Chapter Forty-One: A Thousand Breaks a Hundred Thousand (Part Two)

After the Yellow Turban camp was thrown into chaos, their fighting strength plummeted instantly. With Iron-Willed Pig clearing a path, Xu Kang and his companions encountered almost no resistance as they charged toward the northern gate. At the same time, Zhao Hong and Zhang Cheng led their men in attacks from the left and right gates of the Yellow Turban encampment, setting fires and cutting down banners along the way, further plunging the camp into disorder.

The air was filled with shouts and cries of battle, screams echoed everywhere; even as Xu Kang and his group gathered at the northern gate, the camp remained engulfed in turmoil. Glancing at the gate within arm’s reach and surveying the chaos all around, Zhao Hong saluted Xu Kang with admiration.

“My lord, you truly are a man of divine talent! Let us seize this moment to break out and escape!”

“No!” Xu Kang shook his head before Zhao Hong had even finished speaking. “We cannot leave just yet!”

Zhao Hong was confused, but Zhang Cheng understood Xu Kang’s intent, his eyes lighting up.

“My lord means…to press our advantage and strike again?”

“Haha, exactly!” Xu Kang laughed, pointing toward the tangled mass of Yellow Turban soldiers nearby. “Look, the camp is in even greater disarray than I anticipated. If we leave now, they’ll soon regroup; should they pursue us, we’ll be in serious trouble.”

With this explanation, Zhao Hong nodded in understanding. “Then…we continue the assault?”

“Yes—not only must we fight, but we must burn their provisions, destroy their command tents, and crush them completely!” Xu Kang clenched his fist, then turned to Zhao Hong.

“Zhao Hong, hear my command: lead the cavalry to cut down banners and torch tents, prioritize killing those carrying torches to maintain the chaos among the Yellow Turbans. Return before dawn!”

“Yes!” Zhao Hong replied, riding off with his cavalry once again into the heart of the enemy camp.

After Zhao Hong departed, Xu Kang issued new orders to Zhang Cheng.

“Zhang Cheng, I command you to hold the gate with the remaining men. I will search for the Yellow Turbans’ granaries and command tents. Until Zhao Hong and I return, you must defend the northern gate without fail!”

“My lord, you must not!” Zhang Cheng’s face changed at Xu Kang’s words, protesting immediately. “This is too dangerous! Let me and General Zhao handle it, you should remain here and await news!”

“Haha, I cannot sit idly by!”

Seeing Zhang Cheng’s anxious expression, Xu Kang laughed heartily, patting his shoulder.

“Don’t worry—I’m not so easy to kill. Don’t forget, I am a general appointed by heaven!”

With that, he struck the ground with his spear and shouted loudly.

“Come forth, my heaven-sent steed—Invincible Galloper!”

At his call, his armored warhorse appeared at his side, neighing fiercely.

After summoning his mount, Xu Kang swept his spear, and with Iron-Willed Pig—its body drenched in blood—charged once more into the chaotic Yellow Turban encampment.

Seeing this, Zhang Cheng could only sigh in resignation, instructing his troops to guard the gate and await Xu Kang and Zhao Hong’s return.

Holding the northern gate posed no difficulty for him; beyond it lay Chenliu, so even if some Yellow Turbans tried to flee, they would not head north, but rather escape through the other three gates.

His reasoning proved correct.

As Xu Kang and Zhao Hong rampaged through the camp, many Yellow Turban soldiers fled through the east, west, and south gates, including the commander of the camp, Peng Tuo.

Born a common farmer, Peng Tuo had won his post through sheer bravery, but he lacked the military acumen of a true general. After escaping the camp, he made no attempt to scout the enemy or counterattack; instead, under cover of night, he led his men toward the town of Changshe.

Traveling at night was difficult, and dawn had broken by the time he reached the borders of Changshe County, where he met the Yellow Turban commander in charge, Bo Cai.

Upon seeing Bo Cai, Peng Tuo immediately recounted how his camp had been attacked by the imperial army, begging for reinforcements.

Unlike Peng Tuo, Bo Cai possessed remarkable military talent; he had single-handedly raised the Yellow Turban forces in Yingchuan and was adept in strategy and analysis.

After hearing Peng Tuo’s story, Bo Cai frowned.

“Lu Zhi’s army is besieged by us at Changshe. If the court sends reinforcements, they will surely come to relieve Changshe, not launch a night raid on your camp. Even if a raid occurred, they would not let you escape so easily. The force that struck you must have been fewer than five thousand men.”

“Fewer than five thousand? Impossible!” Peng Tuo’s eyes bulged as he argued, his face flushed with anger. “The Han army used fire attacks to destroy my camp—I barely escaped with fifty thousand men! No mere five thousand could do this; the Han army must have numbered at least fifty thousand, all hardened veterans!”

Bo Cai, seeing Peng Tuo’s agitation, chose not to argue further. He nodded.

“Very well, let’s say the Han army has fifty thousand elite troops. You have fifty thousand men left; I’ll give you another fifty thousand, making a hundred thousand to pursue and punish them. Is that acceptable?”

“Excellent!” Peng Tuo readily agreed, delighted.

But dividing troops was not a matter accomplished in a few words; counting men and distributing provisions took considerable time. By the time everything was settled, dusk had already fallen.

Seeing the late hour, Bo Cai advised Peng Tuo to depart the following day, letting his weary soldiers rest. But Peng Tuo, contemplating a night raid of his own, refused Bo Cai’s counsel, and with his newly reinforced hundred thousand strong army, marched on Chenliu, arriving before his former camp.

Yet the scene he had anticipated—confrontation with the Han army—did not materialize. Before his eyes lay only a scorched, unrecognizable encampment; nothing else remained.

Even the corpses that had littered the ground the previous night had vanished.

As he stood bewildered, the scouts he had sent ahead returned, carrying a tattered military banner.

“Commander, I found this Han army flag in the camp, but…”

“But what?” Peng Tuo’s brow furrowed at the soldier’s hesitation. “Speak plainly, hand me the flag!”

“Yes, sir!”

The Yellow Turban soldier hurriedly presented the banner. Upon receiving it, Peng Tuo saw emblazoned on it a black pig’s head; beneath it, a crude rhyming verse was scrawled:

“I have Iron-Willed Pig, to terrify Peng Tuo’s heart,
A night raid on Yellow Turbans, one thousand defeats ten thousand!”

“Outrageous—such humiliation!”

Reading the verse, Peng Tuo’s eyes widened with fury. He threw the Han flag to the ground and roared to the heavens.

“Send word—pursue this Han army for me! I swear I will tear that so-called Iron-Willed Pig to pieces!”

“Yes, sir!”