Surviving the Ordeal

Stealing a glance ahead, Wang Bo watched as, after several volleys of arrows from the center ranks, two detachments of swift cavalry broke from the flanks. They raced along the edges of the surging mass of infantry, great sabers raised high, hacking down and slashing at those behind as they charged relentlessly forward.

“Thank heaven I wasn’t on the edge—if the blade didn’t kill me, the horses’ hooves would have trampled me to mush! No, I can’t shiver now! I’ve seen ghouls and died once already! There’s nothing left to fear! Now’s the time to run for my life!”

Suppressing the chill that rose from deep within, Wang Bo lay pressed beneath the ever-colder corpses, turning his head slightly to squint and take in the state of the battlefield.

By now, the two armies were locked in a tangled melee. Fortunately, there were not many armored cavalry—most fought under a single commander, encircling the brawny men with yellow scarves tied around their heads, while the remaining dozen or so soldiers spread out in twos and threes, butchering those who dared resist, and beheading the wounded who howled in agony as they crawled. Slowly, they closed in on the chaotic center.

All around Wang Bo lay a sea of the dead: some skewered by spears, some beheaded by swords, some felled by arrows or crushed by horses. Severed limbs lay scattered, mingling with bright scarlet blood to form grotesque heaps, the armored bodies of the enemy occasionally visible among the carnage.

At the very center of the crowd, where Wang Bo had first stood, the ground resembled a freshly reaped wheat field, strewn with countless fragments of flesh and bone—nowhere could he find a single intact body. For the first time, Wang Bo truly witnessed the horrors left in the wake of a cavalry charge, his recently calmed stomach roiling once more.

Feigning death for a while, Wang Bo watched as the conflict gradually shifted toward the distant woods. The cavalry on the perimeter paid no heed to the cannon fodder they had just massacred; instead, they relentlessly shadowed the battlefield’s edge, cutting down every Yellow Turban rebel who tried to break free.

After waiting another quarter of an hour, Wang Bo’s resolve firmed: “Time to run! What if the victors return to clean up the field? Will they demand heads for merit? Of course they will! There’s never been a war in history where you could earn glory without heads!”

Carefully raising his head, he saw the battlefield was already fading from view. Looking around, he grabbed a cavalry saber and pried a dagger from a corpse’s grasp, steeling himself before quickly stripping a set of cavalry soft armor and sturdy boots from another body. As he was about to slip away through the sunken weeds, a faint shuffling behind made his hair stand on end. He rolled aside just in time to see several others, like himself, crawling from the pile of corpses, having played dead.

Some repeated his actions, arming themselves and scavenging. Others sat, dazed, as if only just returned to their senses, stifled sobs breaking out as they struggled to turn over the bodies of loved ones, hoping against hope to find them alive.

Wang Bo glared, putting a finger to his lips for silence. He growled in a low voice, “Stop wailing! Living beats being dead! If you want revenge, first figure out how to survive! If you want to live, scatter and run now!” With that, he turned and sprinted, hunched low through the depression.

The others quickly followed behind. Wang Bo glanced back, cursing as he ran, “Get away from me! If you stick together, none of us will get away!”

After a while, having crossed a low ridge, Wang Bo paused to catch his breath and survey the surroundings. Several ragged men tumbled after him, one brawny fellow grinning foolishly as he settled beside Wang Bo. Wang Bo frowned, ripping the yellow scarf from the man’s brow. “Still wearing this death rag? You want to be recognized and cut down? If the cavalry catches you, you’re dead for sure!” The big man just grinned sheepishly.

Wang Bo eyed the other wiry young men who had followed. “Why are you all following me? If we split up, it's harder for the enemy to chase us.” One of them lowered his head, muttering, “We want to live.”

Of course—“we want to live.” Such a simple, powerful reason! Wang Bo sighed, then glanced at the line of dozens of gaunt young men struggling over the ridge. The old and weak had no hope of surviving. “Let them gather round,” he said to the others.

They formed a circle, and Wang Bo asked loudly, “Do you all want to escape together?” Heads nodded all around.

“Good! Now, throw away everything except your weapons! If you stripped armor, put it on. If something is too heavy, ditch it. If you have food, eat it now, or toss it! Rest a moment, and then we all run toward the woods. Anyone left behind, fend for yourself!” He shot a glance at one of them, adding, “Tear off that ragged robe!”

“It’s all I have,” a small man replied timidly.

“Better naked than dead! Who cares if people laugh—it’s better than losing your head!” Wang Bo snapped.

The small man hastily slashed his tattered, ankle-length blue robe with a short knife, exposing pale thighs, but no one was in any mood to laugh.

After Wang Bo’s calm and orderly instructions, a spark of hope kindled in everyone’s hearts, and the looks they gave him burned with renewed fervor.

After about a minute, Wang Bo stood, hefted his saber, and led the way, dozens of men rising behind him, heads down, running for their lives.

“Don’t sprint! Pace yourselves! It’s a long way—we need to last!”

They crossed endless undulating hills and grasslands, moving diagonally away from the battlefield toward the mountains and forest. The farther from the field, the better their chances.

Wang Bo led them through every low-lying spot. The group stretched longer, and he frowned, pushing ahead. The burly man looked back, then shouted, “Not far to the woods! Once there, we live! Move it if you don’t want to die!” At the rear, several middle-aged men who had slowed to a walk were spurred on by his words.

Soon, most—including Wang Bo—slowed from a run to a walk, gasping for breath, their lungs aflame as if pierced by a red-hot iron rod. Yet all pressed on, their legs moving mechanically, as though nothing else existed in the world.

A winding brook appeared beyond the next rise, its waters flowing quietly. Wang Bo mustered his strength, his hoarse shout carrying: “Water ahead!”

Like men possessed, everyone surged forward, some tumbling the last few steps. Wang Bo reached the stream first, scooped a handful of water, hesitated, then splashed it on his face. With weak arms, he blocked the big man who was about to gulp down the water. “Wait a moment before drinking, or you’ll burst your belly.”

The big man scratched his tangled hair and shouted, “Hold off! Rest a moment before drinking or you’ll bloat your guts!” Seeing both he and Wang Bo abstain, the others finally stopped themselves from lunging into the stream, collapsing onto the grass, panting violently.

After a brief rest and several draughts of sweet water, Wang Bo crawled back up the rise to watch the battlefield. The melee was now but a vague memory—no more shouting, no more clashing blades. But he knew danger was not far. If the cavalry finished their foes, they would return to collect heads and bury their own. Before they reached the sanctuary of the woods, any mounted soldier could spot their group unless they lay motionless on the far slope. But with the sun still high, nightfall was far off, and there was no telling if they might encounter a patrol fetching water.

Even after crossing the brook, the forest was still nearly half a mile off—if discovered, it would take but a handful of cavalry, riding back and forth, to slaughter them all.

With a thump, the big man plopped down beside Wang Bo again, as loyal as a shadow.

“This guy never even loses his breath—what stamina!” Wang Bo rolled his eyes, still winded, earning another blank grin.

He kicked the fellow lightly and said, “Tell them all to fill their water, swap heavy weapons for light if they’re weak, let the strong carry the burdens. Once we’re in the woods, we’ll divide things up. We have a quarter of an hour—no more!”

The big man replied with a booming, “Right!” and an awkward bow that made Wang Bo smirk.

A commotion broke out, but after a few kicks from the big man and the wiry youths, order was restored. “You’re slow as a slug—what are you doing with a spear that long? Before the enemy even catches up, you’ll be dead from exhaustion!” the big man bellowed at a man in scholar’s robes, who hastily fixed his hair and picked up a dagger, scurrying away.

When the time was up, Wang Bo drank deeply, then crossed the stream without a backward glance, the big man roaring, “Let’s go!” as the group followed in a rush.

The ground rose as they neared the forest, but Wang Bo’s anxiety only grew. He knew from experience that looking back was useless—if pursuers came, watching wouldn’t save them.

He nudged the big man beside him to speed up; the group lagged compared to their earlier sprint, either relaxing now that they’d left the battlefield or simply spent from the effort.

They had split into three groups: Wang Bo, the big man, and the wiry youths at the front; a second group thirty or forty steps back, already slowing to a walk; and a last handful, jolting forward in bursts before dropping behind, like coiled springs.

Wang Bo himself felt his strength ebbing, legs quivering; only inertia kept him moving. The big man’s occasional cheerful grin made him want to punch those buck teeth just for relief.

His growing dread was suddenly realized—a shout erupted from the rear: “The enemy is coming!” Panic swept the group. Some fell and could not rise; others crawled, howling in terror.

Wang Bo stumbled and called out, “Grab your weapons! Don’t drop the spears!” The big man shouted, “Stop crying! If you have the breath to shout, you have the breath to run! They’re still far—you can escape! Pick your weapons up!”

Those who had dropped their arms scrambled to retrieve them, running to the big man.

“Give me the spears!” he bellowed, and a dozen weapons rained down. “Trying to kill me? You fools—here, you lot take these!” Distributing them to the front runners, he slung the rest over his shoulder, grabbed Wang Bo by the arm, and dragged him onward. Another man grabbed Wang Bo’s other arm, pulling him forward, but Wang Bo had no strength left for gratitude.

Just a few steps from the treeline, they heard the distant thunder of hooves. Wang Bo shouted, “Once we’re in the woods, those with knives run ahead and sharpen sticks! Those with spears stay back to cover! If we can’t kill them, none of us will escape!” He had already seen that only a dozen or so cavalry pursued them—luckily, on grass, the horses raised no dust, so their numbers were clear.

They barely made it into the woods before the cavalry was blocked by thick grass and steep slopes. Unwilling to give up, the enemy dismounted, slung their bows and empty quivers onto their horses, leaving a few men behind, and, sabers drawn, pursued on foot.

Wang Bo’s group was already several steps into the forest.

“Sharpen branches—three each! You, you, you with the spears, come here!” As they worked, Wang Bo called over the big man for further instructions.

Watching the approaching enemy, Wang Bo barked, “Those with sabers, over here! Ten with sharp sticks, crouch with me!” Once assembled, he said, “Hide behind us! When I shout ‘throw,’ hurl your sticks at the enemy, then run this way!”

To the swordsmen, he ordered, “When the enemy is distracted by the shower of sticks, attack in threes—left, center, right! Don’t hesitate—if you don’t kill them, you’ll die! Hold steady—attack and run!”

He placed more throwers behind to cover their retreat, repeating the ambush with the big man’s group further on, determined to wear the pursuers down.

The group listened to Wang Bo’s plan, the big man clapping his head, “Good! We’ll follow you, big brother!” The spearmen’s eyes glinted, and even the scholar, who had lagged behind, praised, “Brilliant! You’re a genius!” before shrinking back under the big man’s glare.

After another ten steps, Wang Bo stopped with six men, instructing the big man to lead the rest on and ambush the pursuers further ahead.

Clutching his saber, Wang Bo crouched with the others, instructing the stick-throwers to hide nearby. He fixed his gaze on the advancing enemy, muttering, “See those three in front? You three take the left, you three the center, I’ll take the right. No trembling! Kill or be killed!” Chastened, the men steadied themselves.

The enemy, lured by the fleeing cries of the big man’s group, never suspected these ragged peasants would dare ambush them. They crashed through the grass, rushing forward.

Wang Bo’s heart hammered as he counted their steps. Suddenly, he shouted, “Throw!” Without waiting to see the sticks fly, he slapped his companion and charged the enemy, saber raised. As planned, they hacked at the unarmored legs, and though one missed, the others struck true—the three in front were crippled, unable to give chase.

“Run!” Wang Bo shouted, dragging his dazed comrade away. The enemy officer cursed, leaving another man behind as he led the rest in pursuit, even hurling a knife that missed its mark.

On the run, Wang Bo yelled to the next group, “Throw the sticks!” This time, their aim was true—a soldier clutched his face, screaming as he went down.

Regrouping, they ran toward the big man’s group, stumbling but never relinquishing their weapons.

Seeing four of his men writhing on the ground, the enemy officer gritted his teeth. “Chase them! If we don’t kill these rebels, our heads will roll! Kill!” He led the remaining ten onward.

Wang Bo soon overtook the big man’s group, who had seen the ambush work and now waited in the grass. Again, five of the enemy fell—despite their caution, the tall grass concealed the trap, and they were caught unawares.

Only six enemy soldiers remained. After a brief, fearful conference, they retreated under the officer’s orders, but what happened next shocked them to their core.

Wang Bo set another ambush, but when the big man’s group had moved on and no pursuers appeared, he learned from the big man that the enemy had retreated.

Wang Bo tailed them for a while and realized the six who could still walk had nine wounded men to deal with; seeing their opponents’ numbers, they had lost the will to chase.

A surge of ruthlessness overcame Wang Bo. “If you want to eat, follow me! Kill them and you’ll get horse meat!” Some hesitated, but the big man and about twenty strong young men joined Wang Bo.

“They’re flesh and blood like us! Why hesitate? You killed before, didn’t you? Cowards! If you won’t join, go your own way!” Wang Bo barked.

A dozen more joined, the rest stayed behind.

“Come on! Let’s get some meat!” Wang Bo led the way, not looking back at those who stayed.

A volley of sharpened sticks flew—though most bounced harmlessly off iron armor, a few found their mark, and the already wounded soldiers collapsed in terror. The wounded, abandoned by their comrades, crawled away in panic.

More sticks flew, and soon none remained unscathed. Only the officer remained on his feet, the rest rolling and wailing with fear.

“Kill!” With a roar, the big man charged in, saber swinging, and the wounded were slaughtered. Only a few lightly wounded attempted resistance, but were quickly beaten to death.

“Damn, this brute is fierce—took out eight or nine himself…”

Only two of Wang Bo’s men were injured by desperate enemies, and not seriously. The enemy officer was tied up, with three guards and a knife at his throat.

“Horse meat at the forest edge—only a few left! Don’t let them escape!” Wang Bo shouted.

The remaining enemy horse-guards, unaware of the slaughter in the woods, were perplexed by the tumult. Peering toward the noise, they were quickly surrounded by Wang Bo’s group and dispatched with flying sticks.

Weapons, armor, and clothing were stripped from the bodies. The mutilated corpses were buried in shallow pits by the big man’s team.

They slaughtered the weakest horse. There was still plenty of water in the soldiers’ canteens, and using iron helmets, they boiled the meat in the woods. Wang Bo set up sentries before the group finally relaxed and feasted around the fire.

Their spoils were plentiful: everyone had a weapon, not counting the small knives and daggers, along with a dozen sacks of grain cakes, packets of dried meat, and a dozen shortbows. Unfortunately, there were few arrows—just some iron arrowheads, the shafts probably broken in battle.

Nineteen strong warhorses survived. If not for Wang Bo’s earlier promise of horse meat, he might have spared the animal, hoping to make jerky for later, but seeing how much had already been eaten, he let it go.

Wang Bo roasted a large chunk of horse meat on a stick, chatting with the others as he sprinkled salt from the loot. The big man drooled, beaming as he squatted nearby with another hunk of meat, not waiting for it to cook.

The joy of survival suffused them all. Even the hesitant twenty or so who had refused to join the fight were eventually lured over by the smell, watching hungrily from the edge of the group.

Someone whispered, and soon they returned with bundles of wild greens, nudging these into the hands of the scholar. The scholar, clutching a large bundle, crept up to Wang Bo, his dust-streaked face creasing into a timid smile. “Sir…um…General…we…”

Wang Bo glanced at him, then at the big man and the fiercest of the youths, before waving impatiently. “Cook the edible greens, and split half the horse offal with them. Clean it and eat!” The men fell over themselves with gratitude, happily setting to work.