After marching for nearly two hours, Zhang Xinjun reached the Huangyangting area.
Huangyang Pavilion lay at the border of Julu Commandery and Zhongshan State, with Anping to the east and Changshan to the west. Ten miles to the north was Hanchang County of Zhongshan, sixty miles northwest lay Wuji County, and a hundred miles east stood Anping Kingdom. It was a crucial crossroads.
Though the area was once lush with trees, war had driven away its people. Fallen leaves blanketed the road in thick, undisturbed layers.
Zhang Xin surveyed the surroundings before issuing orders. "Have Zuo Bao, Hu Cai, and Li Le lead three thousand men to escort the craftsmen and their families to Wuji. Once we secure Wuji, send someone to request grain from the Zhen family."
Zhang Niujiao frowned in confusion. "General, Hanchang is only ten miles ahead. Why not rest and reorganize there first? The soldiers have fought all night without food or water. They're exhausted—if we don't find supplies soon, they may mutiny."
Zhang Xin shook his head. "Hanchang is only forty li from Xiaquyang. Cavalry can reach it in an hour. If we enter the city, Huangfu Song will send riders after us. How will we escape then?"
He paused, then added, "Tell the men to endure a little longer. Once we reach Wuji, they'll have their fill."
"Yes, sir," Zhang Niujiao replied, scratching his head. "Then… what are my orders?"
Zhang Xin pointed at the thick carpet of fallen leaves. "You and I will lead two thousand men and set an ambush here. We'll win another battle."
West of Xiaquyang, Zhang Bao led the remnants of his army—just over a thousand men—holding out atop a mound. They were surrounded by dense ranks of Han troops that launched relentless assaults.
From a distant rise, Huangfu Song watched the battle unfold, his expression grim rather than triumphant.
The previous night, a massive fire had engulfed Xiaquyang. Even from over twenty miles away, he had seen the flames rising into the sky. Yet, out of caution, he had not sent reinforcements in the dark, instead dispatching scouts to gather information.
None had returned.
Just as unease began to settle in, his guards reported that scouts sent by Zong Yuan had arrived.
"Bring them in at once," Huangfu Song ordered.
Two scouts stepped forward. One had been sent in the middle of the night, forced to move slowly in the darkness. The other had departed at dawn from the North Gate and rushed ahead, arriving at roughly the same time.
They took turns reporting.
When Huangfu Song heard that five thousand Yellow Turbans had exited through the North Gate, his expression darkened.
"A feint to the east while striking in the west… luring the tiger from the mountain," he muttered. "Since when did Zhang Bao have such a strategist? Quickly—summon Li Jue and Guo Si!"
The two generals soon arrived and saluted. "General, your orders?"
Huangfu Song quickly explained. "Zong Yuan is building a pontoon bridge at the North Gate. Take your cavalry, cross the river, and pursue the rebels. They carry no supplies—they will surely target Hanchang. If they reach the city first, hold the roads and wait for the main army."
"Yes, sir!"
After they departed, Huangfu Song ordered the frontline troops to intensify their assault.
The Han army surged forward again and again. Zhang Bao's forces dwindled rapidly—one thousand, eight hundred, five hundred, three hundred…
Half an hour later, Commander Fu Xie arrived, presenting a severed head.
"General, the enemy is dead!"
Huangfu Song barely glanced at it. "That's a fake."
Fu Xie froze. "General, this is truly Zhang Bao! Before his death, his soldiers wept and cried out his name. Then he took his own life. How could a decoy inspire such loyalty?"
Huangfu Song's interest sharpened. He ordered several captured Yellow Turban soldiers to be brought forward. One after another, they confirmed the identity.
Still unconvinced, Huangfu Song retrieved an official portrait and compared it carefully.
After a long silence, realization dawned.
"Good… good… good!" His voice trembled. "The Yellow Turban Rebellion is over!"
The gathered officers broke into smiles, offering their congratulations. After six months of brutal warfare across multiple provinces, the end had finally come.
Yet doubt lingered in Huangfu Song's mind. Who had been at the North Gate—someone worth Zhang Bao sacrificing his life to protect?
_____________________________________________________________________________________________________
Meanwhile, Li Jue and Guo Si led over a thousand cavalry across the hastily built pontoon bridge, galloping in pursuit.
As they reached Huangyang Pavilion, disaster struck.
Hidden beneath the thick fallen leaves were tripwires.
Li Jue, at the front, was thrown violently from his horse. The riders behind him crashed into one another, unable to stop in time. Horses stumbled, men fell, and chaos erupted.
"Attack!"
Zhang Xin's voice rang out.
Yellow Turban soldiers sprang up from both sides of the road, emerging from beneath the leaves. They hurled stones, then spears, striking the disoriented Han cavalry before they could react.
The first wave attacked, then fell back as a second wave charged forward, surrounding the vanguard.
Zhang Xin himself rushed toward Li Jue, spear in hand. He had marked the enemy commander from the start.
"Guo Duo, save me!" Li Jue cried in terror.
Zhang Xin lunged—
—but a blade whistled past his face. Acting on instinct, he rolled aside just in time.
Guo Si had arrived.
Zhang Xin retreated a few steps, and by the time he looked again, Guo Si had already hauled Li Jue onto his horse.
The two broke through the encirclement.
"Retreat! Retreat!" Li Jue shouted.
The Han cavalry fled like a receding tide.
Seeing this, Zhang Xin called out, "Lay down your arms and you will be spared!"
The remaining dismounted cavalry hesitated—then surrendered.
After the battle, over three hundred Han soldiers lay dead. More than three hundred warhorses were captured, along with fifty prisoners. The Yellow Turbans suffered minimal losses.
Zhang Xin beamed with satisfaction.
In those times, horses were priceless—vital for farming, transport, and war. And warhorses were rarer still.
"We're rich! We're rich!" he laughed, stroking Li Jue's mount. The Xiliang warhorse was far superior to his old one.
Once the battlefield was cleared, Zhang Xin ordered the army to move toward Hanchang. Though the cavalry had retreated, Han infantry still followed behind. Zuo Bao's group, burdened with families and craftsmen, moved slowly—he needed to draw the enemy away.
After only a few miles, snow began to fall.
Zhang Xin caught a snowflake in his palm, feeling its chill before bursting into laughter.
He knew then—the Han army would not pursue any further.