The Royal Carriage Stranded, Provisions Run Short; A Petty Clerk Slanders a General

Dust rose from the official road to Handan in the spring wind. The wheels rolled over the deeply rutted road, groaning with a creak, creak.

The Golden Root Chariot rocked more and more violently. Its four black horses hung their heads, their hooves hitting the ground with a labored, threadbare heaviness.

The steeds that had once been so magnificent now had dust and sand caked even in the tips of their manes. Each step brought a snort, as if they were grumbling about the yokes on their backs.

The procession crawled along at a snail's pace.

The Tiger Guards leading the way should have stood straight as pines, but their backs were slightly hunched. Veins bulged on the hands gripping their halberds, yet they barely had the strength left to drive away the stray dogs by the roadside.

The guards on either side and behind them looked even worse. The armored soldiers in the vanguard had pushed their helmets back, revealing topknots drenched with sweat.

The crossbowmen in the central ranks leaned on their spear shafts as they gasped for breath, the bowstrings of their Crossbow Mechanisms hanging slack.

The cavalry in the rear slumped sideways in their saddles. Even their wary glances around them were heavy with exhaustion.

The Tiger Guards leading the way were utterly spent, and so were the guards protecting the rear.

"Bastards!"

A low curse came from inside the Golden Root Chariot. Ying Zheng rapped his knuckles hard against the jade ornament on the carriage wall, making a dull thud.

He lifted one corner of the curtain and scanned the dispirited procession outside, his brows drawing tighter and tighter.

"What use is Lord Changping? He can't even handle provisions for a mere thirty thousand men?"

"So I let such a wine-sack and rice-bag serve as