The Ambush at Mengjin
Lord Xinling! We must stop here! Everyone is too exhausted. If we continue like this, we risk falling victim to a Qin counterattack!
At her adjutant’s urgent cry, Lord Xinling slowly reined in her horse. She knew it as well. The allied army had reached its breaking point. From the beginning, the coalition forces were bound to suffer greater fatigue than Qin. No matter how brilliantly Lord Xinling and her generals had wielded their uncanny tactics to overwhelm the Qin troops, the path to that victory had been paved with the soldiers’ blood and sweat.
Outnumbered, they had been forced to fight three enemies with every two men. The central army that had to hold back Qin forces closing in from three sides, the right wing that split its cavalry strength in half, and the left wing that carried out the encirclement and moved more frantically than anyone else—all of them had wrung out every last ounce of their strength. Perhaps they had already passed their limit long ago. Only the thrill and excitement of a hard-won victory had let them forget their fatigue for a while and ignore the desperate pleas of their overworked bodies.
By contrast, the Qin army’s exhaustion was lighter than expected. Many of them—except those who had fought on the front lines—had waited their turns in relative comfort, and the suicide squads left in the rear had performed their duty so thoroughly that the pursuers could not expend much stamina chasing them down. The reason the Qin forces focused solely on retreat rather than counterattacking was simply the shock of their catastrophic defeat, which had shattered their will to fight.
Even a cornered rat will bite a cat, the saying went. If the Qin army decided they had no choice but to fight with their backs to the wall, they would overcome the despair of defeat and set their hidden fighting spirit ablaze. An allied army running on empty could never prevail against such an enemy.
“Relay the order to the entire army. We will rest.”
Lord Xinling severed her lingering reluctance and halted the advance. Though the Qin army had suffered a crushing defeat, they remained the strongest force under heaven—the army of Qin.
With this battle, nearly a hundred thousand have been killed or taken prisoner.
Of the two hundred and eighty thousand Qin troops, roughly one-third had been wiped out in a single engagement. The Biao Gong army that formed Qin’s right wing had been virtually annihilated, and Meng Ao’s central force had suffered heavy losses after committing all their suicide squads during the retreat. Only Zhang Dang’s left wing had managed to preserve its strength; they had fought Zhao troops who focused solely on defense and withdrew before the encirclement that began on the right wing could close around them.
In the end, it was an overwhelming victory that brought the allied army enormous gains. Had there been any greater military achievement in recent years? Among the various states, one would have to look back ten years to the campaign that rescued Handan. In Qin, which had marched from victory to victory, the only comparable feat was the slaughter of one hundred and thirty thousand Han and Zhao troops by Ju nine years earlier.
Yet Lord Xinling had no intention of being satisfied. It was not enough. Far from it. A mere hundred thousand? That would never suffice. To halt Qin’s wild ambitions, to give the various states time to recover from their wounds and regain enough strength to withstand Qin’s attacks—at least until a new alliance could be formed even if old rivalries resurfaced—at least twice this achievement would be necessary.
If Qin mobilized forces from Ba-Shu and the old capital of Yong, they could easily field more than the four hundred thousand already committed to this offensive. Lord Xinling had heard of the canal they had built in the former Shu territories—the Dujiangyan. After its completion, Shu produced so much grain that thieves no longer bothered raiding storehouses. That vast surplus would fuel Qin’s population growth. Even after losing a hundred thousand men, Qin’s national power and demographic momentum would allow them to recover before long.
I will drive in the wedge.
Lord Xinling hardened her heart. She loathed massacre. She had always despised the butchery carried out by Qin’s generals—Bai Qi, Ju, and their like. Nevertheless, this time she resolved to follow the same bloody path they had walked.
“Dangjeo, send a messenger to Han.”
The Qin soldiers would not return home. Men who had trampled foreign lands and sought to slaughter their people no longer deserved pity. Lord Xinling withdrew whatever compassion she once held. They would be swallowed by the cold, turbulent waters of the Yellow River.
“The Qin army will attempt to cross at Mengjin. Tell our forces to march. We will comfort the souls of the soldiers Bai Qi once drowned in these waters.”
They’re herding us like prey.
Meng Ao thought as he observed the allied army trailing a day’s march behind. They were being driven. It was almost comical. Who could have imagined that the Qin army—which had boasted it could defeat the entire world and had rampaged across the realm without hesitation—would be reduced to this?
If the late King Zhaoxiang or Bai Qi were watching from the afterlife, they might have gone mad with rage and humiliation. But what could be done? The situation had already unfolded.
If we turn and fight the allied army now, what are our chances?
Meng Ao judged it four chances in ten. Unfortunately, the four belonged to Qin.
Lord Xinling’s talent is genuine. She possesses military genius that can stand beside the Lord of Wu’an.
The title Lord of Wu’an was special. While most titles derived from the name of the granted fief, some were chosen to embody a particular meaning. Wu’an belonged to the latter category. Train soldiers well, fight with discipline, and victory will surely follow—bringing peace to the people. Hence, Wu’an. It was the highest honor bestowed upon Bai Qi, the god of war who had never lost a battle.
Bai Qi, who had swept through the states, and Su Qin, who had bound Qin through the vertical alliance while standing with those same states. Only those two had ever earned such recognition. Yet the two stunning victories Lord Xinling had delivered were so breathtaking that it seemed the title might need to find a third bearer.
In any case, having avoided a direct clash, Meng Ao chose to retreat to the homeland with as many survivors as possible rather than risk an awkward siege defense. It had been the correct decision. Their situation was too precarious to wait for Wang He to march south from Taiyuan. If they had barricaded themselves inside Shanyangcheng, the uncooperative Wei populace and insufficient provisions would have doomed them all to death or captivity.
Meng Ao’s judgment had been sound, yet the retreat had not been easy. Having lost most of their cavalry, the Qin army endured constant harassment from allied horsemen. Thanks to the desperate sacrifice of the rear guard, they had barely maintained distance from the allied main force, but shaking off the enemy cavalry proved impossible.
Still, the Qin troops held their formation despite the interference. The three generals—Meng Ao, Zhang Dang, and Biao Gong—had exerted every effort, but surprisingly the allied cavalry did not press them with suicidal determination. At first Meng Ao assumed they were simply exhausted. Then, at some point, he realized their every movement was being deliberately guided by the enemy.
Knowing it, however, did not mean he could immediately break free.
Their aim seems to be driving us beyond the Yellow River into Haiwai rather than letting us cross the Taihang Mountains from Hanei…
Were they afraid of the army joining Wang He in Taiyuan after moving north through Shangdang? Or did they calculate that a defensive line backed by mountains in the lower terrain of Haiwai would be preferable to the endless plains of Hanei once the rout began? The reason was unclear, but for Meng Ao, crossing the Yellow River into Haiwai was an acceptable outcome.
Many troops will likely be lost during the crossing itself, but once we reach the other side, there will be nothing left to fear.
The Yellow River would cut off pursuit. For Meng Ao, whose true intention was to return to Qin proper, the development was almost welcome. Harboring such mutually incompatible dreams, the Qin army and the allied forces continued their westward march.
After a grueling pursuit, the Qin troops finally reached the Yellow River.
Mengjin. In ancient times, King Wu of Zhou had gathered the feudal lords here in great numbers before attacking the tyrant Zhou. Thanks to that legendary event, the Zhou dynasty had continuously expanded the ferry’s facilities, and Qin—after destroying Zhou and seizing the site—had used it as a vital military stronghold ever since. There could be no better location to defend against pursuit while crossing the river.
Having returned to Qin-controlled territory, the soldiers’ shaken morale began to steady.
“We must cross before the allied army arrives.”
“We will prepare at once.”
Unlike the uncooperative Wei populace, the people of Mengjin—though few—had accepted Qin’s rule and responded with cooperation. The pride of having once been subjects of the Son of Heaven had been shattered beneath the sword long ago. Accustomed to corvée labor, the citizens of Mengjin set to work the moment Meng Ao gave the order.
Soon after the crossing began, the allied army appeared. Had they chased without conserving strength they might have attempted a surprise attack, yet they had not. Instead they seemed to have marched at a more leisurely pace than the harassed Qin troops, preserving their energy.
“It was wise not to engage them directly,” Meng Ao muttered, nodding at his own judgment. At that moment, the adjutant of General Zhang Dang, who had been commanding the river crossing, came running.
“General-in-Chief! General-in-Chief!”
“What is it? Has something gone wrong with the crossing?”
“An army has appeared on the opposite bank!”
“What? An army? Has Wei sent troops from Daliang after all?”
“No, sir! It is Han! Han has sent reinforcements—thirty thousand strong!”
“Han?”
Meng Ao knew Han’s military capacity all too well. Even if they scraped together every last man, they would be lucky to field forty thousand—and that only by dragging in the elderly, the weak, and children. Thirty thousand meant they had mobilized the entire strength of the state.
Those who had long used their weakness as an excuse to sit on the fence between Qin and the alliance were now intervening?
“…Lord Xinling! You dragged Han into this! Halt the crossing! If we go now, we will all be slaughtered!”
Only then did Meng Ao understand why the allied army had driven them all the way to this place. By bringing Han into the fold, they intended to catch the Qin forces in a pincer movement the moment they attempted to cross the river.
“How many have already crossed? No—there is no time! Tell them to turn the boats around at once!”
But it was too late. A noose had already tightened around the Qin army’s neck.
Rushing to the landing, Meng Ao saw the horror unfolding on the opposite shore: his precious soldiers being massacred by Han troops. The only hope—the river crossing—had turned into a scene of slaughter.
“This… this truly…”
Only about twenty thousand Qin soldiers had reached the far bank. Surrounded by thirty thousand Han troops, they were helpless, unable to advance or retreat. Those still on the boats appeared paralyzed with indecision—whether to land and fight alongside their comrades in that deathtrap or turn back toward Mengjin. The once impeccably disciplined Qin army had fallen into chaos.
Even so, Meng Ao refused to give up. Nearly two hundred thousand lives still depended on him.
We will sacrifice another hundred thousand. Entrust fifty thousand to Biao Gong, who has sworn to fight to the death, and have him hold Mengjin against the allied army. In the meantime, we will break through the Han forces at all costs.
Just as Meng Ao steeled himself to accept the losses and attempt a breakthrough, salvation arrived without warning. From the west, yet another army appeared. The characters on their banners were painfully familiar to Meng Ao.
Qin.
The true reinforcements had arrived.