Chapter 103: The Strategy of the Weary Troops

In the aftermath of his crushing defeat at the hands of Luan Yi’s church army beneath the walls of Shanghe, Zhu Ying had retreated in disgrace. As he fled to the foot of Mount Huabuzhu, he had exercised a measure of caution, detaching 3,000 Yellow Turban warriors to hide in the dense forests, hoping to ambush Luan Yi during his pursuit. However, Luan Yi’s inherent prudence led him to sense the deception, causing the hidden warriors to waste an entire day in the wilderness. Though their efforts were in vain, they did succeed in delaying the church army’s advance.

Zhu Ying seized this opportunity to lead his remaining forces further north, eventually reaching the southern bank of the Ji River, where he rallied his scattered men and established a fortified camp. When the church scouts reported the location of Zhu Ying’s camp to Luan Yi, the latter waited for the arrival of Xu Shu’s main force before advancing slowly north, skirting around Mount Huabuzhu. Seeing the overwhelming strength of the church army, the Yellow Turban warriors hiding in the mountains retreated to the camp by the river.

Failing to engage the enemy, the church army pitched camp on the sunny side of Mount Huabuzhu. Once the camp was secured, Luan Yi’s first act was to lead church officials, including Xu Shu and Mao Jie, up the mountain path toward the Qinglian Cathedral.

Upon reaching the cathedral gates, they found the once elegant sanctuary reduced to ruins. The main structure had been consumed by fire, leaving behind nothing but a foundation blackened by soot. In the square outside, five crosses, each over ten feet tall, stood as they had been seen from below.

Seeing the headless corpses of the five servants of the faith, Luan Yi was overcome with grief, tears streaming down his face. What a tragic end. He knew that the oldest among them was barely twenty-three, and the youngest only twelve. Only days ago, they had been vibrant lives; now, they were cold, broken remains. Blood had flowed from the gaping wounds in their necks, staining their vestments crimson, though now the blood had dried and seeped into the earth.

More shocking was the sight of their robes; though stained with blood at the knees, there was not a single speck of dirt, indicating that when facing death, these five servants had not knelt or begged for mercy. They had died standing, brave and steadfast in their faith.

Overcome by this realization, Luan Yi broke into uncontrollable sobs, joined by the surrounding officials. Luan Lu, the Grand Bishop of Shanghe, was the most distraught, for Jiang Zhan, the priest of the Qinglian Cathedral, had been his most cherished disciple.

After a moment of mourning, Luan Yi steadied his emotions and raised his hands to silence the lamentations. "Everyone!" he said, his voice heavy with sorrow. "The world believes that fame and heroism are reserved for those who achieve great, public deeds. I once thought this true, but it is incomplete. What is a hero? One who stands tall, who fears no hardship, who remains unwavering—all are heroes!" He pointed to the five corpses on the crosses and continued, "These were the most humble of servants, yet when evil invaded and the enemy oppressed us, they held fast to their faith. They perished with their cathedral, refusing to beg or tarnish the glory of the Holy Mother. They are her faithful children, heroes of the Church. The Holy Mother will surely rejoice, welcoming them into her divine halls to serve her for eternity."

"May the Holy Mother protect us!" the officials responded in unison, crossing themselves.

"Come, let us pray for them," Luan Yi commanded. Closing their eyes and crossing their hands over their chests, the congregation followed his lead in silent prayer.

When the ceremony concluded, Luan Yi decreed, "By the authority of the Grand Bishop, let a monument be erected outside the Qinglian Cathedral to honor these five heroes, so that their spirits may rest in peace and future generations may pay their respects."

The servants felt a warmth in their hearts. Believers of the Church did not fear death, for they viewed it as a transition to eternal life. Yet, they feared dying in vain, forgotten and unrecognized. Luan Yi’s decree satisfied their deepest longing. Deeply moved and energized, the crowd shouted, "The Grand Bishop is wise!"

Following the rites, Luan Yi returned to his camp and summoned his generals to the central tent.

Before the council, Luan Yi spoke of the martyrdom of the five servants, his face flushed with anger. "That treacherous brute Zhu Ying is cruel and tyrannical. He murdered our servants; he has gone too far. I long to consume his flesh and grind his bones. Do you have any plans to break his formation and slay this wretch?"

Dian Wei replied gruffly, "The Yellow Turban dogs are no match for our army. Let us march straight into their camp and avenge our brothers."

Luan Yi waved his hand. "Scouts report that although Zhu Ying was defeated, his main force of Yellow Turban warriors remains intact. After retreating to the Ji River, he rallied his stragglers, leaving him with over 20,000 men—double our strength. To attack a fortified position against such odds would be a Pyrrhic victory at best. I do not wish to lose 800 men for every 1,000 enemies slain. We must find a way to defeat them with minimal loss."

"That is simple," Mao Jie suggested. "Zhu Ying is a man of limited intellect and no understanding of strategy. By camping on the riverbank, he has cut off his own retreat. We can divide our forces into three, establishing camps to the east, west, and south of his position to cut off his supplies. In time, his troops will starve, morale will crumble, and they will defeat themselves."

"A brilliant plan, Brother Mao. However..." Luan Yi pondered, "that would drag the conflict out for too long. With the Yellow Turbans ravaging Qing and Yan provinces, I have received repeated pleas for help. We must eliminate Zhu Ying quickly to go to their aid. We cannot afford to wait; we must cut the Gordian knot."

Xu Shu stepped forward. "Brother Luan, the enemy is demoralized by their recent defeat and their new camp is not yet secure. If we launch a night raid, we can settle this in one stroke!"

"Brother Yuanzhi, that matches my intent." Luan Yi’s eyes lit up, but then dimmed. "However... when Zhu Ying besieged the cathedral last year, I used a night raid against him. He will surely be prepared for such a tactic now."

Xu Shu nodded, falling into silent contemplation.

"Aiya! This won't work, that won't work—it's suffocating!" Zhang Fei paced restlessly. "In my opinion, we should just follow Yuanzhi's plan and attack by moonlight. Our vanguard is unstoppable; no matter what the 'pig' dog has prepared, he is no match for us. We just need to make him hand over his head!"

Watching Zhang Fei’s guileless frustration, Luan Yi couldn't help but smile. He shook his head. "Third Brother, that is not advisable."

"We can't attack, and we can't wait! What are we to do!" Zhang Fei’s eyes were bloodshot with impatience.

"Hmm?" At the sound of Zhang Fei’s words, a spark of inspiration flashed in Luan Yi’s mind. "What did Third Brother just say?"

"I said: 'What are we to do!'"

"No, not that. The sentence before!"

Taishi Ci repeated, "Brother Yide said: 'We can't attack, and we can't wait!'"

"We can't attack, and we can't wait? Brilliant! Absolutely brilliant!" Luan Yi’s brow smoothed. "Third Brother is truly a lucky charm! I have a plan!"

Huang Zhong asked eagerly, "What is the plan?"

Luan Yi opened his folding fan with a snap and said slowly, "A strategy of exhaustion!"

That night, Luan Yi left the Temple Knights and the Templar Order to rest, and personally led 3,000 guards, well-equipped with drums and gongs, through the mountains toward the Yellow Turban camp.

Five miles from the enemy camp, Luan Yi divided his troops into three, leading one team himself while Xu Chu and Taishi Ci led the others, hiding in the forests to the east, west, and south of the camp.

At the second watch, after finishing his military council, Zhu Ying stepped out of his tent, his face dark with rage. The previous day’s defeat had been caused by his troops ignoring orders, leading to chaos and heavy losses. Now, having retreated twenty miles, his situation was dire. He had hoped to find a solution, but his officers were little more than uneducated brutes, capable of nothing but nodding and saying, "Whatever you decide, Commander."

"Decide? Decide nothing! If I could decide, I wouldn't need to consult you idiots!" he cursed to the sky. It was time to sleep, and his mood brightened as he thought of the village girl his men had captured that morning and locked in his tent. Though her looks were average, she was a virgin, and that was enough to stir his lust.

As he approached his tent, he heard muffled weeping and pleading coming from within. The girl was praying to the Holy Mother, begging for deliverance. Driven by bestial desire, Zhu Ying burst into the tent and hauled her up by her collar.

The girl resisted, screaming, "Devil! The Holy Mother will come for you! You will die a wretched death and rot in hell!"

Zhu Ying laughed hideously. "The Holy Mother? I'd like to see her try." He threw her onto the bed and began to undress.

Just as the girl watched in terror, a sharp, deafening sound of drums and gongs erupted outside the camp. Zhu Ying froze, his face twisted in shock as his eyes widened in sudden, stark fear.

The girl glared at him. "Devil, the warriors of the Church have come to send you to hell!"

"Shut your mouth, you bitch!" Zhu Ying kicked her aside and rushed out of the tent, where he met his panicked deputy, Su An. "What is happening?"