Chapter Seventy-Six: The Scenery Here Is Still Quite Beautiful

Not a single chance could be given to the rebels, especially at such a critical moment. No matter what, every rebel who reached the top of the wall had to be wiped out—this was Yang Xi’s unwavering conviction.

The quality of his subordinates was abysmal, something he absolutely could not tolerate. He swore that once the battle stabilized, he would rigorously reform the military, letting them know once and for all what it meant for orders to be as unyielding as mountains.

The situation was dire; all along the ramparts, desperate rebels were climbing up. The southern gate was suddenly under immense pressure. Whether it was Wang Sili, Tian Liangqiu, Pang Zhong, or Li Fude, each was desperately commanding their soldiers in a bloody fight against the rebels who had made it onto the wall. Yet, on this section where Wang Sili and Tian Liangqiu’s units met, the nearby soldiers were incapable of shoring up the defenses.

There was nothing for it—he had to enter the fray himself. Without hesitation, Yang Xi drew his sword and roared, “Brothers, follow me! Kill! We must not let the rebels take the ramparts! Anyone who cowers or hesitates will be executed without mercy!”

With that, he swung his blade forcefully at a soldier who had dropped his weapon and was desperately backing away, even trying to flee. With a terrible scream, the man’s head was cleaved from his shoulders by Yang Xi’s furious blow—a fountain of blood sprayed from the headless corpse, drenching Yang Xi and the soldiers beside him.

But Yang Xi paid no heed to the gore. He barked orders at his personal guards and the three hundred soldiers nearby, commanding them to charge with him.

All this happened in an instant, leaving many stunned.

Yang Xi’s frenzy had shocked even his personal guards and household retainers. The soldiers, too, were terrified. At the very moment Yang Xi decapitated the unlucky man, Yang Dong followed suit, shouting fiercely as he drew his sword and commanded his men to charge.

Yang Xi and Yang Dong’s thunderous calls echoed one after the other, yet there were still some guards hesitating, unsure of what to do. Only when Yang Dong roared a second time did they panic and rush forward, waving their swords and shouting.

The other soldiers likewise raised their blades, yelling as they threw themselves at the ever-increasing number of rebels scaling the wall.

Yang Xi did not lag behind. He rushed forward, wanting to taste the thrill of killing his enemies with his own hands. Yet he had no chance to engage—the thirty-odd most skilled guards encircled him, keeping him protected. Nonetheless, his leadership by example rallied morale. The three hundred soldiers on standby, along with his more than two hundred personal guards, threw themselves into the breach, plugging the gap that had just emerged.

The clashing of steel rang out continuously. The reserve force of over five hundred under Yang Xi’s command had finally proven its worth, swiftly filling the void between Wang Sili’s and Tian Liangqiu’s units. In no time, they had driven the rebels who had reached the wall back to the very edge, turning the defense into a furious melee.

As the sharp clangor of weapons and the soldiers’ shouts to steel their courage rang out, the ramparts descended into complete chaos.

Most of those who had been cowed by fear, under Yang Xi’s deadly threats and the encouragement of their comrades’ fierce fighting, abandoned thoughts of escape. They picked up their weapons once more and rejoined the ranks. With the marshal himself entering the fray and executing a deserter, who would dare defy him again?

The number of rebels able to gain the ramparts was still vastly outnumbered by the Tang soldiers. Their temporary foothold had only been possible due to a moment of cowardice in one Tang unit. Now, surrounded and attacked by a force several times their own, the hundred or more rebels could not hope to prevail, no matter how desperately they fought. In the end, all were either slain atop the wall or kicked down to their deaths.

Yet the Tang troops paid a heavy price as well—nearly two hundred casualties on this stretch alone, where the rebels had come closest to breaking through.

At last, the Tang army’s morale was fully rekindled. Not a single rebel remained alive atop the fortress. The bitter struggle left the ramparts awash in blood, littered with corpses and severed limbs. Wounded soldiers lay groaning in agony, but for now, no one came to their aid. Below, the rebels had not yet given up, still attacking doggedly under the command of several colonels.

But the tide had turned. The rebels at the foot of the wall were now in desperate straits, with no hope of taking the ramparts or of retreating.

With no reinforcements arriving, the rebel numbers could only dwindle further.

Seeing that the situation was now clear and his forces held the field, Yang Xi breathed a sigh of relief, sheathed his sword, and withdrew beneath the gate tower to survey the battle. To his delight, the rain was easing. As the rebel assault was finally crushed, the clouds began to part, and a ray of sunlight broke through, illuminating the ramparts of Tong Pass.

The summer sun was usually unwelcome, but now it filled the soldiers with elation. The hateful wind and rain had passed. Even if the rebels attempted another great assault, they would have no chance of success. The archers on the wall once more unleashed their full power.

Though the rain had stopped, the current in the forbidden moat swelled ever greater. Any rebels hoping to cross the torrent to attack the walls now faced an impossible task—unless they could bridge the moat, which under current conditions was out of the question.

The archers atop the ramparts no longer needed to concern themselves with the rebels beyond the moat; their targets now were the remnants below the walls.

Arrows shot nearly straight down became all the more lethal. The rebels, making one last desperate assault, were swiftly decimated—their ranks shattered, bodies falling by the dozens, dead or wounded. Most tumbled into the forbidden moat, swept away by the surging water.

Assailed by the rain of arrows, the rebels suffered heavy casualties. At last, some broke and fled, throwing themselves into the moat in a frantic bid to escape. Yet most were swept away by the swift current, only the lucky or clever managing to grab branches or jutting rocks and avoid the Tang arrows, but still unable to cross the moat.

Seeing the confusion and chaos among the rebels atop the ramparts, Yang Xi knew that, at least for now, there was no longer any danger at the southern gate. The rebels would now be forced to focus their assault on the east gate, despite the terrain limiting the number of attackers they could deploy. With the southern gate no longer viable, they had no choice.

But was the east gate so easily taken? Even if the rebels piled the bodies of their dead to the very top, it would still be nearly impossible to scale the walls.

The crisis at Tong Pass had, for the most part, been resolved.

Amid the drifting clouds and mist, the peaks near and far emerged in glimpses. Only now did Yang Xi realize how beautiful the scenery here truly was.