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Human thinking is fascinating. Even a closed door remains a passage in many eyes—a convenient way in or out.
The gate of Beiqu camp was no different.
Though shut, the Hu saw it as the prime target, focusing their attacks there, as if each strike increased their chances of breaking through.
So when four Hu riders charged to lasso the chevaux-de-frise, they instinctively targeted the two in the center of the gate…
And met disaster.
Normally, a cheval-de-frise is anchored about a palm's length into the ground—roughly twenty centimeters. But the two at Beiqu's gate were buried two meters deep.
Fei Qian had ordered them reinforced in three layers, each secured with thick wooden stakes and tamped down. These were harder to budge than the camp's wall posts. Two horses couldn't hope to drag them out—nor could four.
With enough force, the stakes might snap, but that was beyond two horses' strength…
Thus, the chevaux-de-frise barely shifted, but the cost was steep.
This anomaly stunned the Hu. Even the riders galloping and shooting before the camp faltered—some forgot to loose their arrows, others fired wildly, arrows veering off course…
This was the moment Fei Qian's side awaited!
Huang Cheng tossed his shield aside, seized his bow, and leapt up, roaring, "Shoot!"
From every parapet platform, archers rose in unison. With Huang Cheng's shout, the "twang" of bows filled the air. Arrows soared like eagles pouncing on prey, their sharp talons tearing into the panicking Hu at the gate…
Fei Qian's men had shields and walls for defense; the Hu had only their horses and flesh.
But Fei Qian's side was static, while the Hu were mobile—a fair balance.
At Huang Cheng's cry, many Hu, though not fully reacting, instinctively sensed danger. Abandoning their volleys, they ducked low, spurring their horses to flee the death-laden zone.
The world always has those who pass through danger unscathed and those who choke on a sip of water. No matter how fast they fled, some Hu met arrows by ill luck…
The death song led by the Southern Xiongnu was disrupted. Beiqu's terrain advantage forced the Hu to attack from one direction, and the dead—Hu and horses alike—cluttered the path. To attack again, they'd first need to clear the ground.
Bater, who organized the assault, felt deep shame. He rode to Yufuluo, dismounted, knelt, kissed Yufuluo's boots, and bowed his head, awaiting punishment.
"By Tengri, Bater, you lost this time," Yufuluo said in an odd tone—neither angry nor disappointed, but calm, as if he'd expected this outcome.
"Yes, my Chanyu. In your mercy, grant me another chance. I will raze this cursed Han dog camp!" Bater's voice rumbled.
Yufuluo counted the fallen Hu and horses before the camp—thirty-one men. His face dimmed for a moment, then returned to calm.
Those lightly wounded had escaped on horseback. Those who didn't would never return.
Yufuluo pulled Bater up, then drew his knife and lightly cut his arm. "This is your mark of shame. Remember it always. In every attack, be as fierce as your name, but also cautious!"
Bater agreed solemnly, knelt again, kissed Yufuluo's boots, and withdrew.
Yufuluo gazed at Beiqu camp, frowning.
Five years ago, he'd have charged without thought, ordering attacks until the camp fell, then taken the commander's head to drink mare's milk from his skull…
Two years ago, he'd have skipped probing and tried contacting higher Han authorities, perhaps even the emperor…
But now, he hesitated.
The gate's two chevaux-de-frise told him something: someone in that camp knew Hu tactics. Yufuluo wasn't sure if other barriers were similarly reinforced, but he didn't want to test further.
One probe was enough; two or three would be a full assault. Was such a camp worth so many tribesmen's lives?
He calculated: losing about a hundred men could clear the gate's obstacles. Even if all barriers were reinforced, more horses pulling slowly could move them.
Then, toppling a few wall posts and charging through the gap…
If all went well, five to seven hundred men lost could take the camp.
But was it worth sacrificing so many for this camp? Last time, trading with the Han cost over five hundred tribesmen. Losing another five hundred here, then hundreds more later—how could he return to the royal court? His own end would be near.
A Chanyu without tribesmen was no different from a lone wolf.
A scout galloped up, reporting, "Horse tracks found in the mountain pass. Brothers sent to investigate were ambushed and didn't return. Han troops are hiding there, but their numbers are unclear…"
Huchuquan leapt up. "It's a trap!"
"…Or maybe there aren't many…" Yufuluo mused. "But we don't need to take the risk, nor have reason to. Since Tengri has warned us, we'll follow his will and withdraw for now."
Inside Beiqu camp, the soldiers, unaware of the situation, cheered as the Xiongnu began retreating.
Du Yuan approached with an old soldier. "My lord, this man knows some Hu language!"
"Perfect timing!" Fei Qian clapped. "Ask if they want to return. If so, we can arrange a talk."
The old soldier leaned over the wall, shouting in Hu. After a pause, a response came.
"What did he say?" Fei Qian asked.
"He said he'll return, but next time, he hopes we'll be truly stronger," the soldier replied.
Fei Qian paused, then grinned. Quite the proud one, isn't he…