Chapter Forty-Five: The Campaign Against the Yellow Turbans (VII)

"Master—!"

The room was instantly filled with the anguished cries of the gathered disciples. Zhang Baiqi, in particular, kowtowed nine times in the direction of Zhang Jiao’s chamber.

“Everyone, though our master has ascended to the heavens, the fate of the Yellow Heaven now rests in our hands. The imperial army outside the city is strong, but Master left us his final command: after one great battle with the imperial troops, we are to lead our followers from the city into the mountains. There, we shall wait for chaos to erupt across the land, and then emerge to build a paradise on earth!”

“These were indeed Master’s words, but how do you propose we proceed? Will you make the decision?” The speaker was the man who had earlier brought news—another of Zhang Jiao’s disciples, though more gifted in martial prowess, serving as captain of Zhang Jiao’s personal guard.

Among those in the room, apart from Zhang Baiqi, only his authority was second to none.

“I cannot say for certain. Brother Guan, do you have a better plan?” Zhang Baiqi looked at Guan Hai, resolved in his heart that the master’s burial was the true priority.

“Since you ask, I’ll speak my mind!” Guan Hai unrolled a map. “In recent days, the imperial troops have focused their attack on one city gate. We should divide into three groups and break out through three gates, taking only elite soldiers, leaving the noncombatants behind. We’ll strike hard first, so the imperial army understands our strength! Since they are few, they won’t chase us into the mountains for the sake of some meager credit. But there’s one condition—Master’s body must remain in the city.”

“Guan Hai!” Zhang Baiqi glared at him. “What, do you mean for Master’s head to be claimed by the imperial army? For him to find no peace even in death? Have you forgotten his kindness?”

“Of course not!” Guan Hai met his gaze without flinching. “I was Master’s personal guard; you are his closest disciple. One of us must remain in the city, so the imperial forces believe Master’s body is still here!” He fixed Zhang Baiqi with a stare. “Will you stay?”

“Why wouldn’t I dare?” Zhang Baiqi slapped the table and stood. “I’ll remain in the city, but Master’s body must be buried! Will you see to it?”

With a cold snort, Guan Hai replied, “I may not know the rites, but you can instruct me! Or are you afraid for your own life, unwilling to remain behind?”

Without another word, Zhang Baiqi tore a strip from his mourning garb, bit his finger, and wrote with his own blood. “This is the method for concealment—the location and timing are all here. Tonight, I will lead the troops in an assault against the imperial army. You take Master and leave!”

Guan Hai examined the cloth. “I’ll fight my way out; you see to Master’s burial. There are experts among the Han troops—if you go, it’s certain death. The rest of you, return to camp and ready the troops!”

Once Guan Hai and his men had left, Zhang Baiqi watched their retreating figures with a sigh. “Prepare the troops and horses! To the south gate!”

Outside the city, Lu Zhi regarded the bamboo scroll in his hands with a dark expression. At his side, another man, face even more dour, slammed his cup on the table.

“Lu Zigang, don’t be so ungrateful! The Yellow Turbans of Yingchuan have already been vanquished, and you’ve besieged this city for how long? How many times has the Emperor inquired? You’re growing arrogant from your own achievements!” The man’s voice had a peculiar tone, especially at the end, as if he were lacking in energy.

“Hmph!” Lu Zhi snorted. “It grows late. Your Excellency should return to your tent and rest; you’ll not lack for food tonight!”

“Lu Zigang! Just you wait!” With a vicious glare, the man swept his sleeves and strode out.

Sun Meng and Liu Bei entered soon after.

“Master, that eunuch only wants a bribe. Should I offer him something and buy us a few more days?” Liu Bei asked tentatively, seeing Lu Zhi’s displeasure.

Lu Zhi waved him off. “He’s nothing but a dog of the eunuch faction. My conscience is clear; why lower myself to curry favor with such as him? Be on your guard tonight. I suspect the Yellow Turbans are planning something big!”

“Yes, sir!”

That night, the gates of Guangzong City opened, and Guan Hai, leading the Yellow Turban officers and elite soldiers, quietly exited.

“Tonight, we raid the camp—not to kill, but to throw the imperial army into chaos and buy time to move Master’s body. Don’t get bogged down in battle; when two incense sticks have burned, everyone breaks through separately! If the imperial troops regroup, no one will escape alive.” With a wave, Guan Hai led the army charging toward the Han camp.

“For the Great Teacher, to avenge him!”

With a thunderous shout, Guan Hai and his men reached the gates of the Han camp.

Inside, Sun Meng’s eyes snapped open, surprise flickering across his face. “I didn’t expect the Yellow Turbans to really attack! Has Lu Zhi’s spiritual cultivation broken through?” Only a few nights before, their night defenses had not been so thorough; to be so prepared tonight, unless there was a traitor, could only mean Lu Zhi’s command was near supernatural.

“Lu Zhi, you old thief—face your doom!”

The Yellow Turbans burst into the camp, but in the immediate vicinity, there was no response. Still, the Yellow Turban soldiers and officers, seized by the moment, began killing and looting, looking for an escape and a better life elsewhere.

A sense of foreboding gripped Guan Hai, but seeing the other leaders already separated, he said nothing more. With his men, he fought toward the east side of the camp—he had no intention of returning to the city.

“Yellow Turban scum, you’ve fallen into our trap!”

Hearing the distant shouts of imperial troops, Guan Hai knew time was short. “This way! Follow me!” He brandished his blade, spurred his horse, and charged east.

At that moment, Sun Meng stepped out of his tent.

“Ah, Guan Hai! Sooner or later, he’ll die anyway—better that he doesn’t bring disaster to Qing Province.” With a casual arrow, Sun Meng shot down several mounted Yellow Turban officers, then soared toward Guangzong City.

“Just as Lu Zhi predicted—the city’s protective formation now relies entirely on the soldiers’ spirit energy.” Sun Meng drew a specially crafted arrow, made from materials he’d collected along the way, capable of containing half his internal energy. Against Guangzong’s city defenses, it would pierce straight through.

“This bow is wasted on killing men; finding things is its true purpose! Now, hit the coffin containing Zhang Jiao’s body!”

The silver gleam shot from his hand, piercing through the city’s spiritual barrier and slowing as it did.

But then, the arrow flew out of the city again—what was this? Did Zhang Jiao’s body move on its own?

“No, that can’t be! Was Zhang Jiao not buried inside Guangzong?” Sun Meng pondered, then gave chase, his own energy marking the arrow’s path.

Meanwhile, Zhang Baiqi, leading three thousand men out of the city, was suddenly struck by a sense of dread. He looked up to see a silver light descending from the sky.

“What is that?” Zhang Baiqi swung his sword, sending a gust of wind—a probing spell, not powerful but sufficient to test the threat.

What happened next astonished him: the silver light circled around, then dived again, this time targeting his master’s coffin.

“Damn it!” Rage surged within Zhang Baiqi. He spurred his horse, leapt high, and chanted under his breath. A talisman affixed to his sword ignited into flame, slashing toward the silver light.

With a blast, the internal energy embedded in the arrow exploded, throwing Zhang Baiqi to the ground. Before he could react, the arrow accelerated, and when he looked up, a spear-like arrow was already embedded in Zhang Jiao’s coffin lid.

“Cursed fiend! Who did this?” Zhang Baiqi rose unsteadily, but suddenly recalled something and reached for a talisman to cast a spell—only to be struck through the throat by an arrow.

A rain of spirit-charged arrows fell. The Yellow Turban soldiers, just regaining their wits, hurriedly gathered Zhang Baiqi’s body and Zhang Jiao’s coffin, intending to return to the city.

But by now, Sun Meng was not about to let this achievement slip away.

He shot down more than a dozen Yellow Turban soldiers near the coffin, then wielded his bow like a blade, sending a wave of energy that scattered the remaining enemies. Hoisting Zhang Jiao’s coffin, he soared away.

In the Han camp, the Yellow Turban troops, sensing disaster, scattered in all directions, many slain or captured. The chaos lasted until dawn’s first light.

Sun Meng descended from the sky, placing the coffin on the ground. At that moment, Lu Zhi stood before the Yellow Turban prisoners. Seeing what Sun Meng had brought, a smile broke over his face.

Without hesitation, he pried open the coffin lid. “The bandit chief Zhang Jiao is dead! Will you not surrender?”

With that, he drew his sword and severed Zhang Jiao’s head, holding it up for all to see.

At once, the Yellow Turban prisoners fell to their knees in tears.

“Well done, Brother Zigang! If you’d told me you could take Zhang Jiao’s head today, I wouldn’t have needed to report anything. Do you think I, Zuo Feng, would betray you?” Zuo Feng bustled forward, all smiles. “Since Zhang Jiao is dead and the city has fallen, let us return together to the Emperor, so I may recommend you for honors!”

His demeanor had none of the previous malice, as if he’d never wished Lu Zhi harm.

Lu Zhi, of course, paid him no mind. “Order all troops—prepare food and ready for entry into the city!”