Inside the wooden cage—
Xu You sat in silence.
Outside, soldiers laughed, talked, sharpened blades, spoke of victory as though it were already in their hands.
"Sir, why do you sigh?"
One of the guards leaned closer, curious.
"Our army is three times the enemy. Lord Yuan says they are retreating in haste. Victory is certain."
Xu You closed his eyes.
"You see numbers," he said quietly.
"I see the shape of defeat."
The soldiers frowned, not understanding.
Xu You gave a hollow smile.
"Zhang Xin does not retreat without purpose."
"Every step he yields… he has already taken something in return."
He looked toward the west, where dust from marching troops blurred the horizon.
"This time…"
"…Yuan Shao walks into the blade himself."
The army moved.
Thirty thousand men—armor clashing, banners rising, drums beating like a marching storm.
Yuan Shao rode at the center, anger still burning in his chest.
Yesterday's hesitation.
Yesterday's humiliation.
It gnawed at him.
And now—
The enemy fled.
"How could I have been deceived by such a shallow trick…?"
His grip tightened.
"Advance! Pursue them! Cut them down!"
The order spread.
The army surged forward.
After more than twenty li—
They saw them.
Zhang Liao's army.
Retreating.
Slow.
Disordered.
Supply carts creaked under their weight. Behind them trailed unarmored colonial soldiers—ragged, exhausted, barely holding formation.
A fleeing army.
A broken army.
Yuan Shao's eyes lit with fury.
"So this is the force that held me at bay?"
Shame burned into rage.
"Forward! Kill them!"
Yan Liang and Wen Chou advanced carefully this time.
They remembered yesterday.
No reckless charges.
No broken formations.
Their troops moved in ranks, shields raised, archers stepping forward.
"Loose!"
Arrows darkened the air.
And then—
The enemy broke.
Zhang Liao's rear line collapsed almost instantly. Soldiers shouted, abandoned carts, fled in chaos.
A rout.
A complete rout.
Yan Liang's laughter rang out.
"Chase them down!"
The Yuan army surged forward—
—and then stopped.
Because the ground glittered.
Copper coins.
Spilled from overturned carts.
Thousands of them.
Scattered like fallen stars across the dirt.
For a heartbeat—
No one moved.
Then—
They rushed.
"Mine!"
"Don't touch that!"
"I saw it first!"
Discipline shattered faster than any formation.
Men threw down weapons, scrambling through the dust, clawing at coins as if they were life itself.
Because to them—
They were.
Merit was uncertain.
Reward was distant.
But this—
This was real.
Immediate.
Certain.
Yan Liang's roar cut through the chaos:
"Stop! Form ranks! Pursue the enemy!"
No one listened.
Blades rose—not against the enemy—
But against each other.
From the rear—
Confusion spread like disease.
"What's happening?"
"Why have we stopped?"
"Move forward!"
But the front no longer moved.
The rear continued to press.
Bodies collided.
Formations twisted.
Thirty thousand men—
Became a mass.
Heavy.
Blind.
Uncontrolled.
When Yuan Shao received the report—
He froze.
"Coins…?"
Pang Ji's face went pale instantly.
"Retreat. Now."
Yuan Shao frowned.
"Why?"
Pang Ji's voice sharpened.
"Because no army carries this much coin without reason."
"They knew we would come."
"They wanted us to come."
The realization struck like cold water.
Xu You's words echoed in his mind.
Ambush.
"Retreat!"
The order came too late.
The army began to pull back—
But an army in motion does not turn like a blade.
It bends.
It strains.
It breaks.
Yan Liang had just restored order to the vanguard when the signal reached him.
"Retreat?"
His confusion lasted only a moment.
Then—
He saw it.
Zhang Liao's army had stopped fleeing.
They had turned.
And now—
They advanced.
The elite troops at the front surged forward like a drawn blade, cutting straight into the disordered vanguard.
"Form ranks!" Yan Liang roared.
His men obeyed.
But the rhythm was gone.
The cohesion—
Gone.
Then came the thunder.
From the south—
Cavalry.
Four thousand strong.
Descending like a landslide.
Yan Liang's blood ran cold.
The vanguard was engaged.
The central army was retreating.
Between them—
A gap.
Wide.
Exposed.
Fatal.
Yuan Shao saw it too.
And in that instant—
He understood.
"Form ranks! Block them! Block them!"
But orders could not outrun horses.
Left Leopard's spear pointed forward.
"There."
"Break them."
"Take Yuan Shao's head."
The cavalry surged.
They did not crash into the army.
They pierced it.
Like a blade sliding between ribs.
The Yuan army collapsed inward.
Men turned.
Shouted.
Ran.
Too late.
Too slow.
Too disordered.
"Hold them!"
"Reform!"
"Where is the command?!"
No one knew.
No one could hear.
Because war had already devoured command.
And then—
From the north—
Another force descended.
Zhao Yun.
Two thousand troops, cutting down from the mountains like a falling axe.
They struck the flank of Yan Liang and Wen Chou, joining Zhang Liao in a tightening vice.
The battlefield shrank.
Compressed.
Crushed.
Zhao Yun rode at the front, his voice carrying across the chaos:
"Yuan Shao has colluded with Dong Zhuo!"
His spear cut down a soldier mid-charge.
"Will you die for a traitor?!"
Another fell.
"Those who surrender—live!"
The words spread.
Through fear.
Through doubt.
Through the cracks already forming in men's hearts.
Three forces.
One battlefield.
And at the center of it all—
Collapse.
Not sudden.
Not explosive.
But inevitable.
Each step had been laid before they arrived.
Each choice guided.
Each weakness exposed.
Zhang Xin had not merely defeated them—
He had used them.
Yuan Shao's anger.
His soldiers' greed.
Their broken coordination.
Their slow command.
All of it—
Turned against them.
Far from the clash—
Zhang Xin watched.
Calm.
Silent.
Like a man observing the turning of a wheel.
This was not a battle to him.
It was a conclusion.
"Three factions…"
His gaze swept across the battlefield.
Yuan Shao.
Dong Zhuo.
The remnants now trapped between.
"All broken in one stroke."
No triumph.
No laughter.
Only certainty.
"The world will remember this."