Seeing Through the Trick, Resolutely Continuing the Attack

The armor-piercing spike was buried deep in the scorched earth, only a section of its blackened handle exposed. Chen Wuya loosened his fingers, leaving a bloody scrape across his palm where the grip had rubbed him raw. He did not wipe it away. He merely lowered his head to glance at the wound, then lifted his eyes toward the enemy ranks.

The silver-armored general still stood atop the high slope. Rather than lowering his Fang Tian Ji, he held it horizontally before his chest. Behind him, the command flag swayed slowly—not the droop of retreat, nor the flat spread of surrender, but slashed at a sharp angle. It was the signal to assemble.

Wind blew in from the north, sweeping ashes across the battlefield. Chen Wuya narrowed his eyes at the low ground behind the enemy formation. The dust there lay still; not even the routed soldiers had fled that way. Yet just moments ago, he had clearly seen two sets of wheel tracks curve in from the flank, only to be hastily covered over with loose soil.

"They haven't withdrawn." Bai Zhi's voice sounded beside his ear, light as a leaf touching the ground. "They're closing ranks."

Chen Wuya nodded without shifting his gaze. "Three sentences of peace talks: cede a city, cease the war, return home. It all sounded so heartfelt. But if a defeated general dares send some gaunt envoy to haggle, it means their commander-in-chief was never injured—perhaps he was never even thrown into disorder."

"Tuoba Lie is no fool." Bai Zhi stared at the depression. "He knows we've just finished a hard assault and the soldiers are exhausted. If he can stall for half an hour, he can reform his remnants into three lines of attack and push the fire crossbow carts to the mouth