Zhang Xin spotted a force of soldiers charging toward him in the distance. He quickly reined in his horse and raised his spear.
"Form ranks!"
The Yellow Turban soldiers halted at once and assembled into formation.
On ancient battlefields, formation was everything. Without it, an army was nothing more than a flock of lambs awaiting slaughter.
Most Yellow Turban commanders came from humble backgrounds and lacked formal military training. Though they often outnumbered the Han forces several times over, they were still cut down with ease.
Zhang Xin had witnessed such scenes countless times during the past six months of rebellion.
So when he trained his troops, he not only enforced discipline using later military methods, but also drilled them in formations.
He didn't know any sophisticated tactics—but a basic square formation was well within his grasp.
Seeing this, Liu Bei also ordered his troops to form ranks about three hundred paces away.
Soon, both sides were ready.
Without hesitation, Zhang Xin gave the command.
"Advance!"
One hundred and fifty steps… one hundred… fifty… thirty…
Even in the dim light of night, the distance was enough for Zhang Xin to make out his enemy clearly.
This was a Han force clad almost entirely in cloth armor. Their garments were so colorful that they resembled Yellow Turbans more than his own men.
Even their commander wore only leather armor.
Clearly, this was a hastily assembled volunteer force.
"This battle is already won."
A faint smile appeared on Zhang Xin's lips.
An army's combat strength depended greatly on its armor.
The higher the armor coverage, the stronger the force.
During the Han Dynasty, an average army had only 30–40% iron armor coverage. Anything above that was considered elite.
Those without iron armor relied on leather or cloth.
An army like Liu Bei's—entirely in cloth—was the lowest tier.
Even with training, they stood little chance against iron-clad troops.
Among Zhang Xin's men, three hundred were fully equipped with iron armor.
Liu Bei saw the armored front line and felt his heart sink.
Twenty steps.
"Charge! Raise your weapons!"
At Zhang Xin's shout, the Yellow Turbans surged forward.
The moment the two forces collided, the difference became clear.
Han soldiers' blades barely scratched the armored Yellow Turbans, while the Yellow Turbans' weapons tore through their enemies with ease.
In a single clash, the Han formation collapsed.
"The tide has turned…"
Liu Bei sighed, then turned his horse and fled, leaving his men behind.
"Trying to escape?"
Zhang Xin had been watching him closely. He immediately spurred his horse in pursuit.
It wasn't that he recognized Liu Bei's identity—only that a mounted officer must not be allowed to escape and report back.
The Yellow Turbans had not fully crossed the river yet. The longer the Han army remained unaware, the better.
Zhang Xin charged forward but was briefly blocked.
Though poorly equipped, the Han soldiers fought bravely. For every man he cut down, another stepped forward.
As Liu Bei's figure began to fade into the night, Zhang Xin made a sudden decision.
He tightened his grip on the reins, rose in the stirrups—
"Die!"
—and hurled his spear.
Liu Bei galloped ahead when a sudden, searing pain pierced his back.
He looked down in disbelief at the spearhead protruding from his chest.
"So… this is how I, Liu Bei, die…?"
He turned back, eyes wide, and saw a young Yellow Turban general standing atop his horse some forty paces away, staring coldly.
"He can stand on horseback…?"
Liu Bei fell.
Seeing this, Zhang Xin raised his voice.
"The Han commander is dead! Surrender now!"
Hearing this, the volunteer troops lost all will to fight.
"Liu Jun is dead!" they cried, scattering in all directions.
As Liu Bei's forces collapsed, Qu Hou panicked. Zhang Niujiao seized the moment—charging forward, leaping from his horse, and cutting him down in a single stroke.
The Han army was utterly defeated.
The Yellow Turbans pressed the attack, and the battlefield filled with cries of despair.
By dawn, all the Yellow Turban forces on the south bank had crossed the river.
Zhang Niujiao, now riding Qu Hou's warhorse, rode up to Zhang Xin, his face full of excitement.
"General! The Han camp is stocked with food! The brothers won't go hungry anymore!"
This time, his tone carried genuine respect.
Before, he had looked down on Zhang Xin, thinking him too young—promoted only through Zhang Bao's favor.
Though he obeyed orders, he had never truly accepted him.
But after last night's battle, he finally understood.
With the same five thousand troops that once failed to cross the river, Zhang Xin had not only succeeded—but also defeated the Han army twice, killing hundreds.
This young general was no ordinary man.
Zhang Xin, however, frowned as he watched soldiers rushing to loot supplies.
"Pass my order: assemble immediately and march north. No provisions are to be taken from the Han camp."
Zhang Niujiao was stunned. "Why? The men fought all night—they need food!"
"And if we lose our heads, what will we eat?" Zhang Xin replied coldly. "The Han army should already be on its way. If we burden ourselves with supplies, they'll catch us within two hours."
Before he finished speaking, a Han force appeared on the south bank.
Zong Yuan had spent the night gathering scattered troops, managing to regroup just over a thousand men. With morale broken and darkness hindering them, he could do little more than report back and reorganize.
By the time he reached Xiaquyang, the Yellow Turbans had already crossed the river.
Without boats, the Han army could only watch helplessly from the shore.
"Look," Zhang Xin said, gesturing south.
An army of more than ten thousand stretched across the land—even from miles away, its scale was unmistakable.
Zhang Niujiao turned and felt a chill run down his spine.
"I'll relay the order immediately!"
He rode off at once.
Zhang Xin then summoned a guard and ordered him to recall Zuo Bao.
The previous night, Zhang Xin had secretly ferried a thousand men across the river, leaving five hundred behind. Once Zuo Bao arrived, they were to lie in ambush and cut off Han reinforcements.
But fortune favored them—the ambush had never been needed.
Soon, the Yellow Turban army regrouped and began marching north.
On the southern bank, Zong Yuan could only stand and watch as Zhang Xin led his forces away in triumph.