Chapter 43: A Crown Raised in Fury for Love (Part 2)

Having seen Miss Wang’s lifeless body, Zhang Chi’s mind was consumed by a single thought: to kill Cang Huai and avenge her death.

Once inside Jiankang, leaving the city would be no easy feat. That was why, while still outside the walls, Ding Yizhi had gathered everyone to devise their plan. General Che Yin, though he had urged Wang Guobao to open the gates, had never intended for the Way of Five Pecks of Rice to storm and seize Jiankang amidst the chaos as they now had. He would, without doubt, be holding out with a small contingent, defending the palace citadel with unwavering resolve.

If only they could kill Cang Huai—then the city’s imperial guards would be left leaderless. Zhang Chi could join forces with Che Yin’s troops and launch a full counterattack, which would surely rout the enemy; as for the Way of Five Pecks of Rice’s rabble army that filled the city, they would be swept aside with ease, incapable of real resistance.

Such was the perennial flaw of peasant uprisings throughout the ages: their initial momentum might be earth-shaking, sending ripples across the land, yet they never endured. Ultimately, they were always trampled beneath the iron hooves of warlords, much like the Yellow Turban Rebellion at the end of the Han dynasty.

The reasons were not hard to grasp. Among the rebel followers of the Way of Five Pecks of Rice now flooding Jiankang, most were mere peasants, stirred to revolt by the cult’s allure. But what did these followers truly understand? No sooner had they entered Jiankang than they fell to looting and plundering, utterly devoid of military discipline. When faced with the crucible of battle, how could such an army hope to prevail?

They relied solely on overwhelming numbers, surging forward in a frenzy. Yet even if their power flourished for a moment, they could never hope to rule the realm.

It seemed inevitable that he must side with those who suppressed the peasant uprisings. Zhang Chi reflected on this quietly. He felt no qualms about it; though every history textbook he’d read as a student had cast the peasant uprisings as the righteous cause, Zhang Chi had never believed it. In his view, unless a rebellion managed to found a true dynasty, it was nothing more than banditry.

Even the last great peasant rebellion in China’s history was no different.

Zhang Chi had never carried a weapon, but now he fetched a blade for himself, turned his horse, and called his companions to march on the palace citadel. Seeing Du Ximing’s shoulder streaming with blood from a sword wound, he asked, concerned, “Brother Du, is your injury serious?”

Du Ximing tore a strip from his sleeve and roughly bound his shoulder, his expression unchanging. “It’s nothing,” he replied, then swung himself onto his horse, spear in his one good hand, and led the charge toward the citadel.

Five miles north from the Vermilion Bird Gate brought them to Xuanyang Gate. By now, the fighting there had ceased—Cang Huai’s army must already have taken it. The situation was dire: only by striking with a surprise force and killing General Cang Huai could Jiankang be saved. In the chaos of battle, only a daring, unexpected attack could hope to reach him. Anxious, Zhang Chi spurred his horse to the head of the group, rushing to Xuanyang Gate.

A garrison general of the imperial guards saw them thundering toward the gate and spurred his horse forward, shouting from afar, “Who goes there?”

“I am Zhang Chi, adjutant under General Cang Huai, here by order to aid the battle!” Zhang Chi shouted back.

White Snow, his horse, was swift as the wind. When Zhang Chi spoke his first word, he was still dozens of yards away; by the time he finished, he was already at the general’s side. As the saying goes, all is fair in war. The general, hearing Zhang Chi claim to be under Cang Huai’s command, hesitated in confusion—too late. Zhang Chi struck without warning, his blade flashing, and cut the man down at the throat.

With hardly a pause, he had slain their leader, sending his soldiers surging with renewed courage. Zhang Chi pressed on, scattering the defenders, bursting through Xuanyang Gate. Not much farther, they reached the final barrier before the palace: the Grand Marshal’s Gate.

The citadel of Jiankang was ringed by three walls, eight miles in circumference. In accordance with ancient custom, it faced south; the Grand Marshal’s Gate was the main southern entrance. Now, before this gate, corpses were piled in heaps, blood running like a river.

General Cang Huai was leading tens of thousands of imperial guards in the assault. If they broke through the Grand Marshal’s Gate, the palace would be defenseless; once inside, they could seize the Emperor and Prince Sima Daozi of Kuaiji, thus bringing Jiankang completely under their control.

—

By now, Zhang Chi and his men were close to the city gate. The assault was even more ferocious than he had imagined—arrows darkened the sky, the ground above and below the walls was littered with the dead and dying. Cang Huai’s troops were battering the gate with great wooden rams; it would not be long before the gates gave way.

Zhang Chi knew that if he was to kill Cang Huai, it would have to be now, in the confusion of battle. Like a dagger thrust at the heart, he must charge through tens of thousands to reach his mark. Any delay, and the chance would be lost forever.

“To battle!” Zhang Chi roared, leading his troops into the fray.

These five thousand men, following Zhang Chi, had triumphed time and again against superior numbers, even defeating the famed and undefeated Northern Garrison. Their morale soared, and their faith in Zhang Chi was absolute. Faced with overwhelming odds, they did not falter but charged forward with Zhang Chi and Du Ximing at their head.

General Cang Huai, overseeing the battle at the city gate, suddenly saw a column of riders charging from behind. Among the two leading figures, Zhang Chi was unmistakable on his white horse in blue robes. Far from alarmed, Cang Huai smiled slightly. He had been contemplating how best to kill this “Heaven’s Secret”—and now his quarry had come straight to his blade. How could he not be pleased?

“Order the army to halt the assault and kill ‘Heaven’s Secret’ first,” Cang Huai commanded his aide.

He had his reasons. Even if the assault paused, those trapped within the Grand Marshal’s Gate were still his caged prey. The chance to slay “Heaven’s Secret” was too precious to miss—his previous ambush in the Chu Mountains had failed to finish the job. Now that fate had brought them together again, he would not let his quarry escape.

But this time, Zhang Chi had no intention of fleeing. He was here for Cang Huai’s death, charging straight into the battlefield.

Dao Xuan, fearing that Zhang Chi would have no time to defend himself amid the chaos, hurried to his side, doing everything to shield him from enemy attack. Zhang Chi, understanding Dao Xuan’s intentions, called out, “Don’t mind me! Do whatever it takes to kill Cang Huai. His death is our salvation—fail, and none of us will leave here alive!”

Dao Xuan nodded, recognizing the truth of these words. Together, they spurred their horses toward General Cang Huai. The general’s guards, however, were no ordinary soldiers—they were highly disciplined, raising their shields in unison to form an unbreakable wall. As the two men charged, a forest of spears suddenly thrust forward—not aiming for the men, but for their horses.

In the melee, such a coordinated attack was impossible to avoid. Fortunately, White Snow was agile; as the spears shot out, the horse leapt aside, dodging the bristling points. Even so, breaking through was nearly impossible.

Dao Xuan’s mount was not so nimble. In an instant, it was pierced by countless spears and collapsed. Dao Xuan knew that even his superior martial arts were useless against such military formations. If he fell, another coordinated thrust would be his end.

Thinking quickly, Dao Xuan used his dying horse as a springboard, vaulting high into the air.

His martial prowess was extraordinary, and his lightness skills remarkable—none of the soldiers had ever seen such a feat. Astonished as they were, the formation did not break; no matter how high or far he leaped, he would eventually have to land. The guards were well-trained, instantly raising their spears in anticipation. Unless Dao Xuan could hang in the air forever, the moment he landed, even his skills would not save him from being impaled a dozen times over.

Du Ximing, fighting with one arm in the chaos, was ferocious as ever. Seeing Dao Xuan in peril, he shouted, “Let me help you!” and hurled his spear—not at the enemy, but toward Dao Xuan in midair.

—

The spear sailed toward Dao Xuan, who, having no foothold in the air, could not linger. As the weapon flashed beneath him, he stepped on its shaft, borrowing the force to propel himself several more yards forward, landing behind the enemy lines.

Raising his gaze, Dao Xuan saw General Cang Huai not far ahead. Drawing his sword, he struck down two guards who charged at him, then made straight for Cang Huai.

Dao Xuan and Cang Huai were nearly matched in skill. Yet Cang Huai was mounted, wielding a long lance, while Dao Xuan had only a single sword. He could not close the distance and had to contend with both the lance’s reach and the trampling hooves, dodging left and right in a desperate struggle.

Du Ximing, now weaponless, was in grave danger. A general without arms could hardly charge or defend; his wounded shoulder made matters worse. Only his experience and agility kept him alive, dodging frantically through the melee.

The three were so eager for vengeance that they had charged ahead of their troops, who were only now catching up. Zhang Chi knew that only the surprise of their assault could bring down Cang Huai; once the enemy rallied, their small force would be devoured. But if they meant to strike by surprise, they must be willing to risk their lives.

Breaking this formation would come at a heavy cost, but Zhang Chi was no sentimentalist. With a fierce shout of “Charge!” he led his soldiers into a headlong assault.

The front ranks of the formation raised heavy shields; any who approached were met by a bristling wall of spears, inflicting terrible losses. Yet Zhang Chi knew that hesitation would only increase their casualties. As the enemy’s spears thrust out, still not yet withdrawn, Zhang Chi shouted. White Snow surged forward, hooves striking a heavy shield and knocking its bearer to the ground. Using the fallen soldier’s body as a step, they broke into the formation.

With White Snow sowing chaos within the ranks, the formation wavered. Zhang Chi’s soldiers pressed forward, breaking through. Seeing a bloody path open before him, Zhang Chi charged straight for General Cang Huai.

Though weaponless, Du Ximing did not hesitate; vengeance for Miss Wang demanded everything. He followed Zhang Chi without a second thought.

Cang Huai could scarcely believe his eyes as Zhang Chi broke through his elite guards. But his true target was not Dao Xuan—it was “Heaven’s Secret,” Zhang Chi. Seeing Zhang Chi charging, he ignored Dao Xuan, leveled his lance, and bore down on his quarry. Dao Xuan, no longer menaced by the mounted general, seized the opening, leapt forward, and stabbed his blade into Cang Huai’s horse.

The steed died instantly. Eager to kill “Heaven’s Secret,” Cang Huai, as the horse collapsed, used the stirrup to vault himself forward, caring for nothing else—his lance still aimed straight at Zhang Chi.

But because his horse fell abruptly and his footing was unstable, the force of his thrust was weak. Although the lance’s momentum was diminished, Zhang Chi, unskilled in martial arts, would still be hard-pressed to withstand it.

In that split second, White Snow could not possibly turn; Zhang Chi was about to be impaled. Du Ximing, seeing this, acted without thinking. He jerked his reins, bringing his horse in from the side, placing himself between Zhang Chi and the oncoming lance.

The weapon struck before he could react—Du Ximing had no spear to parry, and it was too late to dodge. The lance drove straight into his chest.

“Brother Du!” Zhang Chi cried in anguish as Du Ximing was thrown from his horse, flying more than a yard before crashing to the earth, motionless. Struck through the chest by the lance, he was surely dead.