Volume One: The Wild Boy Chapter Seventy-Eight: Gongsun Twelve

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From the mountain pass of Weinan came the relentless clash of arms.

“Who is that general at the front, daring to charge into the formation alone?” Kuisheng pointed toward the pass where a single warrior was wreaking havoc, sweeping all before them. The men to his left and right both signaled their ignorance, and Kuisheng’s brows knit in frustration.

His own vanguard was in disarray, and he saw defeat looming. “Sound the gong and call the troops back! If we keep fighting, we’ll lose every shred of Sishan’s honor!”

Clenching his fists in fury, Kuisheng turned and strode away. No one dared utter a word; they could only follow their general’s command.

…

“In recent days, Ma Hui’s subordinates have grown ever more brazen. You all saw the spectacle at noon—a single person broke through the army at the foot of the mountain as if it were nothing! Were it not for the advantage of this terrain, the moment blades crossed, our defeat would have been sealed.” Kuisheng sat in the command tent, his face unusually clouded with worry. He was not one for defense, and being forced to chain a tiger coming down the mountain to guard a pass would have soured the mood of any man. Worse still, that tiger had been truly provoked by the white-robed lancer.

Yang Feng rose to his feet. His unit and Lin Zhao’s had both been conscripted by Kuisheng to defend the Weinan mountain pass. Yet they’d barely been here a few days, and the morale of the troops was already being sapped by that white-robed young general.

“General Kui, didn’t you send for reinforcements from Sishan this morning? Why is there still no reply?”

“There was a reply, but it was merely a strict order to hold our ground and not sally forth. Nothing else was mentioned, only that reinforcements would arrive soon…” Kuisheng pursed his lips, his mounting grievances escaping as a bitter sigh.

At that sigh, the mood in the tent grew heavier, steeped in sorrow.

“There’s no need for such lament,” Lin Zhao spoke up, his face pale as he leaned against Lin He for support. The bandaged wound on his chest was a token left by the white-robed warrior’s spear. “The next time that white-robed lancer comes to challenge us, even if it costs me my life, I will make sure she pays something in return!”

Kuisheng shook his head and forced a wry smile. “If this person were a man, I’d have nothing to be ashamed of—even if none of the generals here are her match. But she’s a woman. Frankly, since coming to the Northern Territory, this is the first time I’ve fought such a humiliating battle.”

“To think Ma Hui commands such a figure—no wonder he’s the foremost of the Three Northern Warlords,” someone muttered. Lin Zhao was not her only victim; Yang Feng, though he’d escaped with his body intact, had fared even worse.

Rumor had it that Yang Feng’s three famed moves were “Wild Geese Descend on the Sands,” “Hungry Tiger Down the Mountain,” and the exceedingly practical “Lazy Donkey Roll.” The third was said to be General Yang’s signature technique. That day, its reputation was well-earned—a full-grown man of seven feet who did not once regain his footing through the entire bout...

Kuisheng puffed his cheeks in exasperation—a gesture reserved for his rare moments of joy, though lately his cheeks had scarcely found peace. Watching the two main generals defeated in succession, he naturally wanted to restore his honor. The woman was strikingly beautiful, with phoenix eyes and delicate brows that exuded both allure and, beneath her armor, a martial spirit that transformed charm into heroism.

Kuisheng fancied himself a scholar at heart, a poet turned warrior by a twist of fate. Upon seeing her, he was thunderstruck—not solely by her beauty, but because, as Guo Huai had once described, he saw “verbal swordplay” made flesh.

Of all a scholar’s virtues, it was “flair” that Kuisheng embodied most completely.

Years in the army had drained him of scholarly refinement, yet after much thought he managed, “Miss, you are truly… resplendent.” And then—

His cheek met the full sweep of a lance, both man and horse tumbling to the ground. That day, Yang Feng exclaimed in admiration—he’d never imagined General Kuisheng had mastered the “Lazy Donkey Roll” so thoroughly.

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To be fair, calling a radiant young woman “resplendent” was high praise, commending both her appearance and her inner grace...

Suddenly, Kuisheng slapped the table, wincing from a toothache but forcing out a growl: “If this continues, I’ll have no face left to live! That unreasonable woman—I spent so long crafting words to praise her, and she didn’t appreciate a bit of it! She ruined my tenderness, my wisdom teeth… and two fine front teeth! But enough—if reinforcements don’t come today, then tomorrow we must sally forth and fight to the death. If we let the enemy cavalry provoke us again and again, the day they march in force will be the day our mountain pass falls!”

Yang Feng and Lin Zhao exchanged wry smiles. How could they keep fighting? A handful of cavalry was impossible to chase, and whenever they did engage, their formation was scattered before it could even be set. As for the light cavalry, the prowess that woman displayed at the front lines left even the most battle-hardened veterans of the mountain gasping for breath.

“I know it’s difficult,” Kuisheng continued. “But if we keep hiding behind closed gates, we’ll have to pull in all our sentries. A blind pass is no better than being surrounded by a massive enemy force. Besides, Ma Hui is the fierce bear of the north. If Sishan’s tiger means to challenge him, we can’t show weakness before we bare our fangs. You know better than I what happens to those who show fear before a beast of prey.”

Lin Zhao nodded, touching his wound and hesitating before he spoke: “General Kui, I’m a warrior.”

“I know. Though you looked pitiful falling from your horse, you really did deserve a beating for pointing your spear at her face.” Kuisheng gave him a thumbs-up, though his disdain was almost palpable.

“But as the saying goes: when three walk together, if you can’t win alone, gang up. If she dares to appear tomorrow, the three of us will surely…”

“Oh, did Liu Qingshan teach you that one? Normally you rack up merits one by one, but you’re willing to let her defeat all three of you at once? I have reason to believe the weather is cold, but that girl’s heart is surely warm.”

Kuisheng was mulling over the plan when a sudden voice enraged him: “Who’s outside the tent? This is a matter of military secrecy!” Then, catching himself, “Still, even if things are dire, three against one—we’d at worst lose two of us, no need to talk ourselves down!”

The tent flap was flung aside, and before the figure appeared, a lance was pointed at Kuisheng’s face. The newcomer was Chen Ziliang, followed by the languid Lin Changtian.

Kuisheng forced a laugh, hopping from the dais and nearly in tears: “Changtian, look what that girl’s done to me. Tomorrow, you must deal with her and boost our morale!”

“What you’ll see tomorrow is the lance in Ziliang’s hand. I read the reports too—I asked Qiu An, and that woman does exist. She’s called Gongsun Twelve. But are you certain that cavalry unit serves Ma Hui? His troops are only good for ambushes, never for dominating a thousand miles and throwing enemy armies into chaos.”

“This… I’m not sure,” Kuisheng admitted after a long pause. “But she flies Ma Hui’s banner, there’s no doubt of that.”

“In that case, get some rest. We’ll see what Ziliang brings back to the mountain tomorrow.”

…

Late into the night, Kuisheng tossed and turned, unable to sleep.

“Changtian, why is her surname Gongsun?” he suddenly asked, sitting up and looking at Lin Changtian.

Lin Changtian pulled the covers over his head, but Kuisheng’s endless chatter was impossible to ignore. He replied offhandedly, “Because her father’s surname is Gongsun. Honestly, only you could ask such a profound question. Kuisheng, keep that wit sharp—no one in Sishan is competing with you for the title of ‘Sishan’s Brightest.’”

“Oh, is that it? I thought she’d be called Ma Twelve... Why such a name?”

“Ma Twelve?”

“Ma Hui’s twelfth wife, of course.”

The rest of the night passed in silence, the last half-basket of thoughts drowned out by Kuisheng’s snores.

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…

Gongsun Twelve leaned on her lance. Her provocations were as regular as clockwork—after several bouts, she’d already taken the measure of Weinan Pass.

Four riders emerged from the pass: two familiar faces, Kuisheng and Yang Feng; the rest, likely some hapless soldiers, she surmised. Gongsun Twelve smiled, her willow brows arching as she slung her lance onto her back.

“What’s this? Is the grand Weinan Pass about to show me a double donkey roll performance?”

Kuisheng did not retort, but looked at her coldly, trying to squeeze a trace of murderous intent onto his face. But his gaze landed in the wrong place; in the presence of such beauty, his fury evaporated. Face flushing, he roared, “Enough arrogance! Brother Yang Feng, today the two of us will take her head together!”

He spurred his horse forward, forcing Yang Feng to follow hard behind.

Lin Changtian nudged Chen Ziliang and whispered, “Ziliang, what do you think of Gongsun Twelve’s looks?”

Chen Ziliang sneered, unimpressed. “She’s just showing off—no match for me!”

Lin Changtian: …

As they spoke, Gongsun Twelve’s lance had already knocked the broadsword from Kuisheng’s hand and whirled straight for Yang Feng. In a matter of exchanges, the two men’s defeat was plain to see.

“Her spearwork is exquisite. What would you do against her?” Lin Changtian asked.

Chen Ziliang narrowed his eyes, gripping his spear. “Seems I spoke too soon. Those two oafs won’t last long—I’ll go first!”

His spear flashed through the air, intercepting Gongsun Twelve’s killing strike in the blink of an eye.

Chen Ziliang withdrew his spear, and Gongsun Twelve reined in her horse.

The man looked her up and down, making her cheeks flush. But seeing Chen Ziliang’s handsome features, her annoyance only grew. “Lecher! Can’t you behave? Be careful I don’t gouge out your eyes!”

Chen Ziliang stroked his chin—though he had no beard, the saying went: “A Sishan man at war always strokes his beard.” —from the venerable Liu Qingshan of Sishan.

“Hmph, as frail as you look, I dare say I could take on ten like you!”

Gongsun Twelve: ???