Chapter Fifty-Eight: The Failed Assassination

The bodies piled layer upon layer, the stench of blood so thick it threatened to make one retch. At the very front stood Duan Zhigan, his face alight with excitement. He had been uneasy at first, but after three successive repulses of the rebel assault, his confidence grew with every clash.

Duan Zhigan bore a deep dissatisfaction toward his younger brother, Duan Zhixuan, who was notorious for neglecting his duties. Last year, Duan Zhixuan had followed Li Shimin and garnered considerable military merit, earning a post as Right Guard of the Prince of Qin’s household. This office was ranked a full grade above Duan Zhigan’s own, the Fruit-bearing Captain, and this difference made Duan Zhigan unable to lift his head in his brother’s presence. Worse yet, Duan Zhixuan was not one to keep a low profile; he strutted as if his chin could pierce the heavens.

Whenever he returned home, Duan Zhigan was sure to be nagged by his mother and criticized by his father.

But all this nagging and complaint would surely end after this battle. With just over fifteen hundred soldiers, he was holding off rebel forces that outnumbered them many times over. Victory against such odds would guarantee him the fifth tier of military merit. Though his rank as captain prevented him from rising five levels in one go like common soldiers, he could at least reach the rank of Vibrant Power Captain. To surpass Duan Zhixuan, it would all be worth it.

“General, I request permission to fight!” Duan Zhigan eyed the tense standoff nervously, fearing the rebels might suddenly scatter and rob him of his hard-earned merit.

“No rush,” Chen Ying replied coolly. “There’ll be plenty of fighting for you, it won’t escape.”

“I am Mo Dake, Vanguard General under the Western Qiang King. Let the Tang general come forth to speak!”

At that moment, a burly man, as imposing as a black bear, stepped out from the rebel ranks. This was none other than Mo Dake, a trusted commander of Pang Qidi. Mo Dake hailed from the White Horse tribe of the Qiang people. In his youth, he’d offended his tribal chief and was sold to the Mo family of Hehuang as a horse slave. His intelligence and wit impressed the Mos, who saw great promise in him and named him Mo Dake. His speech in Han language was fluent; were it not for his distinctly non-Han features, few would suspect he was from another tribe.

“General, the Qiang slave is calling you out!” Duan Zhigan quickly reminded Chen Ying.

“I’m not deaf yet,” Chen Ying replied coolly. “Which of you has the best archery skills?”

The assembled officers blinked in confusion.

Chen Ying continued, “In a moment, I’ll step forward and speak with Pang Qidi. Watch for your chance and take a shot. If Pang Qidi dies, the rebels will collapse without a fight…”

“General Chen, you’re truly…”

“What do you know? This is the art of deception!” Chen Ying spoke with solemn conviction. “I’m an officer, Pang Qidi is a bandit; there’s nothing to discuss with him.”

At that moment, Cavalry Captain Zhang Shigui spoke, “General Chen, my archery is adequate…”

“Good. Hide behind me and strike when the opportunity arises!”

Zhang Shigui nodded, torn between duty and doubt.

The foremost soldiers parted to give Chen Ying a path. Liang Zan, Zhang Shigui, and four shield bearers followed him to a hundred paces from the front lines, stopping two hundred paces from the rebels.

“I am Chen Ying, commander of this army!”

Pang Qidi squinted in disbelief—the one to step forward was little more than a youth, Chen Ying’s fair face making him look even younger. Pang Qidi was astonished that such a child led a formidable force.

“General Chen, pleased to meet you,” Pang Qidi said.

“Pleased, my foot! Listen, Pang, are you sick of living? You dare rebel? If you’re smart, surrender now; otherwise, you’ll regret ever being born!”

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“You ignorant brat, my surname is Pang Qidi, not Pang!”

The battlefield witnessed a bizarre scene: Chen Ying, gentle-faced, spewed vulgar insults, while Pang Qidi, resembling a failed evolution of a gorilla, spoke with refined manners.

Fuming, Pang Qidi shoved aside his bodyguard and shouted, “I command forty thousand fierce warriors. Even if we stand still and let you slaughter us, you’d tire before finishing. It’s you who should surrender, lest you regret it!”

“Haha! Pang, did you forget to brush your teeth today?”

Pang Qidi stared, bewildered.

Chen Ying said, “Such big talk! Who the hell do you think you are?”

Pang Qidi finally realized Chen Ying was mocking his arrogance. The veins on Pang Qidi’s forehead bulged.

Chen Ying continued, never content until his words shocked: “Pang, if you’re a real man, come over here and duel with me! If you’re not, crawl back into your pants and stay there!”

Pang Qidi reached out and seized a massive spiked club from his attendant. Its dark purple hue revealed dried blood—obviously, Pang Qidi had killed many with it.

Chen Ying raised his saber with both hands and charged at Pang Qidi.

“Good!” Pang Qidi roared, brandishing his club and charging without hesitation.

Yet, just then, Chen Ying suddenly dove to the ground.

“Shoot, idiot!”

Zhang Shigui grabbed his iron-banded bow, a weapon with a draw strength of three stones—requiring three hundred sixty pounds of force to pull. Zhang Shigui’s innate strength made it possible; for most, it would be impossible.

The greater the draw strength, the deadlier the arrows. Zhang Shigui selected three thick ram-headed arrows and shot them without even aiming.

“Whizz, whizz, whizz!”

Zhang Shigui unleashed a volley of arrows, firing three more, then another three, sending nine arrows in ten breaths.

All nine flew straight toward Pang Qidi.

“Despicable!” Pang Qidi nearly spat blood in rage—what happened to the promised duel? Instead, he was ambushed by arrows.

Still, Pang Qidi swung his club, deflecting the arrows, though the force numbed his hands.

Chen Ying watched Zhang Shigui, quietly amazed.

He hadn’t expected Zhang Shigui’s archery to be so formidable.

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One man, one bow, produced a dense rain of arrows.

Had Pang Qidi not wielded his club so expertly, he’d have been riddled like a porcupine.

Zhang Shigui emptied one quiver, then quickly another.

Four shield bearers hurried to shelter Chen Ying behind their shields, while rebel shield bearers likewise protected Pang Qidi.

Zhang Shigui glanced back—both quivers were empty. He cursed inwardly. As Chen Ying shared his disappointment, Pang Qidi suddenly howled.

A ram-headed arrow had slipped through a gap in the shields, striking Pang Qidi’s shoulder. Had it been three inches lower, Pang Qidi would have met his end.

With thick skin and tough flesh, Pang Qidi gritted his teeth and yanked out the arrow. Blood spurted from the wound.

“I’ll kill you!” Pang Qidi roared. “Attack! Attack!”

Chen Ying withdrew to his own ranks, the dense array of hooked spears advancing steadily toward the rebels.

Pang Qidi’s fury produced nothing but more corpses.

Human strength is not inexhaustible. From the city wall, Pang Yu watched with regret—Chen Ying had failed to kill Pang Qidi. But with so many rebel troops, even attrition could tire out Chen Ying’s forces.

Blood splattered, screams and wails echoed without end.

Before the unremarkable hooked spear formation, the rebels began to feel fear.

It was as if an ancient beast devoured countless lives each moment.

Mo Dake said, “Your Majesty, calm yourself!”

Pang Qidi gradually cooled. He could expend his troops to wear down Chen Ying’s men, but this suicide charge offered no hope of victory, only despair for his soldiers.

Already, many rebels were slipping away without a word.

“Your Majesty, this is no way to fight!”

“What strategy do you suggest?”

Mo Dake replied, “Here’s what we could do…”

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