In the first year of Chuping, 190 CE, the thirteenth day of the first month.
It was exactly ten in the morning. Though the sun shone brightly, the wind was bitterly cold.
Clatter, clatter, clatter!
A chaotic burst of hoofbeats came riding in on the cold wind. Nine riders promptly galloped up the hill, reined in at its crest, and looked down below. They traveled light and rode swift horses; they were undoubtedly scouts.
Several sharp intakes of breath sounded. One of them could not help exclaiming, "What a spectacle! How many troops must there be?"
Below them, camps were laid out like a chessboard, and tents like pieces upon it, densely packed. Even looking down from the height, they could see neither the beginning nor the end, the encampments stretching on for who knew how far. Soldiers formed a sea, generals a mountain. Drums thundered without cease, blades and armor gleamed brilliantly. Banners snapped in the wind, their myriad colors blotting out the sky and sun. When had the world ever seen such a grand sight!?
Even the fine horses beneath them were stirred by the murderous aura filling the camps, snorting restlessly and pawing the ground. Yin Kuang tightened the reins and settled his horse, then said to Wei Ming, "The seventeen lords probably have at least two hundred thousand men between them. Heh! If nukes still worked, tossing one in there would make flowers bloom all over the sky."
Wei Ming burst out laughing.
At that moment, Qian Tong, one of the scout soldiers, pointed downhill. "Sir, someone's coming!"
Yin Kuang looked and saw more than ten riders galloping out from the nearest camp. "Raise the banner and show them who we are!"
"Are you men under General Gongsun?"
Yin Kuang shouted back, "We are! We are