Eastern Han Dynasty, not the Three Kingdoms

A north wind, swirling with sand and gravel, blew the hastily assembled array of fifty to sixty thousand Di people to shatters. They clutched weapons of all shapes and sizes—rough bone blades still stained with the blood of hunted beasts, cracked wooden spears bound with rough animal hides. Women and children, mingling among them, even gripped stone pestles used to pound rice, their knuckles white with the strain. Opposing them, the Western Liang cavalry, their black armor shimmering like flowing black jade in the sunlight, their warhorses clad in scaly, linked mail. Every step of their quenched iron hooves shook the earth, and the dust they kicked up shone a chilling light in the sunlight. This powerful force, renowned for its "unstoppable dominance," now, guided by Dong Huang's banner, was like a poisoned black iron heavy sword, its tip aimed squarely at the weakest point in the Di formation.

"kill--!"

With the deafening roar of war drums, the Xiliang cavalry instantly transformed into a black torrent. The front row knights thrust their lances, their tips gleaming with a cold gleam. Using the momentum of their galloping horses, they pinned the Di soldiers in the first row like blades of grass. Iron hooves ruthlessly crushed the heads of the fallen, sending blood and sand splattering through the air in crimson arcs. The swordsmen in the back row wielded their three-foot-long sabers, their blades cleaving into flesh with a teeth-grinding muffled crack. The desperate screams of the Di soldiers and the clang of metal mingled in a melody of death. The supposed bravery of a nation of warriors was nothing but a wave of wheat swept by a hurricane before the charge of the well-trained cavalry. The seemingly vast formation crumbled in the blink of an eye.

Dong Huang shoved his horse's belly, and the snow-treading black horse beneath him raised its head and neighed, leaping over ten feet into the air. Like a bolt of black lightning, he charged into the enemy lines. His spear flashed with a cold gleam, and where the tassel swept through, three Di warriors, shields and bodies, were sent flying, tumbling heavily into the chaotic crowd. The cavalry, in a cone-shaped pattern, pierced the enemy lines, a cloud of blood and a rain of broken limbs. They alternately separated and converged, their interlocking assaults ripping the Di army into countless fragments. The Di tried to rally, only to find their comrades scattered. The cries of women and children, the roars of warriors, were drowned out by the crash of metal and the neighing of horses.

A sturdy Di warrior, wielding a bronze axe, roared and lunged at Dong Huang, but he dodged sideways, the butt of his spear sweeping across his face and striking him hard on the temple. The warrior's eyes rolled back, and he collapsed from his horse. Dong Huang, already shrouded in a bloody mist, charged deep into the enemy lines. Under the crimson setting sun, the Xiliang cavalry galloped back and forth like ghosts, each charge tearing fresh wounds in the Di camp. The wolf-head battle flag was shattered by iron hooves, mingling with blood and seeping into the yellow sands of the Gobi Desert.

A north wind, carrying the stench of blood, swept through Black Wind Valley. Lone Tu hid among the remnants of the army, his knuckles gripping the saddle, tearing the hide into rips. Before him, twenty thousand Western Liang cavalrymen raged like a black tide. The crisp crack of lances piercing the Di shield formation mingled with screams. He watched as the commander of his personal guards was sent flying by Dong Huang's spear. The blood-stained bronze bell rang harshly as it fell to the ground, and a bitter taste welled up in his throat.

"Retreat! Sound the horn!" Gu Tu suddenly pulled the horn from his waist, his cloudy eyes reflecting the wolf-head battle flag crushed by the iron hooves. Amid the desolate sound of the golden gong, the Di people fled in all directions like frightened birds. Pottery pots discarded by women and children exploded under the horses' hooves, raising a pungent acid mist.

"Trying to escape?" Xu Huang roared, his axe cleaving through the last Di soldier blocking his path. He exchanged a glance with Dong Huang, then simultaneously swung his sword at the fleeing enemy. Twenty thousand cavalrymen instantly transformed their formation into arrows, chasing the remnants of the Di army into the desert. The clatter of iron hooves resembling thunder, and over ten miles of Gobi desert was littered with broken spears, shredded armor, and blood-soaked hides.

As dusk fell over Longxi, Xu Huang and Dong Huang's blood-stained battle flags were once again erected in front of Ma Chao's tent. "We chased them for twelve miles and beheaded over three thousand." Dong Huang shook off the blood on his sword, and the cracks in his black armor were still stained with enemy flesh. "That scoundrel Gu Tu slipped away with his guards to the North Mountain!" Ma Chao rubbed the blood groove on his spear, gazing at the blood-red sky as the setting sun. A cold smile curved his lips: "A fish that slipped through the net? Then let him live a few more days—keep his head, so that the people of Longxi can offer it as a sacrifice."

Dusk dyed the wasteland a rusty color. Gu Tu clutched the tattered wolf-head battle flag, blood seeping from his fingers and dripping onto the gilded hilt of his sword. Of the fifty or sixty thousand Di people, only fewer than thirty thousand remained. The cries of women and children left behind in their flight were still ringing in his ears. The three thousand heads chopped off during the pursuit by the Western Liang cavalry were now strung together in a memorial at the valley's entrance.

"Great chief!" The dusty heads of the small tribes huddled outside the tent, their sheepskin coats still stained with blood. "All eight hundred strong men of the Mohe tribe were killed in the battle!" "All the cattle and sheep of the Kirk tribe were robbed, not even a single fire was left!" Amidst the cries of the people, an old man suddenly knelt down and said, "We should have listened to the high priest's prophecy... To provoke the mighty General will lead to the destruction of our clan!"

Gu Tu suddenly kicked over the copper stove, and burning sheep dung splashed at everyone's feet: "Are you scared now? Where did the enthusiasm you had for dividing up the silk and treasure when you robbed the Han village last month go?" His bloodshot eyes swept over the cowering faces of the people. "When those Han women and children cried and begged for mercy, why didn't you say we shouldn't rob them?" The tent suddenly fell into silence, with only the cold wind blowing gravel and hitting the cowhide tent.

Just as the argument was about to break out, three white-haired elders, leaning on bone staffs, stepped into the tent. The elder in the lead tore open his shirt, revealing the wolf head totem on his chest, burned at the stake, which had already scabbed over. "Enough! We were defeated by Ma Chao when we rebelled, and now we're repeating the same mistake. Don't you understand?" His cloudy eyes swept over the mess on the ground. "The most urgent thing is to save our people's lives—the Xiliang army won't give up."

"Then what do you say we should do?" someone asked in a low voice.

The shaman elder's bony fingers traced the cracks in the tortoise shell, a cold glint in his cloudy eyes. "The people of the Central Plains value the reputation of 'conquering the people with virtue.' Back when Ma Chao's ancestor was governor of Longxi, he pardoned the rebellious Qiang. Now that we've been utterly defeated..." He suddenly threw the tortoise shell into the fire pit, the crackling sound startling everyone. "Surrender, perhaps you can buy a glimmer of hope."

Gu Tu suddenly grabbed the elder's wrist, the gold-inlaid armor scratching him painfully. "You mean... to bow to the Han people?" Before he could finish his words, he was interrupted by a sneer. The small chief in the corner spat blood and said, "Surrender? Ma Chao has already threatened to wipe out our entire clan!"

"Idiot!" Gu Tu kicked over the stool, and the copper bell belt made a sharp sound. "He wants face! As long as we kneel low enough and cry miserably..." He suddenly lowered his voice, a calculating glint in his eyes. "When Dong Zhuo recruited the Qiang and Hu people, how many cattle and sheep did he give them? He even rewarded them with grain carts! As long as Ma Chao thinks we are 'sincerely convinced'..."

The deathly silence within the tent was instantly broken. Amidst the murmurs of the crowd, the elder slowly raised his bloodstained bone staff. "Choose an eloquent messenger. Prepare the most precious furs and jade, and bring twenty Qiang women—the more delicate and beautiful, the better." He gazed at the wolf-head flag waving outside the tent, a hoarse sigh escaping his throat. "Let Ma Chao see our sincerity, and also... how many lives his kindness can save."

The setting sun shone through the gaps in the felt tent onto everyone's faces, interweaving despair and hope into a strange light and shadow. A cavalry team with white flags had packed their bags and hurried to Ma Chao's camp.

The scorching sun blazed down the Xiliang army's main gate, and the three-meter-tall black battle flag fluttered in the wind. The Di envoys knelt on the scorching gravel, their fur robes embroidered with wolf heads already soaked with cold sweat. Behind them, twenty Qiang women huddled together, their golden bells tinkling as they trembled—they were made from smelted jewelry made by the people of Longxi.

"General Divine Might! We have come to surrender!" The envoy banged his forehead heavily on the bluestone slab, blood mixed with dust and spreading. "In the past, we were deceived by traitors and offended the majesty of Heaven. Now, our entire clan repents day and night and is willing to hold the horse and stirrup for the general!" The tent was completely silent, and only the "rustling" sound of Ma Chao wiping the tiger-head golden spear could be clearly heard.

Dong Huang suddenly kicked open the curtains, crushing the jade plate held by the envoy with his iron boots: "Repent? Can the eight hundred women and children slaughtered in Qingshi Gorge hear your nonsense?" The envoy trembled all over and hurriedly opened his bag, and all kinds of treasures poured out: "These are tribute! There are also twenty beauties, all daughters of tribal leaders, with fair skin and beautiful looks..."

"Shut up!" Ma Chao threw the wine cup violently, and the pottery shards shattered by the envoy's ear. He slowly walked out of the shadows, his black armor gleaming coldly in the sunlight: "You robbed the property of the people of Longxi, and now you use it to please me?" Before he finished speaking, the tent erupted in deafening laughter. Xu Huang even drew his sword and lifted a woman's chin: "With such a beauty, are you worthy of being called a beauty? The wives of our army's cooks are more lively than them!"

The envoy's face was ashen, but he still forced himself to flatter: "General, if you don't mind, we are willing to..." "Get out." Ma Chao's voice was like a blade tempered with ice, "In three days, I will surrender with the heads of your entire clan."

Outside the camp gate, the Xiliang cavalry simultaneously raised their rifles and shouted, the sound resonating through the mountains. As the Di envoys tumbled and scrambled to escape, they vaguely heard the crisp sound of a jade pendant falling to the ground behind them—it was the daughter of a certain leader, frightened to the point of wetting her pants.

The cowhide curtain of the tent rattled, and the envoy stumbled into the tent. Behind him, twenty Qiang women, their hair disheveled and their skirts stained with mud from the humiliation they had suffered at the hands of the Xiliang army, were standing there. Gu Tu suddenly grabbed the other man by the collar, his gold-studded armor digging deep into his flesh. "What did General Shenwei Tian say?!"

The envoy suddenly collapsed, tears streaming down his face. "He, he wants the heads of my entire tribe... my entire tribe! Otherwise..." Before he could finish his words, gasps echoed from within the tent. The daughter of a small tribal leader burst into tears.

Gu Tu's pupils suddenly constricted, and as he stumbled backward, he knocked over the bronze furnace, sending sparks flying and scorching the wolfskin rug. He gripped the scimitar at his waist tightly, his knuckles turning white from the exertion. "Impossible... Aren't the Han people the most benevolent and righteous?" Before he could finish his words, a sinister laugh echoed from the corner. The high priest, draped in a tattered black robe, slowly rose, dark red blood seeping from beneath his bronze mask.

"The blood moon sign has come true!" He ripped open his shirt, revealing the wolf-head tattoo on his chest soaked in blood. "I've said it before, when the tears of Han women converge into a black river, when jackals provoke the God of War with brutality..." The high priest suddenly convulsed violently, an inhuman scream emanating from his throat. "The scimitar of genocide is already hanging over our heads!"

Outside the tent, a strong wind suddenly rose, making the wolf-head battle flag flutter. Gu Tu fell to his knees amidst the treasures scattered on the ground, snatching up a jade pendant he had looted from Longxi and smashing it fiercely. Amidst the scattering jade shards, he heard the distant shouts of the Xiliang army in training. That sound was like a sledgehammer, crushing the last shred of hope into dust.