Zhang Yide Seeks Battle

Chu A and Zhao Yun fought from horseback at first, then dismounted and kept on battling.

It was truly a match of worthy foes, a contest of equals.

Their combat on foot raged fiercely, and in the blink of an eye they had fought dozens more rounds.

By this point, both Chu A and Zhao Yun were growing exhausted.

Even if a man can endure it, his weapon cannot.

Zhao Yun’s treasured sword, in particular, was now full of dents and notches, as though it had been gnawed by a thousand mouths.

His blade was a sharp weapon, while Chu A’s hooked mace was a bludgeoning one; in close combat, Chu A had the advantage of his armament.

When the two engaged again, Chu A’s mace and Zhao Yun’s sword crashed together.

Only a crisp crack rang out, and Zhao Yun’s treasured sword shattered piece by piece in his hand, utterly ruined.

After that blow, both men kicked out at once.

Zhao Yun struck Chu A in the chest with a rabbit-kicking-eagle blow, and Chu A did the same to Zhao Yun.

Both were sent flying and slammed heavily to the ground.

After getting back on their feet, Zhao Yun cupped his hands toward Chu A and said, “Zhao Zilong admits defeat.”

Zhao Yun’s sword had been broken, while Chu A’s weapon was still intact.

With no sword left, Zhao Yun could not continue; he could only concede.

In truth, Zhao Yun had not really been beaten in skill. If one must name a loss, then it was only the loss of his short weapon.

For Zhao Yun to admit defeat so cleanly was something Chu A admired greatly.

No one understood the course of the battle better than the two men themselves.

Chu A knew full well that this could not truly be called a victory.

Had Zhao Yun’s sword not broken, they would still have been fighting.

“I had the advantage of my weapon; that does not make it a victory.”

“Let us count it as a draw. We shall fight again another day!” With that said, Chu A mounted up and returned to camp.

He had not pressed his advantage, and Zhao Yun was deeply grateful.

As Chu A and Zhao Yun rode back to their respective camps, Cao Cao was beaming from ear to ear, his old face wrinkling like a chrysanthemum in full bloom.

Today’s first duel had been Taishi Ci against Zhang He.

Taishi Ci had shot Zhang He in the thigh with an arrow and emerged unscathed himself. That first contest had been a victory for Taishi Ci, and it gave the Wei troops a slight lift in morale.

The second duel, though called a draw, had been a clear spectacle in Chu A’s favor, for he had shattered Zhao Yun’s weapon.

The common soldiers cared nothing for fine distinctions. Seeing Chu A break Zhao Yun’s sword, they took it as Chu A’s win.

With two victories in a row, the morale of Cao Cao’s army surged at once, and the sense of defeat from the previous days was swept away.

One household rejoices while another grieves.

Cao Cao was delighted, but Yuan Shao was suffering.

Yuan Shao’s expression looked as though three fathers had died all at once; it was ugly beyond words.

He could still accept Zhang He’s loss, but Zhao Yun’s failure to win was harder for him to swallow.

After all, in the past two days Zhao Yun had successively defeated four of Cao Cao’s finest generals: Zhang Liao, Xu Huang, Xiahou Dun, and Xiahou Yuan.

When Zhao Yun took the field today, everyone had assumed he would win without question. None had expected a draw.

To call it a draw was generous; in truth, Zhao Yun had even been at a slight disadvantage in momentum.

“My lord, Lord Yuan, I have failed!” Zhao Yun rode to the front and cupped his hands in apology to Liu Bei and Yuan Shao.

Zhao Yun had lost. What was there to do?

When Zhang He had been defeated, Yuan Shao had not blamed him. Now, naturally, he could not blame Zhao Yun either.

After all, Zhang He had truly been beaten fair and square.

As for Zhao Yun, this had at least passed for a draw. If Yuan Shao blamed him, would that not amount to admitting their side had lost?

After thinking it over, Yuan Shao seemed to feel that a draw still preserved a shred of dignity.

“Very well. Stand down,” he said with a dismissive wave.

Zhao Yun rode back into line, and Yuan Shao turned to Liu Bei with a mournful face. “What are we to do now?”

They had fought two rounds: one loss and one draw.

And Zhao Yun’s draw had not looked good at all.

What came next? Were they still to continue the challenge or not?

If they kept going and lost again, what then?

At this moment Liu Bei felt a little awkward as well. At the beginning, it had been Yuan Shao who did not wish to fight duels; it was Liu Bei who had persuaded him to do so.

Yet who could have imagined that his fourth brother, Zhao Yun, would fail to win? That made things rather difficult.

Though Liu Bei was embarrassed, he could not show it.

“Brother Benchu, do not be anxious. My second brother, Yunchang, and my third brother, Yide, have not yet taken the field,” Liu Bei said, forcing himself to sound reassuring.

Before he had even finished speaking, a great black horse burst from their own ranks, carrying a burly man with a leopard’s head and ringed eyes.

The horse was a Wuzhui steed, of the same breed as the one beneath the Chu hero who took his own life by the Wu River.

The leopard-headed, ring-eyed rider was none other than Liu Bei’s third brother, Zhang Fei.

Zhang Fei was impatient by nature. Hearing Liu Bei say that his second and third brothers had not yet fought, he immediately spurred his horse forward.

In truth, Liu Bei knew very well that if even his fourth brother Zilong could not win, then sending in his second brother Yunchang or third brother Yide would likely change nothing.

The reason he had said it was simply to ease Yuan Shao’s mind and give him some comfort. Then he could find an excuse to call off the battle and resume it another day.

Never did he imagine that before he had even finished speaking, Zhang Fei would charge straight out.

Zhang Fei had one outstanding trait: his voice was extraordinarily loud.

In history, Zhang Fei once roared on the Dangyang Bridge and drove back a million soldiers of Cao Cao’s army.

Now Zhang Fei rode his great Black Steed to the front lines, raised his ten-foot spear, and shouted, “Zhang Yide of the state of Yan is here! Who dares fight me?”

Zhang Fei, Yide, had come forth to challenge the enemy, and the generals in Cao Cao’s camp were all very familiar with this loud-mouthed man.

He had issued challenges many times before, and each time it had been Xu Chu who went to meet him. The two of them had fought several times, and every bout had ended in a hard-fought stalemate.

Seeing Zhang Fei issue his challenge, Xu Chu immediately prepared to ride out.

In his heart, Xu Chu thought: You black brute, have some shame. Today I, Xu Chu, will surely defeat you.

Just as Xu Chu was about to mount, Cao Cao stopped him with a hand.

Cao Cao thought to himself: Even if you go, it will be useless. You have fought him several times already and never beaten him.

“This battle must be won if our army is to surpass the enemy’s morale,” Cao Cao said in a low voice, blocking Xu Chu. “Zhongkang, you cannot go in this fight.”

At that, Xu Chu’s face turned red. Cao Cao’s meaning was plain enough: Xu Chu could not win.

Su Ming thought to himself that he had already defeated Guan Yu, and another bout against Zhang Fei would not be a bad thing.

With that in mind, he lifted his phoenix-winged gilded halberd and said, “I will take this battle.”

If it had been anyone else, Xu Chu might not have been convinced.

But if Su Ming were to fight, Xu Chu would have nothing to say.

He admired Su Ming to the point of utter conviction.

In the past, Xu Chu and Su Ming had sparred many times, and in every contest Xu Chu had been no match for him. In fact, it was difficult for Xu Chu even to last a hundred exchanges without defeat.

Thinking that Su Ming was about to face that black-maned warrior, Xu Chu felt the fellow was in for a miserable day.