Chapter Thirty-Three: Out of Food

Four Days Later, Yellow Turban Rear Camp

“He still hasn’t won?” Lin Qi sat in his own tent, looking at Su Si, who had just delivered the latest battle report.

“He’s fought well,” Su Si replied. “In the past, tens of thousands of Yellow Turbans couldn’t stand up to a few thousand Han troops, but now they’re fighting to a draw.”

Do you really think “fighting to a draw” is enough? Lin Qi, the commander, gazed at his “subordinate” with bitter frustration.

The report from the front simply summarized the four battles. But Lin Qi’s men at the front had already sent him detailed accounts of each engagement.

In the first battle, facing the original Han army, Wang Luo held his ground; the Han gained no advantage and withdrew. In the second, the Han tried to flank them, but Wang Luo, retracing the previous route, struck directly at their camp. The Han were forced to rush back, only to encounter Wang Luo’s well-formed troops halfway. After a day of fierce fighting, neither side prevailed.

The third and fourth battles were much smaller. The Han didn’t send out their main force, and Wang Luo only dispatched part of his men. Each skirmish ended within half an hour.

Progress—yes, there had been progress. But what use is that if we can’t win? The food is nearly gone!

“Do you know how much grain we have left in camp?” Lin Qi asked, suppressing his anger.

“Didn’t you say we have half a month’s rations? By my count, that should last another ten days or so.”

You just believe what I say? Are you an idiot?

After Su Si left, Lin Qi’s heart grew heavier. The food he’d promised to win over the officers had always been exaggerated. In the past, if they rationed carefully, they could hold out for a while. But now, with Wang Luo’s side fighting repeatedly, their stores couldn’t keep up.

Forget about making a name for myself. It’s time to retreat.

Yes, that had always been his intention when he took command of these troops—to make his own retreat easier.

The Han army had blocked several key routes, encircling the Yellow Turbans. The biggest problem was the Han camp at the ferry. They dominated the river, collecting or destroying all the boats nearby and patrolling the banks, making it impossible for Commander Lin to cross and join the main Yellow Turban force at Guangzong.

Some of Lin Qi’s men were locals who knew of other places to cross the river. When the other Yellow Turban units were ambushed, he’d already prepared boats for four or five hundred men—hiding a few among the supplies on joining forces, and stashing the rest at their original camp.

The problem before was that there were too many old, sick, or wounded in the army; if discovered by the Han, they’d never escape.

When other camps were defeated, Lin Qi had taken in the fleeing soldiers, planning to organize a force to resist during the crossing. When contacted by several officers from this camp, Lin Qi was delighted.

They were making armor here; the soldiers must be better fighters. The longer they could hold out, the more people could make it across.

At present, everything was unfolding as he’d predicted. Though Wang Luo was more formidable than expected, the Han, after so many battles, must have suffered losses and would have to pull back their forces. That way, when he led his men across the river, there’d be no Han to block them!

And even if there was interference, Wang Luo had supplied his side with weapons and armor, arming over four hundred men—enough to hold out for a while.

If only there were more food, he could wait longer. If that fool managed to break the Han, he’d look glorious joining Guangzong. But now it was clear that man wasn’t so strong; even with twice the numbers, he could only force a draw.

He couldn’t wait any longer.

Lin Qi considered that Su Si might not be willing to leave with him, and most of the old, weak, or sick in the camp were the families of Wang Luo’s soldiers, so there was no need to take them.

He would take only the able-bodied—swift, and able to carry more supplies and baggage.

There had been four commanders in the area. Two died in Han ambushes; Guo Da died in his own camp days ago. Now Lin Qi was the highest in rank, and this force had first ambushed and wiped out a thousand Han, then stalemated with them for some time, but with food exhausted, had no choice but to retreat to Guangzong.

Reporting this truthfully to the Great Teacher, would he still lack soldiers?

By then, that brat’s forces would have no food and die off; there’d be no need to fear his excuses.

Pleased with himself, Lin Qi began to laugh. He summoned all his officers to arrange the retreat.

----

“They’ve started to move. Reports have come in from Luo Xiaowan, Flying Fox, and Deadwood!”

In the Han rear camp, a messenger—a thin man dressed all in black, with goggles shielding his eyes—rushed into the main hall of the <Mobile Team Space>.

Inside were his goddess and several others, apparently chatting. The messenger frowned and respectfully handed over his report.

“This time, we’ll finally get a general’s head!” a stocky man said, sitting upright.

“He wasn’t removed by his subordinates, was he?” said a scholarly man nearby. “Little Luo killed the previous commander, a Guo by surname, but nothing dropped.”

“No,” the messenger answered. “It’s confirmed—he still has over two thousand troops with him.”

“Excellent!” the stocky man slammed his fist. “That’s at least 3% progress! Barely back in action and we’re handed such a big fish. We’re lucky! When do we notify the Han?”

All eyes turned to their team leader.

She rose from the sofa, all allure and charm vanishing from her face. “What’s his name? Lin Qi?”

“It’s Lin Qi,” the messenger corrected.

“Has anyone heard of him?”

Most looked blank, but the scholarly man seemed thoughtful. “The one from El Fasir? Are you suggesting this commander might just be bait? The main group of Yellow Turbans might also be planning to slip away?”

“Charles, you never disappoint me.”

She smiled as she spoke, their eyes meeting in perfect tacit understanding—a spark flying between them, as if they were two soulmates destined for each other. Unfortunately, their moment was marred by the presence of several other men and women nearby.

----

“The Wuzhou Team has made a move?” In a tent at the Han army’s forward positions, the Moonshadow Team received this information.

“Yes, sir,” the female ninja reported. “They’ve bought seven or eight redeployment orders. But the Han troops involved haven’t moved yet.”

“Once the Han begin operations, those orders can’t move the main force.”

“Yes, sir. Also, Black Rabbit just reported some activity at the Yellow Turban rear camp.”

“What’s happening?”

“It looks like they’re planning to cross the river. The Han at the ferry haven’t moved; Black Rabbit suspects they may have found another crossing.”

“Wuzhou, boats, redeployment orders…” Getini suddenly shot to his feet. “The Yellow Turbans want to escape? They’re planning to use surrounding units to claim the general’s head? That’s it! Units brought in with redeployment orders don’t reduce the drop rate!”

“Dream on!” He stood, his voice fierce. “Come, follow me to the commander’s tent.”