Chapter 89: Did You Miss Me?

Chapter 89: Miss Me?

If he were to see her, Tuo Baxiao could chat up a storm, but now that he had to write a letter, he truly didn’t know how to begin.

This was the first time he had ever written to her.

The Han people always wrote letters in such a stiff, fancy way.

Outside the tent were boisterous laughter and the sounds of drinking, but inside, he sat alone under the lamplight, racking his brain.

After a long while, Tuo Baxiao finally put pen to paper, writing a short passage. Before he even finished, he read it over and couldn’t help but frown—the letter sounded totally weird. How could he have used such stiff, fancy talk?

He crumpled the half-finished letter into a ball and tossed it at his feet, then grabbed a new sheet.

This time, he stopped forcing fancy words. He didn’t even include the customary “To So-and-so” opening. Instead, he simply wrote whatever came to mind, letting his thoughts flow until he had filled over a dozen pages.

After the ink dried, he rolled the letter into a scroll, stuffed it into a bamboo tube, and blew a whistle. Lingxiao flapped its massive wings and landed in front of the tent.

Tuo Baxiao’s Imperial Guards were used to this enormous white eagle. Its size, razor-sharp beak, talons like steel blades, and blood-red eyes made it look terrifying—most folks wouldn’t go near it. Yet its temperament was the complete opposite of its appearance. It was incredibly lazy, spending most of the journey lazing on the supply carts, refusing to fly a single step. On the rare occasions it did take flight, it even tried to sneak back home, only to be scolded back by the Prince of Mobei. After that, it would flop back down, as if life had lost all joy.

Once Lingxiao landed, it folded its enormous wings and stretched its neck, tidying its feathers. Only when satisfied with its grooming did it raise its head and strutted in like it owned the place.

Entering the tent, it couldn’t be bothered to look directly at Tuo Baxiao. Instead, it stood sideways, lifting its chin and letting out a haughty cry—as if asking, *What do you want from me, human?*

Tuo Baxiao shot it a glare but didn’t bother arguing with the feathered creature.

“You can go back today.”

“Huh?”

Whether Lingxiao understood or not, its eyes darted around.

Ignoring it, Tuo Baxiao walked up and grabbed its neck, tying the bamboo tube to its thick leg. Lingxiao tried to dodge, but he held it firmly.

“Guh.” The eagle grumbled indignantly.

Only after triple-checking that the tube was secure did Tuo Baxiao release it.

Lingxiao glanced down, rolled its eyes, and shifted its leg uncomfortably before glaring at Tuo Baxiao—*How dare you burden a delicate bird with such a heavy thing!*

“If you lose my letter, I’ll pluck your feathers and roast you for dinner,” Tuo Baxiao threatened fiercely.

Annoyed by the man’s harsh tone, Lingxiao squawked indignantly.

Tuo Baxiao paid no mind. He picked up the whistle again and blew a sharp note.

Instantly, Lingxiao’s eyes lit up. Without so much as a backward glance, it clomped out of the tent, took off, and soared into the sky, soon vanishing from sight.

A Long, seeing this, approached and asked, “Prince, Lingxiao has flown away.”

Tuo Baxiao: “I know.”

Realizing this was the Prince’s intention, A Long said no more.

——

After rewarding the troops, the Xianbei army’s morale was sky-high, itching for a fight—they were dying to wipe out the Jie.

Wudushi, however, was sweating bullets. The envoy he had sent to Liang State returned with Emperor of Liang’s reply: *We’ve wed our princess to the Prince of Mobei, making us family, tight as Qin and Jin. Why would we stab a friend in the back for some enemy?*

Upon hearing this, Wudushi burst into curses, dismissing any talk of alliances—clearly, the Liang whelps were simply afraid of Tuoba Xiao and dared not engage him in open battle, resorting to such empty grandstanding instead. If the Jie fell, how long before Liang’s peace is shattered?

The Third Prince, upon learning of this, came to advise, "The Liang are spineless. We can only rely on ourselves."

Wudushi retorted, "Tuoba Xiao's cavalry is so fierce—how can we possibly hold him off on our own?"

The Third Prince replied, "Our lands are mountainous. Tuoba Xiao is accustomed to galloping across the plains and surely lacks expertise in siege warfare. If we bunker down in the passes and strongholds, he won’t be able to overcome us quickly. Once winter arrives and heavy snow blocks the roads, cutting off his supply lines, he’ll have no choice but to retreat."

Sounded like a solid plan, right?

In a head-on charge, they stood no chance against Tuoba Xiao’s iron cavalry. Their only option now was to play for time till winter snows lock the mountains down.

Wudushi immediately issued orders: General Nuli Qin and the Third Prince, Tuoke, were to lead the troops and dig in and refuse battle. They reinforced the pass walls overnight, stockpiling boulders, boiling oil, and arrows. If Tuoba Xiao dared to attack, they would ensure his forces suffered heavy losses.

Tuoba Xiao divided his army into two fronts. Su Li and Duan Muqi were to assault the western line, while he and Tuoba Wuxi each led ten thousand elite cavalry to approach Yanmen.

Yanmen Pass—one of the most renowned fortresses in the realm, a legendary choke point—had long served as a critical barrier for the Central Plains dynasties against northern invaders. Now, it lay in the hands of the Jie.

The Emperor of Liang’s fears were not unfounded. If Tuoba Xiao seized Yanmen Pass and crushed the Jie, no natural bulwark would stand to hinder his cavalry’s advance into the Central Plains.

Tuoba Wuxi led his cavalry forward several times to provoke the enemy, only to find the Jie utterly indifferent. No matter how he taunted, they refused to emerge, instead shouting back from the ramparts like shell-hiding turtles. Spitting mad, he wheeled his horse around to Tuoba Xiao, demanding permission to launch a full-scale assault. Tuoba Xiao refused, ordering him to hold his position.

After two or three days of this, Tuoba Xiao grasped the Jie’s strategy: they intended to starve him out.

Having marched far from the royal court, even if his troops could plunder nearby, keeping this horde fed—especially the tens of thousands of warhorses—was a colossal challenge. Once supplies dwindled and morale faltered, the Jie would seize the chance to counterattack.

Gotta admit—it was a slick move.

Yet, no fortress in the world was truly impregnable.

Tuoba Xiao thought of the books he had brought and the sand table she had gifted him before his departure. He studied the texts while wargaming on the sand table.

Tuoba Wuxi came barging in—again. A Long did his best to stop him but failed, apologizing to the king. Tuoba Xiao waved him off.

"Tuoba Xiao, those Jie bastards are turtling up—are you going to do the same? How many days has it been? You haven’t sent out a single soldier. Are we fighting this war or not? If you won’t attack, let me go. I’m not afraid to die!"

"I’m telling you, even if you try to stop me, I’m storming that fortress today!" Tuoba Wuxi slammed his fist on the table, rattling the entire sand table.

Instead of shouting back, Tuoba Xiao lifted his head, fixing him with an icy green-eyed glare for a few seconds before sneering, "Fine. Go ahead."

Tuoba Wuxi had a skull full of sheep shit—no amount of reasoning would get through to him. Only a crushing defeat would teach him a lesson.

Thrilled to finally get his fight, Tuoba Wuxi turned and left without another word, immediately rallying his men to assault the pass.

Zhang Zheng happened to arrive to report to Tuoba Xiao and overheard part of the exchange. Entering, he hesitated but still advised, "The Sixth Prince’s assault will likely cost many lives."

Tuoba Xiao replied coldly, "Precisely. He needs to lose once."

Zhang Zheng said no more, presenting blueprints for siege engines—catapults, scaling ladders, battering rams, barrier-breaking blade carts, crossbows, and siege towers—all highly practical siege equipment.

Though Zhang Zheng had been on the defending side in Liangzhou, he knew these machines inside out. The Xianbei cavalry, however, were far less experienced. Accustomed to open-field battles and with no walled towns in tribal lands, they had almost no siege experience.

Tuoba Xiao discussed with Zhang Zheng how many of each device to construct, how to coordinate their use, and how to train the cavalry in siege tactics—all relying on Zhang Zheng’s expertise.

For over half a month on the march, Zhang Zheng had remained inconspicuous. Now, this was his time to shine. If Yanmen Pass fell smoothly, no one in the Xianbei army could doubt his chops, and his promotion to general would be justified.

Once their meeting concluded, Zhang Zheng immediately set about cracking the whip on engineers and supply crews to build the siege engines.

To conquer the Jie as swiftly as possible, Tuoba Xiao even assigned three thousand cavalry to Zhang Zheng to cut timber and haul stone, turbocharging progress.

Of course, all this was carried out in secret, making sure the Jie never found out.

Tuoba Wuxi led five thousand cavalry in a charge toward the pass, only to be met first by a rain of arrows from the Jie, followed by rolling boulders that crushed many, and finally, a flood of burning oil that set a great number ablaze. The terrified warhorses stampeded, trampling each other, injuring even more.

The casualties were so severe that at first, Tuoba Wuxi gritted his teeth, holding onto the idea, *"So many have already died—we must take the pass, or their deaths would be in vain!"* and pushed forward. But as the dead and wounded piled up, all his subordinates urged him to pull back, warning that continuing the reckless attack would doom them all. In the end, Tuoba Wuxi had no choice but to pull back in humiliation.

He himself had been hit by several arrows and narrowly avoided a boulder crushing his chest—had it not been for his men’s desperate rescue, he would have lost his life.

Tuoba Wuxi had never fought a siege battle before and had no idea of its complexities, paying dearly for his inexperience.

This was the first defeat—no, a devastating rout—the Xianbei had suffered since marching south. Five thousand troops had been whittled down to two thousand. Ashamed to face Tuoba Baxiao, he stubbornly swallowed his shame.

Tuoba Baxiao had no interest in mocking him and simply ordered Zhang Fu to treat the wounded survivors.

Tuoba Wuxi could not refuse this, for his reckless impulse had cost so many Xianbei warriors their lives. The least he could do was save those who remained.

The defeat was like a bucket of cold water poured over a raging fire, dousing the Xianbei’s high spirits. The camp went eerily quiet.

On the other side, the Jie celebrated their overwhelming victory, their confidence sky-high.

*"The Prince of Mobei is said to be invincible in battle, yet even he is stopped cold by a single pass!"*

Their earlier defeats, they realized, had been due to their own foolishness—charging out to fight the Xianbei head-on. With such a formidable natural barrier, they should have held the pass and let the enemy walk into their deaths.

Wudushi grew even more impressed with the Third Prince, convinced his strategy was sound. If they could hold out until winter, the Jie would ride out this crisis.

After Tuoba Wuxi’s crushing defeat, the Jie assumed the Xianbei would remain inactive for a time. To their surprise, Tuoba Baxiao instead sent out small raiding parties—each time about a thousand men, sometimes at midnight, sometimes at dawn, beating war drums and feigning an assault. Just as the Jie scrambled to defend, the Xianbei would withdraw.

For six or seven days straight, the Jie soldiers endured relentless vigilance by day and sleepless nights, worn down to exhaustion. Eventually, they barely budged even when they heard battle cries outside.

*"Tuoba Baxiao must be bitter over his last defeat,"* they thought. *"This is just his way of denying us rest."*

The repeated night feints lulled the Jie into dropping their guard—just as the siege engines were rushed to completion.

That night, a thin crescent moon hung faintly in the sky.

With no moonlight, the darkness was pitch-black.

A Jie soldier on the ramparts let out a tired yawn when the familiar drumbeats sounded again. He rolled his eyes, trudged to the bronze bell, and halfheartedly gave it a few taps with the mallet.

This was the alarm for an enemy attack.

His half-hearted strikes were heard only by those nearby—those farther away in the camp remained oblivious.

Even those who heard the alarm were irritated. *"Tuoba Baxiao won’t actually attack,"* they grumbled. *"He’s just torturing us."* But the Third Prince had been strict: *"Tuoba Baxiao is cunning—we must stay vigilant. Anyone who ignores the alarm will be executed."*

Grumbling, the men slowly donned their armor, complaining about another sleepless night.

The guards on the walls, too, assumed this was another false alarm—until a hail of arrows and boulders rained down, slaughtering their unprepared comrades. Only then did they realize the Xianbei were truly attacking.

Screams erupted along the ramparts. The alarm-bearer struck the bell with desperate force, as if to shatter it, while messengers rushed to alert the Third Prince and the general. The defenders scrambled to mount a resistance, but days of exhaustion left them no match for the Xianbei, who had rested for days and hungered for revenge.

Worse, the Jie never imagined the Xianbei could adapt their tactics so quickly—now deploying a whole arsenal of siege weapons, arranged with precision and coordination.

*"There must be someone among the Xianbei who knows siege warfare!"*

They fought back as before, raining arrows, boulders, and fire oil—but the pitch darkness made it impossible to spot targets, while the Xianbei’s projectiles found their marks.

Xianbei soldiers scaled the walls under cover of night, their ladders unseen. A battering ram pounded the gates relentlessly...

Both sides suffered losses, but attacking a city inherently demands greater sacrifices than defending one. Under the current circumstances, the Jie had already lost the upper hand.

"Third Prince, Tuo Baxiao is leading a massive assault on the city."

"How many men does he have?"

"It's too dark to make out clearly, but there are at least five thousand."

The terrain before the pass was not open, and too many troops would only hinder movement—five thousand was already a formidable force.

The Third Prince snorted coldly, "Dump all the boulders and burning oil we’ve prepared."

The scout hesitated, "But the Xianbei are also hurling stones at us."

"What?" The Third Prince’s eyes blazed with fury.

The scout quickly reported the current battle situation. A cold dread settled in the Third Prince’s gut—how had Tuo Baxiao suddenly produced so many catapults in just a few days?

He had assumed Tuo Baxiao's lack of attacks in recent days meant he had no means to do so, and that the feigned assaults were merely out of unwillingness to accept defeat. He never expected this to be a diversion, distracting him from other anomalies.

"Damn it all!" The Third Prince slammed his fist against the city wall. No use crying over it now.

He swiftly climbed onto the battlements, barking orders at the Jie soldiers to hold the line at all costs.

Barrels of burning oil were poured down, the ignited flames casting an eerie glare in the pitch-black night.

For a time, the attackers and defenders were deadlocked. The Third Prince thought that as long as they endured the hardest phase, Tuo Baxiao would eventually retreat. But then, a thunderous roar of battle cries erupted behind them.

At first, he thought he had misheard—until the shouts grew clearer, and clusters of torches drew nearer. Only then did he realize it was Tuo Baxiao's cavalry.

Against all odds, the Xianbei had slipped a detachment behind their lines.

"How the hell did this happen?" he snarled.

He had long anticipated that if Tuo Baxiao couldn't breach the pass head-on, he would try a rear assault. He’d stationed guards on every damn route—yet the enemy had appeared right under their noses.

Seething, the Third Prince had no choice but to divert forces to fend off the attackers from behind.

But the Jie soldiers soon realized they were caught in a vise between two armies with no retreat, and fear quickly spread among them.

Just then, the gates finally gave way.

With the opening torn, the Jie lost their advantage. Xianbei cavalry flooded in, encircling the Jie in a pincer movement.

"Third Prince, we can't hold against Tuo Baxiao—we’ve got to get out of here!"

The Third Prince was unwilling—only by holding Yanmen Pass could the Jie survive. Once the pass fell, the Xianbei cavalry would sweep in unopposed. How could they possibly stop Tuo Baxiao then?

But there was no time to dwell on it. His men hauled the Third Prince onto a horse, and with a contingent of cavalry, they fought their way south.

Once engaged, they discovered the Xianbei forces attacking from behind were far fewer than imagined—merely a few hundred, using the darkness to create the illusion of a larger force.

"It’s a damn trick!" The Third Prince gritted his teeth.

"Turn and fight! Hold the gates—"

But it was too late. The gates were lost, and Tuo Baxiao's main force surged in from the north, cutting down the Jie troops.

After Tuoba Wuxi's devastating defeat last time, the Xianbei soldiers had been seething with rage, determined to redeem their honor—they were the fiercest warriors alive.

Everyone was frenzied with bloodlust, as Tuoba Baxiao charged ahead on horseback, making a beeline for the Third Prince.

The Third Prince no longer had the courage to confront Tuoba Baxiao head-on and quickly fled under his men’s protection.

With their leader gone, the remaining Jie soldiers lost all morale and were soon crushed by the Xianbei cavalry.

The clashing of blades, the pounding of hooves, and the screams of agony mingled into a cacophony as the Jie scattered in all directions. The fierce battle raged on until daybreak.

The first rays of the morning sun fell upon the blood-soaked earth of Yanmen Pass. Inside and outside the pass, corpses lay strewn in heaps—those of the Jie and the Xianbei cavalry—so densely that a grisly mound had risen before the city gates, a testament to the brutality of the siege.

Tuoba Baxiao ordered his men to occupy the pass, leaving a small force to clear the battlefield while dispatching ten thousand cavalry in three separate routes to press their advantage against the Jie, taking advantage of their defeat and panic to push forward relentlessly.

After enduring the grueling siege, no one dared underestimate Zhang Zheng anymore. The successful capture of Yanmen Pass was largely thanks to the siege engines he had ordered built. These Han Chinese were unmatched in both defending and attacking cities.

Tuoba Baxiao promptly promoted Zhang Zheng to deputy general, commanding two thousand troops. No one dared object, especially Tuoba Wuxi, who had finally been humbled after suffering a major defeat.

The subsequent battles proceeded smoothly. At first, the Jie tried to rely on their terrain to evade Tuoba Baxiao, but he always managed to outmaneuver them.

They couldn’t understand how Tuoba Baxiao, who had never been to Jie territory before, could know their terrain so well.

Was there a spy in their ranks?

——

“Lingxiao, Lingxiao is back, my lady!”

A Fei, spotting the massive white shadow flying toward the tent, ran over excitedly.

Jiang Congyan, who had been flipping through some documents, immediately set them aside and stood up. Sure enough, Lingxiao waddled in.

The moment it saw her, it let out several indignant squawks, nuzzling its head against her as if complaining about being mistreated.

Jiang Congyan gave it a once-over and couldn’t help but laugh. Its feathers were sleek and beautiful, and it hardly looked worse for wear—hardly the picture of hardship. Besides, Lingxiao was the type to laze about rather than fly if given the chance, never one to seek out suffering.

But when she saw the courier tube, she froze. It was indeed too large. She could only be thankful that Lingxiao was big enough—had it been a smaller carrier pigeon, the letter would have been impossible to carry.

No wonder Lingxiao was so put-out.

Jiang Congyan soothed it with a few more words before removing the tube from its leg. Lingxiao immediately shook its leg irritably—it really wasn’t used to having something extra tied to it.

“Alright, alright, you’ve worked hard, Lingxiao. Let A Fei get you something tasty.”

She stroked it and personally fed it a few strips of dried meat before it finally stopped sulking.

Jiang Congyan sat back in her chair and was about to open the tube when she noticed A Fei still standing there.

Remembering something, she paused. “You may leave now.”

A Fei hesitated for a second before bowing. “…Yes.”

It had been over half a month since Tuoba Baxiao left, and this was the first letter Jiang Congyan had received from him. She wondered what nonsense he’d written.

The man never spoke without teasing—surely he’d write something halfway decent, at least updating her on the war.

But as she unfolded the letter, she should’ve known better.

*Miss me yet?*

*Miss you. I started missing you the moment I left—during the day, at night, aching to hold you—*

Later, he went on about dreaming of her, which made Jiang Congyan blush. She thought to herself that this infuriating man was never serious—how could she have expected anything from him?

After flipping through several pages, only one word stuck in her mind—"miss."

These words filled a dozen pages. At one point, she didn’t even want to read further, but fearing she might miss something important, she forced herself to continue. It wasn’t until the last two pages that he finally mentioned the war situation, saying the campaign was going well, the initial battles victorious, and assuring her she needn't worry.

Jiang Congyan felt relieved. At the end, he insisted she write back to him, emphasizing it repeatedly—she’d better reply. If she didn’t, he’d… when he returned…

Jiang Congyan: "..."

She hadn’t even said she wouldn’t reply.

After reading the letter, she studied Tuo Baxiao’s handwriting.

His characters were large—no wonder he had filled so many pages. The script wasn’t particularly elegant, with many strokes lacking proper structure, but the strokes themselves were sharp and forceful, each line brimming with vigor. At a glance, one wouldn’t notice anything else, only being struck by their imposing presence.

Having grown up on the steppes, it was already impressive that he could write Chinese characters this well.

Jiang Congyan had originally planned to write him a letter once Lingxiao returned, updating him on recent events in the royal court. But after reading his letter, she didn't know how to respond.

After much deliberation, she slowly wrote out a few words.

——

Meanwhile, Tuo Baxiao split his troops to pursue the remnants of the Jie, cutting through enemy lines. Defeat was imminent.

The regions of Henei and Hedong were originally part of the Central Plains. Decades ago, many Han Chinese had lived there. Though later occupied by the Jie, many influential Han families still remained in the area, merely bowing to their rule to survive.

Hearing that these families hoarded many texts, Tuo Baxiao summoned A Long and issued him a command.

After listening, A Long walked out with an odd look on his face.