After Huang Zhong cut down several more Cao cavalrymen who refused to believe their own eyes, the hundred riders who had followed Le Jin's charge finally stopped.
They glanced at the infantry formations that had emerged behind Huang Zhong.
They glanced again at the fallen general ahead—his blood soaking into the earth, along with several fallen comrades nearby.
The group exchanged looks.
In the end, they dismounted and surrendered.
Those with sharper eyes even picked up Le Jin's long lance and respectfully returned it to General Huang.
Huang Zhong said nothing.
He sat tall on horseback, gripping the lance, radiating authority as his soldiers loudly called on the remaining Cao cavalry to surrender.
The riders who had been cut off by the falling boulders were now trapped—unable to advance, unable to retreat.
After some hesitation, some stepped forward to surrender. Others turned their horses back toward Xiangyang, carrying the news with them:
Le Jin was dead.
Slain by Huang Zhong.
The morale inside Xiangyang collapsed almost instantly.
Outside the city, Huang Zhong methodically accepted the surrenders.
The battle for Xiangyang had been Huang Zhong's own request. After wasting more than a decade here, he knew every strength and flaw of the city by heart.
First came the intimidation—giant ships and naval troops pinning Xiangyang in place, making Le Jin hesitant to move.
Then came seizing the initiative by sealing the mountain pass.
At that point, the battle was already half won.
In between were Military Advisor Xu Shu's constant suggestions. Judging by Le Jin's temperament, once Huang Zhong personally served as bait, Le Jin would charge without hesitation.
Every vanguard assault was a gamble.
And losing one gamble was nothing unusual.
As for secretly digging trenches and preparing rolling stones under cover of night?
Minor details—barely worth mentioning.
Huang Zhong gazed northward from horseback.
General Guan and Military Advisor Xu were still fighting bloody battles, while he himself could not yet move to support them.
Even though Le Jin had been slain and Xiangyang now lacked leadership, the remaining Cao troops were still a problem. For the moment, Huang Zhong had to stay here.
He shook his head slightly, then looked west.
That embankment… about sixty li away—Shandu, wasn't it?
On Xiangyang's walls, the soldiers were growing increasingly reckless.
After all, the general had already left the city. Who was left to discipline them?
"If the general wins," one soldier muttered, "does that mean we'll go attack Fancheng next?"
Another snorted.
"Anywhere south is attacking cities. Yicheng, Dangyang, Linju—pick your poison. Jiangling's probably out of reach though."
"Then if the general loses…"
The topic was too dangerous.
Even among comrades, there were always a few who specialized in flattery and currying favor.
The mood soured. No one even felt like gambling anymore. They brushed off their trousers and prepared to head back to the barracks.
Just then, a commotion erupted below.
One soldier cocked his ear, his eyebrows slowly rising.
"General Le… is dead?"
"Killed by that old—no, by General Huang?"
They looked at one another, something complicated flickering in their eyes.
They might not understand grand strategy, but after watching sieges day after day, they had developed a sharp nose for war.
The Xiangfan battlefield had grown massive.
Just over three hundred zhang away, Fancheng had been under nonstop assault for nearly three days. Bodies were piling up beneath the walls.
No one wanted to become one of them.
Le Jin's death was a ticket out.
After all, Imperial Uncle Liu had a reputation for benevolence. General Guan was famed for righteousness.
Surrender, and you lived.
So now…
Whoever blocked that path to survival became their enemy.
That was why the sudden shouts and clashes inside Xiangyang startled Huang Zhong—though the noise came fast and faded just as quickly.
Once it ended, Cao soldiers who had personally witnessed the fall of Fancheng, the might of the giant ships, and the heaps of corpses beneath the walls began slipping out of Xiangyang in ones and twos to surrender.
Meanwhile, atop the hated walls of Fancheng, Xu Shu was utterly exhausted.
His throat and Zhao Lei's were long since hoarse. His white robe was stained so thoroughly with grime and blood that its original color was unrecognizable.
The only thing Xu Shu truly regretted was that his treasured sword had chipped in several places from cutting down enemies.
Aside from that, though his body grew more fatigued by the hour, his mind burned brighter than ever.
Back in Xuchang, he had often felt like he was rotting alive. He tried tending flowers. He tried reciting Daoist texts.
Nothing helped.
But now—this was the feeling he had been missing.
A man born in an age of chaos should lift a three-foot blade and bring peace. That is only right.
Reaching into a small pouch at his robe's hem, Xu Shu popped a piece of cane sugar under his tongue.
Sweetness exploded across his senses, snapping his spirit awake.
The effect was weaker than before—but Xu Shu was still in high spirits.
He swung his sword backhandedly, knocking aside a Cao soldier's blade. A nearby soldier thrust a spear forward, ending the man's life, then kicked the corpse off the wall.
Xu Shu winced slightly at yet another nick on his sword, but still struck iron shield with steel.
Clang. Clang. Clang.
Three sharp strikes—proof that the commander still stood.
Morale ticked upward, just a little.
No one had the strength to cheer anymore. At this point, every scrap of stamina was priceless.
Leaning on his sword, Xu Shu calculated silently.
Once Le Jin makes his move, Fancheng will be saved.
But how is General Huang doing?
Below Wancheng, Zhang Fei and his two hundred craftsmen had already erected two siege wells.
With these platforms, dozens of crossbowmen pinned the defenders so thoroughly that they couldn't even raise their heads—shooting until Cao Cao himself felt despair creeping in.
But soon, Cao Cao noticed something else.
Though arrows still flew from the platforms, a unit of troops behind them had finished reorganizing—and was marching north.
"Zilian saves me yet again!"
Cao Cao didn't need time to think.
Eastern and western garrisons could no longer spare troops. Only forces from Ye could serve as a decisive reserve.
And with only Zhang Fei left below the city, Guan Yunchang must have taken his men to intercept Cao Hong—Cao Zilian.
After waiting two days with no word from Le Jin, Cao Cao had nearly given up hope.
Now, the turn of events was dizzying.
Hold fast, he told himself.
As for countering the siege wells, he ordered Xu Chu to gather materials from within the city to build taller shields along that wall—crude but sufficient.
After all, with Guan Yunchang pulling away another force, Zhang Fei was already stretched thin.
Riding north with Guan Yu was Guan Ping.
His heart brimmed with excitement, though his face showed none of it as he meticulously read intelligence reports aloud.
"Scouts spotted Cao troops northeast, near Luyang—around three thousand cavalry. Possibly the vanguard."
"Who commands them?" Guan Yu asked.
"Unknown."
Information from Jing Province was adequate, but anything farther north was scarce. Guan Yu merely nodded.
Sixty li north of Wancheng lay Xie'e. Cross the Yu River, and you reached Bowang.
Old memories stirred faintly within him.
Years had passed, yet he would still decide victory and defeat with Cao's army here.
"Do you think the Cao army will cross the river here?" Guan Ping asked.
Wancheng lay west of the Yu River. Cao's forces approached from the east. Any relief attempt required a crossing.
Where, then?
"North of Bowang lies marshland—unsuitable for marching."
"South of Bowang is Wancheng. If they cross there, we can strike them from both sides."
"Therefore, they must advance through Bowang—forcing us to split our forces so they can cross by force."
Guan Ping considered it carefully.
His father was right.
As expected of Father.
Guan Yu's expression remained calm.
Before heading north, Xu Shu had dragged him through every possible contingency. In that sand-table room in Jiangling, they had simulated this scenario countless times.
There were only two unknowns left.
Who commanded this Cao army—and how capable was he?
And…
Was Yuanzhi safe?
Had Xiangyang fallen?
The unexpected mutiny within Xiangyang greatly eased Huang Zhong's burden.
Facing soldiers utterly devoid of will to fight, he rapidly completed the surrender process.
After erecting several camps to separate and detain the prisoners, Huang Zhong ordered Ma Liang to oversee them.
Then, under cover of dusk, he led over a thousand men westward.
No sand table was needed.
Huang Zhong knew this land with his eyes closed.
Twenty li west lay Longzhong. Farther west, mountains rose to the left, a river flowed to the right—the terrain narrowing steadily.
And above lay a small county called Shandu.
If his and the strategist's judgment was correct…
Sure enough.
Shandu—once desolate after civilians were relocated for tuntian farming—was bustling again. A Cao force had encamped there, voices clamoring as they continued raising the embankment.
A small opening had been cut on the northern side of the dam. Huang Zhong remembered a marshland beyond—it seemed they were diverting water there.
That settled it.
Huang Zhong's expression remained blank as he drew his blade and led his men forward.
Night spread gradually, yet Fancheng still blazed with light. The siege continued.
Both sides were at their limits.
Cao Ren himself led several counterattacks, but relying on height and crossbows, Fancheng barely repelled each assault.
After beating back another wave, Zhao Lei—having just reloaded his crossbow—looked up and saw something unforgettable.
His throat dry and raw, he struggled, managing only one word:
"Black…"
Xu Shu followed his gaze.
From the west, something darker than the night itself was spreading.
As it drew closer, torchlight revealed its surface.
Water.
"Water?"
Cao Ren had barely lain down when his guards rushed in with the report.
Already exhausted, his temper flared instantly.
"Cai Mao—that dog!"
Then realization struck.
The man sent to manage the waterways knew rivers well. He wouldn't make such a basic mistake.
There was only one explanation.
Shandu had fallen.
But Cao Ren couldn't understand—
"Where did Liu Bei get the manpower?"
It didn't matter.
One truth was clear.
The assault on Fancheng had failed.
There was no rain. Two days earlier, troops could have been forced onward.
But now—even the smallest change could tip the outcome.
This flood did exactly that.
The attackers withdrew.
Xu Shu didn't hesitate—dragging Zhao Lei off to enjoy the first proper sleep they'd had in ages.
The next morning, standing atop the walls, Xu Shu felt reborn.
He surveyed the land and sighed in admiration.
"What a marshy kingdom."
The water wasn't deep—only reaching the ankles.
But it was enough to turn the ground to mud and crush morale.
Xu Shu laughed brightly.
"It seems Le Jin, brave and fierce as he was, still couldn't overcome the old soldiers of Jing Province."