage, immediately halted his spell and flung open the curtain.

The scene before him left him stunned.

All across the hills, the rebel peasant army swarmed, yellow scarves tied around their heads. But these were no longer simple farmers wielding hoes and rakes—they carried, without exception, standard-issue Han military weapons.

Sabers, spears, swords, shields, halberds—any weapon a Han soldier might possess, these rebels brandished as their own, clearly seized from the imperial forces or local authorities.

Most alarming of all was their sheer number. A quick estimate told Xu Kang there were no fewer than ten thousand—ten times his own force.

“No chance of winning,” he concluded in mere seconds.

Yet, knowing he was only an amateur military enthusiast, he refrained from issuing any rash orders. Instead, while the enemy had yet to advance, he turned to Zhao Hong and Zhang Cheng for their counsel.

"Zhao Hong, Zhang Cheng—our enemies outnumber us greatly. Do you think we should fight or retreat?"

"Fight!" came their immediate, unanimous reply—catching Xu Kang off guard.

They both saluted him, then explained their reasoning.

"Sir, the Yellow Turbans may have the numbers, but they’re a disorderly rabble. A single cavalry charge will shatter their ranks!"

"Indeed, sir. The Yellow Turbans neglect their training, while our soldiers are well drilled and full of spirit. We can face ten with one! Please, give the order!"

Their words emboldened the surrounding company and squad leaders, who all clamored for battle.

"Sir, please give the command!"

Seeing this, Xu Kang could hardly refuse without killing their spirit. Steeling himself, he nodded.

"Very well. If you seek battle, I grant it. Zhao Hong!"

"At your command!"

"I order you to lead our cavalry to break their lines—do not pursue too far, lest you be caught between front and rear!"

"Yes, sir!"

Zhao Hong saluted and immediately began marshaling the cavalry, lances leveled towards the Yellow Turban ranks a few hundred meters away.

“Men! For the glory of our land, for honor and achievement—charge with me!”

"Charge!"

In a flash, less than two hundred cavalrymen thundered out under Zhao Hong’s lead, heading straight for the Yellow Turban lines.

Xu Kang’s pupils contracted at the sight, and he quickly issued another order.

"Zhang Cheng, take the remaining soldiers to support Zhao Hong—together, crush the Yellow Turbans!"

"Yes, sir!"

Zhang Cheng, already prepared, charged forward with the rest of the troops at Xu Kang’s command.

The Yellow Turbans, seeing the Han army attack, surged forward as well.

The two forces collided. In an instant, the air was filled with the shouts of soldiers, the screams of wounded horses, the clash of steel, and the anguished cries of the injured—a cacophony that engulfed the entire battlefield.

A gust of wind carried the thick stench of blood to Xu Kang’s nostrils, turning his face pale and nearly making him retch.

But remembering that these soldiers were his to lead, fighting largely for his sake, he forced down his nausea and kept his eyes wide open, bearing witness to the inferno before him.

One thing did offer some comfort: Zhao Hong and Zhang Cheng had been right. The Yellow Turbans were indeed poor fighters.

At the first clash, Zhao Hong’s cavalry punched through their formation; Zhang Cheng’s infantry followed, striking down the disordered foe. Very quickly, the Yellow Turbans began to cast aside their arms and flee for their lives.

Meanwhile, the Han soldiers, emboldened by victory, pressed their advantage. In mere minutes, they inflicted nearly ten percent casualties on the enemy, and their momentum only grew.

The rout was clear. The number of Yellow Turban deserters snowballed until, finally, several thousand broke and fled in total collapse.

Zhao Hong and Zhang Cheng wasted no time, leading their men in pursuit to cut down the fleeing rebels.

If this continued, it was certain to become a sweeping victory.

Yet, witnessing all this from his carriage in the rear, Xu Kang’s brow furrowed once more.

A sense of foreboding crept over him.