Chapter 3: Three Hundred Riders Probe

The three hundred riders skidded to a halt two li away.

Ling Chuan stood atop the wall, bow in hand, string already notched. He watched the cavalry fan out, circling the northern slope like a group of lost travelers who couldn't find the front door.

"They're afraid to get closer," Cao Zhen whispered beside him.

"The area in front of the moat is empty," Ling Chuan said. "Thirty men retreated. They think the fort is deserted."

"Then why stop?"

"Because there are no ambushers in the open," Ling Chuan replied. "They're spooked."

Shitou stepped up behind Ling Chuan. He was gripping his bow so hard his knuckles were white, the string creaking under the tension.

"Sir," Shitou whispered, "we only have three hundred arrows."

"I know."

"Once we fire them, that's it."

"Which is why we have to hit them all at once." Ling Chuan turned to look at him. "Shitou, do you trust me?"

Shitou gritted his teeth. "I do."

Ling Chuan nodded and leaped down from the wall.

On the drill grounds, the thirty men were lined up in five squads of six. Bows in hand, strings notched, arrows ready.

Ling Chuan walked to the front.

"Listen up," he said. "When I yell 'Fire,' you all draw to full and release together. Don't look ahead, don't think about what's ahead. Just look at me."

Someone whispered, "Sir, there are three hundred riders out there."

"That's why you only look at me," Ling Chuan said. "Hundred-House Officer Cao, take the crossbow team on the wall. Once I finish the first volley, you provide cover fire."

Cao Zhen nodded.

"Shitou, you're the squad leader. When I call the shot, you draw first. They'll follow your lead."

Shitou raised his bow slightly and nodded.

Ling Chuan took a deep breath.

On the northern slope, the three hundred riders began to move.

They rode up to the edge of the moat and stopped, staring at Guan Bao Fort. Some pointed with their whips; some were laughing. The laughter drifted across the snow, sharp and piercing like knives.

Ling Chuan stood before his thirty men, motionless.

He looked at Shitou.

Shitou looked at him.

Ling Chuan opened his mouth—

"Fire!"

The shout exploded across the drill grounds like a stone smashing through ice.

Shitou was the first to draw. His movement was so fast it was nearly silent, the bowstring humming with a low, deep vibration as it hit its limit.

Thirty men drew in unison.

Thirty bows hummed as one.

Ling Chuan raised his hand, fingers splayed, and sliced downward—

"Loose!"

Three hundred arrows left the strings simultaneously.

The arrows traced a black line across the snow, as if someone had drawn a stroke across the horizon with a brush. It wasn't a series of whistles; it was a single, monolithic roar—a crash like a wall being pushed over.

The volley slammed into the northern slope, tearing into the cavalry ranks.

It wasn't a scattered hit; it was a solid wall of steel. The front rank didn't even have time to scream before arrows buried themselves in flesh and horses collapsed. Seeing the front line tumble in a heap of man and beast, the riders in the rear yanked their reins and pivoted to retreat.

But Ling Chuan had already seen them turn.

"Again!"

The second volley.

This wave hit them right as they were turning. The horses panicked, charging forward and trampling the riders behind them under hoof.

On the wall, Cao Zhen pulled the triggers—

"Loose the crossbows!"

Crossbow bolts flew further and hit harder than arrows. They rained down on the cavalry on the northern slope like a storm. The front ranks were already in chaos; some were thrown from their saddles, others rolling through the snow with their horses.

Ling Chuan stood in the drill grounds, his bow now empty. He watched the black mass on the northern slope shatter and begin to flee.

"They're running!" Cao Zhen’s voice drifted down from the wall, tinged with a laugh.

Ling Chuan didn't laugh.

He looked down at the ground. Every single arrow was gone. Three hundred arrows, not one left, all spent.

"Do we pursue?" Shitou asked.

"No," Ling Chuan said. "Three hundred riders can't just vanish. When they get back, they'll tell their master that Guan Bao Fort is manned."

"So we won?"

"We won today," Ling Chuan said.

He turned and walked back toward the fort.

As he reached the gate, he stopped.

A man in a green robe stood there, holding a scroll of documents. He looked to be around fifty, with thick eyebrows. Seeing Ling Chuan, he offered a small smile.

"You are Ling Chuan?"

"I am."

"I am Qian Canjun from the Office of the Chief Commander." The man unfurled the scroll. "Scouts from the northern slope report that you led thirty men to repel three hundred Di riders."

"Correct."

"And you used up all your arrows, I assume?"

"I did."

"Three hundred arrows to repel three hundred riders." Qian Canjun rolled the scroll back up. "Impressive marksmanship."

Ling Chuan remained silent.

"What is your courtesy name?"

"I have none."

"And your father?"

"I have no father."

Qian Canjun glanced at him and didn't ask further. He unfurled the scroll again and read aloud.

"By order of the Chief Commander: Ling Chuan is credited with one act of merit. Reward: ten taels of silver."

Ling Chuan took the document and glanced at it.

"Ten taels?"

"Ten taels for a first victory," Qian Canjun said. "The men under your command are rewarded with one tael each."

"And Hundred-House Officer Cao?"

"Officer Cao provided support with the crossbow team. Half a credit of merit. Reward: five taels."

Ling Chuan folded the document and tucked it into his tunic.

"One more thing," Qian Canjun said.

"Go on."

"The Chief Commander wants you to know that the Northern Di were only testing the waters. Three hundred riders are nothing."

Ling Chuan looked up at him.

"The main force arrives in three days," Qian Canjun said. "The garrison at Guan Bao Fort has been reduced from three hundred men to eighty. Arrows have been reduced from five hundred to three hundred."

Ling Chuan’s hand tightened on his bow.

"Eighty men."

"Eighty men, thirty crossbow bolts," Qian Canjun said. "The Chief Commander’s orders are simple: hold the fort."

"For how long?"

"Just hold it."

Qian Canjun turned to leave, then paused.

"Ling Chuan," he said, "how old are you?"

"Sixteen."

"Sixteen years old, and you drove back three hundred riders with thirty men." Qian Canjun smiled. "The Chief Commander says a man like you shouldn't be wasting away in a tiny outpost like this."

"Then where should I be?"

Qian Canjun looked at him, offered no answer, and walked away.

Ling Chuan stood at the gate, watching the green robe disappear behind the fort walls.

Cao Zhen jumped down from the wall and walked over to him.

"What did Qian Canjun say?"

"Eighty men, thirty crossbow bolts," Ling Chuan said. "The main force arrives in three days."

Cao Zhen’s face darkened.

"Eighty men against three hundred riders," Cao Zhen said, "and we have even fewer arrows this time."

"It's not three hundred riders," Ling Chuan said. "It's the main force."

"How many?"

"I don't know," Ling Chuan replied. "But more than three hundred."

Shitou ran up from behind, a grin on his face.

"Sir, we ran out of arrows, but there are plenty left on the northern slope. I went to scavenge."

"How many could you possibly find?"

"I counted. Between the ones sticking out of the ground and the ones buried in the snow, there are about eighty."

Ling Chuan looked at Shitou.

"Eighty."

"Yes," Shitou said. "Enough for two volleys."

Ling Chuan nodded and headed toward the tents.

Halfway there, Qian San caught up to him, panting.

"Sir," Qian San gasped, "I saw the riders fleeing the northern slope... but one didn't make it."

"What?"

"The one in the lead on the white horse. He fell behind," Qian San said. "I saw him while I was picking up arrows."

Ling Chuan stopped in his tracks.

"Is he dead?"

"Not sure," Qian San said. "He's face-down in the snow. But I saw his sword—it's still in the scabbard."

"You're sure?"

"I counted over forty bodies on the slope," Qian San said, "but too many of them ran for me to be certain about the rest."

Ling Chuan was silent for a moment.

"What's your name?"

"Qian San."

"Qian San," Ling Chuan said, "that man on the white horse."

"Yes."

"Go look again."

"Look for what?"

"See if he's dead or alive," Ling Chuan said. "Go."

Qian San hesitated, then turned and ran back.

Ling Chuan stood outside the tent. The wind blew in from the north, whipping his sleeves.

He looked down at his hands.

They were steady.

He thought about Shitou saying "enough for two volleys," Cao Zhen saying "eighty men against three hundred," and Qian Canjun saying "the main force arrives in three days."

Eighty men, thirty crossbow bolts, eighty scavenged arrows.

He looked up at the sky.

The sky was a deep blue, and the sun glittered on the snow.

"Qian San!" he shouted.

Qian San came sprinting back from the northern slope, face drenched in sweat, hair dusted with snow.

"Sir, he's alive."

Ling Chuan looked at him.

"Alive."

"Yes," Qian San said. "He's face-down, but his hand is moving. I didn't dare get too close."

"He's not dead."

"Not dead," Qian San agreed, "but he's not going anywhere."

Ling Chuan nodded and turned toward the tent.

"Sir!" Shitou called from behind. "Should we drag him back?"

"Drag him back," Ling Chuan said. "And bind him."

"Bind him?"

"Bind him," Ling Chuan repeated. "Let him see exactly how many people are in this fort."

Shitou blinked, then grinned.

"Sir, you've got some nerve."

Ling Chuan didn't answer.

He pushed open the tent flap and sat down, resting his bow across his knees.

Outside, footsteps crunched in the snow.

Shitou’s voice drifted in: "Sir, we've got him."

Ling Chuan didn't look up.

"Tied him to the flagpole," Shitou said. "He's awake."

"Awake?"

"Awake," Shitou said. "He's screaming."

Ling Chuan stood up and stepped out of the tent.

A Di rider was lashed to the flagpole, facing outward. A cloth gag was stuffed in his mouth, reducing his screams to muffled groans. His eyes were wide, staring at the fort.

Ling Chuan walked over and crouched down.

"What is your name?" he asked in the Di language.

The rider froze, blinking in surprise.

"As for me, take a guess," Ling Chuan said. "I am Ling Chuan."

The rider's eyes widened further.

"How many men did you bring?" Ling Chuan asked. "Three hundred? Or three hundred and one?"

The rider let out a series of muffled noises.

Ling Chuan stood up.

"Three days," he said. "In three days, you'll find out that there are more than eighty men in this fort."

He turned and walked back to the tent.

At the entrance, he paused.

"Sir," Shitou said from behind, "I think he's crying."

Ling Chuan didn't look back.

"Let him cry," he said.

He entered the tent and sat down.

Outside, along the northern snowline, the sun slowly began to set.

The black line on the snow had vanished.

But Ling Chuan knew it would return.

In three days.