5: “Victory”
The Eastern Hu tribe originally didn’t live here—they migrated from the west and maintained their ancestors’ nomadic traditions.
Farming regions depend on the seasons, and so do pastoral areas. Poor weather or scarce grasslands affect food, clothing, and shelter. Every winter, they face freezing cold and heavy snow, which is why they always covet the warm, fertile lands of the Central Plains.
Now, their khan had signed a treaty with Liang, so open war wasn’t permitted—but what did that matter to ordinary nomads? They didn’t care; if there was no food, they still moved south to seize it.
But this time was different. As they approached the city gates, they saw not a single Central Plains resident!
The Hu had guessed that Liang must have received advance notice and was prepared, maybe even laying an ambush ahead.
Still, they didn’t care. What could the old, weak, or sick people of Yongning County do? If they really dared to fight, they would have acted already—waiting until now meant these people were cowardly and spineless.
The Hu leader even encouraged his men: “After we take the city today, let’s loot the inhabitants and bring back some women too!”
Women from the Central Plains were highly prized in their lands.
The men grew excited, laughing and shouting obscenities as they spurred their horses forward. But in the next moment, several leading riders lost control.
Horses fell, riders were thrown off, tumbling across the ground, narrowly escaping death.
More riders behind didn’t brake in time, and the chaos repeated—several men and horses were lost. Upon inspection, they discovered many inconspicuous vines along the path.
“Those damn Central Plains people, always pulling these petty tricks!” the Hu shouted in frustration, removing the vines. Once convinced there were no traps, they moved on—but soon discovered more horse pits ahead.
They sustained further injuries and could barely ride, frustrated and helpless.
“Could there be more traps ahead?” someone hesitated.
The Hu leader, Baorijin, a famous local warrior familiar with Yongning County, reassured them: “Don’t worry. Yongning has no real weapons, only these wooden sticks and vines—they’re nothing to fear.”
But their horses had suffered. Though Eastern Hu horses weren’t as valuable as Liang’s, they were still vulnerable to such sabotage. Exhausted and angry, they arrived at the city gates with murderous intent, roaring to break through.
Pei Zhu glanced briefly and dragged Zheng Xingcheng forward. “Weren’t there supposed to be only a thousand troops?”
There were at least two thousand now.
Zheng’s face darkened. The initial report was indeed only a thousand, but reinforcements might have joined en route. Still, he arrogantly claimed: “Numbers don’t matter. Either way, we can’t win.”
Pei Zhu couldn’t help but laugh at his confident pessimism.
Zheng prepared to flee as the Hu drew bows, but before he could move, Pei Zhu grabbed him by the collar.
“No retreat today,” Pei Zhu growled.
Zheng glared, furious. Why should he be dragged into this? But Pei Zhu didn’t release him. Yongning County didn’t need cowardly officials—while citizens defended the city, officials couldn’t escape.
Zheng continued to struggle, shouting defiance, but Pei Zhu passed him to Wei Ping, who tied him up even more ruthlessly.
Zhang Rusheng, standing by the gate, panicked but didn’t dare intervene—he’d just become a target.
The townspeople, seeing the overwhelming Hu force, panicked. Pei Zhu, however, mounted a makeshift catapult and began hurling stones.
One struck a Hu, sending blood everywhere.
Suppressing his nausea, Pei Zhu continued. Mercy now would be cruelty to his own people. He couldn’t let the Hu advance an inch further.
People often just need a leader. Seeing Pei Zhu take the lead, they shed their fear. Hu men were human too—stones could kill them.
Increasingly, villagers climbed the walls to help defend. Though inexperienced, they relied on sheer numbers.
Zheng, trying to dodge arrows, saw that Pei Zhu remained unharmed, shielded by villagers around him—a treatment he’d never received. He seethed with envy.
The counterattack enraged the Hu. The Liang people weren’t afraid to fight; they hurled stones and sprinkled foul-smelling ash. The wind blew the stench into the Hu ranks, blinding them, breaking their momentum.
Hu warfare usually relied on brute force, not trickery. Angered, they hit the gates harder.
Massive stones and beams temporarily held the gate, but with continuous battering, it wouldn’t last two days. If the enraged Hu broke through, it would be catastrophic.
By afternoon, some Hu had disappeared, leaving only a few hundred facing the villagers.
Zheng’s unease grew: “They must be fetching reinforcements!”
He scolded Pei Zhu: “You should’ve fed them the food and let them leave! Now, with reinforcements coming, how long will this gate hold? Look at all the casualties—who will pay for them?”
Pei Zhu rolled his eyes: “Shut up. There’s no reinforcements coming that fast.”
By then, the Hu had built ladders and were preparing to storm the walls.
Pei Zhu’s demeanor changed. He ordered a pause in the counterattack.
“Stop what? Don’t drag me into your death!” Zheng raged, struggling.
Wei Ping didn’t move, calculating silently how easily he could eliminate this corrupt official.
Pei Zhu, seeing the Hu ladders, climbed boldly, predicting no counterattack. He smirked.
At his command, officials poured the petroleum over the attacking Hu.
Their heads slicked with black oil, they were bewildered.
Pei Zhu shouted, “Ignite!” Torches were thrown. Fire engulfed the Hu, spreading up the ladders.
Even the defending villagers were stunned by the massive blaze. Flames devoured the Hu and their equipment.
The defenders poured oil faster and flames grew fiercer, turning the area below into a sea of fire.
Burn! Burn these scoundrels!
They had plundered, killed innocents—now justice was served.
Baorijin ordered his men to the river to extinguish the flames. But fire on wet Hu bodies only intensified; many collapsed unconscious.
“Retreat!” he commanded, realizing survival mattered more than pride.
Pei Zhu assumed it was over—but the defenders, villagers included, surged forward.
Those with knives wielded them; those without grabbed farm tools or sticks, attacking without fear. After years of suppressed rage, they finally took revenge.
The Hu were outnumbered and burnt, unable to fight back. Even the uninjured could not resist ten to one.
Pei Zhu was stunned: “When did Yongning become so formidable?”
Watching silently, Wang Chuo observed: “They’ve just been suppressed for too long.”
Pei Zhu feared their rage might backfire, so he led a pursuit. Chaos reigned, and the villagers couldn’t stop.
Most Hu were captured or killed; only a few escaped. Villagers were euphoric, as if they’d won a great battle.
Pei Zhu breathed a sigh of relief. The few survivors wouldn’t dare return soon. Still, vigilance was necessary; the Hu could regroup later.
Finally, Pei Zhu noticed Wei Ping had disappeared. Alarmed, he searched and found him inspecting the bodies under the gate.
Despite the burnt corpses, Wei Ping efficiently collected valuables: water flasks, money pouches, beads, even damaged bows—all saved. Dead horses were also brought back.
Pei Zhu was dumbfounded. Even old boots were salvaged.
How poor must Yongning be to force people to survive by scavenging the dead?
He vowed never to be a poor county magistrate again and never let his people live by picking through corpses.