Chapter Seventy-Five: The Death of Dian Wei

Early February, the night sky over Nanyang was not as clear as in summer.
Though it could not be said that one could not see one’s hand in front of one’s face, the clouds turned black by the darkness ultimately shrouded the moon, leaving the earth in endless gloom.

As Zhang Xiu raised his head, staring fixedly at the swath of black clouds, he gave the order for the general assault the moment the moon was obscured.

In that instant, it seemed the whole world consisted only of the blazing torches illuminating the camp of Cao’s army.

A sharp whistle sliced the air.

A surprise attack could never begin with a direct charge into the camp. Zhang Xiu, well-versed in the tactics of Xiliang raiders, first sent his best archers to creep close to the perimeter of Cao’s encampment, picking off the sentries atop the watchtowers with their bows.

Bows and arrows were far more cumbersome than modern firearms, but they had the advantage of silence—especially on a February night when the sounds of insects, birds, and distant hoofbeats filled the air, masking the twang of bowstrings and the flight of arrows.

Before long, thanks to the efforts of several master archers, the sentries at the gates and towers were silently slain, unable to raise any alarm, their bodies crumpling without a sound.

With the warning network breached, Zhang Xiu personally led his men to the camp's edge, dismantling the barricades. Behind him, countless fire dragons surged forward.

“Kill!”
“Kill Cao Cao!”
“Charge!”

The thunderous cries echoed throughout Cao’s camp.

Just as Jia Xu had predicted, tonight was the most complacent moment for the Cao army, much like Gan Ning’s historic nocturnal raid. The same method—slay the sentries with arrows, move to the gates, clear the barricades, and then plunge into the camp with wild slaughter.

The only difference was that Gan Ning had brought a mere hundred men.

Zhang Xiu brought more than eight thousand Xiliang soldiers.

The troops behind him poured into Cao’s camp like a tide.

Most of Cao’s soldiers were still asleep, never imagining an attack would come. The gate guards, caught off guard, were swiftly scattered. The Xiliang troops stormed into the tents, hacking down anyone in their path.

Cavalry poured in, tossing torches everywhere.

In a flash, the entire camp was thrown into chaos. Countless soldiers, jolted from sleep, rushed to the weapons racks at the tent entrances, only to find them empty.

It was because, in recent days, Cao Cao, believing Zhang Xiu had surrendered and that he had pacified Nanyang, ordered the soldiers to store their weapons away at night, to prevent undue nervousness.

In ancient times, panic in camp was a common occurrence—numerous instances are recorded in history, even in modern campaigns, such events were not rare. Even the most seasoned commanders found it a difficult problem.

If soldiers were ordered to deposit their weapons in the armory before sleeping, a sudden enemy attack would leave them unarmed and doomed. But if weapons were kept in the tents, the stress might trigger a panic, leading to a deadly chain reaction—a mutiny as disastrous as an enemy raid.

It was a dilemma.

Yet most commanders, fearing surprise attacks more than internal panic, would have their men sleep with armor and weapons at hand when enemies were nearby.

But Cao Cao was different this time.

Having subdued Nanyang, and unaware that Zhang Xiu had discovered his plot to assassinate him, Cao Cao believed Zhang Xiu lacked the courage for a surprise attack. Thus, to avoid internal panic, he ordered the troops to store their weapons in the armory.

The armory was not a massive warehouse, but rather subdivided by squad and company—each had its own storage tent.

Cao Cao’s forces were meticulously organized and disciplined, with a well-established procedure: every sleeping tent was close to its respective armory, so weapons could be retrieved quickly during assembly.

Yet, even nearby, the armories were not within arm’s reach—each squad’s tent was tens of meters away from their weapons.

So, as soldiers rushed out of their tents, sprinting toward the armory, countless Xiliang troops had already surged in, slaughtering indiscriminately.

Most of Cao’s soldiers were unarmed. With the darkness, they stumbled blindly, quickly scattered and killed.

Resistance faded; men ran desperately north, fleeing from the shouts and slaughter.

The chaos at the southern end soon alarmed the central camp.

Cao Cao’s encampment was not a single cluster but divided into front, central, and rear sectors, each containing smaller camps, forming a complex and sprawling area.

But with nearly no defensive works—apart from a few barricades at the gates—the camp’s interior was completely vulnerable.

It was not a lack of awareness on Cao Cao’s part, but with Nanyang already conquered, what was the point of fortifying the camp?

Historically, when Zhang Xiu rebelled, the entire Cao camp was thrown into disorder, save for the distant camp of Yu Jin, who, instead of panicking, counterattacked while retreating, punished some marauding Qingzhou troops, and then dug trenches to hold his ground.

Even Yu Jin had not built fortifications—he constructed defenses only after retreating from the chaos.

Without internal defenses, even the best-located camps were rendered useless; the soldiers could not use terrain to counterattack and could only scatter in flight.

“What’s happening?”

The front camp was three or four li from the central camp; for an army of over ten thousand, it was normal to stretch camp over more than ten li.

Cao Cao emerged from his tent—he had just been embracing Lady Zou.

“Father, Zhang Xiu has rebelled again; the front camp has fallen!”
Cao Ang rushed in to report.

“What?”
Cao Cao was aghast. “Quick, we must flee!”

His guards hurried to fetch his horse. There was no time to care for Lady Zou still in the tent; ruthless necessity left him to save only himself.

Mounting his steed, Shadow, Cao Cao suddenly remembered something and asked urgently, “Where is Dian Wei?”

“My lord!”

At that moment, Dian Wei stumbled out from a nearby tent. He had drunk heavily, barely conscious, but his vigilance remained. Hearing the shouts and slaughter outside, he was startled awake and struggled to rise, just as he saw Cao Cao about to flee.

“Quick, help Dian Wei up, head north!”

Cao Cao ordered his guards to support Dian Wei, and together with hundreds of his close guards, Cao Ang, Cao Anmin, and Dian Wei, they fled toward the northern gate.

But Jia Xu had anticipated this. Once the southern gate was breached, Cao Cao would escape north, so Zhang Xiu had already arranged an ambush there.

Soon, the group reached the northern camp gate. With the front camp broken, the central and rear camps were in chaos—everyone fled for their lives, no one sparing a thought for Cao Cao.

The rear camp’s gate was wide open, masses of Cao’s soldiers scrambling out—some vanished into the night, some lingered, some turned to pillaging the countryside.

Discipline in the Cao camp disintegrated in the onslaught; tens of thousands scattered like birds and beasts, fleeing in all directions. The rear camp had been set ablaze by Zhang Xiu’s troops, flames soaring skyward.

“Run, run!”
“The fire is spreading—run!”
“Help, help!”
“Go, go, go!”
“It hurts—someone help!”

Chaos reigned inside the camp. Xiliang soldiers hacked indiscriminately; Cao’s troops had no chance to fight back.

In the firelight, sweat pouring off him, Cao Cao reached the rear gate.

“Loose arrows!”

Almost as soon as the mounted guards appeared, Zhang Xiu’s ambush unleashed a volley of arrows.

Countless shafts streaked through the air, falling among Cao Cao’s close guards.

Cries of agony erupted; many guards were struck down.

With a sickening thud, Cao Cao was suddenly thrown down.

His horse, Shadow, had taken an arrow to the face and leg, rearing in pain and tossing him to the ground.

“Father, you’re wounded!”

Cao Ang, alarmed, leapt from his horse to help him up.

Cao Cao himself had been struck in the right arm. Yet, as any battle-hardened man knows, under extreme stress, wounds are often not felt. Even in the era of firearms, criminals shot at close range often continued to fight unless their brains or spinal cords were destroyed.

Only after Cao Ang’s reminder did Cao Cao notice the arrow in his shoulder, pain flaring. “My son, we must go!”

“Father, you go first.”

Cao Ang embraced him, pushing him onto his own horse. “I’ll cover the retreat.”

“Zi Xiu!”

Cao Cao’s eyes widened, trying to pull his son with him, but his injured arm was useless, and he was pushed onto the saddle.

Dian Wei staggered over, shouting, “My lord, you go—I'll follow soon!”

Flames roared behind them; sweat streamed from Cao Cao’s face.

“Father, go!”

Cao Ang drew his sword and stabbed the horse’s haunch. The beast, stung, bolted.

It was fortunate Cao Cao’s riding skills were decent, or he would have been thrown.

“My son!”

Cao Cao’s anguished cry tore through the night.

As his horse galloped northwest, Zhang Xiu’s soldiers charged.

Dian Wei, unable to find his favored halberd, snatched up a large axe, roaring as he and a dozen guards rushed into battle.

Fighting erupted immediately, a dozen spears thrust at Dian Wei. He swung the axe, chopping through them, then hurled himself at his foes, smashing them to the ground.

On the right, more of Zhang Xiu’s men rushed in with spears, aiming for his back. Dian Wei’s guards fought fiercely alongside him.

Despite his drunken stupor and tension, Dian Wei was numb to pain, his strength magnified as if by adrenaline.

As enemies swarmed, he charged back, swinging his axe with savage fury. In moments, corpses surrounded him, though he bore over ten wounds.

“Come on, come on!”

Panting, Dian Wei felt his stamina draining fast—Yellow Gate Pavilion’s strong liquor was potent.

When his axe broke with a mighty swing, he grabbed a halberd from the ground.

Xiliang soldiers around him were gripped by terror, watching him, afraid to approach.

In mere minutes, Dian Wei had killed dozens. Had he not been drunk, the tally would have been higher.

By then, Zhang Xiu had reached the gate, his troops flooding in.

Seeing Dian Wei standing like a war god at the rear gate, Zhang Xiu shouted, “Kill him!”

“Kill!”

Thousands surged toward Dian Wei.

Most of his guards had fallen; even Cao Ang and Cao Anmin lay dead in pools of blood.

Raging, Dian Wei hoisted his halberd, slashing left and right. He killed the first attacker, then leaped like a cannonball, landing atop a second foe, crushing him to death. Using the corpse as a shield, Dian Wei gripped his throat with one hand, wielding the halberd with the other, slaughtering in the crowd.

At last, his halberd broke. With no time to find another weapon, wounded dozens of times, Dian Wei staggered back, leaning against the gate.

He was drenched in blood, like a demon unleashed. Grinning fiercely, he taunted, “Come on—any who approach will die!”

No one dared near him.

Seeing him weaponless, Zhang Xiu ordered, “Seize him alive!”

A dozen Xiliang warriors rushed forward, hoping to subdue him barehanded.

But Dian Wei’s massive fist smashed the first man’s face, sending him flying. His right hand seized the second, crushing his throat. The third was kicked aside, the fourth punched to death. The fifth and sixth met similar fates; the last two he strangled in each hand.

Dian Wei laughed wildly, “So much for the invincible Xiliang army—a bunch of cowards!”

“Loose arrows! Loose arrows!”

Enraged at the pile of Xiliang corpses around Dian Wei, Zhang Xiu shouted, “Shoot him dead!”

A storm of arrows rained down. Dian Wei, exhausted, could not even grab the fallen bodies as shields.

In an instant, arrows pierced him, no scream, only a grunt as blood trickled from his lips.

He stood transformed into a human porcupine, arrows jutting from every limb.

Yet even then, he remained upright, unmoving as a mountain, raising his head to glare at Zhang Xiu with contempt, before finally collapsing.