The bitter north wind howled as an army hurried north along the plains at the foot of the mountains. Horses trotted briskly, some carrying single riders, others pulling flatbeds laden with supplies, weapons, grain, and the like.
The soldiers jogged alongside the wagons, continuously exhaling white vapor. They kept their bodies moving and their blood flowing, preserving both warmth and fighting strength.
Unfazed by the severe cold, Wang Yan wore iron armor and still rode the red-maned horse he had taken from Zhang Fei, leading the way at the front.
Three thousand Mighty Guards had set out north from Pingguo, with Wang Yan galloping over to join them midway. They had marched one hundred and fifty li yesterday and eighty li today. Their target was Xiangping (Liaoyang). This was the Gongsun Clan's ancestral home, and it would later serve as the capital from which Gongsun Du dominated Liaodong.
The purpose of attacking this place went without saying: eliminate the cultured, knowledgeable, perceptive, and resourceful people first. Though everyone was human and had but one brain, in this ancient age, the minds of the powerful clans and the heads of the Wuhuan were unquestionably on entirely different levels. Without anyone behind them offering strategies and counsel, the Wuhuan army would be far less formidable.
Pingguo was two hundred and thirty li from Xiangping, while Xiangping was one hundred and twenty li from Xuantu. Wang Yan had fed and supplied his army well throughout the winter, and their daily training had never slackened in the slightest. Given the Wuhuan army's lack of organization and discipline, as well as their meager provisions—even if they had ample supplies, they would never waste them on ordinary soldiers—one hundred and twenty li in such freezing weather could cost them their lives.
As for cold resistance alone,