But even if he had figured that out, so what?
Chen Changfeng lifted his eyelids half a fraction, casting a sidelong glance at Ashina Dubi, who sat high in the great chair.
By now, the troops of the left and right Gully Kings had already been redeployed by the Great King. If the central army remained stuck before the city for much longer, morale was bound to collapse.
Even if he confided his hidden fears to the Gully King, telling him outright that this sheepskin scroll might be a trap laid by the men of Great Qian, would Ashina Dubi even listen?
Without hard evidence, telling a steppe prince—hungry and red-eyed, waiting for supplies of grain and military merit—that "the fat meat before you may be poisoned" would not earn vigilance, but suspicion.
The barbarian tribes feared nothing more than Han strategists who wavered and cowered.
Since the scheme had already been seen through by that female imperial envoy, the three thousand elite warriors of Zuo Bamu, originally scheduled to be sent into the tunnel at midnight tomorrow, would not be greeted by the red lantern that Hunchback Zhang had hung by the well, but by boiling oil and poisonous smoke.
To break this deadlock, he absolutely could not speak up now to block this bait-and-trap road to doom.
If he blocked it and Zuo Bamu's men did not die, the Gully King would suspect Chen Changfeng of using the Great Qian forces to drain the grassland warriors, or that this five-year secret network was nothing but a forgery.
He could not block it.
Inwardly, he almost wanted to laugh. If the Hélian clan later came to blame him...
This centurion would bear the brunt! What a perfect stand-in for his own voice!
Chen Changfeng drew in a long, slow breath, pressing his churning thoughts deep into his chest.
His gaze turned cold and clear again.
Since Xu Qinghuan wanted the tunnel to become a blade to slaughter the barbarian soldiers, then let that blade cut as deeply as she wished.
Once the flesh and blood of three thousand barbarian chiliarchs had filled that mass grave, the elite troops inside Zhenbei Pass meant to defend the tunnel exit would surely all converge on the mule-and-horse market.
And when all was chaos underground, what about outside the city?
His plan was largely settled: go along with the ruse, sacrifice Zuo Bamu's three thousand heavy infantry as dead bait.
Once the city's attention and main forces were all sucked into the secret passage, the true killing blow—striking on the surface—could smash through the city wall from another angle that seemed utterly impossible to breach.
That being so, better to let the current flow carry him forward.
The council in the tent was drawing to a close.
Ashina Dubi rose, wrapped his great coat tighter, and barked orders to the assembled chieftains and chiliarchs: “At dawn tomorrow, no camp is to light cooking fires. Feed the livestock and warhorses well! Any who miss the hour or break discipline—no matter which tribe they come from—will be beheaded!”
The officers lowered their heads in unison and acknowledged the command loudly.
The council ended, and the generals dispersed.
Chen Changfeng stepped out of the great tent and was met by the howling northern wind.
His blue scholar's robe billowed as he paused by the camp gate, summoning his close attendant Qin.
Qin hurried forward, clasped his fist in salute: “My lord, your orders?”
Chen Changfeng gazed south toward the fortress shrouded in night, a hint of inscrutable thought in his eyes: “Tomorrow night's operation—take your Han battalion to deliver siege equipment for Zuo Bamu.”
“Remember this: no matter how smoothly the battle goes, keep your men restrained and stay at the rear formation. Do not chase merit, and do not set one foot into that tunnel.”
Qin looked puzzled: “My lord, Hunchback Zhang has worked for five years, and the tunnel leads straight into the city. If we don't follow in, surely we're handing the first credit for breaching the city to someone else?”
“First credit?” Chen Changfeng flicked snow off his sleeve. “Whether that tunnel leads to the underworld or to a path of survival, no one yet knows.”
“The chiliarch Zuo Bamu is arrogant by nature, and he's exactly the kind who needs a bloody battle to grind down his savagery. Let him wade into those troubled waters. You just focus on preserving our own strength.”
“And remember—retreat the moment you meet resistance. Never fight to the death.”
Hearing this, Qin nodded and quickly melted into the night to relay the orders.
At the same time, on the western side of the Hélian camp.
Zuo Bamu stood on the training-ground platform of his own formation, torches blazing red across half the sky.
He bared his right arm, revealing muscles knotted like tree roots, and hoisted a jar of strong liquor, pouring it out over the three-foot saber laid before him.
“Brave warriors of the Eternal Heaven!” Zuo Bamu's voice rang out like a great bell, shaking the wilderness. “The Great King has decreed: tomorrow at midnight, we take the southerners' heads! With their blood, we shall honor our burned pastures!”
Below the platform, three thousand elite armored soldiers drew their sabers in unison.
The clash of metal rang out in a solid wave.
These soldiers were all picked men—discarding heavy armor, wearing light leather for close-quarter battle.
The tunnel was narrow; heavy cavalry couldn't maneuver. Only fearless, hand-to-hand butchery could carve open a path of blood.
The soldiers sat around campfires, untying whetstones from their belts.
Blades scraped against stone, and no one raised their voice. Only the steady sound of sharpening filled the night, weaving an invisible net of killing intent over the entire camp.
…
Dawn broke, and the sky turned pale gray.
Thirty li away, Zhenbei Pass stood with walls as mighty as iron.
The autumn wind rolled across the crenellations, moaning as it passed.
Commander-in-chief Tie Lanshan, in full armor, accompanied by his deputy Zhao Heng, rode to the northern side gate line.
Along the horse path, the armored soldiers of the personal guard battalion stood in formation—spears like a forest, armor plates gleaming cold.
Zhao Heng looked up at the black war banner hanging high on the city wall and lowered his voice: “Commander, are we really stacking all of our personal guard at this northern side gate? What about the hole under the mule-and-horse market...”
“The stage is set, so we must play the part fully,” Tie Lanshan said, hand resting on his sword hilt as he surveyed the soldiers standing at attention around him.
“Chen Changfeng is watching from beyond the pass. If we don't defend this northern gate like an iron bucket, how will he believe the intelligence Hunchback Zhang has been feeding back? How will he send those barbarian troops into the tunnel?”
Zhao Heng understood at once, striking his chest with a heavy thump: “Understood. At the mule-and-horse market, Yang Cang and his craftsmen have spent the night reinforcing the barricades. All five hundred crossbows are nocked, and the arrowheads are coated with oil.”
“The moment those barbarians dare show their heads, we'll roast them crisp!”
Tie Lanshan gave a slight nod and ordered: “Pass the word—stack plenty of rolling logs and boulders at the northern side gate. Don't stop the horns on the watchtower, and fly more banners, making it look like we're pouring our entire force into defending the gate. No one, without my direct order, is to move troops back into the city.”
Orders cascaded down the ranks, and Zhenbei Pass operated in seamless order.
On the visible surface, heavy forces were massed along the wall; in secret, a vast net had already been cast throughout the city's depths.
At this moment, at the highest point of the northern watchtower.
Xu Qinghuan, draped in a white fox fur cloak, stood alone by the parapet.
Qingque kept silent watch three steps behind her.
The world stretched gray and boundless, wind over the plains carrying frost straight into her face.
Xu Qinghuan gazed at the distant outline of the Hélian camp along the horizon, silent for a long time.
“Miss,” Qingque finally spoke, offering the warm hand warmer, “the wind is strong. Do be careful of catching cold. The Commander has arranged everything.”
Xu Qinghuan didn't take the hand warmer. Her tone carried a touch of melancholy—she understood deeply in her heart.
This battle, win or lose, weighed far too heavily on her.
She turned her back to the wall, her expression softening.
A worthy opponent—this was what it meant to trade blows from afar.
You scheme with your secret crossing of Chencang, I set my trap to catch the turtle in the jar.
On the surface, it was all about the tunnel. In truth, both of them had already stepped outside that square of ground, using each other's strategies to realize their own visions.
A flaw? Well then—thank you, Chen Changfeng, for seeing it.
At the thought, Xu Qinghuan's expression softened, and a gentle smile spread across her face.
The Grand Inspector of the Great Qian Dynasty and the strategist of the Helian clan, separated by thirty li of yellow sand, had completed a silent, mutual understanding—a move of chess played in perfect accord.
“Let us go,” Xu Qinghuan said, brushing the morning frost from her cloak as she descended the city tower. “The trap is set. Let us return to the General's Manor for a cup of hot tea and await the night's guest.”
