Chapter Forty-Eight: The Battle of Changshe

"Ah!!?" Huangfu Song sighed helplessly, listening to the endless curses outside, and sat down in a rather dejected manner. To be scolded so relentlessly by the Yellow Turbans these past few days—no one would believe Huangfu Song wasn’t angry. Yet, he had no choice. The soldiers under his command were mostly raw recruits, morale was low, and how could they possibly fight against the Yellow Turbans whose numbers exceeded a hundred thousand? If he fell for their provocations, Changshe would surely be lost, and none of the civilians within the city would survive.

“Gongwei, we must hold out for now. I’ve already sent word for reinforcements, and I trust the court will send troops to aid us. Moreover, if His Highness, the Crown Prince Liu Yao, receives news of our plight, I’m sure he will come to our rescue,” Huangfu Song said.

Upon hearing Liu Yao’s name, Zhu Jun’s hope was rekindled. “Indeed, a month is enough for His Highness to journey from Youzhou to Yingchuan. I’m certain he’s already aware of our situation. Even the Crown Prince of the Wuhuan was easily defeated by him; how could these Yellow Turbans ever be his match?”

At that moment, the curses outside the city suddenly ceased.

“What’s happening? Why has it gone silent?” Huangfu Song asked in confusion.

“Hmph, what else could it be? Those Yellow Turbans must have tired themselves out and stopped to rest,” Zhu Jun replied irritably.

Huangfu Song wasn’t so easily reassured; he sensed the calm before a storm.

As he suspected, a messenger burst in, tumbling and crawling, his face filled with terror.

Zhu Jun, seeing the messenger’s cowardly demeanor, lashed out angrily, kicking him to the ground. “Look at yourself! How could a useless wretch like you serve under me?”

“Ah, Gongwei, restrain yourself!” Huangfu Song hastily stopped Zhu Jun from further violence. He turned to the messenger, frowning deeply. “Speak! What has happened?”

“Reporting—my lord—the Yellow Turbans, somehow, have acquired many siege ladders. They’re preparing to storm the city!” the messenger stammered out. These days, they’d all been terrorized by the Yellow Turbans; the fact he could utter a complete sentence was already commendable.

“What did you say!!?” Huangfu Song was aghast, unable to believe it. The city of Changshe had endured so far because the Yellow Turbans lacked siege equipment; as long as he didn’t lead his troops outside, they couldn’t touch him. But now, with these tools, Changshe was in grave danger.

“Kill, kill, kill!” As if to confirm the messenger’s words, cries of battle suddenly echoed from outside the city.

"Gongwei, this is bad. Quickly, come with me to the wall," Huangfu Song said anxiously, not waiting for Zhu Jun's reply as he dashed toward the ramparts.

Zhu Jun snorted coldly, grumbling, "Just in time. I’ve got plenty of anger with nowhere to vent." He quickly followed after Huangfu Song.

Outside Changshe, Bocai was directing the Yellow Turbans’ assault. "Charge! Carry the siege ladders forward!"

The next moment, swarms of Yellow Turbans rushed toward the city walls with their ladders. Bocai watched, satisfied. These ladders had been secretly forged over the past few days, all for this moment. The Yellow Turbans had manpower in abundance; with tens of thousands working, countless ladders had been produced in just two days.

Huangfu Song and Zhu Jun arrived atop the walls, taking in the scene below. They shouted, "Archers, fire!"

Immediately, two thousand archers atop the city wall nocked arrows and loosed them in a dense volley, raining death upon the Yellow Turbans below. Many fell in an instant.

The carnage frightened the Yellow Turbans; some, mere peasants unaccustomed to such bloodshed, hesitated and tried to retreat.

Bocai, seeing the wavering ranks, raised his spear and roared, "Anyone who falters, cut them down! A hundred gold pieces to the first who breaches Changshe’s walls!"

Faced with the threat and the promise of reward, none dared retreat; desperation and greed drove them forward in a frenzy.

Eventually, after leaving over a thousand corpses behind, the Yellow Turbans reached the wall and set their ladders in place, swarming upward.

"Quick! Boiling oil, logs, stones—throw everything down!" Huangfu Song shouted, directing the defenders to repel the attackers climbing the walls.

“Ah! My eyes!” “My hand is broken!” Screams echoed across the battlefield, blood splattering everywhere.

After an hour of fierce fighting, the ground outside Changshe was piled with bodies, the moat nearly filled, rivers of blood flowing.

The Yellow Turbans had lost over ten thousand men, but the Han army had fared little better, losing at least five thousand. Worst of all, their supply of stones and boiling oil was exhausted; without these, Changshe could not hold much longer.

Some Han soldiers began to waver, wanting to flee the battle. Zhu Jun, seeing this, rushed forward, drew his sword, and cut down one after another, heads rolling. Pointing his blade skyward, he declared fiercely, "Anyone who dares to desert—this is what awaits you!"

His ruthless display cowed the defenders; none dared entertain thoughts of escape. These troops were newly recruited, barely trained, their fighting spirit far inferior to regulars. With countless Yellow Turbans still outside, had Zhu Jun not suppressed them, a mutiny would have doomed Changshe.

Bocai, seeing that nothing was being thrown from the walls any longer, shouted excitedly, "Men, the defenders are out of supplies! All of you, storm the walls! There’s plenty of grain within for us to enjoy. A hundred gold pieces to the first on the wall—another hundred for anyone who kills Huangfu Song or Zhu Jun!"

His words spurred the Yellow Turbans to a frenzy, reckless and fearless, launching another assault. Bocai cared little for losses; even if he lost twenty or thirty thousand men, as long as Changshe fell, he would replenish his ranks from its population.

Huangfu Song and Zhu Jun exchanged a look, eyes filled with infinite sorrow. Then they shouted together, "We swear to defend Changshe to the death!" Grasping their weapons, they charged to the wall, joining the defenders in the slaughter.

Just then, "General! Trouble! Five kilometers behind us, a large Han army is advancing toward us!" a Yellow Turban rushed to Bocai’s side and shouted.

"What did you say!?" Bocai was startled. "How could Han reinforcements arrive at this time? How many are there?"

"Reporting, General, around ten thousand, half of them cavalry," the Yellow Turban replied respectfully.

"What? Only ten thousand? Even Huangfu Song’s forty thousand regulars couldn’t best me—what threat is a mere ten thousand?" Bocai scoffed. He ordered his forces to form up and prepare to resist the approaching Han reinforcements.