Chapter 26: Breaking Through the Encirclement

When Canghuai led his troops up to the mountainside, a sudden surge of battle cries erupted from the summit. Du Ximing, leading the charge, was already storming down with a host of soldiers.

The personal guard beside Canghuai was stunned by this unexpected turn, his face filled with disbelief as he said to General Canghuai, "I never imagined they had no intention of fleeing. What they're doing is launching a direct assault on the central army!"

Canghuai took a deep breath. "Sharp-eyed and bold! It seems I underestimated this Zhang Chi."

He was indeed shaken. He hadn’t expected Zhang Chi to see through his feigned troop maneuver, nor to have the audacity to strike at the heart of his forces. Yet he remained composed. Though his central army was outnumbered, it still boasted over ten thousand men; it was only a pity that his ambush would now be wasted.

Even if the central force could not crush the enemy outright, they could block their path. Once the flanking armies encircled them, Zhang Chi would have no escape.

…

Du Ximing had already broken through with his men. Zhang Chi’s side brimmed with morale, and, having the advantage of higher ground, their charge threw the enemy formation into chaos.

Seeing the confusion in the opposing ranks, Du Ximing seized the moment. Hesitating now would mean facing a defensive formation later, making escape nearly impossible. He bellowed loudly and plunged, spear in hand, into the enemy.

The spear, called the King of Weapons, truly deserved its reputation. On the ancient battlefield, nothing paired better with a horse than the spear. The horse moves like a dragon, the spear strikes like a serpent; charging on horseback with a spear was the true union of dragon and snake. Those who wielded it well were famed commanders amid thousands of cavalry.

Du Ximing led the way, his spear weaving countless blossoms, piercing throats with precision, cutting a bloody path through the ranks.

Following behind, Zhang Chi was awestruck. The ancient art of battlefield assault had long been lost; even grand films rarely captured its essence. Witnessing it firsthand, Zhang Chi was deeply shaken. In novels, generals would stride through armies as if they were empty fields; he had always thought such tales exaggerated. Now, seeing Du Ximing's valor, he realized those words might not be false.

Du Ximing carved a path, and Santong followed with the infantry. Though not as heroic as Du Ximing’s cavalry charge, their desperate fighting sent fear into the enemy’s hearts, weakening their resistance.

General Canghuai, seeing the enemy’s spirits soaring, would not let them break through so easily. He had his weapon brought forward—a wolf-toothed long pike. Its shaft stretched eight feet, and only the strong dared wield it, for in the midst of battle, swinging and thrusting, one might exhaust themselves before being slain.

Brandishing his pike, Canghuai rode swiftly, blocking Du Ximing’s path. He thrust his pike forward, and the two clashed in battle.

Seeing their general emerge, Canghuai’s soldiers were instantly emboldened.

Du Ximing knew the priority was to break through; any delay, once the flanking armies closed in, would spell doom. Yet Canghuai’s long pike never strayed from his vital spots, making him difficult to shake off.

Du Ximing grew anxious; so did Canghuai.

Canghuai prided himself as a hero, but few had ever earned his respect, especially in battle. He had never met a match in open combat. Yet Du Ximing, merely a deputy under his command, had fought him to a standstill after dozens of exchanges.

If this continued, Zhang Chi might escape after all.

"Archers, prepare to fire!" Canghuai barked, growing restless.

At that moment, Zhang Chi spotted the enemy general—none other than Canghuai himself—and was startled. He realized that Canghuai's earlier provocations to hunt bandits might have been a trap, though he still didn’t know why this general was so determined to see him dead.

While Zhang Chi was pondering, Dao Xuan moved to his side, shouting, "Brother Zhang, run! They’re about to loose their arrows!"

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Earlier, the archers had no time to prepare, allowing Zhang Chi’s charge to disrupt the formation. Now, the archers had already assembled, rows upon rows ready at the front. Dao Xuan knew that at such close range, arrows would not be fired at random; each shot would be deadly.

He rode swiftly to Zhang Chi’s side, swinging his saber to shield him, managing to protect their upper bodies. But, unfortunately, Dao Xuan’s blade was merely a standard waist saber, too short to shield their mounts. When the volley of arrows came, his horse collapsed beneath him.

Before he hit the ground, Dao Xuan slapped Bai Xue’s flank, sending the horse charging ahead. Seeing Zhang Chi flee, Dao Xuan leapt into the archers’ ranks, his martial skill scattering them before they could nock another arrow.

Bai Xue, noble and swift, carried Zhang Chi down the mountain without needing guidance. Dodging several interception squads, only one last line of elite soldiers remained ahead. Zhang Chi's own skill would never break through, but Bai Xue suddenly—

The two arrows fired by General Canghuai were laced with deadly poison: one struck Bai Xue’s flank, the other hit Zhang Chi’s back near his heart.

Despite being poisoned, Bai Xue still sped like the wind, far surpassing ordinary horses. The mountain paths twisted and turned, but in the time it took to drink a few cups of tea, they had already left their pursuers behind.

By now, the poison had entered their blood. Zhang Chi’s mind began to cloud, yet he knew Bai Xue, having been struck as well, was likely worse off—the horse’s rapid galloping circulated the poison even faster.

As his consciousness faded, Zhang Chi could only lean onto the horse’s back. Thankfully, Bai Xue, even in haste, kept the ride as steady as possible; otherwise, Zhang Chi would have fallen long ago.

"Perhaps today, Bai Xue and I will die here," he thought, and couldn’t help but recall the ethereal Emei. He felt guilty for Emei, stroking Bai Xue’s mane and murmuring, "You were Emei’s beloved horse. Now I’ve drawn you into the storm of spears and arrows, and you’ve been poisoned because of me. If Emei knew, I wonder how much she’d grieve for you."

Bai Xue was intelligent and understood human speech, but did not neigh or cry out, only carried Zhang Chi onward.

Zhang Chi’s mind grew heavier; he could only endure a little longer. Through dense forests, Bai Xue finally reached the eastern foot of Zhongshan near Jiankang, at the source of the Qingxi stream. The water was shallow; Bai Xue carried Zhang Chi across. But halfway through, Bai Xue stumbled, unable to go on, and collapsed in the water.

The icy water jolted Zhang Chi briefly before he lost consciousness. "I will die here," he thought in that last instant.

…

When Zhang Chi opened his eyes again, he found himself lying on grass, his back still aching from the wound. Apparently, he had survived; he chuckled at himself, then caught the aroma of roasting meat.

Turning, he saw a nearby campfire. A woman with a longbow across her back was roasting a wild rabbit. Bai Xue was tied up close by.

Seeing Bai Xue safe and sound, Zhang Chi was relieved.

"You’re awake?" the woman said coldly, then drew a dagger from her belt, cut off a rabbit leg, and tossed it to Zhang Chi, still icy in tone. "You’ve been unconscious for two days."

Taking the roasted leg, Zhang Chi recognized her and smiled, "So it’s Miss Bing’er."

Miss Bing’er was none other than Cheng Luobing, whom Zhang Chi had met when he wandered into the mountain valley.

"Do you call me Bing’er?" Cheng Luobing replied coldly, then turned to eat the rabbit, ignoring Zhang Chi.

Knowing her story and her hatred for soldiers, Zhang Chi didn’t mind. As he ate, he asked, "How did you save me?"

"I was saving your horse; you were just incidental," Cheng Luobing replied, eyes full of envy as she looked at Bai Xue. "This is a fine horse. Even poisoned, it carried you dozens of miles and only collapsed from exhaustion. A loyal steed indeed! Had I not passed by collecting herbs, it would have been a pity to lose such a horse."

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Zhang Chi nodded. Without Bai Xue, he would have died many times during the escape.

"But it’s strange—a dog of a soldier owning such a fine horse."

Zhang Chi was helpless, but since Bing’er had saved his life, he didn’t argue. The rabbit was tender, and as he ate, he muttered, "I didn’t expect you to have such skill, able to cure poisons."

"My grandfather is Shennong," Bing’er said proudly, then asked, "Don’t just eat. I saved your life—how will you repay me?"

"You saved me just to be repaid?" Zhang Chi disliked those who sought gratitude for their deeds; her question irked him.

Bing’er’s question was meant as a tease, but seeing Zhang Chi’s displeasure, she said righteously, "Of course! Why save you if there’s no benefit?"

"You chose to save me—I didn’t ask for it."

"Don’t you know to repay kindness? Are you as ungrateful as a wolf?"

"You say that about wolves because you don’t understand them." Even in his former life, wolves were Zhang Chi’s favorite animal. He put down the rabbit leg and explained, "Wolves do repay kindness, though not like dogs who grovel at humans’ feet. If you truly help a wolf, it will risk its life to save you in danger."

"I’ve never seen such a wolf," Bing’er scoffed.

"That’s because your motives aren’t pure. Wolves have their own sense of right and wrong. If you help a wolf sincerely, it’s different. But if you have ulterior motives, even if you save it, it won’t thank you—instead, it might bite you before leaving."

Raised to believe in repaying kindness a hundredfold, and knowing the wolf’s bad reputation, Bing’er couldn’t accept Zhang Chi’s words. She snorted, "You survived and still aren’t grateful—truly an ungrateful wolf!"

Despite being saved, Zhang Chi felt gratitude, but his pride loathed being pressed to repay. He said, "It depends on why you saved me. If you had hidden motives, even if you saved my life, I wouldn’t be grateful."

His words made Bing’er glare, her eyes wide as copper bells. After a moment, she laughed angrily, "You’re not grateful? Fine! I’ll see how long your arrogance lasts! This time you didn’t ask for help—I saved you out of meddling. But I’ll tell you: you were deeply poisoned, and I had to use poison to fight poison. Though it’s suppressed for now, two toxins remain in your body. In three months, they’ll erupt; you’ll suffer worse than death. Only my grandfather and I can cure it. Then, let’s see if you come begging!"

Zhang Chi, hearing this, guessed she had struggled to save him and felt a pang of guilt, unable to retort.

Bing’er, seeing him silent, thought her words had cowed him. She laughed, "Afraid now? If you kneel and beg, I might cure you!"

Her threat sparked Zhang Chi’s anger. "Rest assured—I would rather die than beg you."

Bing’er laughed, "Think carefully. I’m in a good mood now; should I cure you?"

"Thank you," Zhang Chi replied coldly, suppressing his anger. He walked to Bai Xue, untied the reins, mounted, and like the wolf he admired—though he didn’t bite Bing’er, he rode off without looking back.

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