Two thousand elite warriors of Takeda Shingen’s Red Vanguard marched upon Wangshu Inn, only to be met by eight hundred Liyue defenders loosing a downpour of arrows from the high ground.

 

With the inn’s gates on the verge of being breached, the defenders made a resolute choice: they demolished the only stone bridge connecting to the inn. In an instant, sixteen hundred Kai provincial elite soldiers plummeted into the bottomless abyss.

 

As smoke and gunpowder filled the air, immortal clouds suddenly billowed over the horizon—sixty thousand Liyue reinforcements descended like heavenly warriors!

 

The youthful immortal Xiao wielded his green spear with lightning speed, cutting down enemy generals amid the massive army. Gazing upon his shattered grand ambitions, Takeda Shingen reluctantly issued the order to retreat…

 

 

 

A crimson tide rolled across the blue-green meadows of Guili Plains.

 

Twenty thousand Kai Red Vanguard soldiers under Takeda Shingen advanced in grim silence. The thunder of hooves was replaced by a dull, heavy thud that trampled both the earth and the hearts of men. The glint of blades and spears pierced the wilderness mist; their formation stood rigid and disciplined, a precise, cold war machine. Banners emblazoned with Wind, Forest, Fire, Mountain flapped fiercely in the wind. Beneath them sat Takeda Shingen himself on a camp stool—tall and imposing, clad in heavy armor, his gaze fixed calmly on the towering structure rising seemingly from solid rock: Wangshu Inn.

 

Perched alone on a steep cliff face, the inn overlooked a bottomless secluded valley. Its only access was a narrow stone arch bridge spanning the canyon, so slender it seemed liable to be swept away by the wind. To Shingen, this was no mere inn—it was a peculiar fortress, a nail driven into Liyue’s gateway. Pluck it out, and his army could march straight for the prosperous heart of Liyue Harbor.

 

On the inn’s top terrace, eight hundred Liyue defenders stood ready. No deafening battle cries rang out, only unshakable stillness like bedrock. Every Millelith soldier gripped their polearms tight, checking their bowstrings over and over. Their armor lacked the vivid luster of the Red Vanguard, yet their eyes were sharp as crystals embedded in stone, rooted firmly to the land they guarded. The leading drill master stood at the forefront, his battle robes billowing in the mountain wind. He stared out at the endless crimson tide below, his face impassive—only a tightly set jaw betrayed unyielding resolve.

 

Some two thousand vanguards of the Red Vanguard surged onto the bridge like the fiercest waves of the crimson flood. The narrow span allowed only a handful to march side by side, forcing their formation to constrict. Iron boots struck the stone slabs in chilling, uniform rhythm. Raised shields formed a moving bulwark, creeping steadily toward the inn’s gates.

 

The distance shrank with every passing moment. The ferocious demon masks emblazoned on enemy shields were now clearly visible.

 

The instant the Red Vanguard vanguard crossed the bridge’s midpoint, most of their troops trapped upon the suspended deadly passage—the drill master on the inn terrace slashed his arm downward in a sharp command.

 

“Loose arrows!”

 

A bark cut through the heavy silence.

 

The next moment came no scattered volley, but a devastating storm of steel! Holding the absolute high ground, Liyue archers needed no forceful lobbing—only level, downward aimed shots. Arrows tore through the air with shrill wails, swooping like predatory falcons to strike the enemy on the bridge. Sharp arrowheads pierced leather armor effortlessly, slipping even through the gaps of iron plate.

 

Shields blocked some direct strikes, but arrows raining from a higher angle found unprotected scalps, necks and shoulders as if guided by eyes.

 

Screams erupted across the bridge, drowning out the steady march of moments before. Soldiers fell riddled with arrows, or toppled over the railings into the mist-shrouded abyss below—no echo rose from the depths. The Red Vanguard’s charge faltered, their formation descending into chaos. Still, the indomitable courage of Kai’s samurai sustained them. Amid officers’ hoarse roars, surviving warriors trampled their fallen comrades, pressing stubbornly forward and attempting to return fire. Yet their uphill countershots were futile against Liyue’s dense arrow barrage; stray arrows buried themselves uselessly in the inn’s rugged cliff walls.

 

The battle devolved into brutal attrition. Every step the Red Vanguard advanced cost dozens of lives. Piled corpses all but blocked the bridge, slick blood oozing through stone cracks and dripping into the abyss. Liyue’s supply of arrows seemed endless.

 

Watching from afar, Takeda Shingen frowned slightly. His general Yokoda Takatsugu rode close and spoke in a low tone: “My lord, this frontal assault costs too many lives. Should we pause…”

 

Shingen raised a hand to cut him off, his gaze still icy calm. “In a narrow pass, the brave prevail. The Liyue archers will eventually run out of arrows. Send word for the second wave to stand by—once their arrow fire weakens, strike at once and break their defenses in one blow!”

 

He saw the fatal flaw of Liyue’s defense: mere eight hundred men, no matter how favorable their position, could not hold out forever.

 

On the inn terrace, the drill master’s arm ached with fatigue, yet he parried a stray arrow with unwavering poise. He glanced around his men—weariness etched on their faces, quivers dwindling visibly. Below, fresh Red Vanguard reinforcements massed at the bridgehead, an endless sea of crimson stretching to the horizon.

 

He drew a deep breath of smoke-tinged, blood-scented air, turning to a bespectacled alchemist beside him stained with gunpowder and grime. The alchemist nodded firmly, gripping an intricate mechanical trigger. Fuses snaked from the device deep into the rock beneath their feet, all the way to the bridge’s foundational roots.

 

The time had come.

 

A flicker of sorrow crossed the drill master’s eyes, quickly hardening into unbreakable will. This bridge was Wangshu Inn’s lifeline to the outside world, a thoroughfare for countless travelers, bearing Liyue’s history and memories. Now it was also the enemy’s shortcut to their homeland.

 

He spun sharply, addressing every able warrior, his hoarse voice cutting through the battlefield din: “Millelith, heed my order! Destroy the bridge!”

 

No hesitation, no doubt remained. The surviving Liyue defenders summoned their last strength, unleashing a fiercer arrow barrage to pin the enemy back, buying precious time for the final act.

 

The alchemist holding the trigger channeled all his strength into his arms and twisted the mechanism hard.

 

Boom——!!!

 

A roar louder than thunder burst from deep beneath the earth, like a mountain god’s wrathful cry. The entire cliff shuddered violently. Before the horrified gaze of Takeda Shingen and every Red Vanguard soldier, brilliant orange-red light burst from the stone bridge’s central foundations spanning the canyon. Massive boulders were hurled skyward by raging force, crashing down like rain. Smoke and fire billowed upward into a murky mushroom cloud.

 

The bridge—alongside over sixteen hundred elite Kai samurai trapped upon it—snapped and shattered in the cataclysmic collapse, plummeting into the dark valley below. Screams were swallowed whole by the deafening crash; the tide of crimson vanished in an instant beneath rising smoke and the hopeless abyss.

 

For a heartbeat, the world stood still.

 

The Red Vanguard’s follow-up assault ground to a halt. Every soldier stared dumbfounded at the sudden chasm, at Wangshu Inn now seeming even more distant across the gorge. An unearthly chill crawled up every man’s spine.

 

Takeda Shingen’s steadfast frame swayed faintly. His knuckles whitened as he gripped his war fan too tightly. Sixteen hundred of his bravest samurai, slain without ever laying a hand on their foe? Such ruthless resolve, such willingness to sacrifice, defied all he had learned from a lifetime of warfare. He stared fixedly at the faint, unyielding figures still standing atop the inn terrace through the smoke, overcome for the first time by heavy, unspoken gravity.

 

Yet the war was far from over. After the fleeting silence came even greater fury. Devastated by crippling losses and enraged by their foe’s resolve, surviving Red Vanguard commanders—including Yokoda Takatsugu and Saegusa Tomotomo—led frantic searches for alternate paths, deploying grappling hooks and tools to resume their attack. Liyue’s defenders clung to their remaining fortifications, fighting on with their last arrows, boulders and rolling stones in a desperate yet unyielding stand. Every inch of cliff was soaked in blood.

 

At the critical moment when the Takeda army, wounded and feral, sought to lunge for the kill, and Liyue’s defenders teetered on the brink of collapse—

 

The eastern sky blazed with unnatural color.

 

The clear heavens were swept over by flowing golden light and auspicious immortal clouds. Deep, majestic horn blasts echoed across the battlefield, rising faint from the distant horizon before swelling into a tide of sound that filled the whole world.

 

Takeda Shingen whipped his head around.

 

His pupils constricted in shock.

 

As far as the eye could see, a golden tide surged across the entire Guili Plains horizon—not sunlight glinting off armor, but endless ranks of Liyue reinforcements! Millelith soldiers stood arrayed in polished armor, spears forming an endless forest. Grand banners emblazoned with Liyue’s sigils fluttered in the wind. Amid the formations roamed adepti wielding mystical arts, guiding wispy clouds that lent the advancing army the solemn dignity of immortals.

 

Sixty thousand! No fewer than sixty thousand fresh troops!

 

They had arrived swift and silent, revealing overwhelming momentum only upon reaching the battlefield. The golden flood rolled across the plains, crashing down with unstoppable pressure upon the Takeda army’s flanks and rear.

 

At the forefront of this golden tide moved a cyan figure, faster than the eye could follow.

 

Swift as gale, sharp as lightning.

 

The moment the horns blared, the cyan streak cut straight into the disorganized Takeda vanguard. Wherever it passed, Red Vanguard samurai were felled as if by invisible blades—men and horses tumbling, none able to halt its advance for a breath.

 

Yokoda Takatsugu, one of Shingen’s bravest generals, brandished his katana roaring orders to steady the lines. A piercing chill suddenly pricked his side—the primal instinct forged by countless life-or-death battles. He spun sharply, katana raised to block.

 

Clang!

 

A shrill clash of steel rang out.

 

He had blocked it—blocked the tip of an emerald spear wreathed in Anemo energy!

 

Yet the gap in strength was insurmountable. The spear tip held the raw power to rend mountains. An irresistible force surged down the blade, splitting his tiger’s mouth and sending his katana flying. He never even caught a clear glimpse of his attacker’s face—only cold, emotionless golden eyes and dark green hair fluttering in the wind.

 

The next instant, the cyan spear pierced his throat like a venomous dragon.

 

Yokoda Takatsugu fell in battle.

 

In the same instant nearby, Saegusa Tomotomo witnessed Yokoda’s death, consumed by shock and rage. He nocked an arrow infused with the full strength of his lifelong cultivation, aiming straight for the cyan figure withdrawing its spear.

 

The arrow never left the bowstring.

 

As if seeing behind his back, the cyan figure flicked his spear backward without turning.

 

Whoosh——!

 

A razor-sharp wind blade shot from the spear tip, flying faster than any arrow.

 

Saegusa Tomotomo only had time to see a flash of cyan light expanding before his eyes, then darkness claimed his consciousness forever. A thin bloodline split his forehead, piercing straight through his skull.

 

In the blink of an eye, two famed generals lay slain.

 

The cyan light dimmed to reveal Xiao. He perched one-footed atop a fallen banner pole, holding his Primordial Jade Winged-Spear angled toward the ground. Crimson blood dripped slowly down its emerald edge. His face remained impassive as he surveyed the enemy ranks thrown into further panic by their generals’ sudden deaths, gazing down upon them as one might watch ants.

 

It is over.

 

Only those two words lingered in Takeda Shingen’s heart as he watched the scene unfold.

 

Yokoda and Saegusa, his most trusted pillars, peerless warriors both—yet they could not withstand a single strike from this youthful immortal. Before him stood the stubborn remnant defenders holding the high ground; to his flanks and rear, sixty thousand fresh Liyue troops closed in for encirclement. Morale was broken, key generals slain, the tactical advantage lost entirely…

 

He closed his eyes slowly, breathing in the thick stench of smoke and blood. When he opened them again, all turmoil had faded, leaving only profound weariness and helpless resignation.

 

“Give the order…” His hoarse voice carried clearly to every messenger beside him. “All troops… retreat.”

 

The mournful retreat horns wailed, a despairing counterpoint to Liyue’s triumphant advance fanfare. The shattered remnants of the Red Vanguard fell back like a receding tide, abandoning banners, weapons and the bodies of their fallen kin across the field.

 

Takeda Shingen cast one final glance at Wangshu Inn—still standing tall and unbroken, as if never touched by war. He looked up at Liyue’s sky woven with gold and cyan light, then turned his horse and vanished into the retreating crimson flood.

 

His grand ambitions, his dream of conquering Liyue, shattered and sank into the bottomless abyss that day—just like the fallen stone bridge.

This chapter is based on a real historical event: the Battle of Shanghai that broke out on August 13, 1937. After occupying most of Shanghai, the Japanese army attempted to seize the Sihang Warehouse, which was held by more than 400 Chinese defenders, but they met fierce resistance from the garrison troops.

In the end, the Chinese troops withdrew from the warehouse into the foreign concessions of Shanghai.

The Chinese defenders suffered only 9 deaths, while killing over 400 Japanese soldiers.