Chapter Two: The Battle on the Mountain Summit

At that moment, Yang Tianbao, commander of the western corps, saw Yang Shengtian atop the mountain beginning his assault on Wei Xiaoping. He immediately shouted loudly to the soldiers behind him:

“Brothers! Lord Huicheng has already launched the attack from the summit—let us charge the enemy before us as well! Leave not a single one alive! When we’re done, feed their corpses to our mounts!”

“Fight bravely and destroy the enemy, I am destined to triumph! Fight bravely and destroy the enemy, I am destined to triumph!” Tens of thousands of soldiers thundered in unison, their voices resounding through the entire valley, shaking the earth with their might.

As soon as their chant ended, the massed soldiers raised their weapons, slapping their mounts’ hindquarters, and with a sweep of their blades, they surged toward the enemy corps led by Huang Xianlin to the east, charging with shouts of war.

At the foot of the eastern mountain, Huang Xianlin, commander under Wei Xiaoping, saw the enemy advancing and immediately called out:

“Brothers! General Wei made it clear before he left: unless the enemy strikes first, we are not to make the first move. Now that they are upon us, we cannot simply sit and await death. Prepare for battle!”

“Yes!” the soldiers answered in chorus.

“All archers, ready your bows! The enemy is advancing in dense ranks. Each of you, nock three arrows at once. Take careful aim and draw your bows to the utmost. Wait for my command—when the enemy is closer, let the arrows fly!”

“Yes!” the soldiers responded, their voices ringing out.

The archers each drew three arrows from their quivers, setting them neatly to the bowstring, focusing their sights on the charging foes.

These arrows were called fire-arrows, or explosive bolts. Each carried a small ball of specially crafted gunpowder. Upon impact, the ball would explode, scattering flaming fragments in all directions, igniting whatever they struck.

Soon, Yang Tianbao’s corps drew nearer and nearer.

“One… two… three—loose!” Huang Xianlin shouted.

In an instant, five or six thousand bows released their deadly payloads. Nearly twenty thousand fire-arrows arced toward Yang Shengtian’s advancing troops in a dense rain.

The front ranks were struck in waves. The sounds of galloping mounts, exploding arrows, and the screams and cries of wounded men and beasts mingled in wild chaos.

With mounts and riders falling in the van, those behind crashed into the tangle before them, unable to halt their charge, compounding the confusion and carnage.

Yang Tianbao, watching his men felled in droves by Huang Xianlin’s archers at the first charge, was furious. He had not expected such a ruthless tactic from the enemy and cursed himself for his carelessness.

“Brothers struck by arrows ahead, get up, put out the flames, and keep charging! The rest, follow close! If you see the enemy nocking arrows again, hit the ground immediately—that’s how you’ll avoid their volleys!” he roared at his soldiers.

The troops pressed forward once more.

Seeing the enemy continue their advance, Huang Xianlin called out, “Archers, ready again and await my order!”

“Yes!” the soldiers’ voices boomed as they prepared.

“The enemy draws ever closer—lower your aim this time!”

“Ready—loose!” Another storm of over ten thousand fire-arrows shot forth like rain.

Again, chaos engulfed Yang Tianbao’s troops.

“Now, prepare yourselves,” Huang Xianlin commanded. “When the enemy is close enough, we’ll charge and settle this in deadly combat. When you go, if you have the chance, aim for their mounts first. Unseating them gives us the upper hand!”

…

“Kill!” Huang Xianlin raised his golden wolf-tooth spear, pointing forward, and with a flick of the golden cord looped around his qilin’s neck, he charged ahead on his divine beast.

Thus, the grand war began in earnest…

…

On the mountaintop, Wei Xiaoping saw Xuan-arrows raining toward him from Yang Shengtian. Instantly, he raised the Demon-Slaying Sword, sweeping it before him.

The sword split into countless blades, darting to intercept the incoming arrows.

A series of metallic clangs filled the air as every one of Yang Shengtian’s arrows was struck down, vanishing before they could reach their mark.

Infuriated at seeing his arrows countered so effortlessly, Yang Shengtian hurled his Xuan-bow at Wei Xiaoping’s head.

The bow, infused with its master’s power, vibrated with wings as thin as a cicada’s, splitting into hundreds of identical bows that surrounded Wei Xiaoping. These aimed at both Wei Xiaoping and Da Huang, drawing and releasing their strings automatically in endless succession.

Thousands of arrows shot from every direction, enveloping them.

Wei Xiaoping, seeing himself beset by a hail of arrows from all sides, raised the Demon-Slaying Sword and shouted, “Extend!”

The sword grew to two or three fathoms in length, spinning around himself and Da Huang at lightning speed.

Instantly, the sword multiplied into a thousand flashing blades, swirling in a protective dance.

The radiant glow of the Xuan-bows and arrows clashed with the shining Demon-Slaying Sword, lightning flickering across their crossing paths, filling the air with thunderous sounds.

Within the time it took to drink a bowl of water, all the thousands of arrows were shattered by Wei Xiaoping’s sword.

Meanwhile, the two mounts—each a fearsome beast—snarled and lashed their tails at one another, hurling streams of crimson dragon-fire from their mouths.

The interplay of glowing arrows, sword-light, and fire formed a shifting, fantastical tableau between the two young men—magnificent and awe-inspiring.

As the clamor raged on, Wei Xiaoping’s sword continued to shatter the arrows until none remained.

Seeing his attack fail, Yang Shengtian roared, “Return!”

At his command, the phantom bows ceased their attack, converging on the master Xuan-bow, which then returned to Yang Shengtian’s hand. With a toss, he slung the bow across his back, where it vanished.

Yang Shengtian then raised his left hand, and a gleaming golden halberd materialized—a weapon forged from ancient metal, shining with golden light. He leveled its blade at Wei Xiaoping, gripped the shaft with both hands, and urged his mount, Little Black, forward.

“Wei Xiaoping, prepare to die!” he bellowed, his mount speeding toward his foe, fire streaming from its jaws, his momentum deadly and unstoppable.

As Yang Shengtian charged, images of his fallen brothers flashed through his mind, each vision stoking his fury.

Wei Xiaoping sensed the mad intensity of his opponent’s assault—knowing Yang Shengtian was on the brink of losing himself to rage.

He squeezed his thighs around Da Huang. “Quick, Da Huang, leap aside—don’t let my brother crash into us!”

With a roar, Da Huang ceased spitting fire and leapt a hundred meters to the right.

Wei Xiaoping’s mount was a golden beast, part dragon, part something else. Though dragon-shaped, golden bat-like wings sprouted from its sides.

Wei Xiaoping called this beast Da Huang.

He named it so not only for its golden color, but also because it was older than him, fiercely loyal, and cherished him as his own parents would. In ancient times, “Da” was a term of deep respect, and so Wei Xiaoping called it Da Huang to honor his companion.

Seeing his charge miss, Yang Shengtian wheeled his mount and charged again.

Wei Xiaoping and Da Huang dodged each time, and after several rounds, Yang Shengtian had yet to land a blow.

Frustrated, Yang Shengtian shouted to his mount, “Little Black, you deal with Da Huang. I’ll take on Wei Xiaoping myself. Today, it’s kill or be killed!”

With that, he leapt from Little Black’s back toward Wei Xiaoping, as Little Black lunged at Da Huang, spitting fire.

Yang Shengtian’s mount was a dark, ancient beast—its head a black dragon’s, its body like a great bird’s, with wings of thin, scaly flesh, devoid of fur but clad in dragon scales. He called it Little Black, though sometimes even he couldn’t remember why.

Seeing Yang Shengtian leap toward him, golden halberd poised overhead, Wei Xiaoping called out, “Da Huang, go handle Little Black—try not to hurt him. I’ll reason with my brother!”

With that, he sprang from Da Huang’s back, raising his sword to parry the descending halberd.

A thunderous crash rang out as sword and halberd met, casting a flash of white light.

“Yang Xiaofan, stop this madness!” Wei Xiaoping pleaded as he countered thrusts, sweeps, and chops from Yang Shengtian’s halberd. “We are true brothers. Must one of us die for you to be satisfied?”

But in Yang Shengtian’s mind, a delusional voice urged him on: “Tell Wei Xiaoping—‘You are no brother of mine! True brothers show compassion! If you were my brother, you wouldn’t have killed so many of my men, nor left me so utterly defeated. If you want me to believe you are my brother, let me strike you once with my halberd. Tell him—quickly!’”

Wracked with pain, Yang Shengtian thrust his halberd while crying, “You are no brother of mine! True brothers cherish each other! If you were really my brother, you wouldn’t have slain my brothers-in-arms, nor shown such heartlessness, nor left me so humiliated!”

Wei Xiaoping dodged the blows, replying, “Brother, you twist words to suit yourself! Don’t be blinded by stubbornness. Come back to me. As long as you return, as long as you no longer fight for the enemy, I’ll let you do whatever you wish!”

As he parried, his tone turned almost to pleading.

Again, the voice in Yang Shengtian’s mind whispered, “Say to him: if you want me as your brother and wish me to return, you must first answer for the men you killed. Let me strike you three times with the halberd—if you accept, all grudges are wiped clean, and I’ll return. Will you accept?”

Yang Shengtian spoke, “If you wish me to acknowledge you as my brother, and return to your side, I must avenge my fallen brothers. Let me strike you three times with my halberd—if you accept, all enmity is gone, and I will return. Do you agree?”

Hearing this, Wei Xiaoping felt a flicker of joy—at last, Yang Shengtian was willing to acknowledge their brotherhood!

But sorrow mingled with his relief—it pained him that his brother would demand three blows as the price of reconciliation.

Yet, he thought, if Yang Shengtian would only agree to leave the enemy and return, what harm in suffering three strikes—or even dozens? After all, in this world, his brother was the only one truly close to him. If his brother could start anew, then, even in death, he could face their parents with a clear conscience.