Chapter 59: Divine Weapons Descend from the Heavens
First, the choice of equipment.
The city-breaking crossbow carried him into Sishui Pass; the catapult should do the same, and it’s even more efficient. But Chen Cong soon abandoned this perilous idea. The mechanical principle of the catapult is to hurl, and while stones can spin any which way without consequence, a person tossed about would be dizzy and lost. Besides, once that thing spins, who can guarantee you won’t land headfirst? Better safe than sorry; it must be the city-breaking crossbow.
Next comes cushioning.
Chen Cong stroked his chin, estimating: the walls of Hulao Pass rise ten zhang high—over twenty meters by modern standards. If he’s to trace a parabola over, and avoid smashing onto the wall, he must aim two or three zhang higher. As for his own physique, a straight fall might not be fatal. But add the tremendous momentum from the crossbow, and it’s anyone’s guess. He might just deliver his head over the wall—a gesture heavy with feeling but light on ceremony.
Lastly, the landing spot.
He must touch down near the city gate. After all, behind that formidable pass lies an army of fifty thousand. Fifty thousand may sound unimpressive—Zhao Zilong once charged seven times through a million under Cao Mengde. But let’s do the math: in the ideal scenario, one every ten seconds, Chen Cong would have to slash without rest for an entire day, and still only take down a little over eight thousand. That’s assuming everything goes perfectly—no injuries, no fatigue, and crucially, no horse in the city, so ten seconds per kill is pure fantasy. In reality, even if his blade blazes, if he could dispatch two or three thousand in a day, it would be a miracle.
So he must land near the gate. If he ends up in the middle of fifty thousand…
He’d be done for.
The good news is, if he dies in there, he’ll go down in history. He’ll be remembered as the first legendary jester, celebrated for generations…
He’s determined to do it—for an early return home to wife and child, Chen Cong will risk it all.
He returned to his war chariot, removed his outer armor, and picked up the inner padding discarded earlier by the siege troops, wrapping it around himself. Others avoid the padding for fear of tung oil catching fire; Chen Cong uses it as a cushion, so the thicker the better.
“Stop staring and come help—wrap me up a hundred layers.”
Cao Cao was both helpless and exasperated by this spectacle.
“What nonsense are you up to again?”
“How did Old Yuan put it? ‘The first to breach the city rises three ranks and is rewarded with ten thousand gold.’ If a Martial General rises three ranks, what does he become?”
Cao Cao assumed Chen Cong planned to scale the wall like normal and replied casually, “One of the Four Pillars.”
Given Chen Cong’s displayed bravery, even if he failed, there’d be little real danger.
“Heh, not bad.”
Cao Cao mused, “You’re wrapped up so tight, it’ll be hard to run. How will you climb the ladder?”
Now encased like a ball, Chen Cong waved a hand with difficulty.
“Don’t ask. Just remember to organize the army—launch the assault in half an hour, or your dear son-in-law will be lost.”
“What are you planning?”
Chen Cong said nothing, laboriously crawling to the main camp.
He first found Yuan Shao’s ornate chariot, counted through the ranks to the lackey Liu Bei slumped aside, then the lackey behind Liu Bei—Guan Yu.
“Second Brother Guan, let me borrow your great blade.”
Guan Yu’s phoenix eyes widened, scrutinizing the man beneath the fabric ball for some time before recognizing him. He stroked his beard, pondered briefly, and handed over the Green Dragon Crescent Blade.
“Thanks.”
For fighting many at once, only a great blade suffices. Too many people—he feared damaging his own Winged Tiger lance…
Zhang Fei curiously leaned in. “Chen Zining, what act are you putting on now?”
“Heard of ‘Divine Soldier Descends’? Just carry me to the front lines.”
Driven by curiosity, Zhang Fei obliged, sparing Chen Cong the crawl.
“Those manning the city-breaking crossbow, adjust the angle and shoot me into the city.”
“Whoa!” Zhang Fei jumped. “Are you mad?”
“You don’t get it. Work hard today, or tomorrow you’ll work even harder to find work. Help me out!”
Zhang Fei, always eager for excitement, protested loudly but carried Chen Cong to the crossbow, thoughtfully placing his feet against the bowstring.
Finally, he remarked, “Cao Cao is generous. If my brother were here, he’d tie you to his belt for sure.”
“I’m no bird. Have him tie you to his belt, blockhead.”
Zhang Fei laughed, waving. “Fire!”
...
Whoosh!
“Look, gold liquid is coming down from above!”
Le Jin, just reaching the city walls, looked up and scrambled aside in terror.
So close.
He nearly got drenched.
But as the battle grew fiercer, the enemy had no time to heat all the gold liquid. So it was more disgusting than deadly—far less dangerous than tung oil.
Le Jin turned to the stunned young soldier behind him, “Thanks, brother. If you hadn’t warned me, I’d be done for.”
“General… no, it wasn’t me. Look.” The soldier pointed skyward. “It was a monster.”
Le Jin was puzzled. “What monster?”
“A talking cloth ball…”
Le Jin stared upward for a long time, seeing nothing. Then it struck him—
Damn, it must be Chen Cong!
Who else calls himself a jester?
He hurriedly grabbed the young soldier, “Where is it?”
“It blinked and flew over the wall.”
Damn!
“You! Go inform Lord Cao: press the whole army forward, Chen Zining is inside!”
“Huh? …Yes, sir.”
Though Le Jin didn’t know how Chen Cong flew over the wall, there were fifty thousand troops behind the gates; how could anyone survive alone?
In desperation, he had no time for the arrows raining like locusts. He tossed aside his shield, hoisted the ladder onto the wall.
He shouted, “No retreat! Scale the walls, quickly!”
...
Boom!
Stones crashed, killing a swath of armored soldiers and leaving a crater.
The onlookers stared in shock as a spherical creature slowly crawled out, two exposed broken arms tearing away the shredded fabric until a human form emerged.
He then collapsed, retching violently.
A bold soldier approached, spear in hand, poking him gently.
“Immortal? Monster?”
Chen Cong’s insides churned wildly, his bones felt shattered, pain everywhere. He had no interest in the soldier, brushed the spear aside, “Get lost.”
Someone in the crowd shouted, “I’ve seen him before—that’s Chen Cong!”
Swish!
Spears bristled from every direction, pointed at Chen Cong.
Having finished vomiting, Chen Cong wiped his mouth, grabbed the great blade, and cut down the nearest soldier.
He grinned at the crowd, “Surprised? Didn’t expect me?”
Whatever else, landing safely was the priority!
“Kill him!”
Faced with countless spears, Chen Cong was not too alarmed.
He’d shed his armor for cushioning; what he feared most was hidden arrows—crowded spears were actually manageable.
He swept the blade in an arc, clearing a temporary safe space.
Taking the moment, Chen Cong glanced toward the city gate and couldn’t help but exclaim in surprise.