Chapter 85: Seizing Command Alone (Part Two)

Zhang Chi and Dao Xuan had just ridden their horses down the mountain when Dao Xuan asked, “How do we assassinate the enemy’s commander? Brother Zhang, do you have a plan?”

“There’s no real plan—let’s see how things go,” Zhang Chi replied candidly, shaking his head. “If we can kill or capture their commander, that would be best. Without their leader, their forces will be thrown into chaos, and San Tong, Jiu Niang, Miss Ruoshui and the others will have a better chance to escape. But if we fail at the first strike, we’ll have to break out and escape on horseback, then think of something else.”

Dao Xuan nodded. In truth, it was nearly impossible to seize an enemy commander amid a massive army, but he had an idea. “What if we lie in wait on the route, keep an eye on their command flag, and strike suddenly? If we succeed, all the better; if not, we trust Baixue’s speed and make our escape.”

“Agreed. Let’s do that.”

Having settled their plan, the two headed directly south. The imperial army was still more than ten miles away. From the mountain top they could see the billowing dust of troop movements, but even at a gallop it would take time to catch up.

Zhang Chi was careful not to exhaust his horse. He knew that whether they were assassinating the commander or breaking out, Baixue’s stamina would be their lifeline, so he didn’t ride too quickly at first. After nearly half an hour, they finally caught sight of the enemy’s vanguard in the distance.

It was often said in ancient times that some warriors could “take the head of a general from amidst a million troops as easily as taking something from a pocket,” but such tales were greatly exaggerated. No matter how skilled, a single man could not really stand against a whole army. Zhang Chi harbored no such illusions about himself. As he realized they were about to encounter the enemy’s forward forces, he first surveyed the surrounding terrain.

The area was a series of rolling hills—not especially high or steep, but enough to make large-scale maneuvers difficult. Only this stretch was broad and open, so the enemy would almost certainly pass through here. With this in mind, Zhang Chi urged his horse up a hillside and hid among the trees.

He was right in his prediction: Sima Yuanxian’s main force was to the south. As the imperial marshal, Sima Yuanxian’s role was to give orders, not charge into battle personally, so he was stationed at the rear to command. The remnants of the Five Bushels of Rice Sect were as good as captured; suppressing the southern rebels would be another major achievement. Sima Yuanxian was in high spirits.

But there is a flaw in early fame—youth brings instability. In terms of military prowess, Sima Yuanxian was perhaps little inferior to veteran generals, but he was far too prone to arrogance.

As the Art of War says: “An arrogant army is doomed to defeat.”

That was exactly Sima Yuanxian’s state. The imperial army had just seized Shanyin in a flash, then Sima Yuanxian laid a trap to the northeast, forming a ring around the enemy. Once the cavalry trampled the rebels, not a single member of the Five Bushels of Rice Sect would survive.

Night was falling. At first Sima Yuanxian had worried that advancing too quickly would tip off the enemy and allow them to escape the encirclement. But now that the trap was set, the arrogance of youth made him see his opponents as already dead men.

“Send word—advance at speed!” Sima Yuanxian commanded from horseback, brimming with confidence.

“Marshal, the terrain here is rugged and it’s already late. There may be an ambush—perhaps we should not hurry,” a cautious general beside him advised.

Sima Yuanxian laughed loudly. “An ambush? The Five Bushels of Rice Sect has already lost most of its forces under the walls of Shanyin. Only a tenth or so escaped, now fleeing east like stray dogs. They’re surrounded here—who could they possibly have left to lay an ambush?”

He ignored the warning and ordered the army to quicken its pace. Sima Yuanxian was not wrong in his calculations, but he could never have imagined that at this very spot, a tiny ambush awaited him—consisting of only Zhang Chi and Dao Xuan.

The vanguard had passed. In the darkness, Zhang Chi glimpsed the enemy’s command flag halfway down the slope. Dao Xuan could not help but remind him, “Brother Zhang, they’re coming.”

Zhang Chi nodded. “When they reach the foot of the hill, we charge straight for the command flag. Whether we succeed or not, do not get entangled—if we’re caught by their main force, we’re both dead.”

Dao Xuan understood and nodded in agreement. Zhang Chi said no more, holding his breath and focusing his mind. When the command flag drew close, just below them, Zhang Chi suddenly slapped his white horse’s flank. In an instant, the two men and one horse shot from the trees, charging downhill with the momentum of high ground—swift as a bolt of lightning. A streak of white flashed through the night, and they had already reached the foot of the hill.

Baixue, the spirited steed, headed straight for the command flag. By the time the soldiers below realized what was happening, the two riders were already upon them.

With the order to advance at speed, the imperial formation was stretched out in a long line through the hills. Zhang Chi and Dao Xuan thus faced only a handful of enemies at first.

The imperial troops were well-trained and did not panic. Instinctively, the soldiers on the flanks raised their long spears, but Baixue did not slow. In truth, it’s easier to ride up a hill than down—it’s hard to stop such a rapid descent, even if one wished to.

A wall of spears bristled ahead. If they crashed into the soldiers, Baixue would be skewered in an instant. But then, a piercing whinny rang out like a dragon’s roar. Baixue leapt into the air, using the downward slope for momentum, soaring as if winged—a hawk swooping for prey—straight toward the command flag.

No one had expected two riders and a horse to suddenly burst from the mountain, let alone that the horse would be so magnificent. This was no mere leap—it was almost a glide across the distance. Sima Yuanxian, young and inexperienced, was stunned by the sight of the snow-white horse seeming to fall from the sky, coming directly at him.

“Protect the marshal!” Though Sima Yuanxian was young, his officers were battle-hardened. One general hurried his mount to shield Sima Yuanxian. As Baixue landed, Zhang Chi thrust his spear—one general who had just rushed forward to block was struck full in the chest, toppled from his horse.

How strong was Zhang Chi? It hardly mattered. With Baixue’s momentum, the spear carried the force of a thousand pounds. The fallen general’s chest caved in; he died instantly, fresh blood spurting from his lips.

But that single blow stalled Baixue’s charge. Several more generals now blocked Sima Yuanxian’s way.

Striking down a commander in the enemy’s midst—if one failed at the first blow, there was seldom a second chance. Zhang Chi knew this well. He turned to retreat but found the army already closing in. In the distance, archers were nocking arrows. The imperial army’s discipline was no empty boast—it was uncertain whether escape was even possible.

A general blocked Zhang Chi, spear aimed at his heart. Dao Xuan parried with his saber, but in that fleeting instant, two arrows whistled through the air. Dao Xuan tried to shield himself, but another general thrust a spear at him. He could not recover his saber in time—an arrow struck his left shoulder, and Baixue was hit in the leg.

Two hands cannot fend off a hundred. Surrounded by so many, peril was everywhere. Dao Xuan realized that if things went on like this, they would soon be riddled with arrows. In the nick of time, he came up with a plan. He pressed a hand to Zhang Chi’s shoulder and called, “Brother Zhang, I’ll seize the enemy commander so we can escape!”

No sooner had he spoken than Dao Xuan, gritting his teeth against the pain, vaulted up, using a spear thrust at him as a springboard. He leapt high over the heads of the blocking generals, straight toward Sima Yuanxian.

Sima Yuanxian, seeing Dao Xuan descend like a god from the heavens, was terrified. He had no long weapon in hand and reached for his sword, but Dao Xuan landed on his horse, saber at his throat. “Order your men to drop their weapons and bows, and I’ll spare your life!”

Famed from youth, Sima Yuanxian had never faced such terror. The cold steel against his throat chilled him to the bone. Panicked, he shouted, “Drop your weapons! Do not shoot!”

The surrounding soldiers dared not act rashly, and instead encircled Zhang Chi and Dao Xuan. Dao Xuan said nothing, merely pressed the blade a little closer. Sima Yuanxian, fearing for his life, cried, “I am the marshal! Who dares disobey? Fall back, all of you!”

A general’s order is law. Sima Yuanxian was the chief commander; with his command, who would dare refuse? The soldiers withdrew.

Zhang Chi, seeing that Dao Xuan had captured Sima Yuanxian alive—an even greater prize than killing him—rode up alongside Dao Xuan. “Marshal, I ask that you order your men to withdraw.”

Sima Yuanxian, now completely at their mercy, dared not refuse. “Transmit my command—order the army to withdraw… withdraw!”

As the order went out by fast horse, Zhang Chi smiled. “And we must trouble the marshal to escort us to a safe place. We will not harm you; once we are safe, you may return unharmed.”

He turned and called out to the soldiers, “The marshal is gracious—he will see us safely on our way. We will return him unharmed. But if you dare pursue, the marshal’s life will be forfeit!”

Then he turned to Dao Xuan. “Let’s go.”

None of the soldiers could believe that two men, in the midst of an entire army, had taken their commander captive. It had all happened in a flash, like a dream. The soldiers were silent, watching Zhang Chi and Dao Xuan ride away, not knowing what to do.