Gao Pei regretted it deeply.
Not because he had seen through the folding ladders and siege towers for what they were—mere props.
But because he should never have agreed to Zhang Fei's single-blade meeting in the first place.
That was the root of it all.
Now Baishui Pass had already fallen, and regret was useless.
"General Zhang," Gao Pei said quietly, his face ashen, "please have me bound."
Looking at the defeated commander of Baishui Pass, Zhang Fei easily guessed his thoughts.
He simply did not wish to become a turncoat.
"In that case, I'll honor your wish," Zhang Fei said, his admiration for the man only growing.
"Fan Jiang—find a clean room and invite General Gao to rest. Treat him well."
After issuing the order, Zhang Fei formally assumed the role of acting commander of Baishui Pass and appointed Huo Jun to oversee its defenses.
"Me?" Huo Jun exclaimed in shock. "Then what about you, General?"
Standing atop the battlements, Zhang Fei gazed eastward, his spirit soaring.
"Zhang Lu may be coming," he said. "I'll go greet him on my elder brother's behalf."
A bowl of thin porridge simmered gently over the fire, then was carried up to the walls and placed before Pang Xi, Administrator of Langzhong.
Yang Huai had arrived with the Army as promised.
And Pang Xi was furious.
An immediate assault would not take the city. Pang Xi and Liu Zhang had long been at odds, and Langzhong itself served as a secondary defensive line should baishui Pass ever fall.
Its fortifications were solid.
The Baishui Army, however, was accustomed to guarding mountain passes—not storming cities. Siege warfare was unfamiliar territory.
Yet Yang Huai styled himself a famed general of Shu, far superior to Fu Jin, who had earlier marched out from Chengdu.
That was precisely why Pang Xi was so anxious.
After hearing Pang Xi's worries, Zhao Zuo sneered with unconcealed disdain.
"Relying on terrain alone and daring to call oneself a great general?"
"Governor Pang has truly been blind to the heroes of the age."
Pang Xi scowled in protest—only to wince as the scalding porridge burned his lips, twisting his expression into something quite ridiculous.
Zhao Zuo shook his head and said nothing more, simply standing beside him and observing the enemy.
Langzhong was a difficult city to take.
Water surrounded it on the east, west, and south; mountains rose to the north.
The Baishui Army had approached from the north but chosen to encamp south of the city, across the West Han River.
There lay a rare stretch of open ground, over thirty li wide—ample space for an army of ten thousand.
From the city walls, the Yang Huai banners filled the horizon.
When Pang Xi saw yet another unit hauling siege ladders toward the walls, he lost all appetite.
"When will Uncle Liu arrive?" he muttered, setting down his bowl and hurrying off to direct the defenses.
Left alone on the wall, Zhao Zuo stared blankly at the enemy camp.
Could Liu Xuande truly relieve Langzhong?
He wasn't sure himself.
"Can Zilong really lift the siege of Langzhong?" Liu Bei asked, still uneasy.
Pang Tong, quietly calculating beside him, replied calmly:
"Once the Baishui Army splits its forces, General Zhang Fei will lead the main army there. Baishui Pass is no concern."
"Even if it cannot be taken immediately, once Zhang Lu advances, the pass will be attacked from both sides and must fall."
They had discussed this many times. Liu Bei understood the plan well.
"Once the Yang Huai Army learns that Baishui Pass is in danger, they will surely rush back to save it. All Zilong needs is the right moment to strike—and the enemy will collapse."
After igniting chaos within Yi Province, Pang Tong quickly set his priorities.
Marching straight on Chengdu was too risky.
First, Liu Zhang's claws had to be cut off.
Foremost among them were the Yang Huai Army and Baishui Pass.
Yang Huai and Gao Pei were not great clansmen. They owed their rise to Liu Zhang.
And Baishui Pass, guarding against Zhang Lu in the north, was the most vital gateway between Hanzhong and Yi Province.
Thus Pang Tong's plan was simple: seize Baishui Pass first, then shut the gate and beat the dog.
Whether advancing slowly or striking like thunder, all options would open up.
What Pang Tong could never have imagined—even in his dreams—was that Zhang Fei had already taken Baishui Pass with ease.
The messenger was already riding toward Jiangzhou.
On the other front, Zhao Yun had no brilliant battlefield tricks and favored steady tactics.
But he possessed one overwhelming advantage.
He was a cavalry general.
After scouting the terrain, Zhao Yun had only one thought:
With open ground behind the enemy—if he didn't charge, it would be a crime.
No hesitation was needed.
"Zhang Yi," Zhao Yun ordered, "lead four thousand troops forward at a steady pace."
"Zhang Zhuo—have all cavalry switch to stirrups, carry bows and crossbows, and ride with me to break the formation!"
Break the formation!
Zhang Zhuo's blood surged. He answered loudly and rushed off to assemble the cavalry.
When the campaign into Yi Province began after the New Year, Zhao Yun had not brought his cavalry.
There had been no room to use them.
Only after establishing a foothold in Jiangzhou—anticipating the eventual battle for Chengdu's plains—did he summon his three hundred elite riders from Jing Province.
And now—
They would see battle in their very first engagement.
Zhang Yi worried the maneuver was too risky.
Zhao Yun reassured him calmly:
"Yi Province is isolated. They know nothing of formations—nor of cavalry.
Bo Gong, put your mind at ease and cover me."
Once the cavalry assembled, Zhao Yun rode at the front.
Three hundred riders followed in silence, guiding their horses carefully along the shallow banks of the West Han River valley.
After traveling more than ten li, the terrain suddenly opened up.
Zhao Yun raised his hand. The cavalry halted.
In silence, they adjusted their gear and shifted formation—from a single line into a crescent.
Zhao Yun lowered his hand and pointed forward.
He spurred his horse.
The cavalry followed, accelerating slowly.
Shouts erupted as the Baishui Army finally noticed the sudden appearance of enemy riders, desperately trying to warn the troops besieging the city.
Zhao Yun ignored them.
Once an army exceeded five thousand men, its vanguard and rear effectively became two separate forces.
Warnings had to be detected, judged, passed along. Orders had to travel. Units had to coordinate.
All of it took time.
Veteran commanders and experienced officers could shorten the process.
But Zhao Yun had no faith that a force accustomed to hiding behind Baishui Pass possessed such discipline.
If they truly were elite, why hadn't they marched on Yangping Pass, reclaimed Hanzhong, and slain Zhang Lu?
Was it because they didn't want to?
Moreover, Yi Province's greatest weakness was simple:
They had no experience fighting cavalry.
Yi produced only inferior horses—never true war steeds.
Thus Zhao Yun focused fully, leading his cavalry into a steady acceleration.
He did not charge the center.
Instead, the riders howled past the flank of the Whitewater camp.
"Reinforcements!" Pang Xi shouted in delight from the walls—then his heart sank.
"So few?"
Zhao Zuo said nothing.
His young eyes were sharp enough to catch the blinding flash of sunlight reflecting off the lead rider's silver armor.
Three or four hundred cavalry—
Against tens of thousands?
Then he saw them move.
Like an arrow grazing past one's cheek, the cavalry tore along the camp's edge.
Where they passed, rows of Baishui soldiers fell.
Zhao Yun's expression did not change.
Under his command, the cavalry alternated speed—slowing, accelerating—
Cutting along the camp's edge, slicing through gaps between front and rear formations, wheeling wide, then repeating.
The riders locked their feet into metal stirrups, guiding their mounts with core and legs alone.
Their freed hands harvested lives without mercy.
At range, bows sang.
Up close, long blades dipped low—
And blood sprayed like wheat being reaped.
Zhao Zuo saw clearly: the Yang Huai rear had collapsed.
They had no answer to the cavalry.
The panic rolled forward toward the vanguard.
Zhao Zuo understood their thinking.
Between the vanguard and Langzhong lay the West Han River.
At its narrowest point, a pontoon bridge had already been built.
They didn't know how to fight cavalry—
But if they crossed the bridge, they would be safe.
"Governor Pang—Langzhong is secure!" Zhao Zuo exclaimed.
Pang Xi had already adopted a composed expression.
"Northern cavalry… so fearsome."
Zhao Zuo snorted inwardly.
That Pang Xi had survived the chaos of Zhao Wei's rebellion until now meant he had some ability.
Scanning the battlefield again, Zhao Zuo noticed two changes.
More troops were emerging from the mountain pass behind the silver-armored general, forming ranks methodically.
And—
The Yang Huai vanguard had begun slaughtering fleeing troops to halt the rout.
The collapse slowed.
Zhao Zuo felt he understood the battle now.
Reinforcements would engage the enemy head-on, the Langzhong garrison would strike from within—
Victory was assured.
Zhao Yun saw something else entirely.
He watched the enemy's central banner shift toward the collapsing rear.
A general stepped forward, shouting orders, executing deserters, trying to stabilize the formation.
The moment would not last.
"Zhang Zhuo—cover me!" Zhao Yun roared.
"General, break the formation!" Zhang Zhuo answered, driving the cavalry forward as their crescent transformed into a wedge—
A wedge unstoppable, like thunder.
Zhao Zuo's mouth fell open as the living spear slammed straight into the enemy's center.
Where before it was a blade cutting grass—
Now it was an axe cleaving earth.
The momentum slowed as bodies packed in.
Zhao Zuo watched in agony as several riders were skewered by spears, man and horse falling together.
Then—
The center of the wedge opened.
There was the silver-armored rider.
Zhao Yun charged again.
He closed on Yang Huai himself, his spear striking like a dragon diving into the sea—straight for Yang Huai's face.
Yang Huai's soul nearly left his body.
With all his strength, he barely knocked the spear aside.
So that's all you've got! he roared inwardly—
Then froze.
Why had the spear flown past?
Zhao Yun's spear had been a feint.
As Yang Huai committed fully to the block, Zhao Yun's left hand was already on his sword.
He drew and slashed in one motion, a streak of icy light.
Yang Huai's smile froze.
Blood burst from his neck, splattering Zhao Yun and his horse with crimson stars.
Zhao Yun felt a twinge of regret.
If only he had been riding his white horse today.
That would have looked better.