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Hu Zhen decided to march through the night. He had to see for himself whether Sun Jian was at Yangren or not. This was a matter of utmost importance, bearing on the next strategic direction.
If Sun Jian bypassed Mount Shaoshi via the Yangcheng route, Hu Zhen could at least make some preparations in advance. Otherwise, if he fell for Sun Jian's feint to the east and strike to the west, and Sun Jian attacked Luoyang first, how could Hu Zhen ever face the Chancellor again?
But Hu Zhen's order met with opposition from Lü Bu.
Marching in darkness wasn't something everyone could manage. Even if they forced it, the difficulty was considerable. Men might be manageable—if necessary, they could be linked with ropes and led along. But what about the horses?
So Lü Bu argued that it wasn't a refusal to obey orders, but that horses were easily frightened at night. A slight mishap could cause chaos. How could they force a night march? Better to wait until dawn.
Hu Zhen was silent.
Though horses don't suffer from night blindness like humans, as herbivorous "prey animals," they have a nearly 360-degree field of vision. But the placement of their eyes on either side of the head means their binocular overlap is only about 30 degrees directly in front. And horses are naturally nearsighted.
Moreover, through millions of years of natural selection, horses' eyes perceive static objects far less effectively than moving ones. So even a harmless little rabbit suddenly darting under a horse's feet can often cause a panic, because the horse can't see it clearly.
For these reasons, horses are even less suited than men to night travel. Without their handlers' reassurance and control, horses are like a group of five- or six-year-olds with immense strength. If they panic, it's very difficult to control.
But Hu Zhen couldn't do without cavalry cover. If he advanced with only infantry and encountered enemy cavalry at dawn...
So, after much deliberation, Hu Zhen shook his head and said firmly, "The army advances together. How can it be arbitrarily divided? My mind is made up. Cavalry Supervisor Lü, say no more."
Lü Bu didn't flinch. He cupped his hands in a formal, albeit stiff, salute. "Since the Commander insists, I shall obey. However, as horses are easily startled at night, my men will do their utmost to soothe them, but beasts do not understand human speech. Military law is strict—execution for those who incite chaos in the ranks. Therefore, I request a written indemnity from the Commander, stating that my men shall not be held liable for any disturbances caused by the animals tonight."
His meaning was clear: You want to march at night? Fine. But if you try to use a horse's natural panic as a pretext to chop off my head or the heads of my officers later, I want it in writing now.
The tent fell suddenly silent, except for the soft crackle of torches. Hu Zhen glared at Lü Bu. Lü Bu glared back at Hu Zhen. Sparks seemed to flash in both their gazes.
The two stared at each other for a while. Seeing Lü Bu showed no sign of backing down, Hu Zhen finally nodded. "Agreed! Within tonight, I will not punish your men for causing chaos!" He immediately wrote out an order and gave it to Lü Bu.
Lü Bu accepted the document and withdrew outside the tent. He exchanged unreadable glances with his officers.
×××××××××××××
Before the walls of Yangren City, Hu Zhen, who had rushed here with all haste, stood dumbfounded.
On the city walls were layers of torches, with armored soldiers standing ready. A large banner on the wall bore the character "Sun."
Soldiers on Yangren's walls had already spotted what was happening below. The commotion grew as more troops appeared on the battlements, voices rising.
This was "nobody there"?
This was "no weapons or armor"?
Hu Zhen was furious. He immediately summoned the soldier who had scouted and reported the situation. But the soldier merely knelt on the ground, kowtowed, and said, "When this humble one arrived, indeed there was no one as for now... having caused the army to march in vain, this humble one will atone for his crime with death!"
Having spoken, before Hu Zhen could react, the scout drew a small knife hidden in his robes and slit his own throat.
Dead.
All of Hu Zhen's thousand words and excuses were choking in his throat.
The scout bore responsibility, yes.
But by using his life to atone for his mistake, he had naturally cleared his guilt.
Who could drag a dead man out and kill him again?
There was no point.
But for Hu Zhen, the scout's death, especially by suicide, pointed all the blame squarely at him! Was the commander who trusted the scout's report and forced a night march blameless?
Though it was the depth of night and bitterly cold, Hu Zhen suddenly felt sweat beading on his forehead.
What to do?
Hu Zhen felt he had never been in such an awkward, indecisive position in his life.
Attack the city?
No equipment. No energy.
Men and horses exhausted, soldiers hungry and thirsty. Attack the city in this condition?
Hu Zhen let out a long sigh, his entire figure seeming to stoop. He gave the order, "Retreat ten li and set up camp."
Setting up camp, yes. But the soldiers, exhausted after a whole day's journey, had no energy left to build a proper stockade wall. They were all thoroughly spent. On top of that, their hopes of resting inside Yangren City were dashed. And they had to worry whether they'd survive tomorrow's assault.
No one had much heart for it. After making a few rudimentary arrangements, they couldn't even be bothered to pitch tents. Each found a sheltered corner, curled up on the ground, and slept in their clothes.
××××××××××××××
If Hu Zhen had been facing a more cautious opponent, retreating to set up camp, though a setback, would probably have been fine. But unfortunately, his opponent was Sun Jian.
Sun Jian had far more nerve than the average man.
When Sun Jian was seventeen, he went by boat to Qiantang with his father. On the way, they encountered robbers led by Hu Yu, looting and dividing the spoils onshore. All the travelers at the scene were frightened and stopped in their tracks.
Ignoring his father's pleas for caution, the young Sun Jian gripped his sword and leapt onto the shore. He didn't just attack; he played a psychological game. As he strode toward the pirates, he shouted orders to the empty air, gesturing wildly to the east and west as if he were deploying a vast hidden battalion to surround them.
The pirates saw this from afar. Mistaking him for an official leading troops to arrest them, they panicked and scattered.
Now, decades later, Sun Jian looked out from the walls of Yangren. He calculated that there were perhaps two hours of darkness left before dawn. A standard general would be agonized by doubt: Is this a trap? Is there an ambush waiting in the woods? Should I wait for scouts to return at midday?
But Sun Jian's instinct told him one thing: Hit them now.
While the enemy was at their lowest ebb—exhausted, disorganized, and demoralized—he would strike. Without a moment's hesitation, Sun Jian began issuing orders to assemble his elite strike force. The Tiger of Jiangdong was preparing to pounce.