48. Projection

"Victory to Xinghan!" Amidst a chorus of jubilant cries, the generals dispersed.

Early the next morning, the meticulously prepared army of Xinghan, at Wang Bo’s command, marched forth with heads held high toward Yunzhong, watched by a crowd gathered behind them.

The Xianbei had suffered a devastating defeat last time, losing countless able-bodied warriors. After the battle, plagued by the relentless, elusive raids of the Wolf Owl Guards, Budugen found himself powerless to defend his borders comprehensively. With peace negotiations hopeless and angered by Wang Bo’s exorbitant demands, he faced growing discontent within his tribe. Even his older brother, Fuluohan, who had always obeyed him, refused to support resistance against the Xinghan army. Helpless, Budugen was forced to shrink his defensive lines, half-heartedly ceding a portion of eastern Yunzhong to satisfy part of Wang Bo’s demands.

Though he knew the Xinghan army had not occupied the ceded territory, Budugen remained vigilant at first, suspecting a hidden plot. But as months passed without any movement from the Xinghan, he finally relaxed. In his mind, Wang Bo—the bloodthirsty demon during the negotiations—had merely tried to frighten him. After all, the Xinghan army had only recently arrived, and the Han officials’ ineptitude would hardly provide much support. Their prior victory was due to advantageous terrain and his own missteps. To expect the Xinghan army to launch an assault on Yunzhong seemed unlikely; he still commanded tens of thousands of elite cavalry—what could Wang Bo possibly do? In open fields? Ha!

The more Budugen thought about it, the more he regretted his earlier concession, believing he had been scared by the grisly mound of skulls Wang Bo had crafted. Yet, for the sake of his authority, he had to suppress the urge to renege, silently grinding his teeth: Let them be arrogant for a few days. When autumn comes and my Xianbei warriors are strong, I’ll make that butcher pay in blood!

The uninhabited land between Wu Jin County and Baiqu River provided the Xinghan army ample space for a surprise attack. Though Budugen had initially stationed many sentinels, these were swiftly wiped out. Realizing the Xinghan showed no intention of attacking after such a long period, he ceased sending men to die needlessly. Thus, the Xinghan Red Tiger Army now approached Baiqu River, mere miles from Yunzhong, while Budugen remained oblivious to their impending assault.

As he rode, Wang Bo admired the endless green grassland stretching toward the horizon, occasionally spotting creatures darting about like rabbits or foxes. Breathing in the fresh air, his spirits soared, and he vowed inwardly to drive the Xianbei from Yunzhong and reclaim this fertile, verdant land.

Passing through the uninhabited zone, the Xinghan army finally saw Xianbei tents after crossing the ancient border between Dingxiang and Yunzhong counties of the Western Han. Hundreds of tents clustered together, growing denser westward. Most of the nearby herders were elderly, women, and children, driving herds of cattle, sheep, and horses. Upon sighting the Xinghan banners, they abandoned their livestock and fled in terror, as if seeing demons.

The Xinghan army ignored the fleeing Xianbei, but showed no mercy to those young herders suspected of rushing to warn Yunzhong City, who fell swiftly to the scouts’ arrows.

With Baiqu River visible in the distance, Wang Bo felt at ease, no longer fearing exposure. Even if Budugen learned of the attack now, it was too late to mobilize reinforcements from Beiyu or Shanan. Once they crossed Baiqu River, only a few hours remained before reaching Yunzhong City.

The grassland rivers were shallow—no more than four or five feet deep. Before Wang Bo arrived with the main force, Liao Hua’s vanguard had already constructed a wide floating bridge from sharp timber and broad planks across dozens of yards of river, dispersing Xianbei cavalry who tried to approach. Soaked to the skin, they deployed defensively on the far bank, awaiting the main force's crossing.

Wang Bo ordered the Blue Wolf Army, responsible for transporting supplies, to cross first and commence their planned harassment.

Receiving their orders, generals like Niu Feihu led several thousand fierce Blue Wolf troops across the river, splitting into multiple cavalry squads that charged at the alarmed Xianbei tribes, leaving behind a trail of excited cries.

In less than three hours, Wang Bo led the Red Tiger Army across the river, arriving near Yunzhong City. From atop his tall steed, he could see the city’s imposing walls and the prominent eastern gate. Closer still, he spotted a dense gathering of Xianbei cavalry outside the city.

When the Xinghan army arrived near Yunzhong, the Xianbei, only just learning of the impending attack, frantically gathered their scattered tribal warriors. The cavalry assembled at the eastern gate were still disheveled. Wang Bo observed this closely from horseback, breathed a sigh of relief, and ordered a halt, forming battle lines on the spot.

Within a quarter hour, the Red Tiger Army, drilled countless times, deployed their defensive formation—engraved in their very bones—before the Xianbei.

Heavy shield bearers raised sturdy shields, forming a wall at the outermost edge. Behind them, spearmen gripped and braced their long spears through slits in the shields, crouching like the shield bearers. Next came infantry wielding seven-foot broadswords; then knife-and-shield soldiers with two-foot arm shields; then pairs of crossbowmen and skilled archers. All but the archers and crossbowmen carried iron-tipped short spears for close-range throwing. Knife-and-shield troops carried several, short blades at their waists.

Supply troops arranged transport wagons and supply horses around the Xinghan general’s banner and the Red Tiger Army’s flag, forming a massive hedgehog formation. Only two narrow channels behind the shields and spears were left open for cavalry, Wolf Owl Guards, and scouts to move in and out—visible only from above, invisible from outside.

Once the formation was set, Wang Bo surveyed the distant Xianbei forces, combining reports from scouts. Seeing no sign of an imminent charge, he ordered the troops to relax and rest, to restore themselves to peak condition.

Zhou Cang suggested the Wolf Owl Guards and Red Tiger cavalry launch a raid while the Xianbei were unprepared. Wang Bo considered, glanced at his two thousand cavalry, and shook his head at the eager Wolf Owl Guard captains: "Our Red Tiger cavalry numbers only two thousand. Though we could harass the enemy, we cannot inflict serious damage. The Xianbei are skilled archers and horsemen; if they respond with arrows, our losses would be heavy. Be patient, brothers. Since the Xinghan army is here, you will have your chance to slaughter the barbarians!"

Finally, after the Red Tiger Army had rested for nearly half an hour, a magnificent banner symbolizing the Xianbei chieftain was raised atop Yunzhong’s eastern gate. Even from afar, Wang Bo and the others could see its fringes swaying in the wind. Then came the sharp, echoing blast of the Xianbei war horn, vibrating across the land.

With the horn’s call, tens of thousands of Xianbei cavalry outside the city stirred, grabbing bows of varying lengths and holding their reins, preparing to charge.

At the second horn blast, the leading Xianbei cavalry began trotting their horses. These were elite warriors from various tribes, equipped as well as any Han troops—tight-fitting armor, iron mail, breastplates, all in place. Even their horses’ forequarters were wrapped in thick hides.

Their pace quickened, their speed increased, hoofbeats thundered louder, shaking the ground until it sounded like continuous rolling thunder, all rushing toward the Xinghan’s hedgehog formation.

The oppressive force of thousands of cavalry, even separated by hundreds of yards, was palpable; its unstoppable momentum defied description. The visual impact was overwhelming, as if standing beneath a towering cliff, feeling insignificantly small. The horses’ hooves were like boulders rolling down mountains, showing how fragile men were before such power.

A roar rang out, waking the pale, trembling Xinghan soldiers whose fingers clutched their weapons in fear. It was Wang Bo, instructing Xu Chu to shout: "Slaughter the barbarians! Victory to Xinghan!"

"Slaughter the barbarians! Victory to Xinghan!"

A wave of roaring voices erupted, swelling louder and louder, soon drowning out the thunder of hooves. The Xinghan soldiers, facing tens of thousands of Xianbei cavalry for the first time, vented their anxiety in shouts that gradually calmed them, restoring their bodies to the trained readiness of countless drills.

Wang Bo turned, picked up the great drumstick, and struck the massive war drum behind him. Amidst the booming, the ballista at the front unleashed its first volley—a massive bolt gleaming in the sunlight, whistling as it plunged into the chest of a charging Xianbei rider. Its iron tip pierced through three enemies before finally stopping, after knocking down a fourth. The carnage caused nearby riders to veer aside, creating a small eddy in the torrent, but in the face of overwhelming numbers, it was insignificant.

The ballista bolt claimed six or seven victims, shocking the Xianbei riders who witnessed the gruesome spectacle. The few who could turn their horses quickly skirted the sides, forming a tiny whirlpool in the flood, but it was soon engulfed and vanished.

The ballista’s usefulness against cavalry in open fields was limited—its slow firing and unwieldy aim being its greatest flaws. After two volleys, the rapidly advancing Xianbei cavalry pushed past its range, rendering it a mere battlefield ornament.

By now, the Xianbei vanguard had closed within two hundred paces of the Red Tiger formation, their speed at its peak, charging with irresistible momentum. The outermost shield bearers could see the snarling, shouting Xianbei riders on horseback. The fear, just suppressed, rose again in their hearts, but relentless training and unbreakable resolve kept them from retreating. The collision of terror and determination produced bloodshot, wild-eyed faces.

"Archers, volley!" With an inspiring shout, the archers released their bowstrings, unleashing a fan-shaped storm of arrows that rose from the Red Tiger formation, buzzing like furious bees, chilling all who heard.

"Crossbowmen, volley!" The crackling of crossbow triggers followed, sending a denser hail of bolts at the charging Xianbei cavalry.

The first wave of arrows struck their dense formation, instantly turning their orderly ranks into chaos. Screams mingled with the horses’ cries; Xianbei riders lacking shields or proper armor were struck throughout their bodies—head, shoulders, chest, and belly.

The first rows, except for the armored suicide squads, tumbled from their horses like dumplings, swiftly trampled to pieces by the hooves of those behind. The powerful horses kept charging, but after the second volley, those with arrows protruding from head and chest collapsed in droves. The smarter ones veered off the field, causing confusion among the unstoppable Xianbei cavalry, opening gaps in their formation. Some collided, others fell as their horses stumbled.

Unrelenting crossbow bolts, like rain driven by the wind, battered the few Xianbei riders who managed to shoot back. The front ranks became ragged, as dead and wounded horses piled up, slowing the vanguard. The rear ranks, unable to control their speed, crashed forward uncontrollably—horses colliding, riders falling.

The Xianbei cavalry, now disordered, managed to reach within several dozen paces of the Red Tiger shield line, only to be halted by thousands of heavy iron-tipped short spears, thrown with a force that stopped their charge cold. Horses pierced with arrows clustered together, collapsing in heaps. Now, they were easy targets for the Xinghan archers and crossbowmen; more riders fell, more horses died, even the armored Xianbei warriors could not escape.

From Yunzhong’s tower, a series of urgent, staccato horn blasts rang out. The Xianbei cavalry, pushing, shouting, and cursing in confusion, gritted their teeth, raised their gleaming sabers, and hacked at whatever blocked their path—man or horse. The wounded steeds, driven by pain, surged forward regardless of obstacles, crashing into the Red Tiger shield formation.

But the earlier carnage had left their once-dense ranks thin and scattered, and their momentum was reduced to a fraction of its former power. The hoped-for breakthrough by Budugen’s cavalry was utterly crushed, and his dream of shattering the enemy formation with sheer force was forever broken.