Chapter Two: Sixteen Consecutive Kills, Fame Spreads Far and Wide

“Hah hah... Ah ah ah!” The West Qin soldier writhing on the ground let out a chilling scream.

Chen Ying’s face showed no fear, no timidity, not even a hint of hesitation. He raised his blade again and struck down upon the head of the soldier rolling on the ground.

Strike while the enemy is weak—showing mercy to your foes is the same as cruelty to yourself.

Bravery and cowardice are twin brothers hidden in every man’s heart. In reality, they are always locked in battle. When Chen Ying saw the West Qin soldier wielding a spear and hoisting an infant not yet a month old, laughing wildly and without restraint, the courage within Chen Ying instantly conquered his fear.

A West Qin archer nocked his arrow and drew his bow, aiming directly at Chen Ying. But Chen Ying seemed not to notice; he stared at the archer with the gaze of a starving wolf.

He advanced, blade held horizontally, towards the archer.

The archer shivered involuntarily under Chen Ying’s gaze. At that moment, Chen Ying’s eyes were nothing like a human’s. The archer vaguely recalled, more than ten years ago, encountering a hungry wolf in the Maiji mountains—those were the same eyes: the eyes of a wolf, prepared at any moment to devour.

With that memory, the archer’s hand trembled uncontrollably, and the arrow slipped from the string, flying askew over Chen Ying’s head.

“You bastard Wang Mazi, did your eyeballs end up in your trousers?” a West Qin officer, scarred across his face, shouted at the archer called Wang Mazi.

Wang Mazi was nearly in tears. He was one of the army’s best archers; ten paces, a hundred paces—even hitting a willow leaf at a hundred paces might be an exaggeration, but if the target was a person, he could hit it blindfolded.

Now, as he tried to ready another arrow, it was far too late.

Chen Ying’s blade flashed like a stream of light across his throat. Wang Mazi felt his strength drain away.

A jet of warm blood sprayed onto Cheng Mo’s face; another West Qin soldier’s head split open like a watermelon—red, white, and mingled fluids spilled out.

The more Chen Ying fought, the more exhilarated and relaxed he became. Unlike Zhang Huaiwei, who roared with every swing and wore a ferocious expression, Chen Ying’s face carried a faint, elusive smile—making him an eerie sight on the battlefield.

A dense whistling filled the air.

At some point, more than thirty West Qin soldiers appeared in the street, and a dozen archers drew their bows towards Chen Ying.

A dozen arrows were about to strike; Chen Ying had no time to dodge, and even if he wanted, there was nowhere to go—the arrows sealed off every possible escape.

Everyone thought Chen Ying would be turned into a pincushion, dying miserably on the spot.

Suddenly, a sound like rain beating on banana leaves erupted—“crackling...” A long infantry shield appeared just in time, blocking most of the arrows, though one struck Chen Ying’s left shoulder.

“Ow!” Chen Ying cried out, pulling the arrow free instinctively. A hole as thick as a finger gushed blood.

The intense pain snapped Chen Ying out of his frenzy; he realized the one who had shielded him from the deadly rain of arrows was none other than the squad leader “Old Slick” You Ziying, who had often bullied him.

You Ziying, past thirty, looked like a little old man—a ruthless veteran. He had fought in the eighth year of the Sui Dynasty’s campaign against Goguryeo. At that time, Grand General Yu Wen Shu led nine armies and 305,000 men across the Yalu River, only to be flooded by General Eulji Mundeok’s forces at the Sasu River (now the Taedong River). Yu Wen Shu’s nine armies were defeated, and only about 2,700 men returned to Liaodong, among them You Ziying.

His fighting skills were ordinary, but his ability to survive on the battlefield was unmatched. Ignoring the grimacing Chen Ying, You Ziying shouted to Zhang Huaiwei, “Head Zhang, fall back! We’re too few!”

Zhang Huaiwei looked up; their fifty-man unit had lost more than thirty, and fewer than ten remained combat-ready, most lightly or seriously wounded.

More West Qin soldiers poured into the street—within moments, their numbers swelled from thirty to two or three hundred.

He drew a cold breath—even a reborn Overlord could not turn the tide now.

“Loose arrows!”

Before Zhang Huaiwei could react, a West Qin officer bellowed, “Loose arrows!”

Only four infantry shields remained, protecting seven or eight Tang soldiers; the rest, unshielded, were instantly riddled with arrows and fell dead in chaos.

Cold sweat poured from Zhang Huaiwei’s face.

“What do we do?” The seven remaining Tang soldiers were in despair.

Suddenly, Chen Ying spotted a shop with its doors wide open, ten paces to the right. A blue banner hung above the entrance, bearing four large characters—“Dai’s Grain Store.”

“Retreat there!” Chen Ying said.

Zhang Huaiwei answered, “If they set it on fire, we’re all dead.”

“It’s a grain store—grain is worth more than life!” Chen Ying replied.

Zhang Huaiwei considered and agreed, shouting, “Retreat!”

The four shields formed a wall, and the seven surviving Tang soldiers withdrew into the grain store. West Qin soldiers continued firing; the shields were soon bristling with nearly a hundred arrows.

A West Qin officer sneered, “Fools—do they think hiding will save them? I’ll roast them like pigs!”

“Nonsense!” thundered a mounted West Qin officer.

The soldiers shrank back, silent.

The rider was none other than Zong Luo Hou.

Zong Luo Hou, once a bandit lord of Liangzhou, led thousands. Later, Jincheng Prefecture’s Captain Xue Ju and his son Xue Ren Gao, with their followers, seized the county magistrate Hao Yuan, and declared themselves the Western Qin Overlords. Zong Luo Hou brought his men to join Xue Ju, who granted him the title of Lord Yixing. Soon after, Xue Ju defeated Sui General Huangfu Wan, capturing Fuhan. The Qiang leader Zhong Li Su brought twenty thousand men to surrender, greatly strengthening Xue Ju’s forces. He raised Xue Ren Gao to King of Qi and made him Eastern Route Marshal, promoting Zong Luo Hou to King Yixing to assist Xue Ren Gao.

In the first year of Wude, June, Tang’s Governor Zhang Changxun attacked Zong Luo Hou. Xue Ju mobilized his entire force to rescue and strike Jingzhou, camping at Xiji (east of present-day Jingchuan, Gansu), sending raiders to plunder Qizhou and Binzhou. The Tang Emperor appointed Li Shimin as marshal to resist, stationing at Gaoji (north of Changwu, Shaanxi). Li Shimin, knowing Xue Ju’s supplies were short and he sought a swift victory, decided to defend and wear them down. Li Shimin fell ill, bedridden, while Xue Ju repeatedly challenged him.

Li Shimin’s staff Liu Wenjing and Yin Kaishan, trusting their numbers, displayed troops at Gaoji without precautions. Xue Ju lured them into battle and launched a surprise attack, defeating the Tang army, killing sixty percent, and capturing Tang generals Murong Luo Hou, Li Anyuan, Liu Hongji. Li Shimin, seeing all was lost, led his troops back to Chang’an, and Xue Ju seized Gaoji.

Zong Luo Hou advanced into Guanzhong, unexpectedly finding Jingyang unguarded, and took it with his forces.

West Qin’s greatest problem now was food scarcity—every grain was precious. With over ten thousand bushels in Dai’s Grain Store, Zong Luo Hou was determined to capture it.

When the West Qin officer proposed burning the grain store, Zong Luo Hou was furious. “Just a handful—no need for fire! Whoever enters first gets promoted and a jug of wine!”

The soldiers’ eyes lit up, itching to storm the store.

Men die for wealth, birds for food. The West Qin army was a band of thieves and bandits, their aim was rank and fortune. Life and death mattered little.

A dozen soldiers rammed the door.

With a few blows, the door was down.

A soldier stepped in, not even seeing the room, and Chen Ying, hidden behind the doorpost, cleaved his head with a single stroke.

Brain matter sprayed across Chen Ying.

Another rushed in; Chen Ying’s blade fell, and a massive head rolled onto the floor.

Yet another stepped in; Chen Ying paused, and Qiu Shengde thrust his spear, piercing the man through.

Three attackers dead in quick succession—their morale doused.

You Ziying, shivering behind his shield, muttered, “Twelve, thirteen!”

Zhang Huaiwei snapped, “What are you babbling about?”

You Ziying’s eyes were almost trembling. “Chen Ying has killed thirteen men.”

Outside, the West Qin soldiers grew restless. Zong Luo Hou whipped them into action.

“Go! All of you! Just a handful—what can they do, even if they were made of iron?”

The soldiers pressed the attack.

Five stormed in; Chen Ying’s blade felled three, Zhang Huaiwei killed one, and Qiu Shengde another.

Nearly a dozen bodies blocked the grain store’s entrance—the assault halted.

You Ziying cried out, “Sixteen consecutive kills!”

Just then, West Qin changed tactics; hundreds shouted outside, “Lay down your arms and surrender, and you’ll be spared!”

Chen Ying smiled wryly. “Failed assault, now they offer surrender?”

“Inside, listen up! Lay down your arms and surrender,” Zong Luo Hou’s patience was spent; his face twisted in rage, “Or I’ll chop you all into mincemeat!”

Zhang Huaiwei breathed a sigh, looking around, “What do we do now?”