The news reached Guangling at the break of dawn, carried by the relentless pounding of hooves on the frozen ground. A lone messenger, caked in dust and grime, rode straight through the city gates without so much as a pause, his horse lathered with sweat and foam. He had ridden through the night, weaving between enemy patrols and slipping past the flickering glow of skirmish lines, to place his report directly into the hands of Wei Lian.
The young commander stood in the lamplight of his war tent, brows knitted in a deep frown, while Zhao Qing lingered nearby with arms folded, his expression unreadable.
"Several of the fortresses seized by Luo Wen are barely garrisoned," the messenger rasped, voice hoarse from cold air and lack of water. "In his eagerness to keep pushing forward, he's left only skeleton detachments in certain places—trusting fear and the reputation of his army to hold them, rather than solid defenses."
Wei Lian turned toward the war map spread across the table. The once-proud chain of strongholds—his defensive shield—was now blotched with red markers, each a sign of enemy occupation. Yet among them, there were certain positions where Luo Wen had barely had the time to patch walls or bring in supplies.
"That's the soft spot," Zhao Qing said quietly, reading his commander's thoughts before they were spoken. "If we let him fortify those points, we'll never take them back without paying a dreadful price in lives and time."
Wei Lian nodded slowly, his gaze still fixed on the map."Our strength has never been in winning lightning battles. It lies in dragging this war out until Luo Wen drowns in the weight of his own ambition. If we retake those lightly held fortresses—force his troops to pull back or scatter—we'll compel him to split his power."
By that same afternoon, the plan had begun to take shape. Wei Lian couldn't strip too many soldiers from his core defenses—Guangling and its most solid bastions had to remain untouchable—but a handful of precise, well-coordinated strikes could have an impact far greater than their numbers suggested. He chose hardened veterans, men accustomed to forced marches and quick, surgical raids deep behind enemy lines.
The local nobles, reluctant at first to part with their forces, yielded after Wei Lian and Zhao Qing pressed the urgency of the matter. Militia bands familiar with every ridge and hollow of the land joined the strike units, guiding them through hidden trails and forest paths to avoid premature contact with Luo Wen's forward scouts.
The first target was a hilltop fortress seized only three days earlier by one of Luo Wen's contingents. The enemy banners still hung fresh on its towers, but the walls bore unrepaired cracks, and the outer defenses were exactly as the battle had left them—splintered palisades, half-filled trenches, and the grim remains of the fallen still strewn across the slope.
"We strike before the first light touches the walls," ordered Captain Huai Feng, one of the veterans picked for the mission. "No sound, no shouting. Not until we are on top of them."
Under the cloak of darkness, the attackers moved like shadows, the militia guiding them to the very foot of the hill. Above, in the faint starlight, two or three drowsy sentries could be seen pacing lazily along the battlements. Luo Wen had left fewer than two hundred men to hold it.
The fight was swift and savage. The defenders, jolted awake by the sudden onslaught, barely formed a defensive line before the gates were smashed in. The clash of steel and the cries of men filled the courtyard. Within the hour, the fortress was theirs again, and Wei Lian's banner fluttered defiantly atop its highest tower.
Meanwhile, elsewhere along the chain, Captain Meng Shao led a similar strike against an even weaker target—a makeshift position built on the ruins of an old outpost. Here, Luo Wen had left barely a hundred men and a junior officer to command them. Meng Shao's force arrived in the predawn gloom, loosing flaming arrows into the compound before scaling a half-collapsed section of the wall. The fight was bloody but brief; the defenders were cut down or taken prisoner before reinforcements could even be summoned.
News of these reversals reached Luo Wen quickly. The "Unbeaten Chancellor," accustomed to steady, methodical progress, understood the danger at once: his string of victories could be unraveled if Wei Lian kept clawing back fortresses at this rate. Each recapture did more than reclaim ground—it forced him to spend precious time, men, and supplies just to win back what had already been taken.
Back in Guangling's command hall, Wei Lian studied the updated reports with Zhao Qing."In less than a week, we've retaken three fortresses," Zhao Qing said, dabbing fresh blue ink on the map to mark each reclaimed position. "And we've pushed enemy garrisons back in at least two more sectors."
"Let's not fool ourselves," Wei Lian replied in a low, steady voice. "If Luo Wen focuses his strength, he can reclaim these outposts. We aren't here to hold them forever. The point is to bleed him—to make him pay for every li of ground."
Zhao Qing's lips curled into a thin smile."Then we'll make him bleed for every step he takes."
Wei Lian's eyes lingered on the map, tracing the growing strain his enemy must be feeling. Luo Wen commanded a vast host, but every mile gained stretched his supply lines thinner. Each fortress lost and retaken forced him to scatter troops across a sprawling, unstable front, weakening the hammer blow of his main force.
The operations continued in the weeks that followed. Not all went as planned—twice, Wei Lian's detachments were spotted before reaching their targets and had to retreat under the harrying strikes of enemy cavalry. In another raid, Meng Shao's men stumbled into unexpected reinforcements hidden inside the fortress, turning a midnight assault into a costly failure.
Still, the strategy was bearing fruit. The front was no longer a steady advance in Luo Wen's favor—it had become a chaotic chessboard, with strongholds changing hands, supply routes severed, and messengers galloping between distant sectors with conflicting orders.
In the villages near the reclaimed fortresses, peasants began to creep back from their hiding places, though always with wary eyes toward the horizon. They knew the war might return to their doorsteps at any moment, but each day the banners of Wei Lian flew from the walls was a day less under the enemy's heel.
One evening in Guangling, as darkness swallowed the land, Wei Lian climbed the city's high walls. From there, he gazed eastward, toward the scattered pinpricks of light where Luo Wen's camps smoldered in the distance.
Zhao Qing joined him, standing silent for a time before speaking."We've checked his advance—at least for now."
Wei Lian did not answer immediately. His eyes stayed on that faraway glow, knowing Luo Wen would not stop. The man had too many soldiers, too much ambition, and too many debts to settle. But in this war of attrition, every day bought was a victory in itself.
"Let him tire himself chasing us," Wei Lian murmured at last. "And when he's spent—when every drop of his strength is wrung out—we'll crush him."