Chapter 63: The Nine Stars Align in a Single Line

The blade pointed forward, and the war drums thundered.
The iron behemoth that had lain dormant beneath the vast earth now stirred, baring its sharp fangs to the world.
At the front, General Niu Fu commanded the army. Orders were relayed in flawless sequence across the high towers using signal flags.
The ground trembled in response.
Before the battle reached a fever pitch, cavalry did not enter the city walls.
Thus, General Chen Cong, who lingered atop the ramparts, was left a solitary commander, trailing behind Cao Ren under the guise of assisting in the city’s defense, but in truth, merely observing and learning on the spot.
Compared to the Liang army, the soldiers under Cao Ren’s rear command looked more like refugees than warriors—hardly a sight to behold.
Though, thanks to the sponsorship of Yuan Shao, second brother on the rankings, they managed the feat of one hundred percent armor coverage, their spears tilted awkwardly, and not a single bow in sight. One wondered what, if anything, they could count on when the real fight began.
Perhaps it was Chen Cong’s presence on the wall, but the soldiers, at least, stood tall and straight, brimming with spirit.
Through gradations of deployment, the Liang army’s vanguard soon pressed beneath the walls.
A great battle was about to erupt.
And at last, Chen Cong understood how Cao Ren’s rear camp defended the city.
In truth, it was just menial labor.
The rear camp soldiers hauled logs, stones, boiling oil, tung oil, and firewood up and down the ramparts, preparing for the onslaught.
The firewood was used to heat the boiling oil and tung oil…
Standing amidst it, Chen Cong nearly retched at the acrid, scalding stench and the chemical carnage of the molten oil. The smell was overpowering, and it struck him right in the head…
Luckily, while the soldiers toiled, the generals found leisure.
After issuing a few orders, Cao Ren crouched behind the battlements with Chen Cong, taking shots at the enemy with hidden arrows for sport.
“Zixiao, aim for his throat. The throat, you fool! What’s the point of hitting his shoulder? Their shoulder guards are as thick as a door—do you think you can shoot through that?”
“Stop shouting, I need to take aim!”
“Out of the way, let me show you how it’s done.” Chen Cong elbowed Cao Ren aside and snatched up the longbow.
He drew the string, testing its strength—a one-stone bow…
Turning to Cao Ren, Chen Cong said with a hint of resentment, “Zixiao, it had to be you. Even Lezi, that little bean sprout, draws a two-stone bow, yet you, who pride yourself among the top three in Qiao County, wield a bow fit for women.”
Cao Ren’s face darkened. “Are you going to use it or not? If not, give it back!”
“Quiet, behold my might!”
Unwilling to return it, Chen Cong nocked an arrow and let fly. The arrow flashed past, piercing cleanly through the gap between helmet and shoulder armor, sinking into a man’s neck. The strapping fellow, just moments before propping up a scaling ladder, dropped dead instantly.
Chen Cong nocked another arrow and shot, the shaft burying itself in the eye socket of a junior officer below the walls.
“Did you see? That’s how you shoot—no dithering around. If you aim for half a day like you do, by the time you release, the man’s long gone.”
Cao Ren protested stubbornly, “But didn’t Da Xiong say you could shoot nine arrows in one draw, each one hitting its mark?”
Amused by his ignorance, Chen Cong replied, “With this flimsy bow? Even if I fired nine arrows, it’d lose all power. Here, go borrow Han Sheng’s treasured eagle-bow, and I’ll show you a real demonstration.”
Recalling Huang Zhong’s massive fists, Cao Ren fell silent.

Chen Cong’s reputation was hardly spotless—indeed, it was riddled with mischief.
He had wielded the Crouching Tiger Blade against the Serpent Spear, shattering both weapons; borrowed the Crescent Moon Blade to breach a gate, only to return to Guan Yu half a charred stick.
If he damaged Huang Zhong’s beloved eagle-bow…
Huang Zhong might let Chen Cong off, but Cao Ren would surely pay the price.
“If you want to go, you go! I’m not going!”
Chen Cong loosed three more arrows, each finding its target, but the softness of the bow left him unsatisfied. About to persuade Cao Ren again, another idea struck him.
“Is Pan Feng awake?”
Cao Ren shook his head. “No idea.”
“Tell me… can he draw a bow?”
“I suppose so. Apart from you, the oddball who carries three weapons and never slings a bow, which general doesn’t shoot on campaign?”
“Excellent! Here, go down and find him. That fellow still owes me a life—he can pay it with his bow.”
Confused, Cao Ren asked, “What if Pan Feng also uses a soft bow?”
“Nonsense! Think about that cleaving axe of his. I’d wager that the force he uses to fight constipation is what he uses to draw a bow. If he doesn’t have a strong bow, he’ll make do with what he finds and force it. Now go!”
The generals’ tents sat at the heart of Sishui Pass, so Cao Ren was quick both going and returning.
He came back with a splendid iron-banded bow slung over his shoulder, laughing, “Haha! Zining, you guessed right—who’d have thought Pan Feng really uses a heavy bow? Give it a try!”
Chen Cong took the bow and drew it—three stones!
“Impressive, Feng’er! You’re just like Han Sheng, using a three-stone bow. Tsk, tsk.”
He even suspected that if bow-making had advanced further by the end of the Han, this boastful Feng’er would have demanded a four-stone bow, if only for show.
Chen Cong strung nine arrows at once, didn’t bother aiming, and loosed them in a sweeping shot—nine figures toppled in unison.
Within a hundred paces, a three-stone bow could easily pierce light armor.
“Magnificent, Zining! Can you hit Niu Fu?”
Niu Fu…
The commanding general at the front.
Chen Cong scanned the field; Niu Fu had chosen a cunning spot for his command platform, positioned about one hundred sixty paces from Hulao Gate. That range was not the limit for a skilled archer—just a bit beyond Lü Bu’s famed feat of shooting the halberd at one hundred fifty paces.
But it was the physical limit for a three-stone bow.
An arrow is no bullet; air resistance would sap most of its energy, and even if it reached him, it’d lack the force to kill.
Moreover, Niu Fu was surrounded by bodyguards. If any sensed danger, they could easily swat down a weakened arrow.
“Shall we try?”
“Try! If we can’t kill him, we’ll scare him to death!”
Chen Cong drew a deep breath and stood tall, unfazed as arrows from below whistled past his head.

Eyes narrowed, he locked on Niu Fu’s position like a hawk tracking a hare.
With two fingers, he nocked an arrow and drew the bow with a swift, powerful motion, the arc like a crescent moon.
“Now!”
Like a shooting star, the arrow flew as the string thrummed.
Without pausing, Chen Cong nocked and loosed seven more arrows, then, taking a deep breath to steady himself, drew the heavy bow for the final shot.
Nine arrows in a row, perfectly aligned—they tore through the air, and even the attacking soldiers of Liang paused to marvel at such marksmanship.

At the Liang army’s front, Niu Fu still directed the assault, noticing a commotion ahead.
He was about to order the drums to hasten the attack when he felt a chill at his back.
Turning, he saw a black speck hurtling toward him. Startled, he swung his sword up to block.
Clang!
The arrow, drained of force, clattered to the ground.
But before Niu Fu could breathe a sigh of relief, more arrows followed, each aimed at the same spot.
He parried and retreated, blocking four arrows, while his bodyguards, alerted by the commotion, managed to deflect four more.
He was about to sneer at the futile attack when, five heartbeats later, an arrow whistled through the air and sank half an inch beneath his clavicle.
Niu Fu cried out in pain and tumbled down from his platform.

The general fell, and chaos erupted around him.
With their commander down, the signal flags fluttered in confusion, the rhythm of the drums was lost, and the vanguard soldiers were left bewildered.
Some paused, awaiting new orders; others looked about in a daze, not knowing what to do. Worst off were those halfway up the ladders, unable to advance or retreat, only to be drenched in scalding oil and sent screaming to their deaths below.

“General!”
Niu Fu lay on his back, eyes wide, unmoving.
The half-inch wound was shallow and would clot on its own in time, needing no bandage.
But Niu Fu was terrified.
Half an inch was shallow, but it depended on where it landed.
Below the clavicle was not fatal, but what if it had struck four inches higher, in the throat?
If he hadn’t stepped back those two paces, the arrow would have found its mark at his throat!
From one hundred sixty paces away.

Chen Cong put away his bow and arrows, sighing to himself at the near miss…