Chapter Eighteen: Caught Between Two Forces

When a great fire blazed up in Zengyang Hamlet, the villagers of Huangmen Pavilion immediately took notice. Believing an accidental fire had broken out, they began to beat gongs and drums, gathering people together for a rescue. Yet before they even reached the scene, the first villager sent ahead to investigate came running back, face pale with terror, shouting madly about a massacre.

The truth quickly spread: a band of marauders was slaughtering at will in Zengyang Hamlet—every last villager had been killed. At once, all of Huangmen Pavilion was thrown into chaos. The elders of the Deng and Shen clans received the news, and they, too, wasted no time: orders rang out for the clan militia to assemble and prepare for defense.

The Han people had always been renowned for their martial spirit and fierce local customs. Nowhere was this truer than in Qingzhou and Xuzhou, regions famous for producing able warriors—Xiang Yu, the Hegemon-King of Western Chu, hailed from this very land. In the waning years of Han, it belonged to Xiapi County, Xuzhou, known in later times as Suqian in Jiangsu province.

Though they did not yet know the identity of their attackers, the clan elders swiftly mustered their kinsmen. In short order, over two hundred able-bodied men, selected as clan levies, gathered under the Deng and Shen banners. Command was given to Deng Zhao, eldest son of Deng Mao, a man of thirty-four who, in his youth, had campaigned with Zhang Wen in the west against Han Sui and Ma Teng. Though only a common border trooper, like Shen Zhen, he had seen battle and was chosen as a captain of the levy.

In the Han system, five men made a squad, two squads a section, five sections a company, two companies a battalion—one battalion comprised a hundred men. Shen Zhen and another member of the Deng clan served as battalion leaders. The three hurried to the clan shrine, ordering the levies to arm themselves for battle.

Meanwhile, after Cao Ren had finished his bloody work in Zengyang Hamlet and found the horses had been set loose by Shen Chen, he gave chase. But encountering Liu Bei and his party on the road, he decided to withdraw. At the same time, Deng Zhao and his two hundred kinsmen were already marching toward Zengyang Hamlet.

On the road, the two sides met. From afar, Cao Ren saw a large force blocking the way. Besides Deng Zhao and Shen Zhen’s men, other villagers from Huangmen Pavilion had come to join the fray. Yet most of these levies and villagers, though ablaze with righteous fury, were poorly armed—no better than the earliest of the Yellow Turban rebels. Some wielded hoes, others mattocks or carrying poles, a few had bronze knives. The best equipped among them carried slender boning knives.

Iron was scarce in the Han, and the state monopolized salt and iron mines. Thus, iron tools in the countryside were rare; most utensils and farming implements were made of stone or bronze. Stone hoes, stone knives, rakes of stone or bronze—any family that possessed an iron kitchen knife was considered wealthy. Archaeological finds from Han tombs bear this out—even the “Cook’s Kitchen Scroll” depicts bronze knives.

The Deng and Shen clans had sold family property to buy up raw and wrought iron to forge weapons, but in these times, iron was a strategic resource, and even with every effort, their harvest was meager. Thus, their actual fighting strength was quite limited.

In the dark, Cao Ren could only see a sea of torches in the distance and hear the thunderous roar of battle cries, making him hesitate, uncertain. Soon, though, he realized these could not be elite troops. Tao Qian’s army was at Shan County, and even if they had set out, it was impossible to arrive in mere moments. Clearly, these must be local militia—nothing to fear.

Settling his mind, Cao Ren shouted, “Soldiers, heed my command! These are but villagers ahead—now is our chance to slaughter them all at once and save ourselves the trouble of wiping out each hamlet one by one!”

“Yes, sir!”

Cao Ren’s troops were battle-hardened veterans, their morale unshaken. At the very front of the villagers surged the few who actually possessed genuine Han ring-pommel sabers—former soldiers, trained and courageous, though few in number. Led by them, the rest of the villagers swept forward like a tide, their numbers exceeding four hundred—a numerical advantage.

“Kill them!”

“Vengeance for our kin!”

“Let none escape!”

Amid furious, desperate shouts, the two sides crashed together.

At first contact, both sides suffered casualties. The villagers’ weapons were poor, but Cao Ren’s men wore no armor; the front ranks on both sides were all former soldiers, and a saber cut could kill either way. Yet Cao Ren’s men were in their prime, while the villagers were mostly retired soldiers—many over forty, the youngest in their thirties, long out of practice. Thus, the villagers suffered far more. Of forty-odd warriors in the lead, nearly half fell in moments, while only a dozen of the enemy died—a stark contrast.

As a battalion leader, Shen Zhen fought at the fore. Shielded by a kinsman, he flanked a Cao soldier, driving his blade into the man’s side. The soldier, fierce even in death, grasped the embedded blade with his left hand and, with his right, swung at Shen Zhen’s head. Fortunately, Shen Zhen’s years as a hunter had kept him agile. When his blade was caught, he let go and leaped back, dodging the strike. His kinsman seized the moment to slash the enemy’s throat, ending him.

Immediately, another Cao soldier lunged from the left. Shen Zhen, now unarmed, and his kinsman, blade still stuck, had no time to react. In that instant, several peasant warriors behind them swung hoes and rakes at the foe’s head.

Truth be told, these villagers could not match Cao’s troops in killing efficiency. Yet in the chaos, the soldiers found themselves at a disadvantage—the Han ring-pommel saber, at eighty centimeters to a meter twenty, was of medium length, no match for the longer farm tools, some of which stretched to a meter and a half or even two. While not as monstrous as the legendary rake of Pigsy, the villagers enjoyed the reach of longer weapons.

As the saying goes, “an inch longer, an inch stronger.” In a head-on clash, the villagers could strike first. Thus, a storm of agricultural tools battered the enemy—there was a sense of “wild fists can fell a master.”

But the true difference between trained troops and village levies lay in discipline and teamwork. Shen Zhen and his kinsman fought in concert, veterans of many battles, but the farmers swung wildly, turning the fight into chaos. Soon, Cao Ren’s men adapted, working in pairs, and the villagers’ losses mounted—three or four had to die for each enemy killed, an appalling ratio in this age of swords.

The villagers were faltering, on the verge of collapse.

Then, from behind Cao Ren’s men, the sound of hooves rang out.

“Zhang Yide of Yan is here! People of Huangmen Pavilion, fear not—the governor’s reinforcements have arrived!”

With his thunderous voice, Zhang Fei had been tasked with rallying the villagers. Hearing that help had come, Deng Zhao’s spirits soared. “Kinsfolk, reinforcements have arrived! Kill them—avenge our kin!”

“Vengeance! Vengeance! Vengeance!”

“Slaughter them all!”

“Charge!”

The villagers, hearts ablaze, surged forward once more.

Cao Ren’s brow furrowed—he had never imagined he would be pinned down by mere villagers. Seeing pursuers at his rear, he gritted his teeth: “Kill them all!”

Yet even Cao Ren’s troops were not made of iron. They had marched dozens of miles in a night raid, ravaged Zengyang Hamlet, spent their strength, and now found themselves entangled with determined villagers, their arms heavy, their blades slow.

Suddenly, Liu Bei and a dozen cavalrymen burst into the rear of Cao Ren’s formation, scattering the soldiers like wolves among sheep. Guan Yu, Zhang Fei, and Zhao Yun, tigers unleashed, swept left and right with saber, spear, and sword, slaying more than a dozen in moments and charging forward.

Under Zhao Yun’s protection, Shen Chen saw firsthand the dreadful power of master warriors: before entering the melee, Zhao Yun had surveyed the field. Four Cao soldiers stood in a wedge—one to each side, two behind. This was a classic pocket formation. If Zhao Yun plunged in, the sides would part, the center feign attack, and while he was distracted, one would strike his horse, another would attack his flank.

But Zhao Yun saw through this ruse. He turned his horse and thrust at the rightmost soldier, whose chest was pierced before he could react, blood spurting. Without pause, Zhao Yun ripped the spear free, struck left, then weaved his weapon like a painter’s brush, flecking the scene with crimson as if dotting red blossoms upon a snowy bough.

In that instant, Shen Chen tasted the joy of Ah Dou—though shielded by a warrior, he marveled that Zhao Yun’s movements were utterly unimpeded, his technique unmatched, his horsemanship flawless; in the blink of an eye, four men fell, and still he moved with ease.

Not only Zhao Yun—Guan Yu, Zhang Fei, and even Liu Bei, wielding his paired swords, moved like dragons and serpents, each stroke claiming a life, scattering Cao Ren’s men.

The Youzhou cavalry charged in behind them, breaking Cao Ren’s rear line. In just three or four minutes, forty or fifty enemy soldiers lay dead or wounded.

“Cao Ren!”

From afar, Liu Bei spotted a familiar face amid the turmoil. Recognizing him, he shouted with fury, “You dare return to this place?”

Earlier, the two had clashed at Lanling County; Liu Bei had bested Cao Ren before suffering defeat himself. In the chaos, they had crossed swords at close quarters—had it not been for his guards, Cao Ren would have fallen to Guan Yu’s blade.

Who could have guessed that, in the dead of night, Cao Ren would sneak into Huangmen Pavilion to slaughter the villagers?

Guan Yu’s brow darkened. “Cao Ren,” he said coldly, “last time you escaped by luck. This time, you will die beneath my blade!”

Cao Ren was stunned to discover that the pursuers were none other than Liu Bei, Guan Yu, and Zhang Fei. He already knew, from previous battles, how fearsome these three were. Even when his own side held the advantage in numbers, Liu Bei’s ragtag force had nearly defeated him. Now, terror-stricken, he spurred his horse and fled.

The outcome was already decided: his way forward blocked by villagers, his rear thrown into confusion by Liu Bei’s cavalry. Of his original force of nearly two hundred, fewer than a hundred remained.

There was no hope of turning the tide. Cao Ren made his decision at once: abandoning his soldiers, he gathered a handful of mounted guards and, under their protection, broke out of the encirclement in a desperate bid for escape.

Seeing this prize slip away, Liu Bei, Guan Yu, Zhang Fei, and Zhao Yun abandoned the slaughter of lesser foes and spurred their horses in pursuit.