Chapter Forty-Nine: An Unexpected Harvest

Seeing a soldier clad in fine-scaled armor charging toward them, the scholarly man was slightly taken aback. They had the advantage in numbers, no fewer than fifty men, while the opposing group had at most twenty. Yet this man dared to rush forward?

"Kill him!" the scholar commanded.

Yang Lian clung to his warhorse, lowering himself to reduce resistance and gain speed. The horse galloped swiftly, and the seventy or eighty paces between them shrank in an instant to just over fifty. The wind roared past his ears, stinging his cheeks with its force. As the distance closed, Yang Lian could already discern the features of the scholar: a long beard and a gentle, refined countenance, yet his narrow, piercing eyes shone with a sharpness that was like the chill of winter, enough to make one shudder.

At the scholar’s order, several Wu-Yue soldiers surged forward, weapons raised, seeking to encircle and crush the lone rider. Yang Lian sneered, undaunted, gripping his saber tightly. In the clash of armies, the bold prevail; now was the time to stake everything.

He searched for an opportunity—a chance to kill the scholar. But the scholar was well protected, surrounded in the center by at least seven or eight men. Chen Tie rode just behind Yang Lian, lance at the ready.

A sharp clang rang out as Yang Lian’s saber collided with a Wu-Yue blade, sending a jolt up his arm. Though he did not kill his foe, his horse surged through the melee.

"Die!" Chen Tie roared, thrusting his lance with force at a Wu-Yue soldier who had narrowly escaped Yang Lian’s blow. With a sickening crack, the lance broke the man’s arm, the impact splitting flesh and bone. The soldier’s face went ashen with pain, sweat beading on his brow like raindrops. Before he could cry out, Chen Tie’s lance swept again, sending him tumbling from his horse, lifeless.

Yang Lian did not linger, but pressed on, hiding himself beneath his horse’s belly while keeping a wary eye on his surroundings. He quietly drew the spear tied to the horse’s tail, gripping it firmly.

Several Wu-Yue soldiers tried to intercept him, but Chen Tie came up to block them, and Lin Renzhao joined in, hacking with determination. The three men cut through the ranks like a keen dagger driving toward the enemy’s heart.

As he ran, Yang Lian suddenly tensed his arm, gathering strength. Using the momentum of his warhorse, he rose and hurled his spear, which traced a graceful arc through the air, aimed straight at the scholar.

The scholar, encircled by his guards, could not clearly see what was happening ahead. Suddenly, several of his bodyguards spotted the flying spear and hurriedly raised their shields, forming a tight barrier in front of him.

With a sharp thud, the spear pierced the foremost shield. The immense force wrenched the shield from its bearer’s grasp, tearing his palm and drawing blood. Undeterred, the spear continued forward, striking a second shield. Though its strength was diminished, and it did not penetrate the second shield, the blow numbed the soldier’s hand, nearly knocking the shield away.

"Kill!" Yang Lian shouted, gripping his saber. The blade glinted bloodthirstily as he brought it down with brutal force.

With a ringing clang, Yang Lian, using the momentum of his horse, cleaved the enemy’s weapon in two. Before the man could react, Yang Lian lifted his blade and slashed downward at an angle, leaving a deep gash across the soldier’s chest armor—a blow that would surely have cut him in half were it not for the armor.

Just then, another enemy charged from the flank, spear aimed at Yang Lian. Chen Tie saw him clearly, swung his lance, and swept the man from his horse with a thrust to the back.

Catching this from the corner of his eye, Yang Lian nodded in acknowledgment and pressed on. The three men fell into the chaos of close combat. Around the scholar, over a dozen soldiers rushed to his defense, while a few remained to shield him. A flash of cunning flickered in the scholar’s narrow eyes—these South Tang scouts were indeed audacious.

The remaining South Tang scouts soon arrived, clashing fiercely with the Wu-Yue soldiers, easing the pressure on Yang Lian, Lin Renzhao, and Chen Tie. Yet they were still surrounded and fighting for their lives. Yang Lian’s saber rose and fell mechanically, hacking through flesh or scraping against armor—he no longer had the leisure to distinguish which. All he could do was fight his way toward the scholar.

On the plains beneath Yu Mountain, blood splattered as soldiers fell, and riderless horses searched in vain for their masters—who would never rise again.

Yang Lian did not know how many he had killed; in a moment like this, there was no room for such thoughts. Wu-Yue men kept falling, and five or six of his own comrades had died; the rest were all wounded to some extent. Yang Lian himself had been cut, but the excellent protection of his fine-scaled armor had spared him a fatal wound, though his face was streaked with blood, making him appear all the more fearsome.

In the chaos, Yang Lian glanced swiftly at the scholar, finding him still staring back. He was impressed by the man’s composure—most officials would have fled in terror by now. But to defeat the bandits, their leader must first be captured, especially since the South Tang soldiers were outnumbered.

"Follow me!" Yang Lian barked, slashing his saber to force back the soldiers around him. Squeezing his legs to his horse’s flanks, he charged once more at the scholar.

Chen Tie and Lin Renzhao exchanged glances, understanding Yang Lian’s intent, and rode to his left and right, forming a protective vanguard.

By now, fewer than ten men remained at the scholar’s side, the rest scattered in the melee. Seeing Yang Lian approach, several bodyguards rushed to intercept him. Yang Lian raised his battered saber, hacking left and right with reckless abandon. Blood spattered in all directions, a terrifying sight.

In the thick of the fighting, Yang Lian took a blow to his left shoulder, the blade splitting flesh to reveal gleaming bone—a horrific wound.

"Die!" Yang Lian growled through clenched teeth, swinging his blade in a wide arc that caught his attacker’s neck. The man’s head flew from his shoulders, blood jetting a full ten feet into the air, drenching all nearby.

"Any who block my way die!" Yang Lian bellowed again, pain fueling his fury.

The Wu-Yue soldiers were terrified by his savagery. As he roared again, fear crept into their hearts.

Chen Tie’s lance pierced another Wu-Yue soldier, the sharp point driving through armor and into his heart. Chen Tie twisted the weapon mercilessly, drawing a scream from his victim, who collapsed as the lance was withdrawn.

The remaining Wu-Yue soldiers exchanged fearful glances. Even the scholar, for all his sharp gaze, could no longer endure; with a shout, he spurred his horse and fled.

Truly, defeat is like a collapsing mountain. The scholar’s flight shattered the morale of the Wu-Yue men. Lin Renzhao struck down another, and the remaining twenty or so broke and fled in panic.

"After them!" Yang Lian sneered. The scholar was clearly of high rank—capturing him would be a great achievement.

Chen Tie, though bloodied, was not seriously wounded. Seeing Yang Lian give chase, he followed hard. Of the South Tang scouts, about ten remained, and they joined the pursuit, leaving three seriously wounded and one lightly wounded soldier behind to tend the injured.

As the scholar fled, he glanced back repeatedly, catching glimpses of Yang Lian’s bloodstained, murderous face—a sight that filled him with dread. Who was this fearsome man, and why did he appear here? After all, it was eighty miles from Suzhou to Changshu, and over a hundred from the South Tang main camp—a considerable distance to have ventured.

But now was no time for reflection; the mounting pressure left him only flight. The Wu-Yue soldiers with him were terrified. Yang Lian, Chen Tie, and the others loosed arrows as they rode, felling Wu-Yue men one after another. After seven or eight miles, only five or six remained at the scholar’s side.

The prolonged chase exhausted the horses. Suddenly, the scholar’s mount let out a pitiful cry and collapsed. Caught off guard, the scholar was thrown, hitting the ground hard and dazed. Yang Lian saw it clearly—the horse had stumbled into a hollow. This was a gift from heaven, not to be missed.

With a cold snort, Yang Lian loosed his remaining arrows, scattering the Wu-Yue soldiers who wanted to rescue their leader. Eyeing one another, they reached a silent agreement—escape! Nothing was more precious than life. The Wu-Yue men spurred their horses and fled. Seeing the scholar unhorsed, Yang Lian knew the greatest prize was won and did not pursue the others.

A few horses gathered around the fallen scholar. He raised his head, his eyes still sharp but tinged with panic.

"Who are you?" Yang Lian demanded, hoping this was Qian Wenfeng, given the number of guards. But on reflection, it seemed unlikely—Qian Wenfeng was skilled in mounted archery and would not travel in such scholarly attire.

Indeed, the man slowly rose and replied, "I am Fan Mengling, secretary to the Commander of Central Wu."

"So, only a secretary," Yang Lian thought with disappointment. Still, it counted for something. "Bind him. We return to camp," he ordered.

Fan Mengling cupped his hands, face unchanged. "Is this how your army treats prisoners, General?"

Chen Tie snorted, snapping a whip at him. "So you know you’re a prisoner! Then act the part." With that, he dismounted, tied Fan Mengling tightly, and threw him across a horse’s haunches.

The group retraced their steps to the foot of Yu Mountain, where they decapitated the Wu-Yue dead—such trophies were counted as military merit and could not be neglected. When the task was done, they loaded their fallen comrades onto the horses and prepared to return.

"This time, twenty of us set out. Six have fallen, three are gravely wounded. We, the lucky survivors, owe our lives to their sacrifice. I propose that we allocate part of the merit from this action to the dead and the wounded. If the higher-ups grant any reward, I will give half to the families of the fallen. If any of you disagree, you’re free to say so," Yang Lian declared before departing. Without the desperate bravery of his men, such a victory would have been impossible.

Lin Renzhao and Chen Tie, long familiar with Yang Lian, knew him to be a man of great loyalty. He had always treated them well, and they had little worry over their own needs. They nodded. "Commander Yang, your righteousness moves us. We agree."

"We agree as well," chimed in several others.

"The wounded need not contribute," Yang Lian added. Noting that dusk was near and suspecting that other Wu-Yue forces might be in the area, he decided they had no strength left for further battle. It was best to withdraw without delay.