Chapter 51: The Siege of Changshe Lifted

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“Bocai, you little brat, there’s no escape for you!” As Zhang Fei saw Bocai just about to vanish from his line of sight, he readied himself to give chase.

“Don’t pursue a desperate foe.” At that moment, Liu Yao approached the three of them and gave his command. It wasn’t that Liu Yao lacked the desire to pursue, but both the Vanguard Battalion and the Assault Battalion had a common flaw: they were ill-suited for long, drawn-out pursuits. The reason was simple—their equipment was far too heavy. Each soldier wielded weapons weighing over fifty catties, and the armor and baggage only added to the burden.

Seeing Liu Yao’s decision, Zhang Fei, though reluctant, stopped in his tracks. He could only watch as the Yellow Turban soldiers slipped away right before his eyes.

“May I ask if you are the First Prince?” At this moment, Huangfu Song and Zhu Jun, having defeated their respective foes, approached Liu Yao. Gazing upon this blood-soaked figure clad in a metal helmet, his features obscured, yet exuding a terrifying aura, they inquired.

Liu Yao turned, lifted his visor, and burst into laughter. “Hahaha, General Huangfu, General Zhu, it has been two years since we parted in Luoyang. How have you fared in recent times?”

The two generals noted that Liu Yao’s appearance had changed little from when they’d last met in Luoyang—still that elegant and handsome youth. But in temperament, he was no longer the callow prince of two years past. Now, he carried a mature and noble air.

They couldn’t help but feel a sense of awe at the contrast: this young man, bloodied from battle, holding a massive axe the size of a door in his hand, its edge still dripping with blood; his slight frame, barely one meter seventy in height, slender and almost frail, yet moments ago he’d been charging through the enemy ranks with wild abandon. The realization that they themselves were growing old struck them deeply.

Of course, Liu Yao’s stature only seemed small next to men like Huangfu Song, Zhang Fei, and the others, all well over one meter ninety—and even Zhao Yun stood at least one meter eighty-five. Liu Yao’s shorter height was understandable, given his youth.

“Thank you for your concern, Your Highness. I have been well,” Huangfu Song replied respectfully, his admiration for the young prince—so accomplished at such a young age—growing even deeper. “Your Highness, this is not the best place for conversation. Why not enter the city, refresh yourself, and allow me to host a banquet in your honor?”

Though Huangfu Song spoke courteously, both he and Zhu Jun’s eyes were fixed on the scaled armor Liu Yao wore, unable to conceal their envy. For any general, weapons, armor, and steeds were the most prized possessions—even famed commanders like Huangfu Song were no exception.

They had witnessed firsthand how the Yellow Turban soldiers’ weapons glanced harmlessly off Liu Yao’s armor, sparks flying but leaving him unscathed. Though both generals wore the finest armor from the imperial palace, how could it compare to the scaled armor crafted from refined steel by Oufeng, the descendant of Ou Yezi, in an age where the Eastern Han paid little heed to ironwork?

“Haha, yes, my lord. We’ve eaten nothing but dry rations these past days. My mouth is so bland I could spit feathers. We must have a proper meal—and if there’s wine, even better!” Zhang Fei laughed heartily, rubbing his stomach.

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Liu Yao shot Zhang Fei a fierce glare, causing the latter to retreat a step in fright. “You oaf, I’ve told you there’s to be no drinking during wartime. Have you forgotten? Do you want me to ban you from wine for several months before you’re satisfied?”

“Uh, no, I won’t drink. Old Zhang won’t drink anymore,” Zhang Fei replied hastily, waving his hands.

“Your Highness, there’s no need to be so strict. After all, today we have won a great victory, and the soldiers deserve some reward. As long as no one gets drunk, a little taste of wine is permissible. Besides, this general here has rendered great service today—a small drink should be allowed,” Zhu Jun interjected. He admired straightforward warriors like Zhang Fei the most—such men resonated with Zhu Jun, himself of humble military origins.

Zhu Jun’s words had Zhang Fei nodding enthusiastically, giving him a secret thumbs-up, only to be glared at by Liu Yao once more.

“Very well, but only a little. Absolutely no drunkenness,” Liu Yao relented. After all, today’s victory was decisive, and Bocai, wounded, was in no condition to attempt any surprise attacks.

Hearing Liu Yao’s consent, Zhang Fei broke into a broad grin.

“That’s settled, then. Your Highness, please follow me into the city,” Huangfu Song said.

Liu Yao did not protest further. He was indeed hungry, and his inner garments were soaked with blood, sticky and uncomfortable. He longed for a proper bath. With a wave of his hand, he called out, “Vanguard Battalion, Assault Battalion, follow me into the city!”

The more than ten thousand soldiers marched grandly toward the city gates, passing under the envious and respectful gazes of Huangfu Song’s troops.

“All men, clean up the battlefield, then return for your rewards!” Huangfu Song announced loudly to his soldiers.

A great cheer erupted, and the men immediately set to work in an orderly fashion.

According to later records, the Yellow Turban army lost thirty thousand lives in this great battle, with countless more wounded. Their remaining fighting force was less than a hundred thousand. Huangfu Song’s side fared little better, suffering the loss of ten thousand men.

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As for Liu Yao’s own troops, they were nearly unscathed—seventeen dead in the Vanguard Battalion, thirty-nine in the Assault Battalion. There were no seriously wounded, and only a few light injuries. On the battlefield, accidents are inevitable; most of those who died were struck in the face by stray arrows, so naturally, there were no cases of serious injury. Unlike Liu Yao, who had a specially made helmet that protected all his vital areas, the others were less well equipped.

Within the governor’s mansion in Changshe, Liu Yao and his companions, now washed and refreshed, were led to the main hall by Huangfu Song’s personal guards, where Huangfu Song and Zhu Jun awaited them.

Upon Liu Yao’s arrival, Huangfu Song quickly stepped forward and said respectfully, “Your Highness, please take the seat of honor.”

“No need,” Liu Yao replied casually with a wave of his hand. “You are the hosts here; it would not be proper for a guest to take the main seat.” With that, he chose a seat at random along the sides.

Zhang Fei and the others followed suit and sat down accordingly.

Huangfu Song could only shake his head helplessly as Liu Yao had already seated himself, and then, together with Zhu Jun, took the main seats.

“Your Highness, esteemed generals, we owe you our deepest thanks for coming from afar to our aid. Were it not for you, these old bones would now be lying on this battlefield, and the people of Changshe would have suffered as well. Allow me to offer you a toast in gratitude!” Zhu Jun raised his cup heartily.

“Haha, General Zhu, you are too kind. Cheers!” Liu Yao replied without reservation. In the army, one must be forthright—timidity and reserve only breed resentment.

“Cheers!” The assembled officers all raised their cups, celebrating their hard-won victory.