Volume One: Flames on the Frontier Chapter Fifty-One: Infiltrating the Enemy Camp

Both tribes once acknowledged the Western Jin as their legitimate sovereign, accepting its titles and rewards. Later, the Murong Xianbei established the Former Yan, while the Tuoba Xianbei founded the state of Dai.

When Former Qin rose to power, it successively conquered Former Yan and Dai, relocating the royal families of both states to Chang’an in order to keep them under control. After the disastrous Battle of Fei River, Former Qin fell into disarray. Murong Chui seized the opportunity to restore the Yan state, henceforth known in history as Later Yan. Meanwhile, Tuoba Gui rebuilt the state of Dai at Niuchuan, proclaimed himself King of Wei, and his regime became known as Northern Wei.

Tuoba Gui, still young, found his authority gravely threatened by his uncle, Tuoba Kuduo. For his own interests, Murong Chui sent his son Murong Lin with troops to aid Tuoba Gui in suppressing the rebellion, thereby helping him consolidate his rule.

As Tuoba Gui grew older and his power solidified, Northern Wei’s strength increased. The rivalry for regional dominance between Later Yan and Northern Wei intensified, leading to a gradual deterioration of their relations.

Later Yan had always regarded itself as the suzerain over Northern Wei, demanding horses from them. After being refused, they detained Tuoba Gui’s half-brother Tuoba Gu, Prince of Qin of Northern Wei, as a hostage.

Furthermore, Murong Chui had just the previous year destroyed Western Yan, ruled by Murong Yong, depriving Tuoba Gui of an important ally against Later Yan. More critically, by occupying the lands of Western Yan, Murong Chui was now able at any time to advance north from Jinyang and attack Dai, the heartland of Northern Wei, posing a grave threat to Tuoba Gui’s base of power.

Thus, Tuoba Gui struck first, repeatedly sending troops to harass the borders of Later Yan, raiding and capturing various tribes that had submitted to them.

In the fifth month of the twentieth year of the Taiyuan era, King Murong Chui of Yan accused King Tuoba Gui of Wei of rebelling against Yan, attacking border tribes, and refusing to provide horses. He dispatched his Crown Prince Murong Bao and others with eighty thousand troops to strike directly at Wuyuan, while ordering Murong De, King of Fanyang, to lead fifteen thousand infantry and cavalry in support as a reserve force. Simultaneously, he instructed Murong Kai, King of Taiyuan, to command thirty thousand cavalry to attack Pingcheng as a diversion.

He Yu quickly reviewed the sequence of events leading to the Yan-Wei conflict in his mind, reflecting, “Murong Chui is a shrewd commander. Militarily, Later Yan’s forces are advancing from both east and west, launching a pincer movement from north and south, seizing tremendous strategic initiative. Pingcheng, as the largest city of Northern Wei, serves as the shield of its capital Shengle. If it falls, the entire nation will be shaken. Yet, if heavy forces are dispatched to defend it, the capital’s defenses will be dangerously weakened, presenting Later Yan with a prime opportunity.”

Later Yan’s army was stronger than Northern Wei’s and, as the aggressor, could choose when to attack or when to contain, gaining a major strategic advantage.

As a transmigrator, He Yu naturally knew that this war would ultimately end in disaster for Later Yan, leading to its demise. Northern Wei would win a great victory and eventually unify northern China. Yet since history can shift at crucial junctures, especially with his own presence, who could say what might change?

For He Yu, he had never intended to alter the course of history, nor did he believe Northern Wei was necessarily superior to Later Yan. Reality, however, had placed him in opposition to the Later Yan army. Destroying Later Yan, wiping out the Murong clan, avenging the villagers of Chenjiawu and Deng’er—these were now his greatest goals in life.

He Yu spurred his white steed into a swift pursuit and, in less than the time it takes for half a stick of incense to burn, caught up with the Later Yan army. Over ten thousand armored Later Yan cavalry, holding torches, escorted more than a thousand large wagons, stretching out like a dragon as they advanced toward Yanmen. Both the soldiers and their horses wore heavy armor, their martial strength formidable and their courage fierce. In single combat, not to mention killing Murong Lin or Murong Shao, even approaching them would be no easy feat.

Cloaked by night, He Yu followed the rear of the main army, considering his options. His gaze fell upon the large wagons—these were laden with grain and loot plundered from Chenjiawu, and the ones driving them were villagers forcibly conscripted.

“Why not use the darkness to slip into the wagon drivers’ ranks and look for an opportunity to strike?” The Later Yan army had been on the march for a day and night without sleep; exhaustion and slackened vigilance were inevitable.

He Yu guided his white horse in a wide arc to the front of the Later Yan army, concealed it in the forest, then selected a sharp bend in the mountain road, hiding behind a boulder to lie in wait.

Before long, the vanguard of the Later Yan army came into view. He Yu, shrouded in shadow, searched intently but saw neither Murong Lin nor Murong Shao among the mounted officers. In the middle of the column were three ornate carriages, bearing banners and surrounded by heavily armored cavalry—clearly, the two were inside.

Murong Shao was no weakling, and Murong Lin even more formidable. A sudden charge from the shadows toward the carriages was out of the question. The wiser course was to infiltrate the ranks, gradually move closer, and then, when the moment was right, strike unexpectedly.

The long column passed by He Yu’s hiding place—hooves drummed, wheels rumbled. He Yu seized an unguarded moment, slipped from the darkness, and caught hold of the rail of a large wagon.

This wagon, heaped high with grain, was pulled by a yellow ox. The load was so heavy it formed a small mountain, and the uphill road made it even harder to move. Four villagers trailed behind, pushing with all their might.

One of the villagers, noticing He Yu’s presence, assumed he was a laborer from another wagon and paid no mind. He Yu smeared dirt on his face, loosened his hair to cover it. Many of these villagers were from Chenjiawu and had seen He Yu before; come daylight, he didn’t want to be recognized.

Crack—crack, crack!

A chorus of screams followed as several whips lashed through the air, striking the laborers.

A Later Yan cavalryman, yawning, cursed, “Useless lot! Push harder, or I’ll gut you, you dogs!”

None dared reply; they simply strained harder. He Yu, on the outside, also put his weight behind the wagon, and together they hauled it over the hump.

He Yu marched with the army for an entire day, parched and weary, until, by dusk the following day, they reached the Yanmen garrison camp. The soldiers who had attacked Chenjiawu returned to their own units, dispersing into the camp. Murong Lin and Murong Shao’s ornate carriages vanished from sight.

Two quartermasters arrived to direct the wagons to the granary, where the grain was unloaded. A laborer brought a wicker basket of flatbread and set it before the workers.

After a full day pushing wagons—more exhausting than battle—He Yu shook his head. “Poor planning. Had I known, I would’ve waited until the army neared the camp before sneaking in. I’ve wasted a day as a laborer for nothing.”

There was a well in the camp. Some fetched water in wooden buckets. He Yu took three flatbreads, ate his fill, and lay down on straw to rest.

A laborer in his forties came over quietly. “Are you from Chenjiawu too?”

He Yu thought, “All people crave companionship, even in a place like this.” Not wanting to talk, he shook his head.

The man, seeing He Yu unresponsive, sighed and lay down, lamenting, “Falling into the hands of the White Barbarians—that’s a death sentence. As long as they don’t eat us, though…”

He Yu reassured him, “The White Barbarians have plenty of grain now. They won’t eat human flesh. Just be careful.”

The Xianbei army was notorious for cannibalism, which terrified the laborers.

“But what if they run out of grain?” the man replied. “Then they’ll eat us for sure.”

“If it comes to that,” He Yu said, “we’ll escape together. If that fails, we’ll fight for our lives. Kill one, and it’s worth it. Kill two, and we’re ahead.”

At this, the laborer turned pale and urgently warned, “Quiet! Don’t even think of such things. The White Barbarians are too many. We can’t outrun them, and we’re no match in a fight. What are we to do?”

“If you won’t run and won’t fight,” He Yu remarked, “then you’re just waiting for them to cut your throat.”

He Yu opened his eyes and studied the man—a strapping, bearded fellow in his forties, with a bold appearance. Yet he was a timid coward, cowering at the first sign of danger.

Irritated, He Yu turned away, ignoring him. The man, seeing He Yu fall silent, sat up, muttered complaints about his fate, then lay down and soon began to snore.

He Yu smiled to himself: “This man’s nerves are something—scared to death one moment, sound asleep the next.”

He glanced at the sky. It was nearly the third watch. There was no moon, and a strong southeast wind blew. Except for the lanterns of the patrols, darkness blanketed the camp—a perfect night for killing.

He Yu crept up, crawled under a wagon, and edged toward the flagpole bearing the commander’s banner. By logic, the central command tent must be near the flag, which was his target.

Unfamiliar with the Later Yan army’s camp routines and wary of being questioned or triggering any traps, he crawled beneath the parked wagons. Though slow, this kept him out of sight.

The Later Yan army used many wagons, loading them with supplies by day and forming them into barriers around the tents at night—a clever and effective system.

On hands and knees, He Yu crawled steadily toward the main command tent. The central tent was three times the size of the others, heavily guarded, and fronted by a crimson banner inscribed with, “Grand Commandant, Governor of Military Affairs in Sizhou and Bingzhou, King of Taiyuan, Murong Kai.” Drums and ceremonial instruments stood to either side, exuding an air of authority.

Hidden beneath a wagon, He Yu calculated, “The tent is guarded by Murong Kai’s elite personal troops—the best of the best, and many in number. A frontal assault is out of the question. The only way is to infiltrate the tent and behead Murong Kai in one blow. With my skills, escaping should be possible.” But how to get into such a heavily guarded tent?

He Yu watched the sentries outside but was at a loss.

Just then, a commotion rose among the guards—clanking armor and shuffling feet; it was time for the midnight changing of the guard.

He Yu was delighted. Seizing an opening, he rolled flat along the ground until he pressed himself against the tent wall. Dressed in black, he blended perfectly with the shadows—no one would notice him without a close look.

The guards, after changing shifts, all faced outward, never suspecting anyone behind them. Faint light glimmered within the tent, and a cough sounded—it seemed those inside had not yet gone to bed.

He Yu drew his sword, Jueque, and quietly made a small hole in the tent, peering inside. The interior was splendidly appointed, curtains draped all around, a large screen dividing the tent into inner and outer chambers. He Yu was aligned with the curtain.

This was clearly a sleeping tent, not the command tent. The outer chamber held tables, chairs, chess sets, command tokens, and writing implements; the inner chamber featured a three-sided curtained bed and long tables with daily necessities.

A man in his forties, dressed in an inner robe, leaned against the bed, his face sickly and wracked by coughing. A stunningly beautiful young woman stood at his side, holding a bowl of medicine, tending to him.