A night passed. The next morning, the weather grew gloomier still, and the north wind began to stir.
In the noticeably colder Righteous Army stockade, Zhang Xing waited a long time before finally getting an ice-cold breakfast. Unusual movements in Ande City were to blame: large numbers of mounted scouts and small detachments had gone out early that morning, alarming the depleted stockade. The Righteous Army leader stationed there happened to be absent, and his deputies had been at a loss, responding in such confusion that the entire stockade had spent the morning running around to no purpose.
"Something's wrong with the Righteous Army, and something's wrong with the government troops too." In the morning sunlight, Zhang Xing, having quickly finished breakfast, leaned against the edge of the fire pit in front of the tent and delivered his verdict, empty bowl in hand. Opposite him, Xiong Bonan was still eating from his wooden bowl. "The Righteous Army's problems are basically what Zhuge Dewei described. They're split three ways internally. They clearly have so many men, and still have weapons and food, but they've exhausted themselves holding one another back. They simply can't attack major cities like Pingyuan and Ande."
As he spoke, Zhang Xing tapped his wooden bowl with his chopsticks, then tossed both into the ash heap before him, which had long since lost all warmth. He even recognized the taste of the stale rice-the very taste he had known so well back in Dengzhou.
Xiong Bonan, still shoveling down his food, paused with his chopsticks and nodded earnestly. "Things have gone badly wrong. The stockade's a complete mess. They're not short of men, weapons, or food, yet once the weather turns cold, they don't even have enough firewood. With their leader away, they practically become birds startled by