Eastern Han Dynasty, not the Three Kingdoms

"Welcome the king back to the city!" A jumbled cry echoed through the crowd, yet joy was absent from the voices, only a sense of heaviness after surviving a catastrophe. A woman holding a child, looking at the line of captives, suddenly let out a stifled wail. Her cry, like a needle, pierced the solemnity of the welcoming ceremony and brought tears to the eyes of even more people—their husbands, sons, brothers, perhaps, had fallen at the hands of these Xianbei.

Ma Chao dismounted, his boots soaked with snow. He had taken a few steps when a sudden rustling noise erupted from the crowd. First, a few elderly men in the front row trembled and fell to their knees. Then, like waves of wheat in the wind, the entire city's inhabitants fell to their knees, their bodies crunching under the weight of the snow. "The King has returned!" "Welcome, Your Majesty!" "Your Majesty, you have fought so hard!" The voices echoed, each choked with sobs. No one complained about his late return; everyone knew that if Ma Chao hadn't been away to contain the main Xianbei forces, Wuwei City would have long since become a purgatory.

Ma Chao stepped forward quickly and reached out to help the old man in front. His fingertips touched the other's frozen purple hand, and his throat suddenly tightened. He looked at the figures kneeling on the ground, there were old men leaning on crutches, women holding young children, and young men with wounds on their faces. These people who had been using stones and sticks to resist the powerful enemy on the city wall a few days ago were now welcoming him with the most pious attitude. His eyes suddenly became hot, and a line of hot tears fell on the snow, instantly blurring a small dark patch. "My fellow villagers," he said with a voice that was hoarse than ever before, "I came back late and made everyone suffer."

"What are you talking about, Your Majesty?" A man with a broken arm struggled to look up, blood seeping from the cracked wound on his face. "If Your Majesty hadn't been fighting outside, the Xianbei would have razed Wuwei long ago! What's the point of our suffering?" The woman next to him nodded. The child in her arms was huddled together in the cold, but she still looked at Ma Chao with her bright eyes. "My mother said it was Your Majesty's silver spear that scared the bad guys away."

The echoes were filled with gratitude for surviving the disaster and sincere support. Looking at these wounded yet still standing tall civilians, Ma Chao suddenly felt a growing heaviness in his heart—the more understanding they were, the harder it was for him to let go.

Ma Dai followed his gaze towards the crowd and lowered his voice, "Brother, the food and grass in the city are only enough to last for half a month, and more than half of the young and strong men have been killed... But as long as we hold on, Wuwei City will still be there."

Ma Chao placed a hand on Ma Dai's shoulder, his fingertips touching the bandage beneath his armor. He suddenly turned to look at the Xianbei captives. The setting sun was falling on the city walls, casting a long shadow over his body. He slowly raised his silver spear, its tip pointed directly at the line of captives. "Bring them in." His voice was low, but everyone present could hear it clearly. "Let the people of Wuwei see—whoever offends Xiliang will be punished, no matter how far away they are."

The clang of chains echoed again, and the captives were driven toward the city gate. The wails of the crowd gradually died down, replaced by a near-stagnant silence. Countless eyes fixed on the Xianbei, as if they were watching a moving mass of blood debt. As Ma Chao watched all this, he suddenly felt the silver spear on his shoulder weigh over a thousand pounds—beneath the glory of this victory lay the foundation paved with the blood and tears of the people of the city.

Under the eager gazes of the crowd, Ma Chao mounted his horse, his silver spear drawing a chilling arc in the setting sun. He reined in the reins, gazing at the kneeling figures, his voice carried across the chill wind, "Fellow countrymen, Ma Chao has returned. But this battle is far from over—if they dare to tread upon the land of Xiliang, I will make them pay with blood. Wait, I will give the people of Wuwei an explanation!"

As soon as he finished speaking, thunderous responses rang out from the crowd again, and countless people knelt in the snow: "Your Majesty, you have us in your heart!" "Please take care of yourself, Your Majesty!" The old, young, and painful voices intertwined together, condensing into a hot warm current in front of the city gate.

Ma Chao raised his hand to signal everyone to stand, his tone slowing down. "The war in Xiliang has subsided for now. It's almost the end of the year. If you're short of food and fodder, I've already sent orders to Longxi and Tianshui counties to transfer grain, and supplies from Dunhuang are on the way." He paused, his gaze sweeping over the ragged civilians. "If you encounter any difficulties in life, please report them to your superiors. Don't try to bear them all on your own."

Finally, he looked at the battle-worn yet still-standing banner with the Chinese character "马" (Ma) on the top of the city wall and said aloud, "This year, I, Ma Chao, will celebrate the New Year in Wuwei. I'll be with everyone and live our lives anew."

The crowd erupted in long-suppressed cheers. Some wiped tears and smiled, while others helped each other to their feet. Even the cold wind seemed to soften. Ma Chao shoved his horse's belly and pointed his silver spear forward: "Enter the city!"

The sound of horse hooves shattered the silence at the city gates, ushering in a new chapter for Wuwei City's survival. The people watched him as he rode into the city, knowing that this silver-speared war god brought not only the hope of revenge, but also the promise of a peaceful New Year—the very thing they longed for most amidst the war.

The snow in Wuwei City melted and froze again, and three days passed slowly amidst the sound of patrolling footsteps. During these three days, Ma Chao comforted the people and counted the military equipment, but his eyes kept turning toward Zhangye. Zhang Liao, Pang De, and Xu Huang were pursuing the Prince of Zuoguli and had yet to return. Even for his usual composure, a heavy weight hung heavy on his heart.

On the morning of the fourth day, the sentry on the tower suddenly shouted at the top of his voice: "Troops are approaching! It's our flag!"

Ma Chao was in the mansion discussing food and fodder arrangements with Chen Gongying when he heard this. He abruptly stood up, his dark cloak sweeping across the table, dropping a few bamboo slips. "Quick, prepare the horses!" He had barely finished his words when he burst out of the mansion.

Just as they reached the city gate, they saw a scout dismount and kneel on one knee. "Your Majesty! Generals Zhang Liao, Pang De, and Xu Huang have returned with their cavalry, less than ten miles from the city! Judging by the flags, they're retreating from the direction of Zhangye County!"

"Okay!" Ma Chao's tense jawline finally softened a bit, and he raised his hand and said, "Open the city gates and follow me out to greet them!"

The drawbridge slowly lowered, and Ma Chao rode out of the city, followed by Ma Dai and dozens of his personal guards. A cold wind whipped the dry grass across the wilderness. In the distance, amidst the rising dust on the horizon, a dark battle flag broke through the morning mist. The characters "Zhang," "Pang," and "Xu" unfurled in the wind, the very figures he had been waiting for three days.

Thirty thousand cavalrymen galloped closer and closer. Zhang Liao, Pang De, and Xu Huang rode in front, their blood crusted and frozen on their armor, but they couldn't hide the sharp light in their eyes. As the three men caught sight of the figure standing with a silver spear beneath the city gate, they reined in their horses with uncontrollable excitement. When they reached the gate, they all dismounted and knelt heavily on the frozen ground. "We, your humble servants, pay our respects to the king!"

Ma Chao dismounted and helped Zhang Liao and Xu Huang to their feet. He patted their shoulders, feeling the scars beneath their armor, and said in a deep voice, "Wenyuan, Gongming, thank you for your hard work."

As the two men stood up, their eyes fell on Pang De, who was still kneeling. All the generals knew that Pang De's troops were the main force in the fight against King Zuo Guli, and they must have suffered heavy losses. Now that the king did not help him first, they were secretly worried.

Ma Chao walked up to Pang De. This man, always a man of steel, now rested his forehead on the ground, his shoulders slightly heaving. Ma Chao leaned over and personally pulled Pang De to his feet. Before he could say anything, he embraced him and said, "Lingming, we almost didn't see each other again."

Pang De raised his head suddenly, tears filling his tiger eyes. The veins on his hand clutching Ma Chao's sleeve bulged. "My Lord..."

"I'm in danger outside, and you're defending Xiliang, walking on thin ice too," Ma Chao whispered in his ear. "Three hundred thousand Xianbei troops are approaching. If you hadn't held on like that, Xiliang would have been broken. Even if I returned alive, how would I have faced the people of this city?"

As soon as these words fell, Pang De could no longer hold back his tears. He fell to his knees again with a plop and hugged Ma Chao's legs tightly: "I am incompetent and failed to protect all the cities..."

The surrounding generals suddenly realized—it wasn't a question of blame, but of compassion. Everyone knew that although Pang De hadn't accompanied Ma Chao on the expedition, he had defended Xiliang's foundations in the most critical moment, and this contribution had long been engraved in Ma Chao's heart. The so-called "first general under your command" was never determined by who had killed the most generals, but by who could hold up the king's army in times of crisis.

Ma Chao bent down and helped Pang De up, wiping the tears from his face with the corner of his sleeve: "Get up, we are all brothers. It's good that you are back."

The morning light shone upon the three men, tinting their armor a golden crimson. In the distance, the iron cavalry formed a neat formation. The crisp clink of armor clashing against the cold wind blended with the chill of the wind, as if playing the most majestic melody for this belated reunion.

The army rested for five days in Wuwei City, and the documents tallying casualties from each camp were finally brought to Ma Chao's desk. Chen Gongying's hands trembled slightly as he held the bamboo slips. When he unfolded them, the ink seemed stained with blood.

"Your Majesty," he said in a low voice, "this time you led an army of 100,000 to support us, and on the way you recruited troops from Tianshui and Longxi, totaling over 140,000 men. Now, after counting, there are only a little over 70,000 men left who can fight."

Ma Chao's fingertips traced the numbers on the bamboo slips, the calluses on his fingertips rubbing against the words "70,000." From 140,000 to 70,000, nearly half the number had been lost. Behind these figures lay the corpses of countless Xiliang warriors. He closed his eyes, still able to hear the clash of swords on the battlefield, see the enemy chiefs slain by spears and his comrades falling beside him.

"What are the results of the battle?" he asked in a hoarse voice.

Chen Gongying flipped through the bamboo slips, his tone taking on a solemn edge. "The Di tribe was completely annihilated, leaving no one alive. In the battle of Beidi County, the 50,000 elite troops of the Right Guli King were annihilated. In Zhangye County, the 60,000 troops of the Left Guli King were routed. Outside Wuwei City, the 50,000 troops of the Right General were completely annihilated. In the final battle with Ke Bineng, 20,000 were killed. Finally, in the pursuit of the Left Xian King, none of his 30,000 troops survived."

He paused, then reported the total number: "The Xianbei sent out an all-out force of 300,000 men. After this battle, the casualties have exceeded 200,000."

A dead silence fell within the tent. Two hundred thousand versus seventy thousand might seem like a resounding victory, but Ma Chao knew the heavy price of victory. He raised his hand to his brow and said gravely, "What about the civilians and young men defending the city? And what about the generals who died for their country..."

Chen Gongying's voice lowered. "When the Wuwei and Zhangye counties defended their cities, approximately 80,000 civilians and young men died in the battle, and over a hundred officers at all levels were killed."

Seventy thousand elite soldiers, eighty thousand civilians, a total of one hundred and fifty thousand dead souls. Ma Chao clenched his fists, his knuckles turning white. While the Xianbei had certainly been severely weakened in this battle, Xiliang had also bled dry. He thought of the faces of the elderly, the weak, the women, and the children on the city walls, of the Xianbei captives dragged in chains—revenge, so to speak, had always been blood for blood, life for life.

"Make three copies of the list of fallen soldiers. Send one to Chang'an, give one to their families, and keep one in my personal custody." Ma Chao stood up and gently paused his spear on the table. "The injured will receive proper medical care, and the families of the fallen will receive monthly food and rations from the government. I want them to know that Xiliang will never forget those who died fighting for this land."

Cheng Gongying bowed and agreed. Gazing at Ma Chao's tall yet slightly desolate figure, he suddenly understood—the medal of victory would forever be stained with blood. And Ma Chao would have to carry this heavy burden and continue on his journey.