Chapter 359 Desperate Straits

Chapter 359: Desperate Situation

Before Cheng Ge, on the rough wooden table, the frontier defense map with worn edges flickered in and out of the candlelight's glow.

His fingertip hovered above the map, resting on the shadow marking the valley lowlands southwest of "Luoyan Pass."

The charcoal brazier in the tent was guttering out, and the chill seeped in through the cracks. He gathered his heavy cloak tighter around himself.

The familiar oppressive tightness in his chest surfaced again, accompanied by a faint, needle-prick sting.

He instinctively reached out, trying to reach over for the cup of strong tea that had long gone cold on the edge of the table, hoping to chase away the discomfort in his throat and the unease in his heart with a bit of bitterness.

But just as his fingers touched the icy cup wall, his fingertips trembled inexplicably—he found he had no strength at all.

"Smash—!" A sharp sound shattered the silence of the tent.

The coarse clay teacup fell to the ground, bursting into fragments instantly.

The dark brown tea mixed with leaves splashed everywhere, soaking the felt rug beneath and splattering the hem of his plain robe.

Cheng Ge froze, his gaze going blank as it fell on the scattered debris.

It wasn't that he'd lost his grip—in that moment, his fingers truly refused to obey him, as if the strength in his blood had been siphoned away out of nowhere.

Then, the oppressive ache in his chest suddenly intensified, like an invisible hand clenching his heart.

It pressed down on him until he could barely breathe, and beads of cold sweat broke out on his temples in an instant.

At that moment, the tent curtain was flung open, and Lü Rou entered carrying a freshly decocted bowl of medicine.

She happened to see Cheng Ge sitting frozen stiff behind the table, his face pale as paper, with fragments scattered all over the floor.

From between the fingers of the hand hanging at his side, bright red drops of blood fell one by one, seeping into small, stark patches of dark crimson on the dark felt rug.

"Young Master!" Lü Rou was scared out of her mind, letting out a startled cry as she practically threw herself at him, dumping the medicine bowl on the table and snatching Cheng Ge's hand.

She saw a gash an inch or so long on his palm, cut open by a sharp piece of porcelain, the wound gaping open with blood welling up.

"How did you get hurt! You should have let me do this—why are you so careless, Young Master!"

Lü Rou fumbled for her handkerchief, pressing it firmly against his wound that wouldn't stop bleeding, then turned urgently to search for clean gauze and hemostatic powder.

Cheng Ge submitted to her ministrations, but his gaze remained vacant, staring blankly into space.

The stinging pain in his palm seemed muffled, as if from a distance—far less than the violent dread pounding in his chest.

Only when Lü Rou, her hands trembling, had cleaned the wound, sprinkled on the medicinal powder, and wrapped it in layer after layer of gauze—

Did he suddenly snap back to reality, his eyes flying up sharply, and ask, "Has Cui Ji returned?"

Lü Rou was bent over, carefully tying the knot in the gauze. At his words, her hands stilled, her head sinking even lower, her voice trailing off.

"Not... not yet. A moment ago... a moment ago I heard that General Zhao's side had just dispatched another batch of troops toward Luoyan Pass..."

They're sending more troops?

Cheng Ge's heart plummeted, and the nagging dread that wouldn't leave him instantly transformed into a wild beast freed from its bonds.

It roared and battered against his chest, threatening to tear apart his already fragile heart and lungs!

Cui Ji had already taken twenty thousand light cavalrymen before, and now reinforcements were being sent again...

He rose abruptly, the motion so violent it sent the map, brushes, and inkstone on the table clattering.

"Young Master!" Lü Rou was startled again, hastily blocking his way.

"Your hand! Where are you going? Outside... the snow is heavy outside!"

"To Luoyan Pass." Cheng Ge brushed past Lü Rou, grabbing the heavy cloak hanging on the wooden rack nearby and wrapping it around himself haphazardly.

"Young Master!!! Your body can't handle a blizzard like this! When the General finds out, he'll surely—" Lü Rou panicked, trying to grab his sleeve.

Cheng Ge did not look back, plunging headlong into the wind and snow outside the tent.

"Young Master—!" Lü Rou chased to the edge of the tent, only to see that slight yet straight-backed figure quickly swallowed by the raging storm.

Cheng Ge mounted his horse, and the warhorse let out a neigh, bursting through the heavy curtain of snow, galloping southwest toward Luoyan Pass.

The wind cut across his face like knives, and the snowflakes fell so densely that he could barely keep his eyes open.

The road was already buried under snow, hard to discern, and the horse stumbled along, slipping from time to time.

Cheng Ge crouched low, pressing close to the horse's neck as he struggled forward.

The gates of Luoyan Pass stood tightly shut, with guards lining the walls above and below, the atmosphere as heavy as if cast in iron.

Cheng Ge rode straight to the base of the pass, identified himself, and the garrison commander hurried over upon hearing the news.

It was a General Zhou, who had been ordered from the main city to bring reinforcements earlier.

He naturally recognized Cheng Ge and was taken aback, hastily ushering him into the sheltered arrow tower.

"Instructor Cheng! Why are you here? In this weather—"

"General Zhou, spare me the pleasantries." Cheng Ge cut him off, his breath unsteady from the cold and urgency, but his gaze sharp as an awl. "How goes the battle at the front? Where is Cui Ji now?"

Assistant General Zhou's face darkened, and he said gravely, "Today the enemy feigned an attack with great urgency. After Han Meng arrived with reinforcements, the situation was initially stabilized, but later..."

He paused, lowering his voice: "Han Meng disobeyed General Cui's orders and led his troops out of the pass on his own to pursue the routed enemy. General Cui led the cavalry out to cover him... and has not returned since."

Cheng Ge's heart leaped violently, and that ominous premonition nearly became tangible! This was clearly abnormal!

He was about to press for details when suddenly a messenger rushed into the arrow tower.

"Report—! General! Five li beyond the pass, a large enemy force has been spotted heading toward the fortress. By their banners, it's the Northern Di main vanguard!"

General Zhou's face changed drastically! It was exactly what he had feared!

Then, another scout, covered in blood and practically crawling in, shouted hoarsely:

"General! Bad news! Our brothers at the front risked their lives to learn that General Cui was surrounded by heavy enemy forces at Yinma River. General Cui was severely wounded, and his whereabouts are unknown!"

"What?!" Assistant General Zhou was struck as if by lightning, stumbling backward and nearly collapsing.

Cheng Ge felt a buzzing in his ears, his vision momentarily going black, and a wave of sweet, metallic taste rushed up his throat, which he suppressed with all his might.

Yinma River! Surrounded! Severely wounded! Whereabouts unknown!

Every word was like a poisoned ice pick, viciously stabbing into the deepest place of his fear.

The enemy is amassing at the border and preparing to storm the pass. Inside, the commanding general has gone missing—no one knows whether he is alive or dead.

If we hold the city, we cannot rescue Cui Ji; if we abandon the pass or divide our forces, the pass falls and the civilians will be slaughtered—a no-win situation.

General Zhou’s face paled. He hesitated for a moment, then clenched his jaw: “Send riders immediately to the main city for reinforcements!

Captain Liu, take two hundred of our finest troops and slip out through the hidden passage on the west side—then circle around to Wild Wolf Valley to locate and reinforce General Cui!

The rest of you—follow me! We hold Luoyan Pass or die trying! Not one step back!”

The pass was paramount. We had to hold it—or everyone inside would perish.

Just then, a voice cut through the chaos: “I’ll go too.”

General Zhou and Captain Liu whirled around in shock to see Cheng Ge.

“Instructor Cheng—absolutely not!” General Zhou cried, frantic, veins bulging on his forehead.

“You’re far too important to risk yourself like this! The battlefield is perilous—this is no game!

If anything happens to you, how will I face General Cui?”

Cheng Ge slowly straightened, snow still clinging to his cloak: “General Zhou, your duty to hold the pass is too critical for you to leave. And Captain Liu’s men are already stretched too thin for such a search.”

Cheng Ge’s voice was not loud, yet each word rang with crystalline clarity, cutting through the howling blizzard outside the watchtower.

“I can handle myself—and I won’t be a burden. You hold the city.” His tone was calm, yet edged with unyielding steel. “I will bring Cui Ji back.”

General Zhou opened his mouth to protest further—but met Cheng Ge’s gaze, and all objections died unspoken in his throat.

Wind and snow raged, obliterating sky and sun; war drums thundered in the distance.

At a concealed mountain pass west of Luoyan Pass, a stone door groaned open a crack, gears grinding.

Clad in sleek combat gear, his white veil whipping violently in the gale, Cheng Ge galloped into the distance.

………

Cheng Ge sat rigid atop his horse, his white veil fluttering, eyes locked intently on the snowfield ahead—stained crimson and littered with corpses.

Bodies lay scattered in every direction, most clad in the dark armor he knew all too well—twisted in agony, frozen solid in deep snow.

Blood had oozed from beneath them, dyeing the pristine white into broad patches of stark, rust-brown red—then instantly freezing in the extreme cold into grotesque clumps of ice and blood.

Some corpses were already lightly dusted with fresh snow, revealing only a stiffened hand or half a cyan-tinged face.

Shattered spears and tattered banners lay half-buried in snow; the wind, driving snow before it, howled across this silent slaughterhouse.

Here, a brutal breakout battle had just ended—or rather, a one-sided massacre.

Cheng Ge stared at the scene, the familiar ache in his chest threatening to shatter him.

His fingers gripped the reins so tightly his knuckles turned white; the bandage on his palm had split open.

Blood seeped through the gauze, drop by drop, falling onto the horse’s mane—quickly freezing into dark-red beads of ice.

“Instructor Cheng…” Captain Liu’s voice was heavy beside him. “We shouldn’t linger here. The Di cavalry may still be nearby, hunting survivors.”

Cheng Ge snapped back to reality, drawing a sharp, biting breath laced with the metallic tang of blood—forcing himself to stay calm.

He scanned the surroundings—the world was an endless expanse of white, snowflakes thick as torn cotton, visibility near zero.

Ground traces—footprints, hoofprints, drag marks—were already chaotic and rapidly vanishing beneath fresh snow.

Tracks from multiple directions overlapped, intersected, then were erased by subsequent trampling and wind-driven snow—making it impossible to determine which way the main force had broken through.

On this bitterly cold field, the severely wounded would succumb to hypothermia without shelter and care—soon.

“Captain Liu, we must split up to search. The snow is too heavy, and traces disappear too quickly—if we stay together, we’ll cover too little ground.”

“But splitting up thins our ranks—if we run into enemy cavalry…”

“We have no time for that now!” Cheng Ge cut him off, voice firm. “You take a team northeast—I’ll head northwest.

The other two teams: one heads south to secure our rear, and one conducts a thorough sweep of this immediate area for survivors.”

Captain Liu looked at him—knowing, given the circumstances, this was truly the only option.

He swiftly divided the men into four groups, assigning each a direction.

Cheng Ge said nothing more. He glanced once at the fallen soldiers, then yanked the reins hard—spurring forward with the thirty-odd elite troops assigned to him toward the snow-shrouded hills to the northwest.

The wind intensified, snowflakes stinging his face.

Cheng Ge crouched low, squinting against the blinding snow, as the horse’s hooves crunched through the icy crust.

Suddenly, from the corner of his eye, he caught a flash of color near a snowdrift to his left—a hue that did not belong in the white.

He wrenched the reins, dismounted, and rushed over—it was half a torn piece of lining fabric.

Mud-streaked, snow-dusted, and spattered with blood, its texture identified it as the fine cotton commonly used in senior officers’ inner robes.

Its edges were ragged—as if slashed by a blade or hastily ripped away.

Cheng Ge’s heart pounded as his trembling fingers brushed loose snow from the cloth.

At one corner, he spotted a tiny, nearly invisible mark—a simplified character “忌”!

Cui Ji had been here! At the very least, he’d stopped here—or passed through!

“This way! Search this area thoroughly!” Cheng Ge’s voice cracked with urgency as he clutched the scrap of fabric tightly.

Several soldiers immediately fanned out, scouring the surrounding snow.

Soon, one called out in a hushed voice: “There’s a patch of packed-down snow here.”

Cheng Ge hurried over—and indeed, sheltered beneath a rocky outcrop, clear indentations marked the snow.

Beside them were several faint footprints, leading further northwest.

Bloodstains were scattered among the chaotic traces—but the general direction aligned with the footprints.

Just then, a blinding red flare exploded in the sky!

It was Captain Liu’s warning signal—they’d encountered the enemy!

Cheng Ge squinted, watching the flare burst against the pallid sky—his expression hardening into grim resolve.

This place had become a death trap—the Di cavalry could be closing in from all sides. Leading dozens of men deep into this territory was likely a suicide mission.

The cloth in his grip was nearly shredded, his fingertips tracing the fine weave through the cold, damp fabric.

"Mount up!" Cheng Ge spun around, his voice half-torn away by the wind, "Follow me! Stay alert on both flanks and the rear! Get your bows and crossbows ready!"

...

The wind shrieked, whipping snowflakes into spinning walls.

At the heart of the raging storm, the flat snowfield was stained a murky dark by blood and fallen men and horses.

Cui Ji sat astride a black horse, the horse drenched in blood, patches of hide peeled back to reveal frozen, purple flesh. Thick, steaming breath blasted from its nostrils, but its hooves stayed planted.

Cui Ji's dark iron heavy armor was scarred by blades and axes, with the plates on his right shoulder shattered and bent back, revealing the inner lining beneath, soaked through with blood and frozen stiff.

A wound gaped to the bone, flesh curling back, still oozing blood that trickled down his arm, freezing into dark red icicles on the cold armor.

His right hand hung limp at his side, while his left gripped a horizontal saber, its edge chipped and notched.

Four guards stood back-to-back, shielding him, their eyes locked on the slowly closing ring around them.

Some sixty-odd elite soldiers of the Northern Di, like wolves catching the scent of blood, circled them at a leisurely pace.

They were in no hurry, savoring the thrill of cornering a tiger.