Chapter Eighteen: Setting Fire, Burning Bridges

Ying Qian’s heart sank to the bottom of a valley; the situation before him felt overwhelmingly difficult.

By this reckoning, there were no fewer than twenty thousand Wei troops stationed inside the pass—each one an elite Wei warrior.

Zhao Zheng, oh Zhao Zheng, you really missed a crucial detail...

Ying Qian knew all too well that this was a tough nut to crack.

Although the Qin army fought with reckless bravery and burning passion, they were inherently at a disadvantage in weapons and armor.

Facing the fierce counterattack of the elite Wei warriors, the battle quickly turned into a brutal tug-of-war, with every step forward a tremendous struggle.

Elsewhere, Meng Yun was in no better shape. Fifteen thousand men fought desperately to block the Wei troops breaking out from Black Dragon Gorge.

At first, the Wei forces caught Meng Yun off guard, suffering heavy casualties.

Then, Pang Juan swiftly ordered the Wei troops emerging from Black Dragon Gorge to press the attack, turning the situation into a counter-encirclement. The fifteen thousand Qin soldiers suddenly found themselves trapped in a perilous position.

“Front ranks, fall back to rear ranks! Archers and crossbowmen, hold the line! Flank both sides and encircle them!”

Pang Juan, momentarily stunned, quickly snapped to attention, his raging fury transforming instantly into a ferocious killing intent.

“General, we must retreat now!” a soldier shouted to Meng Yun.

“Retreat? How?” Meng Yun’s eyes blazed with desperation as he swung his blade to knock down a Wei soldier lunging at him.

He was no fool; this terrain was unfamiliar to Bai Ying.

“General, there’s a boy here claiming he can lead you out!”

A soldier ran up from behind, followed by a calm, resolute-looking boy of about eight or nine years old.

“You? Really?” Meng Yun eyed the boy with some disbelief.

The boy nodded steadily, his gaze unwavering. “My master has sent me to rescue you, General.”

“Your master?” Meng Yun hesitated for a moment, then urged, “Time is short. Lead my army to retreat—I will repay you handsomely!”

“Follow me.”

The boy wasted no time and led the way westward.

Meng Yun ordered a fighting retreat, following the boy to a wooden bridge.

“This is the only way to Wuguan. Do you have oil or firearms?” the boy asked him.

Meng Yun was momentarily surprised, then nodded. Of course they had oil—they had brought plenty for the ambush.

But why would the boy want oil?

A ruthless gleam flashed in the boy’s eyes beyond his years. “Once the army crosses, burn the bridge.”

Burn the bridge?

This ruthless, no-retreat style—how was it so reminiscent of Zhao Zheng?

There was no time to ponder further; Meng Yun immediately ordered the Qin forces to quicken their march.

When the last soldier crossed the river, Meng Yun commanded to douse the bridge with oil and set it aflame.

“Quick! Seize the bridge!”

Pang Juan, observing this, ordered the Wei troops to press forward, as it was their only escape route.

Damn these arsonists!

However, the wooden bridge, fanned by the wind, soon split in two. The Wei soldiers already on the bridge tumbled into the rushing river below, disappearing from sight.

Pang Juan watched helplessly as his lifeline was severed, trembling with rage, nearly spewing a mouthful of old blood.

“General, shouldn’t we rain arrows on them?” the boy suggested, looking at the cursing Wei troops by the riverbank with innocent eyes.

Meng Yun had intended to retreat directly but paused at the boy’s words.

“That’s right! Damn it, Pang Juan’s been chasing me mercilessly. Archers and crossbowmen, fire!”

The Wei troops, fresh from hellfire and now trapped with no way forward, were packed on the riverbank, perfect targets.

“Damn Qin army.”

Pang Juan ground his teeth in fury but could only watch the Qin forces calmly vanish into darkness.

Seeing the shattered remnants of his army, a deep sense of helplessness weighed on him.

After counting, out of eighty thousand troops, fewer than twenty thousand barely clung to life.

Sixty thousand Wei soldiers were left trapped in Black Dragon Gorge...

Yet what truly broke Pang Juan’s spirit was the news of Wuguan’s fall.

About a quarter hour after the Qin army’s retreat, some Wei soldiers fled here, desperate for escape. Without regard for the burned wooden bridge, they plunged into the raging river.

The Wei sentries, mistaking them for Qin soldiers, captured them, only to discover they were their own men.

“Why are you all in such a panic?”

The guards brought the soldiers before Pang Juan, who looked at them in bewilderment.

“General... General, it’s bad. Wuguan has been seized by Qin!”

Upon hearing this, Pang Juan felt a dizzy wave wash over him. Wuguan lost—this was a death sentence.

Wuguan was the only escape route. Without it, his men were trapped like frogs in a jar.

...

The fire in Black Dragon Gorge raged for two full days, turning it into a graveyard for sixty thousand Wei soldiers. The Dan River ran red with charred corpses.

After this battle, the Qin people sang: “Qin flames scorch the heavens and cleave the western river; a hundred thousand Wei warriors turn to ashes.”

From then on, Black Dragon Gorge was renamed “Burning Armor Gorge.” The scorch marks left by the raging fire etched themselves into the cliff walls, lasting a hundred years, never fading...

...

Meanwhile, under the boy’s guidance, Meng Yun did not return to Wuguan but took a back road around to Danshui Town.

“General Meng, you’ve finally returned. And who is this?”

Bai Ying anxiously waited at the town’s entrance, surprised to see Meng Yun accompanied by a child.

Meng Yun recounted the events that had transpired, then asked Bai Ying why he was waiting at the town gate.

Bai Ying reluctantly explained that Zhao Zheng had fallen into an unconscious state.

“What? This...”

Meng Yun was startled. If anything happened to Zhao Zheng, never mind Ying Quliang, Ying Qian would surely skin him alive.

At that moment, the boy spoke up: “My master sent me to handle this matter when I descended the mountain.”

“Who is your master?” Meng Yun asked.

The boy shrugged. “No comment. But he’s an old acquaintance of your Left Chief.”

An old acquaintance of the Left Chief?

Meng Yun and Bai Ying exchanged a glance.

Meng Yun quickly said, “Very well. As long as you can save Master Guigu, I will agree to any terms.”

The best room in the Danshui magistrate’s mansion was prepared for Zhao Zheng.

He lay quietly on the bed, eyes tightly shut. The bandages around his chest were soaked with dark red blood, a shocking sight.

All the county doctors in Danshui were at a loss.

“Strange, did the master get shot by an arrow?”

Meng Yun frowned at Zhao Zheng’s condition. The wound was clearly from an arrow.

Bai Ying shook his head. “No, it’s strange. The master shot an arrow at Pang Juan, but somehow he ended up struck himself. He’s been unconscious ever since.”

“Boy, do you have any remedy?” Meng Yun placed his hopes on the child.

Without a word, the boy took a black pill from his pocket and placed it into Zhao Zheng’s mouth.

After only three breaths, Zhao Zheng’s eyelids twitched violently. A harsh, dry cough tore from his throat.

“Cough... cough...”

His throat parched, Zhao Zheng coughed fiercely. Slowly, he opened his eyes, bewildered to find himself lying in bed.

Weakly, he spoke, “What... happened to me?”

“He’s awake! The master is awake!”

Meng Yun and Bai Ying breathed a sigh of relief.

Zhao Zheng recalled what had happened—he had shot an arrow at Pang Juan, then fainted...

His gaze drifted until it landed on the boy beside Meng Yun.

Raising an eyebrow, his tone weak but tinged with odd surprise, he said, “Huh? Whose child is this?”

“Meng Yun... I was only out for a moment... and your son’s already this big?”