24. Much Thunder, Little Rain

A dense mass of northern cavalrymen filled the field, their wild cries and the neighing of horses echoing ominously. At their head, the Chiler leader sat astride his horse like a statue of war, a great broadsword across his lap. With a single wave of his hand, the rowdy shouts of the warriors brandishing their gleaming sabers died away at once. He beckoned over a hulking, half-clad man whose tangled beard and unruly hair gave him a beastly aspect, and murmured a few guttural phrases.

The big man thumped his hairy chest, pressed his knees to his mount’s flanks, and charged toward the ditch, halting before the passage left open by the Xinghan Army. Drawing a deep breath, he bellowed in a harsh, broken dialect, “I am Wutugu, the foremost warrior under the Great King Budugen, Chanyu of the Da Xianbei! Now that our mighty force is here, you Han officials had best scurry home! Should you dare utter the faintest ‘no,’ my Xianbei warriors will show no mercy—when I break into your stronghold, your heads will fly!” Apparently unsatisfied with his command of the Han tongue, he began to wave his weapon, roaring incoherently.

Wang Bo had already resolved that to secure his position here, Budugen must be driven from Yunzhong Commandery, and the fertile lands west of the river, long occupied by the Xianbei, must be seized. Thus, conflict with the Xianbei was not only inevitable—it was a struggle of life and death, one that would decide their very survival. He did not bother to reply. Instead, he signaled Li Damu and Niu Da, pointing at the swaggering Wutugu.

The two understood at once. They raised the new six-stone composite bows from the logistics camp, took careful aim, and released their shafts—two arrows, one after the other, flashing like meteors.

Just as Wutugu, frothy-mouthed and exuberant, was leaping about, he glimpsed the arrows coming from the wall. He ducked and twisted with impressive speed, but could not outpace the deadly flight. Li Damu's arrow, meant for his left breast, struck the upper part of his shoulder, punching through flesh and bone to emerge at a slant from his back, trailing a great spray of blood. Only the shaft’s fletching quivered visibly at his chest.

“Aaah!” Wutugu had just begun to scream when his frantic horse, struck by Niu Da’s arrow, reared and threw him to the ground, leaving him face down in the dust—a most ignoble fall.

He spat out a mouthful of dirt and, finding himself miraculously unharmed, wasted no time cursing; scrambling on all fours, he fled back to his lines, leaving the defenders of Yunu Pass in peals of laughter.

The Chiler chief, brow furrowed, regarded the mud-splattered Wutugu with neither anger nor rebuke, merely ordering his wounds tended. He muttered toward the pass, “Refused the wine of courtesy, now you’ll drink the wine of punishment!” Then, with a flourish of his right arm, he gave a loud, unintelligible shout.

At once, the left wing of the northern cavalry, each rider marked with a white feather, surged into motion. These warriors, raised in the saddle since birth, shifted from stillness to a full battle charge in mere moments, organizing into a wedge and thundering toward the narrow gap in the ditch.

The right wing followed, a dark-feathered host galloping obliquely toward the ditch’s edge. Drawing their flat bamboo bows, they unleashed a volley of arrows, and for a moment, a dense rain of shafts soared toward the parapet. Most, however, lost their force just before reaching the wall and fell short; only a few struck atop the defenses, causing almost no harm to the Xinghan troops crouched behind the low wall.

As the attack began, Chen Dao and Xu Chu had already hustled Wang Bo to a safer position behind the parapet. The defenders had no time to ready boiling oil, molten metal, or stones, so Yang Feng ordered only the archers to return fire, while the hunting and auxiliary archers—whose bows lacked the range—remained hidden.

The Xinghan archers ignored the horsemen circling beyond the ditch, and instead, three teams of over two hundred archers loosed their volleys in rotation into the narrow passage, where the Xianbei cavalry pressed in.

The bows they wielded were mostly three-stone hardwood bows, painstakingly crafted from timber felled deep in the mountains. Their limbs were wrapped with cord on the inside and curved outwards like ox horns at the tips, hence the name “Ox-horn Bow.” The strings, twisted from three strands of the finest cow sinew, gave these bows a range easily double that of the hunting bows.

With sixty or seventy arrows loosed together, the tightly packed Xianbei riders were thrown into chaos—slaughtered in droves, few managed to break through the ditch.

After several such volleys, the narrow passage had become a path of carnage, strewn with corpses and blood. Horses and men wailed, some tumbling from the passage into the deep moat, flailing in the water before vanishing.

The momentum of the Xianbei charge faltered abruptly—whether from fear or obstruction, it was impossible to say. On this side of the ditch, a few dozen riders who had made it across stood bewildered, while riderless horses ran whinnying toward the river.

In less than a quarter of an hour, nearly a hundred Xianbei cavalrymen had been lost—most trampled or thrown into the ditch by wounded mounts. The survivors dared not attempt a rescue, watching in helpless agony as their comrades bled out and died.

The Chiler leader, face dark with fury, called off the archers still firing from the ditch’s edge and ordered a halt.

The handful of Xianbei who’d made it through, caught between retreat and surrender, were picked off by the accurate fire of the Xinghan archers. At last, a dozen or so dismounted, knelt, and surrendered. Baskets were lowered from the walls to haul them up for imprisonment. Meanwhile, Huang Long and Ping Han, with a group of auxiliary soldiers experienced with horses, strode out through the gate, gathering up the long-coveted steeds under the glares of the captured Xianbei.

The Chiler leader did not order his men to fire in protest, but stood there, yellowed eyes contemplating the parapet’s dense arrow slits, mind churning over new strategies.

Half an hour later, as the Xianbei cavalry drifted away, cheers erupted atop Yunu Pass.

Xu Chu leapt three feet high, roaring, “Long live Xinghan! Long live Xinghan!”

After the jubilation, the troops cleaned the battlefield, dragging a dozen barely living Xianbei from the ditch. At Wang Bo’s command, the auxiliaries kicked them roughly back to their senses, then hauled them off—dead dogs and prisoners alike—to the newly formed labor camp.

Wang Bo dispatched Niu Feihu and the scouts to shadow the retreating Xianbei, ensuring their return to the tribe. Only then did he order the archers to remain, with the rest returning to Xinghan City.

Thus ended a thunderous assault that delivered little rain—the Xinghan Army, triumphant, returned home. The celebration and rewards need not be recounted; with festivities over, the soldiers and civilians resumed their labors.

Days later, after morning drills, all senior and mid-ranking officers—save the two pass commanders—assembled in the “meeting hall.” Wang Bo made several announcements.

First, Xinghan City would henceforth formally establish the Xinghan Army. All forces would operate under this banner, organized into four main divisions: Combat, Auxiliary, Logistics, and Command.

The Combat Division, under General Liao Hua, comprised six battalions: cavalry, swords and shields, spearmen, heavy shields, archers and crossbowmen, and scouts. Their sole focus was combat and training, with independent drills to hone both strength and coordination. Every three days, a day was set aside for joint maneuvers, enhancing inter-unit cooperation and field survival. Every fortnight, they would conduct a live engagement with neighboring tribes to test their mettle.

Each battalion was led by a Commandant—Ping Han, Liu Shi, Huang Long, Zhou Cang, Li Damu, and Zhang Baiqi were named as acting leaders, each assisted by a deputy chosen for merit and valor, responsible for daily training. In wartime, overall command fell to the chief military officers.

From this day, the combat battalions would expand, drawing the best from auxiliaries and hunting teams to full strength: four hundred for combat engineers, one hundred for scouts, and two hundred for each remaining battalion.

The Auxiliary Division, under Yang Feng, included logistics and hunting units, led by Niu Meng and Niu Da as Captains. Their duty was to manage, protect, and supply provisions and materiel, selecting members from the ablest among the logistics staff.

The Logistics Division, led by Chen Rong and Tian Chou—both titled Administrators, with rank equal to Commandants—comprised teams for foraging, medical care, craftsmanship, and the labor camp, overseeing production and armament forging.

The Command Division, personally led by Wang Bo as General of Xinghan, with Yang Feng as deputy, included an elite squad, a personal guard battalion, and a security battalion.

The Security Battalion, under General Xu Chu and Deputy Wang Qi, supervised all approaches, camps, and passes within Xinghan’s territory.

The Personal Guard, led by General Chen Dao, was the smallest but most trusted unit—Zhou Xiu, Liu Yu, Lü Shan, and the Niu brothers served as squad leaders, all loyal veterans who had followed Wang Bo from the start. Thanks to his careful cultivation, these men had risen from illiterate refugees to formidable warriors, fit for command in any unit. They garrisoned the General’s residence, patrolled the camps and the two passes at irregular intervals.

The elite squad, for now eight in number—Zhou Cang, Pei Yuanshao, Huang Long, Wu Huan, Ping Han, Li Damu, Liu Shi, and Zhang Baiqi—were elusive in peacetime but always present in battle.

With no existing army to model, and the elite squad’s role being critical, Wang Bo devoted much thought to its name. “Execution Squad”? Too plain. “Tiger Guard”? Too trite. “Vanguard Battalion”? Lacking in force... At last, he settled on “Wolf-Owl Guard.”

“Wolf” symbolized the pack—a unit that fought and hunted as one, embodying relentless, indomitable spirit.

“Owl” signified the mission to behead enemy leaders and capture commanders, denoting ferocity and overwhelming might.

“Guard” marked them as the general’s personal protectors.

Selection was strict; first, they had to pass Wang Bo’s own scrutiny—not just for character, but whether they left an impression on his mind. For martial skill, Xu Chu, Chen Dao, and Liao Hua served as recommending and examining officers—only those who could survive several exchanges with them would be considered.

The Wolf-Owl Guard enjoyed the highest privileges. Wherever they appeared, danger was greatest, and their compensation and authority matched—second only to the head of each division. They answered solely to Wang Bo and the army’s chief generals. Anyone under a Commandant required no approval to be executed on the spot. If a general failed in battle, and the squad agreed, they could remove and replace him—though this power was limited to below the rank of general.

They were outfitted in the finest armor Xinghan could provide: black uniforms, black lamellar cuirasses, even black cloaks. Standard squads comprised seven men—two shields, three spears, two bows; the smallest, five men—two shields, two spears, one bow. With so few members, they acted together, but Wang Bo anticipated forming more standard squads in time, numbered in sequence and allowed to train separately or combine for major operations.

Among the present members, Zhou Cang and Liu Shi were swords and shield men; Pei Yuanshao, Ping Han, Zhang Baiqi, and Huang Long were spearmen or swordsmen; Li Damu and Wu Huan were ranged archers.

For the first time, the Xinghan Army’s chain of command and responsibilities were formally established—each man understood his place.

Next, Wang Bo announced the second matter: from among the auxiliaries and logistics staff, he would select several dozen with the gift of speech, to be trained and dispatched to Yanmen Pass, Youzhou, and Jizhou, setting up recruitment offices. There, they would rally bold, patriotic men eager to fight the northern tribes. Any who joined Xinghan would have their families cared for; the most skilled, upon passing examination, would enter the newly established “Anti-Northern Battalion.”

Having settled these two affairs, Wang Bo let out a long sigh of relief and lay down for a nap, his mind weary from days of ceaseless activity. He did not wake until noon.

Upon opening his eyes, he was startled to find Chen Dao standing silently at his side, staring intently at him, close enough to touch. Wang Bo, regaining his wits, hurled a pillow and cursed in his native dialect, “You trying to scare me to death, you wretch?”

Chen Dao’s gaze shifted from blank to faintly amused. “Everyone has their task—what would you have me do?” he asked, reverting to his usual stone-faced countenance.

Wang Bo couldn’t help but laugh, but quickly composed himself. “What is it you desire, Shuzhi? Are you dissatisfied with leading the personal guard?”

Chen Dao paused, then turned to leave, muttering, “A handful of idle men, nothing to do, it’s dull beyond words.”

“Stop!” Wang Bo barked.

Chen Dao halted, stood a moment, then stepped forward a few paces and waited.

Seeing this attitude, Wang Bo’s temper flared—did this man care nothing for his safety? Was he plotting rebellion? He unleashed a torrent of abuse.

When he had finished, and Chen Dao’s expression remained unchanged, Wang Bo sighed. “Come here, let me think,” he said, stroking his chin and staring until Chen Dao, visibly impatient, seemed about to leave.

At last, Wang Bo beckoned him close and spoke in a low voice. Only then did Chen Dao understand—Wang Bo wanted him to observe all members of the Xinghan Army, selecting the cleverest and most resourceful to form a secret service.

The secret service’s duties: espionage on enemy movements and intelligence on their own men. In time, they would dispatch assassins and spies to neighboring regions and plant informers within the army. The name: “Hawkeye Guard.” For now, they would operate under the cover of a merchant caravan.

Hearing this, the coldness in Chen Dao’s eyes faded, replaced by a spark of youthful excitement. He gave a fist salute, face resuming its mask, and left. At the door, he turned and declared, “My lord’s safety is my duty!”

“Get out!” Wang Bo grunted.

The mention of caravans jolted Wang Bo into action. He leapt up and hurried to the logistics department, entering a large room labeled “Winery,” and slipped into an inner chamber.