Chapter Fourteen: Fortunate Destiny

“Awooo! Awooo!”
Even with half their comrades fallen in battle, the Xiongnu cavalry still howled like wolves, charging headlong at the Han cavalry formation. Their sabers whirled above their heads with fierce momentum.
At this moment, their hearts began to burn with the same hatred as the Han soldiers—a hatred born of lost kin and friends.
Among these Xiongnu horsemen, a band of robust men fixed their eyes on Li Guang within the Han ranks.
Li Guang commanded his horse with exceptional control, one hand on the reins, the other gripping his long blade, which pointed straight at the Xiongnu vanguard, as if marking the way for the Han cavalry surging behind him. The god of war from the Han borderlands was, at this instant, unmistakable—not only for his distinct general’s armor, but for the lethal aura and commanding presence that radiated from him.
Eyes sharp as a hawk's, movements swift as lightning, his spirit soared like a rainbow!
Behind Li Guang followed only twenty or thirty riders—Li Gan prominent among them, as well as the thirty-year-old man who had stood behind Li Guang during the military selection, and a frail, awkward youth. Had Qin Cheng seen this young man, he would have recognized him instantly as the pale-faced servant who, during the swordsmanship trial, had conceded after fiercely attacking him three times. For in his hand was not a saber, but a longsword!
“Kill!”
Li Guang’s thunderous cry drew out a unified roar from countless Han soldiers. In the next instant, the two cavalries clashed once more—colliding, shifting, mingling!
Dust billowed and smacked into the faces of both armies; immediately after, it was the enemy’s saber that crashed down!
This time, at least twice as many Xiongnu charged at Li Guang as before. Forming a near-perfect line in their assault, they hurled themselves at him one after another, hacking down their sabers.
Li Guang felt the mounting pressure—blade after blade flashed before his eyes, seemingly endless. Yet his expression remained composed; his sword danced like a serpent, struck like a tiger. Each crisis was deftly resolved as his cold blade cut into Xiongnu flesh.
Witnessing this, the two or three dozen riders behind him grew only more bloodshot-eyed. They fought to control their mounts, surging to Li Guang’s side to share his burden. For these few, Li Guang’s life was everything—more precious even than their own.
They were his personal guard!
Only after several of them gave their lives did Li Guang’s pressure ease. By then, the two cavalries had already passed through each other in the chaos.
Blood and death again stained the earth red.
Neighs tore through the air as Han cavalry, having broken through the Xiongnu lines, began to wheel their horses around, preparing for another charge.
Just before, they had slaughtered nearly two-thirds of the attacking Xiongnu. The Han cavalry believed that with two more assaults, not a single Xiongnu would escape alive.
Yet, as they turned back, they saw something astonishing—
The Xiongnu who had pierced the Han lines did not turn their horses, but instead galloped straight toward the mountain pass from which they had come.
“Father, they’re fleeing! Let’s chase them!” Li Gan, seeing the Xiongnu in flight and their numbers thinned, called anxiously to Li Guang.

After Li Gan spoke, the surrounding Han cavalry looked to Li Guang, their eyes blazing with anticipation.
“Silence!” Li Guang watched the hundred-odd Xiongnu vanish into the distance, his blood-soaked face clouded with uncertainty.
“Father, the Xiongnu are routed—now is the perfect time to give chase! With just a hundred riders, I’ll bring back their heads and win glory for the Han!” Li Gan, his blood still aflame from the slaughter, spoke with wild, bloodthirsty eyes.
“Li Gan!” Li Guang thundered, “Speak of military matters again without authority, and you’ll answer to military law!”
With that, he sheathed his blade and turned to order, “Quickly clean up the battlefield and tend to the wounded. Leave some infantry to bury the fallen. The rest will march with me in half an hour—we head for Shangdu, and must arrive before sunset!”
“Yes, sir!”
Li Gan muttered in frustration, sheathed his sword, reined his horse, and followed Li Guang.
In this battle, nearly two thousand Han cavalry—triple the Xiongnu force—had faced only a few hundred Xiongnu, yet with just over a hundred escaping, the Han still lost nearly a third of their horsemen. Even in Li Guang’s long career, battles of such scale were rare. The loss of five or six hundred cavalry left his face ashen.
The strength of the Xiongnu cavalry was evident.
This was a people who lived on horseback from birth; every adult male a natural warrior. Years spent astride a horse had honed their skills to deadly perfection. Against such foes, with no advantage in weapons or tactics, fighting cavalry to cavalry was a thankless, grueling task for the Han.
Under the blazing sun, the Han began cleaning the field. There was no joy to be found in this, from any perspective.
And, unfortunately, Qin Cheng’s unit—the Eighteenth Squad of the Second Heavy Infantry Battalion—had drawn this grim duty. In fact, the entire hundred men of the second battalion were left behind—not only to help clear the field with the other soldiers, but to bury the fallen afterward.
Which meant, the heavy infantry would not follow Li Guang to Shangdu. According to orders, once the dead were interred, they would return to Qiansang City.
Li Guang was in a hurry to press on, especially after the fierce combat just now, so the main force could not tarry; only a token detachment would remain for the aftermath.
Qin Cheng led his squad beneath the scorching sun, laboring with the others to clear the battlefield.
The sun blazed. Dust hung low in the air like a shroud. The air itself seemed twisted with the scent of blood. The yellow earth was washed crimson, littered with countless mutilated limbs, exposed organs, and the sun’s glare caught on the carnage, making the faces of the dead seem even more twisted in their unwillingness, their terror, their regret.
Qin Cheng knelt beside a fallen soldier, whose intestines had spilled onto the ground, eyes wide open. He tried to move the man’s hands from his belly, but no matter how hard he tried, the stiff corpse would not budge. With a heavy sigh, Qin Cheng carefully gathered the man’s intestines and, little by little, tucked them back into his abdomen. Even though Qin Cheng was no stranger to death, his eyes grew damp, his heart swelling with awe.
This was the purest sort of soldier—the greatest sort. For the sake of what they protected, they gave themselves wholly, even unto death in a foreign land.
To die wrapped in a horsehide—what a tragic, heroic phrase!
Bones by the Unfixed River, the dream of a wife in spring.
Qin Cheng was lost in thought.
“Squad leader, are you all right? You look sick—want to throw up?” Wu Daliang squatted next to him, one hand on his back, concerned.
“I’m fine,” Qin Cheng forced a smile and steadied himself.
“First time seeing real battle, any new recruit would be sick. That stench—most can’t stomach it on their first go,” Wu Daliang offered, worried Qin Cheng was forcing himself.
“I really am fine.” Qin Cheng stepped to the head of the fallen soldier, signaling for Wu Daliang to help him lift the body.
After carrying away several men who, only a quarter hour before, had been full of life, Wu Daliang couldn’t help but sigh, “Never thought we’d set out on campaign, only to turn back halfway—never even got a crack at a Xiongnu. It’s frustrating as hell!”

Two more quarter-hours of work cleared the bodies blocking the mountain pass. By then, the Han army had reassembled in marching order, clearly preparing to depart.
Qin Cheng looked up at the thousands of ready soldiers, feeling all the more dejected. “Yes, I never thought my first campaign would amount to nothing more than collecting the bodies of my comrades.”
“If only I’d joined the cavalry, I’d have fought those Xiongnu three hundred rounds! Hell, if I’d known, I’d never have taken up this damned infantry post—what a waste!” From far off, Dong Chu’s voice carried to Qin Cheng and Wu Daliang. “This is killing me!”
Qin Cheng and Wu Daliang exchanged a wry smile. “Dong Chu’s not wrong.”
“Squad leader, I heard General Li Guang summoned you during the selection. Didn’t you ask him about joining the cavalry?” Wu Daliang recalled something Qin Cheng had mentioned before.
“I have no merit to speak of—how could I ask that of the general? I’d hoped to earn some distinction in battle this time, then see about it. Now, it looks unlikely. Maybe luck just isn’t with me,” Qin Cheng said with a helpless shake of his head.
“That may be, but it’s a shame to waste your skills,” Wu Daliang said earnestly.
“Who can say what fate holds?” Qin Cheng replied with a self-mocking smile.
Wu Daliang paused, then added, “Still, I don’t believe your luck will be that poor.”
“Is that so? Let’s hope you’re right,” Qin Cheng replied, and they both smiled.
Suddenly, a faint tremor passed through the ground, accompanied by a distant rumble.
Qin Cheng froze mid-laugh, motioned for Wu Daliang to hush, and listened, then crouched, pressing his ear to the earth.
Wu Daliang, puzzled at first, quickly caught on and did the same.
After a moment, Qin Cheng stood, eyes fixed on the direction the Xiongnu survivors had fled, his expression grave.
“You heard it too?”
“I did.”
Qin Cheng looked around. “Terrain like this is rare in Shanggu, isn’t it?”
“Very rare—and ideal for battle.” Wu Daliang’s eyes shone with excitement. “I thought something was odd before, but only now do I see it. The Xiongnu always fight if they can win, and flee if they can’t—so why did only a few hundred dare charge nearly two thousand of us? Now I understand.”
“It’s not too late.”
Wu Daliang’s eyes were bright as he looked at Qin Cheng. “Looks like I was right—your fate isn’t as unlucky as you thought.”
Qin Cheng smiled faintly, “May your words prove true—for both of us.”
The two shared a smile.
“Eighteenth Squad, Second Battalion, Heavy Infantry—assemble!” Qin Cheng suddenly roared.
At almost the same instant, a heavy horn sounded from the Han camp, abrupt and urgent.