Chapter 43: The Stunning Blade at Wancheng (2/5)
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An hour had nearly passed since Wei Yan left the camp.
The encampment was eerily quiet; everyone seemed calm, as if nothing could stir their emotions. Yet Deng Ji could sense a strange undercurrent in this crude, hastily constructed camp—a mixture of oppression and a faint aura of impending violence.
Perhaps, for the warriors of Yiyang, the sounds of battle and carnage had become routine.
On the surface, all appeared tranquil. But whereas weapons would normally be gathered and set aside during rest, now everyone held theirs firmly in hand.
Deng Ji strolled around the camp, exchanged a few words with Tang Ji, then returned to his tent.
With Wei Yan absent, Deng Ji, as the acting adjutant, was now the highest authority in the camp. This was his first time bearing such responsibility; he felt a trace of nervousness, yet also a flicker of excitement. Two armies at a standoff, locked in mortal combat—this was the dream of every man. Though Deng Ji was a scholar, he too had nursed such ambitions in his youth.
“Tiger-head, go get some rest.”
Wang Mai had scarcely rested all day, tirelessly following Deng Ji from task to task.
Now, having finally sat down, fatigue began to overtake him. After all, at just fourteen years old—sixteen at most by the old reckoning—he truly was ill-equipped for such strain.
“Adjutant Deng, I’m not tired!”
“Nonsense. Even I’m weary—how could you not be?” Seeing Wang Mai’s stubbornness, Deng Ji’s face hardened, and he barked, “Go and rest! Who knows what tomorrow will bring? If you’re worn out, how will you keep your strength?”
“But Ah Fu told me not to leave your side.”
“Ah Fu answers to me. If you obey him, you must obey me as well—or face military discipline.”
Deng Ji’s sharp tone finally won Wang Mai’s reluctant compliance.
But once Wang Mai had departed, Deng Ji fell into deep thought.
Cao Peng’s warning to Wang Mai had filled Deng Ji with unease. He knew that, though young, Cao Peng was a cautious man. Had he discovered something? If so, shouldn’t he have told Deng Ji directly, rather than instructing Wang Mai to never leave his side?
This suggested that even Cao Peng was unsure what might happen...
The more Deng Ji pondered, the more uneasy he became.
He stood, stretched his chest, and glanced at the suit of lamellar armor hanging in the tent. Then, turning to the tent’s central pillar, he took down his iron sword.
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Cao Peng’s face was pressed into the blood-soaked mud.
Around him echoed shrill cries of agony and Wei Yan’s furious roar.
“What villain dares ambush us? Come out and face your grandpa Wei in three hundred rounds if you have any courage!”
A clamor of footsteps thundered from the direction of the redwood grove, mingled with shouts that rushed in like a wave: “Don’t let the traitor Wei Yan escape!”
Cao Peng was unhurt, but lay sprawled beside a corpse, face down and motionless.
A heavy boot stamped on his back, nearly knocking the wind from him. But still he lay flat, unmoving...
The sudden attack had left Wei Yan and his men reeling.
After the first hail of arrows, over half of the twenty spearmen lay dead. The survivors, each wounded to some extent, fought on grimly. Wei Yan, disheveled, brandished twin broadswords, blades whirling so fast not even water could pass through his defense. While batting away the feathered arrows, he cursed furiously. Before he could finish, a troop burst forth from the redwood grove. All were saber-wielders, left hands gripping hooked shields, right hands clutching Han-style ring-hilted sabers. Their armor looked familiar—Wei Yan instantly recognized them as Jingzhou soldiers.
But the leader at their head shocked Wei Yan most of all.
“Wei Ping?”
The youth at the fore halted and gave a sly, cold laugh. “Older brother, surprised to see me...?”
“Surprised about what?”
“Surprised that I’m still alive!”
Wei Yan’s brow furrowed, his voice sharp. “Wei Ping, what nonsense are you spouting?”
“Nonsense?” Wei Ping threw his head back and laughed. “Brother, after all that’s happened, you still don’t see? Today—all of this—was my design. These men, too, I demanded from Lord Deng. Lord Deng, remember him? The one you wounded at the Jiunü City camp.”
Wei Yan looked around. On his side, only a handful could still fight.
Two were gravely wounded, unable to lift their weapons. Of the rest, three more nursed arrow wounds, barely able to stand ready.
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“Wei Wenbo, what exactly are you trying to say?”
“What am I saying?” Wei Ping sneered. “No wonder the Yiyang warriors have turned out like this under your command—you're truly a fool. My father founded the Yiyang troops with his own hands. Even if he is gone, I should command them. Why should you give the orders? Back on Wuling Mountain, you left my father to die in the chaos, all to seize command of the Yiyang forces. Wei Wenchang, don’t pretend to care about brotherhood before me... I’ve long wanted you dead.”
His eyes blazed like a tiger’s.
“You accuse me of coveting power and plotting my uncle’s death?”
“Isn’t it so?”
Wei Yan stared at Wei Ping, then suddenly burst into wild laughter.
He laughed so hard he leaned on his twin swords, tears streaking down his face.
“A mere company of Yiyang troops—why would I be attached to such a thing?
General Wen Zhongye once invited me to Xiangyang, and I refused! Do you think I clung to power? Wei Wenbo, you underestimate me. If not for these brothers who have bled with me, why would I care about this petty post? Under Wen Pin I could at least be a captain; with luck, perhaps even a commander of a thousand. But you...”
Growing more impassioned, Wei Yan suddenly drew his left sword, slashing his tunic in two with his right.
“Wei Ping, from this day forth, we are no longer brothers. Today, I will avenge my brothers’ deaths!”
At Wei Yan’s words, Wei Ping’s face turned to iron. But before he could reply, the last remaining spearmen snapped to attention, raising their spears, shields level with their brows, stepping forward as one.
Wei Yan’s eyes glistened with tears.
He glanced at Wei Ping, then raised one sword to his chest, the other skyward.
“Enemy attack!”
“Yiyang warriors, forward!” The nine spearmen stepped forward in unison, their voices booming.
Before Wei Yan could speak again, the spearmen advanced two more steps. “Spearmen to the fore—none shall stand before us!”
The enemy had a whole troop.
On their side, not even a full squad.
Yet even so, the nine Yiyang warriors erupted with a fighting spirit that sent chills through the air. The grove was thick with the reek of imminent death—a murderous will forged in countless battles.
Wei Ping narrowed his eyes and drew a command token from his belt.
“By order of the Yellow Registrar: Wei Yan has conspired with the traitor Cao to plot rebellion. By command of my lord, I am to execute him. The rest of you will not be punished if you obey. Soon, I will reorganize the Yiyang unit and restore the glory of our warriors. You were all my father’s brothers-in-arms; you were deceived by Wei Yan, and I do not blame you. It’s not too late to turn back. Persist in following the traitor, and you will be put to the sword!”
Wei Yan stood as if struck by lightning, motionless.
He held his twin swords, his mind blank... I am a traitor?
His straight back sagged. After years of fighting for Liu Biao, in the end, he was labeled a rebel?
No one noticed that, behind Wei Ping and his men, the corpse beside Cao Peng twitched almost imperceptibly.
Cao Peng thought to himself: So it truly was Huang She!
But his target should have been me; what did Wei Yan have to do with it? Now, even if he killed Wei Yan, it wouldn’t affect me. Wait... He’s calling Wei Yan a traitor—could it be...?
A sudden suspicion struck Cao Peng.
“Wenchang, look at our brothers lying dead here. We followed you because you are a man worth following... Now that it’s come to this, don’t break our hearts.”
The leader of the spearmen turned and shouted.
Then, to Wei Ping, he said, “Wei Ping, the reason we chose Wei instead of you is simple—we don’t trust you. We fought beside your father for years, but you’d kill us without a blink. You’re a snake, not worthy of trust.
Brothers, what are we?”
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“Yiyang warriors!”
“Do you remember our oath?”
“When the enemy attacks, warriors lead the charge!”
“What kind of soldiers are we?”
“Spearmen!”
The leader’s eyes burned with killing intent as he strode forward. “Spearmen to the fore!”
Wei Yan’s eyes reddened.
Raising his twin swords, he leapt into the fray. “None shall stand before me!”
“None shall stand before me!”
The shouts of the spearmen and Wei Yan rang out as one, echoing above the redwood grove.
Wei Ping’s face twisted with rage. Gripping his saber, he growled, “Fools—kill them all!”
At his command, fifty Jingzhou soldiers charged, sabers flashing as they surged toward the Yiyang warriors.
Wei Ping stood his ground, coldly smiling as he bellowed, “Kill them all—leave none alive!”
His voice was nearly hoarse, frantic with fury. But he knew well how fearsome these warriors could be when provoked. Hardened by countless battles, they feared nothing. For the Yiyang troops, death was a release.
To many, the Yiyang warriors were mere unruly thugs. But Wei Ping understood—these men had long since put aside fear of death.
In the past, brothers and fathers fought side by side.
Over six years, they had grown numb to the deaths of friends, comrades, and kin.
Thus, nothing mattered to them anymore—only the oath that once bound them.
Such men, once roused to battle, were a force of destruction. As a former Yiyang warrior himself, Wei Ping knew this all too well.
Yet, for all their ferocity, they were hopelessly outnumbered.
The enemy surged forward, and it became a desperate fight—three or four to one. Wei Yan was beset by more than a dozen shield-bearers, their long sabers gleaming as they hacked and stabbed. Wei Yan’s swords whirled, filling the air with deadly arcs, crossing blades with the enemy. All around, screams rang out—the dying cries of both friend and foe.
Wei Yan’s eyes burned with bloodlust. With a clang, his left blade knocked aside a shield, and he feinted forward; the defender dodged, only for Wei Yan to suddenly twist and slash waist-high. His razor-sharp blade tore through a Jingzhou soldier’s armor, carving a ghastly wound across his chest. The enemy fell back with a scream.
The surrounding Jingzhou troops shouted as they surged in, trapping Wei Yan at the center.
The nine spearmen, along with the two gravely wounded, fell one by one in pools of blood. Yet the Jingzhou troops paid a grim price—nearly twenty of their number were slain by the dying warriors’ hands.
But the slaughter only fueled the Jingzhou men’s savagery.
On the field, only Wei Yan remained, a cornered beast still fighting. He was truly formidable—he had already cut down seven foes...
Wei Ping chuckled coldly.
He had been waiting for this—for the chance to kill Wei Yan with his own hands.
But knowing Wei Yan’s prowess, he had held back, biding his time.
Now his moment had come.
Wei Ping drew his sword and strode forward.
Suddenly, soft footsteps sounded behind him. Wei Ping’s heart skipped. He spun, slashing blindly, but struck only air... Out of the corner of his eye, he glimpsed a flash of cold steel. And as he saw that gleam, a voice hissed in his ear:
“You don’t even spare your own brother—how can you command men? Go chase your dreams of glory in hell…”
With the words, the cold blade swept past his throat.
Wei Ping could distinctly hear the faint sound as the blade sliced through his skin.
A spray of blood burst from his neck. Wei Ping’s eyes widened, his face frozen in disbelief: Who has killed me?
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