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Once an army loses its command, the soldiers, thrown into chaos, can only fight by instinct, and their defeat is merely a matter of time.
One of Li Min's soldiers stumbled in panic, dragging his spear behind him as he tried to flee to the side, hoping to evade the charging cavalry. Unfortunately, his frantic steps didn't carry him far before the thundering hooves grew louder behind him. Realizing escape was impossible, he gritted his teeth, let out a desperate roar, and turned around, thrusting his spear with all his might at the nearest oncoming horseman.
The lead cavalryman of Dong Zhuo's forces swung his ring-pommeled sword, deflecting the awkwardly angled spear thrust. Without even bothering to turn back for a finishing strike, he continued his charge forward without a second glance.
Li Min's spearman had barely regained his grip on the knocked-aside weapon when, out of the corner of his eye, he saw the cavalryman already racing past. Before he could even exhale in relief, a massive black shadow loomed before him—then darkness swallowed his vision.
The following Dong Zhuo cavalrymen paid no attention to the soldier sent flying beneath their horses' hooves. As seasoned veterans of battles against the Qiang and Hu tribes, they knew the most crucial factor for cavalry was speed—first, second, and always speed!
Only with speed could cavalry unleash its full combat potential. Without it, mounted warriors were little better than ordinary foot soldiers.
Their mission was simple: charge forward, forward, and tear straight through the heart of Li Min's central army!
Li Min shouted frantically, his voice already hoarse.
What was happening?
Hadn't their military formations flowed seamlessly during drills in the camp? Why were they now scattered in disarray, with clusters here and there, bearing no resemblance to any proper formation?
Hadn't there only been three cavalry units totaling less than a thousand men? Where had all these Dong Zhuo troops come from?!
Zhang An grabbed Li Min, who was wildly brandishing his sword, and yelled, "Lord Li, the situation is hopeless! We must retreat—now!"
Li Min steadied himself slightly, his face twisting in agony as he surveyed the disastrous state of his Yingchuan troops and the overwhelming cavalry force they stood no chance against. In despair, he finally gave the order: "Retreat… Fall back…"
Yet, while crossing the Ying River had been effortless during their advance, retreating now seemed an impossible feat. Not only was Xu Rong's force relentlessly pursuing them, but over five hundred cavalrymen had also appeared on the opposite bank of the river, roaming back and forth, showering arrows upon the soldiers struggling in the water and cutting down those few who managed to reach the shore with their ring-pommeled swords.
Dong Zhuo's troops closed in slowly on Li Min's remnants, trapped on the riverbank. The blades of their weapons glinted coldly, dripping with fresh blood.
Xu Rong rode forward calmly, his voice icy as he addressed the besieged Li Min and his men on the riverbank: "Surrender now—or die now!"
As Xu Rong spoke, the surrounding Dong Zhuo soldiers began pounding their shields and weapons in unison, chanting, "Surrender or die! Surrender or die!" The thunderous roar echoed across the wilderness.
Li Min's grip on his sword tightened, his face alternating between pale and livid. Finally, with a long sigh, his fingers loosened, and the sword clattered to the ground. The exquisitely crafted blade, once gleaming with cold brilliance, was now sullied with mud…
It was as if this had been a silent command. Immediately, Li Min's remaining soldiers dropped their weapons and surrendered to Xu Rong's forces.
Yet their surrender changed nothing—nor could it save them from their grim fate. Xu Rong had the prisoners bound in lines, then marched to the river's edge, where their heads were severed and piled to the side while their headless corpses were shoved into the Ying River. In moments, the once-clear waters transformed into a river of blood.
Some of Li Min's men wailed, others cursed in fury, and a few struggled desperately—but it was all futile. They had been powerless even with weapons in hand; now, bound and helpless, what could they possibly do?
Li Min watched, his eyes nearly bursting with rage. These were soldiers from his own command, men from his own prefecture—some even familiar faces. And now, one by one, they had become headless ghosts!
Howling in fury, Li Min thrashed against his restraints, shouting accusations at Xu Rong for breaking his word.
But Xu Rong remained unmoved, his hands resting on his ring-pommeled sword. He cast a cold glance at Li Min and said indifferently, "Did I ever promise you mercy?"
Li Min was stunned into silence.
Had Xu Rong explicitly promised to spare them if they surrendered? No—but wasn't that how things were supposed to work?
If prisoners were slaughtered after surrendering, who would ever surrender again?
Li Min stomped his feet and roared, "You treacherous dog! May you die a wretched death!"
Xu Rong snorted. "Whether I die or not remains to be seen—but your death is certain."
Li Min froze for a moment, then lifted his head defiantly. "A true man fears not death! My only regret is failing to slay a villain like you with my own hands!" With that, he spat at Xu Rong in contempt.
Xu Rong glanced down at the spittle staining his robes, his expression finally flickering. He ordered a large cauldron brought forth, then had a bonfire lit on the riverbank. Using water from the bloodied Ying River, the cauldron was placed over the flames and brought to a boil.
Then, he turned to Li Min and said, "Step into the cauldron—if you please."
Beside Li Min, Zhang An threw himself to the ground. Though his hands were bound, he kowtowed repeatedly, heedless of the riverbank's sharp stones cutting into his forehead, blood streaming down his face. "Let me take Lord Li's place!" he begged Xu Rong. "I implore you, General, grant me this!"
Xu Rong's lips twitched. He studied Zhang An coldly before replying, "You wish to be boiled as well? Very well—bring another cauldron."
Another large pot was promptly set up, a second fire kindled beneath it.
Li Min struggled to Zhang An's side and, though unable to use his hands, helped him up with his body.
The two men leaned against each other and smiled, showing no trace of fear.
Li Min sighed softly. "I regret not heeding your counsel. To think it would come to this… and now I've dragged you down with me."
Zhang An shook his head with a faint smile. "Do not dwell on it, Lord Li. Though we were not born on the same day, today we shall be boiled together—a tale worth telling, is it not?"
Li Min threw his head back and laughed, repeating, "Not born on the same day, but boiled together! Well said, well said…"
Then, with unwavering resolve, the two strode toward the cauldrons. Until their last breaths, they never uttered a word of plea—only curses against the traitors who had brought them to this end.
Once they had perished, and the remaining Yingchuan soldiers had all been executed, Xu Rong gave the order to withdraw. Alone, he retrieved Li Min's discarded sword and stood before the cauldron where Li Min had met his fate. After a long silence, he used his sleeve to wipe the mud and grime from the blade, then planted it upright in the ground before the cauldron.
Without another word, he turned and walked away.