Chapter Fifteen: Zhong Hui

The sheer cliffs of Motian Ridge, carved as if by knife and axe, soared straight into the clouds. Deng Zhong wiped the frost from his brows and eyes, watching the soldiers one after another cling to the nearly vertical rock face, their waists bound with thick hemp ropes. The biting wind howled, stretching the ropes taut with a piercing creak that chilled the teeth.

“General, in half a day we’ll cross the ridge,” the deputy general pointed toward the mist-shrouded summit. “The scouting cavalry reports the first military camp lies five li down the northern slope. There’s no sign of anything unusual.”

Deng Zhong tightened his shoulder armor. Beneath the bronze plates, his sweat-soaked undergarment had frozen into a shell. He glanced back—three thousand elite troops clung to the vast mountain ridge like ants, their banners flapping wildly in the gale.

His expression remained calm. Based on his and Deng Ai’s analysis, the path from Jiangyou to Yinping held little danger. After all, these camps were merely supply depots, each guarded by only a few hundred men. With his rank as a young general, no one dared to question him.

“Order all troops to inspect the Wei soldiers’ uniforms,” Deng Zhong’s voice merged with the wind. “No one is to speak or raise their voices without my command.”

Among the three thousand soldiers, some hailed from Bashu, others from Yongliang, their accents slightly differing.

Snowflakes, sharp as knives, whipped their faces atop the summit. Soldiers tightened their ropes, forming a long line along the edge of a sheer cliff hundreds of feet high. Though perilous, mutual support made the crossing manageable.

Many had traversed this path before, while others, born in Bashu and adept at mountain travel, made the journey smoother.

By midday, the vanguard finally spotted the beacon atop the mountain’s mid-slope. Behind stone walls, the Wei banner lazily fluttered. Deng Zhong drew out his command arrow.

“The Marquis of Huitangting has arrived. Open the camp gates.”

Stepping forward, Deng Zhong called out loudly.

“The young general returns! The young general returns!”

The camp’s captain recognized Deng Zhong and quickly ordered the gates opened.

“The Han Tiance Army has arrived. Surrendering soldiers will not be harmed!”

A smile graced Deng Zhong’s face as he strode inside, drawing his sword and shouting.

The three hundred Wei soldiers inside hadn’t even reacted before Deng Zhong’s three thousand troops encircled them. They had no choice but to lay down their arms and surrender quietly to the Tiance Army.

***

The cold wind cut like a blade, tearing at every inch of Deng Zhong’s exposed skin. Standing atop the newly captured camp wall, he gazed at the three hundred Wei prisoners under guard, his fingers absentmindedly tracing the patterns on his sword’s hilt.

“General, all surrendered troops have been disarmed. Per your orders, none were harmed,” the deputy general hurried over, icicles still clinging to his armor.

Deng Zhong nodded slightly, his eyes sweeping over the dejected Wei soldiers. Most wore thin clothing and shivered in the biting cold, clearly unprepared for an attack from their own side.

“Have you confirmed the camp’s supply reserves?”

“Enough for our army for ten days,” the deputy lowered his voice.

Deng Zhong immediately commanded, “Leave one hundred men to assist the king. The rest, take rations and press on to the next camp. Speed is of the essence—we must reach Yinping as soon as possible.”

“Yes, sir!”

The deputy hurried to rally the troops, and with Deng Zhong’s name leading them, the army moved unimpeded. Within a day, they seized three more mountain camps. By evening, Deng Zhong ordered the soldiers to set up camp.

Having traversed this path before, Deng Zhong felt little pressure.

Meanwhile, outside Jiange Pass, a letter from Deng Ai arrived before Zhong Hui.

Compared to Deng Ai’s generals, Zhong Hui’s army of one hundred thousand was truly filled with talent: his nephew Zhong Yong, the Minister of Justice, the military inspector Wei Guan, strategist Du Yu, chief clerk Xiahou Xian, staff officer Yuan, generals Tian Zhang and Gou An, chief clerk Deng Yin, protector Xun Kai, former general Li Fu, protector Hu Lie, commander Jia Fu, cavalry leader Cao Zhu Fu, attendant Yang Xiu, Left Sima Xiahou He, camp supervisor Qiu Jian, Wei Xing governor Liu Qin, pacification general Pang Hui, tooth commander Xu Yi, and many others.

Zhong Hui unfolded Deng Ai’s letter, his narrow eyes narrowing slightly. The crackling campfire cast his shadow like a slithering serpent upon the oxhide map.

“The General Who Conquers the West says he has led elite troops through Yinping, occupied Jiangyou and Fucheng, and is engaged in battle with Zhuge Zhan beneath Fucheng’s walls,” Zhong Hui’s fingers tapped lightly on the table, his voice syrupy and amused. “He requests our forces continue to hold Jiangyou to pin down Jiang Wei.”

“Fools and dreamers!” Pang Hui suddenly slammed the table, his iron armor clattering. The grizzled general’s beard quivered with rage as he scoffed, “An old man in his sixties leading a few thousand men over Motian Ridge? He’ll never see the walls of Shu—he’ll be wolf food in the mountains first!”

Du Yu cleared his throat, tracing shallow grooves on the bamboo scroll, his tone calm: “General Pang, be careful with your words. Deng Conquers the West has already passed Jiangyou and occupied Fucheng. The seven hundred li Yinping path has long been crossed.”

***

The candlelight flickered inside the tent, casting uncertain shadows over the faces present. Zhong Hui gently rubbed the edge of the letter and suddenly chuckled.

“Deng Shizai is quite the strategist,” he said, handing the letter to Wei Guan beside him. “Everyone, have a look.”

Wei Guan’s ivory-like fingers gleamed coldly in the candlelight. With a smiling squint, he murmured, “The General Who Conquers the West intends to claim all the glory of Shu’s destruction for himself.” His voice was as light as a feather’s brush, yet the temperature in the tent plummeted.

“Nonsense!” Pang Hui suddenly kicked the table over, spilling wine that stained the carpet dark red. His waist sword clanged as he growled, “What right has he to ask our hundred thousand troops to make his wedding gown?”

Zhong Hui raised a hand, signaling Pang Hui to calm down, a faint smile lingering on his lips. He stepped to the hanging map, tracing the Yinping path slowly from Jiangyou to Fucheng, and finally Mianzhu.

“Staff officer Du,” Zhong Hui began, “not long ago, Tian Xu told me they have passed Fucheng and are about to reach Mianzhu. Liu Shan has sent Zhuge Zhan with seventy thousand troops to intercept them.”

“Has old Deng Ai suffered defeat?” Pang Hui exclaimed. “Is that why he fears our withdrawal? That Jiang Wei could advance on Fucheng and trap him between Jiangyou and Fucheng?”

The others nodded in agreement, some with a hint of schadenfreude.

Indeed, if Deng Ai passed Mianzhu and stood before Chengdu’s gates, the fall of the kingdom would be assured. How could these generals bear that?

Now, with Deng Ai stalled, they all felt exhilarated.

“If Deng Ai is defeated, Zhuge Zhan’s forces will press upon us here. Our pressure will greatly increase,” Zhong Hui shook his head.

Though unwilling to let Deng Ai alone claim the glory of conquest, he also did not want Deng Ai defeated, which would force Zhuge Zhan and Jiang Wei to join forces against him.

“Damnable,” Pang Hui growled in anger.