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When did the Hu and Han begin their cycle of killing and loving each other?
Fei Qian recalled an example he often used in later times during new employee training—the tale of two water carriers. The Hu and Han were like those carriers.
The divide likely began when the Yan Emperor and Yellow Emperor allied to defeat Chiyou. As the Yan-Huang tribes settled into agriculture, climbing the tech tree of farming, their divergence from surrounding tribes grew stark.
Perhaps early on, those tribes mocked the Yan-Huang for abandoning herding. Could crops from the mud taste better than animal meat?
Initially, the land's yield couldn't match the savory richness of flesh, but its sole advantage was stability and control. With grain, the elderly and young could eat even when hunts failed, allowing elders' wisdom to be passed down and ensuring a tribe's future could grow. This advantage compounded over time, like the water carrier who became rich while the other remained poor.
But unlike the story's carriers, the poor one, unable to quell his desires, set down his bucket, picked up a knife, and began centuries of intertwined love and slaughter—much like today.
Standing behind the parapet of Beiqu camp's wooden wall, Fei Qian watched the Hu cavalry form a loose line. He felt a twinge of envy. If he had such a skilled cavalry force, why hunker down in a camp? He'd hold the initiative—move or fight at will, a living chessboard as long as he avoided being cornered.
Fei Qian knew coming to Shangjun meant facing the Hu, but he hadn't expected them so soon, catching him off guard. Had he not brought fresh forces to Beiqu, Du Yuan's small contingent would surely have been overrun!
Yesterday's scouts had clashed with the Hu, identifying their banners as Southern Xiongnu. But why were they here?
A fleeting thought sparked in Fei Qian's mind, but before he could grasp it, it slipped away like a mischievous sprite, vanishing into the depths of his thoughts.
He tried to chase it but found nothing, forcing him to refocus on the Hu across from him.
In the Hu ranks, beneath the central banner, stood their leader. Too far to see clearly, Fei Qian could only make out a robust figure in a slanted sheepskin coat, bow slung across his back, gazing toward the camp.
Fei Qian turned to Du Yuan. "Wenzheng, do you speak Xiongnu?"
Du Yuan shook his head. "When I was in Shangjun, some old soldiers knew some Hu language, but now…"
"Old soldiers?" Fei Qian's eyes flickered. "Wenzheng, ask if any of the Bingzhou soldiers we brought speak Hu."
Du Yuan nodded and descended from the parapet.
With the Hu's arrival, tension gripped Beiqu camp. Most of the men were fresh recruits from Hedong, minimally trained and untested in battle. Facing Hu blades now naturally stirred unease.
This was why Fei Qian insisted on keeping these recruits in the camp for defense. A wooden wall might not guarantee victory, but it offered psychological comfort.
Like these recruits, this unexpected skirmish at Beiqu was Fei Qian's opening act in Shangjun. Whether it would earn roaring applause or a quiet retreat, no one knew…
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Before Beiqu camp, Yufuluo studied the scene, his expression growing grave. Beyond the pre-battle intensity of a warrior, there was the wary greed of a wild wolf eyeing prey—both ravenous and cautious.
The camp's location allowed attack from only one direction. The trumpet-shaped terrain seemed favorable, but only the center was firm ground. Near the Xinshui River, the soil was soft—fine for walking but not for galloping.
A trench lay before the camp, its bottom lined with sharpened stakes, and chevaux-de-frise stood along the camp-side edge, preventing a direct cavalry charge and increasing the attack's difficulty.
To assault Beiqu camp, they'd need to clear a path for horses, removing the stakes and barriers—all within the camp's arrow range.
Clearly, Beiqu camp was a tough shell. Only by cracking it could they reach the tender meat inside, but this shell was formidable.
Yufuluo's face showed a trace of doubt. "Something's off…"
"What?" Huchuquan started, then jumped, looking around as if expecting a Han trap. After scanning and seeing nothing, he asked, "What's off? Looks fine to me."
"The number of soldiers and the commander are wrong…" Yufuluo stared at the tricolor banner above the camp, puzzled. Who among the Han used three colors? Did it hold special meaning? The situation didn't match his prior intelligence. Where had it gone wrong?
This wasn't a camp of a few hundred—it held at least a thousand!
Huchuquan scratched his head, hesitating. "So, someone lied to us? Do we fight or not?"
Yufuluo pondered, then said, "Fight first. Only by fighting will we know what's true…"
A group of Hu riders broke from the ranks, accelerating slowly. Hooves pounded the ground like sudden summer hail on rooftops or hearts, carrying a wild, brutal momentum as they charged toward Beiqu camp…