His mighty presence reverberated across the land.

Therefore, most of the barbarians, still unsatisfied, were forced by their chieftains' shouts to halt their pillaging for the time being and turn back to deal with the troublesome Xingham Army, for the area near Pingcheng was the inevitable route for returning nomads heading back from their raids in Bing Province.

When the bulk of the furious barbarian cavalry finally returned to the vicinity of Pingcheng, escorting even more spoils of war, more than ten days had passed. Wang Bo, ever attentive to the shifting situation, had long since ordered his Wolf Owl Guards to withdraw, leading nearly twenty thousand rescued Han civilians back within the Yuhu Pass, leaving behind only an empty, mountain-backed encampment for the hasty pursuers.

The disappointed barbarian chieftains, gnashing their teeth, ordered the mocking ruins of the camp to be burned to the ground. Gathering together, they debated: should they continue south to Bing Province for revelry, or should they crush the hateful pest that was the Xingham Army? The outcome was predictable.

Except for a few tribal leaders who, having previously suffered at the hands of the Qingwolf Army, were notably uneasy, the rest clamored in unison: "Take Yuhu Pass! Storm Xingham City! Rumor has it the city is wealthy, and the wine is so tempting it makes one drool... After all, robbing Han goods is the same wherever you take them. Even if the Xingham Army is fiercer than other Han forces, with hundreds of thousands of our warriors behind us, can they withstand our onslaught?"

As always, the many overpower the few; the barely civilized nomads were no different. Without much deliberation, they unanimously chose the most powerful among them, Suonu, a general of Kebineng’s Xianbei tribe, to lead this coalition. After negotiating the distribution of spoils according to tribal strength, the horde—tens of thousands strong, baring their fangs and howling wildly—descended upon the well-defended Yuhu Pass.

Thus, the scene from a year past repeated itself: the Xingham Army, behind sturdy walls, resisting the barbarian onslaught. This time, however, the defenders had no need for the tricks of the previous battle—no surprise attacks, no feints, no ruses—only sheer endurance and steadfast defense. The sheer number of attackers rendered all stratagems meaningless; even the number of Han slaves pressed into filling the trenches before the gates was many times greater than before.

Though the first assaults left the barbarians bloodied and battered, they did not relent. Under Suonu’s forceful command, the tribes rotated through the attacks—sometimes fighting day and night without pause. But the Xingham Army was no longer thinly stretched as it had been a year ago. The well-trained Black Tortoise Corps, supported by reserves, transformed Yuhu Pass into a colossal machine of death, halting the barbarians' advance and meeting the leaders' wrathful glares with unyielding resolve.

The third year of Zhongping under Emperor Ling passed amid the unending carnage of battle between Xingham and the barbarians. Later, when Suonu—hitherto invincible on the steppe and unstoppable in Han territory—saw his warriors' morale falter, he compelled them to continue the assault, even drawing thousands of elite troops from Kebineng. Meanwhile, the Xingham Army added the previously idle Red Tiger Corps to the fight, rotating with the battered Black Tortoise Corps, so the stalemate persisted, though countless lives were lost each day.

After another ten-odd days into the new year, as both armies grew numb to the slaughter, Wang Bo was reminded by Niu Er of a certain prisoner still held in the empty dungeons of Xingham City—a distinctive barbarian: Kebineng's own brother, Jueluo Hou.

The next day, two bald, shiny-headed Xianbei soldiers delivered Wang Bo’s message to Suonu: "Jueluo Hou for twenty thousand Han slaves! After the exchange, the battle can resume."

Thus, the month-long struggle ended abruptly. After exchanging Jueluo Hou and receiving new orders from Kebineng, Suonu, filled with bitterness, led his battered force back to the Xianbei royal court, uncertain whether he would face severe punishment for his losses or reward for rescuing his brother. As for the other tribes, they scattered in disarray.

Winter faded into spring, and the cataclysm that had swept the three northern provinces of Han finally drew to a close. The barbarian cavalry departed in high spirits, leaving only desolate ruins and crowds of desperate refugees in their wake. This devastation was most acute in southern You and northern Bing; only Xingham City and the southern part of Pingcheng, both under Bing Province, were spared. The south of Pingcheng had long been devoid of Han people; Xingham City was saved by the presence of its army.

Now firmly established, the Xingham Army bared its fangs, clashing fiercely with the barbarian coalition led by Suonu. Though over a thousand elite soldiers were lost, this was a small price compared to their gains.

Besides seizing many horses and vast stores of grain, they captured countless valuables—gold, silver, iron, and sundry goods. Most important were the nearly thirty thousand survivors, mostly young and strong men, who, their hatred for the barbarians stoked and their faith in the Han court eroded, became staunch supporters of the autonomous regime of Xingham, whether as soldiers or civilians.

Their second gain was the tempering of the Xingham Army’s fighting spirit, instilling pride unique to its ranks and steadfast confidence in victory. Previously, when Xingham City was first built, they resisted the barbarians out of desperation; the western campaign to expel the Xianbei was to eliminate threats and secure their home. Now and henceforth, their battles were for the defense of their homeland and the survival of Xingham—a difference of profound significance.

For an individual, swelling confidence leads to challenging authority. For an army, growing strength leads to expansion. Wang Bo and his Xingham Army were no exception, for in their hearts had arisen even greater ambitions.

With the coming of spring, it was time for plowing, sowing, and the repair of bridges and roads. When these labors were done, the season of abundant rain and flourishing grass arrived—a time when the borderland nomads drove their herds deep into the steppe, a fate as old as their existence. This was also when their settlements were at their weakest, with most warriors grazing afar and only a small remnant left behind. Thus, it was the moment the Xingham Army, constant foes of the nomads, would choose to strike.

In the early summer of the fourth year of Zhongping, the Xingham Army launched a major offensive eastward beyond Yuhu Pass. Thirty thousand soldiers—Qingwolf and Red Tiger units—split into two columns, swiftly sweeping through the scattered barbarian tribes north and south of Pingcheng. In a matter of days, the northern force reached the gates of Pingcheng, once the military stronghold of the northern frontier, now a base for southern incursions; the southern force met little resistance, advancing directly to the ancient fortress of Mayi, now occupied by the Xianbei.

Pingcheng, this ancient bastion, looked north across the ruined border walls to the boundless steppe, southwards to the strategic passes of Yanmen, west to the fertile Hetao, and east to Youyan. Its military importance was paramount; whenever Han was strong, it always controlled this place. Since the division between farming Han and nomadic tribes in the Spring and Autumn era, it had been the first line of conflict, witnessing countless battles, repeated ruin and rebuilding—a land soaked in sorrow and blood, its mottled walls now more dilapidated than ever in the hands of unskilled nomads.

The barbarians who remained in Pingcheng, having witnessed the Xingham Army’s overwhelming might, all retreated behind the city walls. Powerless and terrified as the army advanced, their character—bold to the weak, meek to the strong—was laid bare. Some tried to flee to the steppe but were cut down by the elusive Xingham cavalry; few escaped with their lives.

In ancient siege warfare, to avoid heavy casualties even in victory, a city was usually encircled on three sides, leaving one route for flight. But Liao Hua, leading the siege, saw the fear on the barbarians’ faces and ordered a full encirclement. He summoned a few cooperative prisoners to deliver an ultimatum: "Lay down your arms, accept resettlement unconditionally, and the Xingham Army promises not to kill without cause! If there is no reply within half a day, when the city falls, not a single able-bodied man will be spared!"

For demonstration, he deployed several ballistae, firing a volley at the not-so-tall walls, sending a hail of stones flying amid the barbarians’ panicked cries. Then he waited leisurely for their response.

Several hours later, the barbarians, knowing they could not resist, opened the battered city gate with a creak. Barbarian soldiers knelt chaotically along the road, while several leaders, carrying tokens above their heads and bowing low, approached the Xingham banner at a run, before falling to their knees before Liao Hua’s horse and muttering unintelligibly.

Liao Hua, chest out, accepted the surrender of over ten thousand barbarians on behalf of Xingham, and immediately set about rebuilding and fortifying the city’s defenses. He also sent envoys to neighboring You Province, inviting and guiding the refugees of the barbarian calamity to seek shelter in Xingham.

Meanwhile, Wang Bo himself led the southern column, advancing swiftly northward, and upon reaching Mayi, encountered an old acquaintance: the Fuluohan tribe.

Interrogating captured prisoners, Wang Bo learned that after fleeing the great battle in Yunzhong, the Fuluohan tribe had wandered homeless on the steppe. Though vast, the grasslands were already claimed by powerful tribes; the best pastures were jealously guarded, and each tribe’s territory had been won through blood and fire. No one welcomed outsiders.

In the harsh world of the nomads, suspicion and hostility were rife. Over the past year, the Fuluohan saw their numbers dwindle and livestock weaken, yet dared not humble themselves to join their enemy Kebineng. They could only roam from place to place, fighting to survive.

At last, they seized the opportunity to join the great southern raid into Han territory. Starving and desperate, they pounced like wolves on sheep, fighting fiercely at the forefront of the assaults on Yanmen’s passes and leading the charge in plundering Han settlements.

When the feast was over and spring returned, other nomads returned home laden with spoils, but the Fuluohan, now numbering only a few thousand, decided to remain. They hoped that by holding the strategic Gouzhu, they could force passing powers to heed their presence and, when idle, raid south into Taiyuan for enough spoils to sustain their people—a freer life than being at the mercy of others on the steppe.

But things did not go as planned. After the devastation, the fortresses of Taiyuan, though not breached, had emptied their surroundings and tightened their defenses. In Han territory, there was not even a hair left to steal. Worse, the alert Inspector of Bing Province soon recalled the elite Wolf Cavalry from Hedong. Though not numerous, these troops were even mightier than the tribe's own warriors, especially their terrifying leader—whose massive iron halberd had sent them fleeing in Yunzhong, and now confronted them again.

Plunder failed, trade routes were severed, and the Xianbei produced nothing themselves. Their only saving grace was the wealth seized the previous winter and the abundance of game in the mountains. For now, their people did not starve, but in time, the shortage of salt and tea alone would drive them to ruin.

Misfortune never comes alone. While Fuluohan hesitated over whether to drive their dwindling herds near Mayi to graze, a piece of despairing news arrived: the Xingham Army had suddenly marched east from Yuhu Pass, swept clean the lands around Pingcheng, and was rebuilding the old Han cities of Wuzhou, Juyang, and Wangtao, clearly intent on a long-term presence. Their way home was cut off; even if they wished to return to the steppe, it was now impossible.

When Fuluohan encountered Wang Bo and the advancing Xingham Army beneath Yanmen Pass, his face was etched with misery: "Damn it! What you fear, you meet!" Wang Bo could only chuckle: "Heh! If the mountain won’t move, the river will!"

When Wang Bo summoned Daihua Alangni, who was temporarily acting as chief of the Han-Barbarian Camp, a letter of surrender from Fuluohan was also delivered. Its language was stripped of all Xianbei pride and bluster, full instead of humility and despair. At the end, Fuluohan’s plea resounded: "Must you truly drive us to extinction?"

Wang Bo, upon reading this, merely shrugged and handed the letter to Daihua Alangni, who stood before him, sweating in the summer heat yet still clad in his characteristic Xianbei furs. Though as burly as any nomad, he was clearly more intelligent than most. Before even finishing the letter, he understood Wang Bo’s intent, adjusted the foxskin cap on his head, and bowed deeply: "I am willing to go among the enemy, explain the situation to Fuluohan, and do my utmost to persuade him to surrender to you, General! If I fail, my head is yours!"

"No need for such vows—do your best. If Fuluohan does not know what’s good for him, the Tiger Legion of Xingham will not hesitate to play the butcher again."

Daihua Alangni took the order, carrying Wang Bo’s letter of persuasion and accompanied by only a few close guards, to meet his former chieftain.

Through Daihua Alangni’s explanations, Fuluohan—unfamiliar with the latest developments in Yunzhong—remained doubtful, but after deliberation with his followers, agreed to send envoys to investigate. If the reports proved true, he would consider surrender.

Wang Bo was pleased to agree; it was far preferable to take the formidable Yanmen Pass without bloodshed than to lose many soldiers, even if it meant waiting a little longer.

During the ensuing days, Wang Bo was not idle. He established refugee shelters in Dai Commandery and other parts of You Province, and, with the help of the Wang and Zhen merchant families, spread word far and wide. Dispossessed and impoverished Han people, driven from their homes by the barbarians, flocked to Xingham’s jurisdiction. Most were settled on the newly recovered lands around Pingcheng. After initial disappointment, they received enough land to live on, and with diligent labor could clothe and feed themselves. Even former outlaws, driven to banditry by despair, now descended from the hills to join the migration.

For a time, Wang Bo and his Xingham Army became the stuff of legend among common folk across the northern frontiers of Han, their reputation shining across the land.

Yet many great families scoffed: "Gathering so many refugees and rogues—does he plan to rebel?" True, he had slain barbarian chiefs and reclaimed Han territory, but he was, after all, of Yellow Turban origin! The local landholding gentry, however, rejoiced in secret: "Our estates will grow; leaving so much unclaimed land to waste would be a shame. Better to accept it with a smile!"