Snow blanketed the land as far as the eye could see.
A large army, clad in white, trudged forward through the bitter cold.
"Phew… Commander."
Zhang Niujiao exhaled, his breath turning to mist as a grin spread across his face. "Yuyang County is only thirty miles ahead. The men can finally get some proper rest."
Zhang Xin allowed himself a faint smile. After more than twenty days of relentless marching, they were finally nearing their destination.
Since the ambush at Huangyang Pavilion, Zhang Xin had regrouped with Zuo Bao and advanced toward Wuji County. Seeing their arrival, Wuji surrendered without resistance, opening its gates at once.
After entering the city, Zhang Xin strictly forbade his troops from harassing the civilians. He then personally led men to the Zhen family estate, where he successfully "borrowed" large quantities of grain and fodder.
The army rested in Wuji for two days before marching north again.
To avoid Han forces stationed in Zhuojun and Guangyang, Zhang Xin chose a longer but safer route—passing through northern Zhongshan into Daijun, then crossing Shanggu before heading toward Yuyang.
With his sizable force, neither bandits nor local militias dared approach. The journey remained uneventful.
Until now.
"Report!"
Several riders emerged from the snowy distance and galloped toward Zhang Xin. The lead scout saluted and spoke urgently:
"General, a village one mile ahead has been slaughtered!"
Zhang Xin's expression hardened.
Youzhou, a frontier region, had always been unstable. Tribes such as the Xianbei, Fuyu, and Goguryeo often raided its lands, while groups like the Wuhuan committed violence even within its borders. Combined with desperate bandits driven to crime, chaos was everywhere.
Zhang Xin had passed more than a dozen looted villages along the way—but never one completely massacred.
"All of them?" he asked grimly.
The scout nodded, his face pained. "No women remain. Only the bodies of men… and even the children were not spared."
Zhang Xin's eyes turned cold with killing intent. "Yang Yi, come with me. We'll see for ourselves."
"Yes, General."
Yang Yi, once a Han officer captured at Huangyang Pavilion, now served under Zhang Xin after being won over through both strict discipline and generous promises.
Zhang Xin led a hundred cavalrymen into the village.
The stench of blood hung thick in the air.
Corpses lay scattered across the ground. Homes had been ransacked, valuables taken, leaving behind only broken wooden basins and shattered ceramic bowls.
"General! We found a survivor!"
A soldier brought forward a young boy, no more than ten years old. His clothes were torn and caked with mud, his small body trembling as fear filled his eyes.
"Don't be afraid," Zhang Xin said gently, dismounting. "We are Han."
He removed his cloak and wrapped it around the boy.
"Was it the Hu tribes who did this?"
The boy nodded rapidly, clutching the cloak.
"Do you know how many?"
"I… I don't know…" the boy stammered. "I only heard horses… then my mother hid me…"
At that moment, Yang Yi rode up.
"General, there are hoofprints in and around the village. Judging by the snow that's fallen into them, they left about fifteen minutes ago. Around sixty riders. Should we pursue?"
Zhang Xin didn't hesitate.
"Of course we pursue."
He lifted the boy onto his own horse, then turned to a soldier. "Have Zhang Niujiao bring men to bury the dead."
"Yes, sir!"
Zhang Xin mounted up, raising his spear high.
"Men! Follow me—we will slaughter those barbarian dogs!"
"Kill them!" the soldiers roared.
The troops surged forward, fury burning in their hearts. Many of them had grown up in poverty and knew too well the suffering of common folk. Others, especially those from Xiliang, had seen their families' hard-earned stores stolen by raiders time and again.
Their hatred ran deep.
____________________________________________________________________________
Less than half an hour later, they found their prey.
Just as Yang Yi predicted, there were around sixty riders—Wuhuan tribesmen. They rode casually, laughing, with stolen grain and bedding strapped to their horses. Behind them, captured women were forced to ride.
"Prepare for battle," Zhang Xin ordered coldly.
He lowered his spear and spurred his horse forward. The cavalry thundered behind him.
The Wuhuan turned at the sound—panic flashed across their faces as they saw armored Han cavalry bearing down on them.
They tried to flee.
But burdened with loot and captives, their horses were too slow.
The distance shrank rapidly.
In desperation, the Wuhuan pushed the women from their horses and threw aside their plunder.
Too late.
"Draw your bows!" Zhang Xin shouted. "Mounted archery!"
The cavalrymen drew their short bows and released a storm of arrows.
They fell like rain.
The Wuhuan leader's face drained of color.
"Where did these Han cavalry come from?" he cried. "They're all skilled mounted archers!"