"Hurry! Move faster!"
East of Lower Quyang, a Han force of roughly three thousand soldiers advanced through the darkness, torches blazing in their hands.
Upon receiving Huangfu Song's orders, Zong Yuan had immediately begun assembling his army. However, a full mobilization of ten thousand troops in the dead of night would take too long. Left with no choice, he set out with the three thousand men already gathered, leaving his deputy behind to bring up the rest.
After all, capturing an empty city would require little force.
Mounted atop his horse, Zong Yuan fixed his gaze on the shadowy outline of the city walls just a hundred paces ahead. Grappling hooks clung to the battlements as soldiers climbed swiftly upward.
Moments later, the men atop the walls shouted down:
"General! The city is empty!"
Overjoyed, Zong Yuan spurred his horse forward and led his troops into the city.
The streets lay silent.
Abandoned grain, fodder, tents—supplies were scattered everywhere, as if the Yellow Turbans had fled in utter panic.
"The rebels have truly fallen this low!" Zong Yuan laughed loudly, waving his hand. "Collect everything!"
Ordinarily, such a scene—flammable materials piled high—would have aroused suspicion. But in his excitement, he dismissed it as the enemy's hasty retreat.
A soldier bent down and picked up a sack, frowning.
"Why is this so light?"
He tore it open—
Dry grass.
Kindling.
"General—!"
"Ignite!"
Before the warning could fully leave his lips, flames erupted.
Torches flared to life from both sides of the street. From rooftops, alleys, and courtyards, countless Yellow Turban soldiers surged forth like ghosts in the night.
"Throw!"
At Zuo Bao's command, hundreds of flaming torches arced through the air.
The streets exploded into fire.
Bundles of oil were hurled into the flames, and in an instant, the inferno spread wildly, devouring everything in its path.
"We've been tricked! Retreat! Retreat!"
Zong Yuan's face drained of color as he shouted frantically.
Chaos erupted.
The front ranks scrambled to flee, while the rear ranks pushed forward, unaware of the trap. At the narrow gate, men collided, trampled one another, and screamed as the flames closed in.
Only after dozens were burned alive and hundreds crushed underfoot did the survivors finally escape the city.
Outside the gates, Zong Yuan stared back at the blazing inferno, his shock slowly settling into grim realization.
"Huangfu Song said Zhang Bao led all his forces out… then who set this ambush?"
Before he could finish the thought, a scout rushed forward.
"Report! Thousands of Yellow Turbans are crossing the river at the north gate!"
Zong Yuan's eyes widened.
"Then the force at the west gate… was a decoy!"
Understanding struck him like lightning.
"The ones who left the west gate were just the old, weak, and wounded! The real elites stayed behind, waiting for us to take the bait!"
"Zhang Bao himself may not even be there!"
He clenched his teeth.
"We've fallen into their trap."
"Quick! Regroup! We must stop them from crossing the river!"
The exhausted Han soldiers groaned inwardly. Dragged from sleep, forced to march over ten li, ambushed, burned—and now ordered to fight again.
But orders were orders.
As they moved toward the north gate, a force suddenly burst from the darkness.
Hu Cai's voice rang out:
"Where do you think you're going? You've fallen into our commander's trap! Surrender now and live!"
"Kill!"
The Yellow Turbans roared as one.
In the darkness, unable to gauge the enemy's numbers, the already shaken Han troops broke.
"Hold formation! Hold—!"
Zong Yuan tried to rally them, but it was useless.
The soldiers' will had collapsed.
With a bitter sigh, he turned his horse and withdrew.
Hu Cai did not pursue. Instead, he led his men to link up with Zhang Niujiao.
At the north gate, Zhang Niujiao's troops had already crossed the river. Over five hundred men formed ranks along the northern bank, securing a foothold as more forces poured across.
The Han camp lay just five li away, clearly visible in the night.
Suddenly, its gates burst open.
Han soldiers charged out.
A Quhou (company commander) turned to Liu Bei and said, "I'll lead the attack. You hold the rear."
Liu Bei nodded. "Understood."
Though eager to fight, he knew better than to act rashly. If the forward force failed and the Yellow Turbans broke through, the consequences would be disastrous.
Better to let the regular troops engage first.
The battle began.
Steel clashed. Shouts filled the night.
Zhang Niujiao roared:
"We have no retreat! If we fail, we die here! The Blue Heaven is dead—the Yellow Heaven shall rise!"
Driven to desperation, the Yellow Turbans fought like cornered beasts. The Han troops could not break them.
Liu Bei watched carefully from horseback, searching for an opening.
Then—
More Yellow Turbans appeared from the west.
His heart sank.
"Our army is finished…"
If those reinforcements joined the fight, the Han troops would be crushed from both sides.
Retreat?
Impossible.
For a fleeting moment, the thought of escape crossed his mind—but he immediately crushed it.
If he fled, Zou Jing would have him executed.
He gripped his weapon tightly, filled with regret.
"If only Yun Chang or Yi De were here…"
But there was no time for regret.
With a deep breath, Liu Bei led his men forward into the fray, while dispatching a rider to call for reinforcements—hoping, against hope, to hold out just a little longer.