Chapter Seventy-Eight: The Battle of the Yu River

The eleventh day marked mid-February.

It was the fourth day since Cao Cao's crushing defeat. Yue Jin had retreated to Nieyang, and the scouts he dispatched to gather information had returned.

Upon learning that Cao Cao had fallen back to Wuyin, he immediately prepared to cross the river eastward to join Cao Cao.

In the second month of spring, the grass grows and the orioles fly. The weather had been fine these days, sunlight warm and bright, everything rooting and sprouting.

At dawn, as the first light crept across the sky and dew still clung to the blades of wild grass outside the city, Yue Jin had already left. He had sent men to scout the surroundings; none of the Western Liang army had been spotted nearby, and the bridge connecting the southern settlement to the river’s far bank remained intact, passable.

Still, for safety, he did not immediately cross, but first sent several small units ahead. They scouted the opposite bank, and, upon confirming it was secure, the main force set out early this morning.

The army cooked at the third watch, marched at the fifth, and after nearly two hours’ journey, approached the bank of the Yu River, about twenty kilometers from Nieyang just before noon.

Yue Jin rode at the head, surveying the terrain. The riverbanks were dotted with countless hamlets, the roads flanked by endless fields and villages. It was the time of spring floods; heavy rains had recently fallen in the upper reaches near Mount Funiu, swelling the Yu River and increasing its downstream flow. Local villagers were busy at work in their fields.

Upon seeing the approaching army, all the peasants put down their hoes and instinctively moved away from the road. The years since the Yellow Turban Rebellion had taught them a harsh lesson—regardless of who the army belonged to, distance was safer than risking one’s life in vain.

Yue Jin paid them no mind. Following the official road, his troops drew near the riverbank and, in the distance, caught sight of the wooden bridge spanning the river. He pointed ahead: “The vanguard crosses first and secures the bridgehead.”

“Understood!” The vanguard commander responded and moved out.

Although the river was high, the Yu was still a sizable river, known in later ages as the White River—wide enough not to have its bridges swept away. The vanguard, fifteen hundred strong, reached the riverbank and began crossing, gradually occupying the far side.

The bridge, built for local villagers, lacked strength and width, so crossing was slow. It took nearly half an hour for the vanguard to finish.

Once they had crossed and Yue Jin saw no movement on the opposite bank, he prepared to lead the two-thousand-strong central force across. Another fifteen hundred men remained in the rear.

This was a standard arrangement of three divisions—vanguard, center, and rear—suitable for marching and encamping.

“Hurry, hurry, hurry!” Yue Jin barked as he rode beside the bridge, urging the soldiers on.

A deputy said, “General, the bridge is very narrow and not sturdy. Too many at once may collapse it.”

Yue Jin eyed the trembling bridge, glanced at the sky, anxious but helpless. He could only say, “Have the men cross as quickly as possible—no dawdling. We must reach Jingyang before nightfall.”

“Understood.” The deputy went to arrange it.

After a while, as about half of the two-thousand troops were crossing, several black specks appeared upstream on the river. Suddenly, the scouts Yue Jin had posted for reconnaissance galloped back in a frenzy—of the dozen sent, only two returned, one with an arrow through his arm.

“Enemy attack!” The scout’s desperate cry split the sky, and Yue Jin’s heart clenched.

He instinctively looked north; across the open plain, countless dark figures surged forward—a massed army charging toward them. Though distant, there was no way to cross the river in time.

“Damn!” Yue Jin remembered something, turned, and saw, sure enough, four warships barreling down the river toward the bridge.

Later generations in Nanyang know that in the Han era, the Yu River, now the White River, was broad. Its narrowest upper reaches were fifty meters wide, while in Nanyang city and downstream it averaged five to seven hundred meters, the largest river in the basin.

Yet in the Han, the Yu had not been expanded as it would be later, so it was much narrower now. This narrowness meant the spring floods rose fiercely, nearly touching the banks.

The four warships on the river sped like arrows. Onboard, dozens of fierce warriors rowed hard, and, less than a mile from the bridge, suddenly abandoned ship and leapt into the river.

Ordinarily, such swift water would drown anyone, no matter their swimming skill. Yet these men were Gan Ning’s “Silken Sail Pirates,” famed for ruling the Yangtze. The Yangtze, broader and swifter than the Yu, was their domain—they were as nimble as fish in its waves; the Yu was nothing to them.

They dove deep, submerged, swam along the riverbed, and surfaced on the western bank.

“Boom! Boom! Boom! Boom!”

Within seconds, before anyone could react, four thunderous crashes echoed, and under their tremendous force, the wooden bridge collapsed instantly, splinters flying.

Many soldiers, unable to retreat in time, tumbled into the river with the bridge, swallowed by the waves.

Seeing this, Yue Jin had not yet cursed when the villagers at the edge of the fields, hoes in hand, were already dumbstruck.

The peasants from nearby villages were bitterly complaining. The bridge was their only route between east and west banks—the sole connection between Nieyang and Jiyang. With it destroyed, crossing meant a detour of dozens of kilometers; their anger burned.

But what could they do? They could only fume in silence, swallowing their resentment.

Now, no one cared about the villagers’ woes. From the north, the enemy army surged like a tidal wave toward Yue Jin.

With no options left, Yue Jin ordered the troops to form up on the spot.

He had barely two thousand men with him now, facing a fierce enemy. Escape meant annihilation; only a desperate fight offered hope.

“If you flee, you’ll be wiped out. Only by fighting to the death can you live.”

Yue Jin was a bold and valiant man; he roared, “Soldiers, kill the enemy!”

“Kill! Kill! Kill!” The morale of Cao’s troops soared—they stood with their backs to the Yu River, ready for a fight to the death.

Gan Ning rode at the front, first among them. Seeing Cao’s troops forming up, he waved his broadsword and shouted, “Attack!”

“Attack!” The Huayang garrison, formerly under Liu Biao but now trained by Gan Ning, was a disciplined force—outnumbering the enemy, they surged at Cao’s troops.

Yue Jin’s eyes were bloodshot; he clenched his jaw and gripped his long sword tightly. He saw the enemy swarming over the fields to the north like a flood, and looked around at his own men.

Only about two thousand, pressed together, battle-hardened and spirited, but few in number—outmatched by the enemy.

“Prepare!”

As the enemy drew near, Yue Jin shouted, and the front rank of Cao’s soldiers leveled their sharp spears, bracing for impact. In an instant, the two sides collided like a torrent.

Shouts, screams, the clash of weapons, the dull cries as blades and spears found flesh—all these sounds echoed across the battlefield.

“There’s a gap to the west! Send a squad, hurry, hurry!”

“Pull back, pull back a little!”

“Don’t go near the river!”

Yue Jin, mounted, shouted orders. Usually, he served as deputy to Cao Hong, Cao Ren, or Yu Jin, leaving battlefield command to them while he led charges. This time, Cao Cao had for the first time entrusted him with command for the assault on Anzhong—not a difficult task, but meant to temper him.

If it were before, Yue Jin would already be in the thick of the fighting, leading from the front, cutting through the enemy ranks.

But this was not the moment for reckless heroics—if he joined the melee, the command structure would collapse.

He remained by the river, overseeing the battle, directing the rear to fill breaches.

Gan Ning bore less burden. He was not the commander here, or rather, the fight needed no command.

In the rear, Deng Hong and Shen Chen sat on horseback, merely observing. Their forces outnumbered the enemy three to one—over six thousand against two thousand. The advantage was theirs; all that remained was to press the attack and await victory.

Gan Ning was the first to break into the enemy ranks, his broadsword cleaving left and right, opening a bloody gap. Once the breach was made, his troops poured through relentlessly.

From the initial collision, men and horses tumbled, then Gan Ning broke through, and the northwest flank of Cao’s formation was scattered—all within five minutes.

Witnessing this, Yue Jin was frantic. “Plug the breach in the northwest! Send a squad! Where are the men from the rear?”

“General, we have no more men—all are fighting,” the deputy cried.

The root of the problem was Yue Jin’s numbers—half his force was across the river, the other half stranded here, the bridge destroyed.

Gan Ning, meanwhile, had over six thousand men—five thousand Huayang garrison and more than a thousand Huangmen soldiers led by Deng Zhao and Shen Zhen, assisting Gan Ning’s assault.

The near threefold disparity meant that, even formed up, Cao’s troops could not hold for long—their lines were soon broken, and chaos ensued.

Now, the battlefield devolved into a desperate melee, Cao’s formation shattered, forced to fight Gan Ning’s soldiers hand to hand.

Yue Jin looked around. His men were being battered by the long spears and broadswords of Gan Ning’s troops, retreating under relentless attack, forced into close combat when the outer lines broke.

Soon, the riverside plain was a scene of carnage—Cao’s soldiers and Gan Ning’s troops wrestling in the fields, some driven into the river, others piled atop each other.

They hacked with blades, stabbed with spears, bit, gouged eyes, smashed skulls with rocks—on this battlefield, anything that could kill was fair game for survival.

“Damn it, follow me!” Yue Jin knew the situation was dire. He turned his horse, pointing northwest, and said, “We must plug that breach—the formation cannot hold!”

At his command, several dozen personal guards followed, fighting toward the gap Gan Ning had torn open.

Gan Ning’s charge was offset from Yue Jin’s; he and his guards, protected by dozens of pirates, rampaged through the ranks.

A Cao soldier saw his chance and thrust at Gan Ning’s horse’s leg. The horse stumbled, and Gan Ning, caught off guard, was thrown.

Though he would later be famed for raiding Cao’s camp with a hundred riders, his horsemanship was not yet so skilled. He rolled as he fell, landing beside several Cao soldiers, and immediately struck—his blade slashing across a soldier’s face, felling him.

Another Cao soldier attacked with a ring-hilted sword aimed at Gan Ning’s neck. Gan Ning dodged, reversed his grip, and struck twice, killing the would-be assassin.

The pirates surged around him, clearing the enemy and driving deeper into Cao’s lines.

“General, look—someone’s charging toward us.”

At that moment, a pirate noticed a mounted officer at the riverbank with several dozen guards, cutting through their own men as they advanced. He pointed: “That must be the Cao commander.”

“That must be Yue Jin,” Gan Ning said, clenching his blade between his teeth. He wiped the blood from his hands with his silken sash—it was slippery, and he needed a firm grip. Once clean, he took up the sword and fixed his gaze on Yue Jin. “Let’s go—kill him.”

“Kill!” The pirates howled, fierce as wolves, surging toward Yue Jin.

Yue Jin’s squad cut toward them, struggling through the chaos.

The battlefield was a maelstrom; Gan Ning and Yue Jin were some distance apart—even when they spotted each other, progress was slow.

Yet both were battlefield veterans, hacking their way through the fray, slaying dozens of enemy soldiers before finally meeting.

Yue Jin, though still mounted, had no advantage—amid the crowd, with bodies and obstacles everywhere, his horse could not charge.

Thus, at the moment of their encounter, Gan Ning leapt and swung his blade at Yue Jin, who raised his sword to meet the blow—their weapons clashed head-on.