Chapter 345: Solitary Smoke Rises Straight

For an isolated army, the most important thing was hope.

Of course, the Shengle Army’s situation was not nearly as miserable as that of a “lone army” in the traditional sense. The savages opposite them had barely created any real pressure these past days.

The defense of Snow Sea Pass had slowly begun to feel like clocking in at a yamen.

Sometimes, when the defenders grew truly bored, they would even deliberately expose a weakness and let some savages inside to play for a while—then enthusiastically insist that their guests stay the night forever.

Even so, when the first routed savage troops appeared from the western front, the atmosphere inside Snow Sea Pass surged upward all at once.

Everyone understood why they were holding this place.

And everyone understood that once the campaign ended successfully, they no.

Their General Zheng would receive astonishing rewards and military merit.

Cheers rolled along the walls without pause.

Liang Cheng, however, relaxed not in the slightest.

That night, he did not even come down from the walls. He continued personally inspecting the defenses, guarding against the possibility that the savages might finally decide to smash the jar once the fish was already dying.

They had already walked ninety-nine steps.

If they fell on the final step at the dawn of victory, the loss would be unbearable.

Zheng Fan, on the other hand, came down early.

In an excellent mood, he even had his men heat some water and enjoyed a proper bath.

Because the Demon Kings outside were faithfully carrying the burden forward for him, General Zheng could enjoy a little peace and comfort with a perfectly clear conscience.

After bathing, his entire body felt refreshed.

Unfortunately, his mind was too excited for sleep.

So Zheng Fan simply walked out of the house and wandered onto the street.

A’Ming and more than twenty armored soldiers stood outside, protecting General Zheng.

There were actually quite a few people on the streets.

During the savages’ first assault, they had driven many Jin slaves toward Snow Sea Pass.

Then, because the savages themselves had handled the operation so badly, those slaves had accomplished almost nothing.

Later, under Zheng Fan’s orders, the adult women and children huddled beneath the wall were admitted into the fortress.

The elderly and adult men were refused entry.

Some who failed to meet the conditions tried to rush inside when the gates opened.

The defenders on the walls shot them dead directly.

So now Snow Sea Pass contained quite a number of women and children.

They had found scraps and bits of material to erect crude shelters of their own.

Every day, they received only enough grain to keep themselves from starving to death.

War did not leave much room for kindness.

This was already the greatest mercy Zheng Fan could offer.

Old people if you died, then you died.

You had already lived most of a lifetime.

Leave the chance to survive to the young.

Adult men who knew whether savage spies had been mixed among them?

It was not as though Zheng Fan had never seen the Savage King make use of Jin collaborators before.

As for women... fine.

Even if a “Kawashima Yoshiko” had slipped among them, General Zheng would accept the risk.

That night outside the walls had been genuinely moving.

Most husbands and fathers, tears in their eyes, had voluntarily sent their wives and children inside.

They themselves remained curled beneath the walls, hungry and exposed to the cold.

When the savages attacked again the next day, some of those men continued stumbling about in numb confusion.

But many others picked weapons from the hands of dead savages and charged the attackers of their own accord.

They accomplished little.

But at least, before dying, they managed to act like men.

Perhaps they believed their resistance and their deaths might earn their wives and children already inside the pass one more reason to be allowed to live.

Because of the savages’ earlier habit of “moving goods home like hamsters,” Snow Sea Pass had been left with a fair amount of grain in scattered storerooms.

Even so, rationing had begun very early.

No one knew how long the fighting on the main front would continue.

No one knew when the main Yan army would arrive.

So they had prepared for the worst and saved food from the beginning.

The women and children inside had grown terribly thin over these days.

Many showed clear signs of malnutrition.

Tonight, however, extra food had been distributed.

The appearance of routed savages outside proved that the Yan army under the Marquis of Jingnan had already won a major victory on the main battlefield.

That meant Snow Sea Pass probably would not need to hold alone for much longer.

There was no reason to keep saving quite so ruthlessly.

Armored soldiers arrived carrying buckets of porridge and began serving it.

Unlike before, the porridge was no longer thin enough to see the bottom of the bowl.

This time, it had substance.

The women and children lined up quietly to receive their food.

Anyone who refused to obey order had already been killed.

That was not cruelty for cruelty’s sake.

In extraordinary circumstances, excessive tolerance toward a handful of people was irresponsibility toward everyone else.

Why did A’Ming still need to stand outside with a group of armored soldiers while General Zheng merely went inside to bathe?

Because once, when General Zheng had slipped home to loaf around and sleep through the afternoon, he came out and found a woman rushing him with an arrowhead she had somehow hidden.

Fortunately, whenever Zheng Fan stepped outside during a campaign, he wore armor.

No matter how much he slacked off, he would never wander around a battlefield in casual robes.

Besides, General Zheng was still a Seventh Grade Martial Artist.

He kicked the woman away himself.

There had been no need for the Demon Child to act.

The woman was executed.

Her child was executed with her.

During the final interrogation, she explained why she had tried to assassinate Zheng Fan.

Zheng Fan had refused to admit her parents and husband into the city.

They had all died outside.

She was not a savage spy.

She had attacked Zheng Fan purely because of hatred.

More precisely, she had chosen to place that hatred on Zheng Fan’s head.

Zheng Fan did not find the matter particularly tragic.

Nor did he believe some grand lesson had been taught about kindness being repaid with cruelty.

After experiencing enough, he had long since understood that most people in this world could not remain absolutely calm at every moment, nor divide love and hatred with perfect clarity.

The other women and children previously admitted into the fortress were not implicated.

However, a group of Jin women who had been slaves inside Snow Sea Pass before Zheng Fan’s arrival were now armed with simple clubs and assigned specifically to watch them.

The men had no time for that sort of work.

Every available soldier was needed on the walls.

Zheng Fan walked toward one woman.

She was carefully blowing across a bowl of porridge before feeding it to the child in her arms.

Long-term malnutrition had left her with almost no milk.

This was the same woman Zheng Fan had seen from atop the wall that day, curled in a corner and trying to nurse her child.

Sometimes, that was simply how a person caught the eye.

Because she had moved Zheng Fan slightly that day and left an impression, every time he passed through this part of the fortress afterward, he brought the child a piece of candy.

It was brown sugar.

Yes.

Exactly.

No matter how hard conditions became, no matter how scarce supplies grew, the leadership’s share would never be cut.

General Zheng still possessed quite a few little snacks Siniang had prepared for him before the campaign.

He dropped one piece of brown sugar into the porridge.

The woman looked up at him.

Out of habit, she began rising to kowtow.

And out of habit, Zheng Fan reached down and pressed her gently back into place, signaling that there was no need.

Every time, it was the same.

The first time, the gratitude had been completely sincere.

The second time... the woman’s clothes were crude and torn.

They barely kept out the cold.

Zheng Fan did not despise the woman for any possible intention hidden behind her behavior.

Under circumstances like these, with a child beside her, she possessed very little she could rely upon.

Her face was dirty now.

But one could tell that after washing and dressing properly, she would probably be rather attractive.

Privately, the Demon Kings all believed their Master possessed tastes not terribly different from that old villain Cao Cao.

Even so, General Zheng was not depraved enough to develop any real thoughts toward this woman under conditions like these.

Even if more than once he had bitterly regretted leaving Siniang behind to guard the house before marching out!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

He had A’Ming find the woman a better set of clothing.

Whenever he passed, he brought the child sugar or some other little snack.

That was everything Zheng Fan could do for them right now.

Yes, he could have given the woman and child better treatment.

He could have made them exceptions.

But everyone’s future remained uncertain.

There was no real need.

This time, Zheng Fan quickly withdrew his hand and said:

“The war is almost over.”

The woman froze.

The child wanted more porridge.

More of the sweet porridge with brown sugar water.

Unable to reach it, the child began crying.

But the woman did not react.

Zheng Fan looked at her and continued:

“We’re going to win.”

The woman stared at him blankly.

The expression that once carried the slyness of a naughty older sister teasing a cute younger brother disappeared from her face.

Instead, tears began falling one by one.

“The savages... will they die...?” she asked.

“They will.”

Zheng Fan nodded.

Then he added:

“Not one will be left.

“They’ll all die.”

Zheng Fan already understood what kind of commander Tian Wujing was.

During their previous expedition into the snowfields, the Marquis of Jingnan had ordered Zheng Fan to pollute snowfield water sources with corpses and feces.

That had been enough.

And back then, Tian Wujing’s hair had not even turned white yet.

Zheng Fan had received no specific order from the front.

He had no contact with the outside world.

But he knew perfectly well that the savages who had entered Jin this time would not receive a pleasant ending.

There was no Geneva Convention in this world.

The woman began sobbing loudly.

As she cried, she repeated several names over and over.

One could tell she must once have come from a decent family.

But everything everything had been destroyed.

When the child heard its mother crying, it stopped crying itself.

Instead, it pressed its little face against its mother and rubbed against her.

Zheng Fan stood.

He did not remain there.

He continued toward the walls.

Behind him, A’Ming pointed toward the woman and child and told one of the armored soldiers beside him:

“Make arrangements.

“Look after them a little.”

“Yes.”

In ordinary times, people loved inventing pointless situations to “test human nature.”

War needed no such tests.

Everything had already been torn open.

As Zheng Fan crossed the open ground between the refugee quarter and the walls, he raised his head and looked at nine wooden stakes.

Three Shengle Army corpses hung from them.

The other six belonged to male slaves.

There were many women inside the fortress.

Naturally, some men had begun developing ideas.

For example: set aside a little of your rationed food, and perhaps one of the women would give you...

Or: you wore Shengle armor.

Inside this place, that made you the master.

Truthfully, the matter was cruel.

During war, allowing soldiers to vent themselves could indeed help stabilize morale.

Before the Shengle Army departed on campaign, the red tents in Shengle City had been packed to bursting.

Lines had stretched all the way into the street.

But here—

Liang Cheng happened to be a general with standards.

He did not want the army he had personally built and trained to become some warlord force incapable of fighting unless it received women, rewards, and opium beforehand.

Under harsh punishment, everyone learned to keep the bird between his legs under control.

Besides, as the savage assaults grew more useless, the men’s restlessness gradually eased on its own.

Later, when Liang Cheng explained his reasoning to Zheng Fan, he said that once Snow Sea Pass had been held and this great campaign successfully concluded, the Shengle Army marching out again—whether its men had originally been Jin, Yan, or barbarian—would have undergone a tremendous rise in quality and in its internal core.

A kind of sublimation.

Even if fewer than five thousand survived even if only three thousand remained, or two thousand those men could become the backbone of another powerful army very quickly.

That was an army’s inheritance.

An army’s foundation.

And it was also the honor the Shengle Army would gain from claiming the foremost merit in this entire campaign.

Armies cared enormously about such things.

Outsiders often found it difficult to understand.

But the confidence of a genuine elite force needed achievements like these as its foundation.

The Zhenbei and Jingnan armies had fought battle after battle in recent years.

Veterans died.

New soldiers constantly replaced them.

Yet their combat strength remained terrifying.

Why?

For precisely this reason.

The moment a new recruit entered such an army, he was infected by its atmosphere and glory.

Once a soldier became unafraid of death, then even if he was not yet truly elite, the gap between him and an elite veteran was already much smaller.

And veterans still stood beside him, showing him how to fight.

Naturally, Zheng Fan supported Liang Cheng’s army-building plan without reservation.

The same principle as always: let professionals handle professional work.

Zheng Fan was perfectly willing to be Liu Bang.

And equally willing to let Liang Cheng be Han Xin.

Most importantly, because of the special relationship between Zheng Fan and Liang Cheng, the two would never develop the later rift that had appeared between Liu Bang and Han Xin.

Since ancient times, for a ruler, finding capable subordinates had never been the hardest part.

The hard part was preventing capable subordinates from rebelling and seizing power.

The Five Dynasties and Ten Kingdoms offered enough examples.

Only the special bond between the Master and the Seven Demon Kings could solve that problem at the root.

Hadn’t even the Demon Child been forced to pinch his nose and protect this old man he called Father?

When Zheng Fan reached the gate tower, everyone there was in high spirits.

Food rations had doubled that evening.

A little liquor had even been distributed.

There was barely enough to wet the throat and drive off some cold, but people were remarkably good at generating happiness through comparison.

The savage camp outside remained quiet.

No one knew what was happening inside it.

Zheng Fan was curious too.

Was the Savage King among the routed soldiers now?

Or had he been killed directly during the collapse at the Wang River?

*You were born with the makings of a warlord, yet fate made you meet the Marquis of Jingnan.*

Ah...

Zheng Fan took out a cigarette and lit it.

The mood and the scene in the distance felt perfectly suited to smoke.

Truthfully, Zheng Fan did admire the Savage King.

The man had nearly succeeded.

But fate could be cruel in exactly this way.

The Jade Figurine Token had once prophesied that the Holy Race would rise greatly.

But the savages who were supposed to rise had collided head-on with a Great Yan whose national fortunes were rising just as fiercely.

That sense of helplessness was rather like a certain former “little hegemon of Southeast Asia.”

Below the inner wall, Xue San was directing soldiers as they readjusted and inspected the trebuchets.

Fan Li led men carrying bundle after bundle of arrows and defensive supplies up onto the walls.

Liang Cheng was redistributing soldiers and reorganizing the wall defenses.

A’Ming stole one of Zheng Fan’s cigarettes and put it between his teeth.

“I don’t have many left,” General Zheng complained.

“Sorry, Master. I’ve drunk too much savage blood lately.

“Getting sick of it.”

A’Ming lit the cigarette as well.

Then he handed Zheng Fan the small iron cigarette case Xue San had specially made for him.

Two large characters were engraved on the front:

**Zhonghua.**

Six smaller characters were engraved on the back:

**Smoking is harmful to health.**

One had to admit the thing pursued refinement and a sense of ceremony to the extreme.

“Missing the wine cellar back home?” Zheng Fan asked.

A’Ming nodded.

“This war is nearly over,” Zheng Fan said.

A’Ming nodded again.

“After the war ends...”

“Master.

“Don’t raise a flag.”

“Right.

“My mistake.”

Zheng Fan finished his cigarette.

A’Ming reached over and took the butt from him.

Then he flicked it over the battlement.

When he pulled his hand back an arrow was sticking through his palm.

“Ah...”

A’Ming sighed.

“Heh heh.”

Zheng Fan could not stop himself from laughing.

Outside the fortress, wave after wave of arrows flew toward the walls.

And at the same time savage battle cries erupted.

For the first time, the savages launched a night assault against Snow Sea Pass.

...

Wearing the white wolfskin cloak, A’Lai escaped again.

His ability to run for his life truly was impressive.

Last time, on the snowfields, when the Jingnan Army had smashed into them, he had escaped then too.

True, that short Yan commander had nearly caught him.

But in the end, he had not.

This time, the situation was even more dangerous.

Yet the little short man was not present.

So A’Lai escaped once more.

He did not know how much Yan attention he had drawn toward himself.

He had no time to think about it.

He understood that from the moment he put on the King’s clothing, every extra moment before he was captured meant a little less pressure upon the real King.

Routed savages were everywhere.

After all, even if you released more than a hundred thousand pigs into the wild, the Yan could hardly chop them all down in a single breath.

But the spirit of the savage army had already been destroyed.

Unless these men could somehow return to the snowfields, regroup, and recover, merely gathering them together again would be difficult.

Asking them to face the wolfish Yan army in another battle was impossible.

The bitter joke was that A’Lai knew Snow Sea Pass still remained firmly in Yan hands.

He had not been especially shocked by the Yan army suddenly “rising up.”

He had personally witnessed the strength of the Jingnan Army before.

He had simply carried a little hope in his heart.

A little wish that those damned stars might remember how many years the Holy Race had worshiped them and finally lend a hand.

Clearly, the stars remained lofty as ever.

Untouched by mortal dust.

A’Lai was growing tired.

Not long ago, he had killed a Yan cavalryman who had been chasing him.

The opponent had been extremely troublesome.

The man fixed his eyes on A’Lai and simply refused to let go.

A’Lai had tried again and again to shake him.

Nothing worked.

Fortunately, in the final clash, A’Lai’s saber entered the Yan rider’s throat first.

Unfortunately, the other man’s cavalry saber also stabbed into A’Lai’s abdomen.

The wound was difficult to manage.

And this was not the moment to stop and treat it.

He could not remain here for long.

He had to keep running.

His mission was probably already complete.

From this point on, he could finally try to survive for himself.

A’Lai did not know what purpose there was in surviving.

Perhaps the simplest thought was this: if he lived, he could return to the King.

Then, next time, the King would not need to find some new man to dress up as him.

The thought was rather unlucky.

But A’Lai did not have the energy to care.

He continued eastward.

He knew the routed savages would all be fleeing in that direction.

Suddenly an arrow flew over and struck the earth in front of him.

A’Lai’s gaze swept across the shaft.

Savage.

One of his own people.

His left hand pressing against the wound in his abdomen, A’Lai growled:

“It’s me.”

A’Lai was still inside the role.

At a moment like this, his instincts told him that he was still the King.

Perhaps part of him believed that wearing the King’s identity would cause nearby savages to gather around him, drawing still more Yan pursuers in his direction and further reducing the pressure upon the true King.

Perhaps another part of him simply knew he was wounded.

If a group of savage warriors gathered around him, he would have a better chance of making it back alive.

Which reason mattered more?

Perhaps even A’Lai himself did not know.

More than thirty savages emerged from ahead.

A’Lai recognized the man leading them.

A Thousand-Man Commander.

“Greetings, King!”

The savages dropped to the ground in salute.

“Rise.”

A’Lai waved one hand.

The Thousand-Man Commander stood and came forward, seemingly to support him.

But the moment his hands closed around A’Lai’s arm, the man suddenly exerted force and threw him hard to the ground.

The other savages rushed forward at once and bound A’Lai with horse ropes.

A’Lai tried to resist.

But he had already exhausted nearly all his strength.

He was wounded as well.

And this Thousand-Man Commander was no ordinary man.

When throwing A’Lai down, he had struck the side of A’Lai’s neck at the same time, leaving his body temporarily numb.

“King, there are Yan troops ahead too.

“We were just driven back by them.

“We lost.

“King— only by handing you over can we earn a chance to live from the Yan.

“Do not blame us.”

...

The Yan pursuit spread eastward like an opening fan.

They swept everything ahead of them, trying to destroy as many routed savages as possible.

Of course, most of what they were cleaning up now amounted only to fragments and scraps.

From the reports coming in, some portions of the savage rout had remained in organized bodies and had been fleeing east with everything they possessed from the very beginning.

The Marquis of Jingnan personally led thirty thousand iron cavalry directly behind them.

The Battle of the Wang River had shattered the savages completely.

What needed to be done now was seize the moment and prevent them from gathering again.

Ideally, the Yan would strike before those forces could regroup or the instant they had barely regrouped and smash them apart a second time.

Once broken again, the savages would become little more than scattered heads waiting for Yan soldiers to spend the effort collecting them.

But the Marquis of Jingnan’s frantic advance had another purpose.

Zheng Fan’s Shengle Army had already been holding Snow Sea Pass alone for a very long time.

Just as Zheng Fan possessed no clear understanding of the exact situation around the Wang River, the Marquis of Jingnan had no idea what condition the Shengle Army at Snow Sea Pass was currently in.

The two battlefields were too far apart.

Even if they wanted to send each other information, there was only one messenger capable of carrying it.

Yes.

The savages themselves.

Tian Wujing had read the savages’ reactions and deduced that something had gone wrong with their route of retreat.

Zheng Fan had seen routed savage troops arriving from the west and deduced that the Yan army on the main front had won a great victory.

But communication like this was far too crude.

It was the purest kind of “understood without words.”

From the Marquis of Jingnan’s perspective, he had no idea that General Zheng had actually been eating well, sleeping well, and growing so bored that cultivation had nearly pushed him into another breakthrough.

He did not know Zheng Fan had spent his spare time feeding brown sugar to a child.

Nor did he know that on one occasion, General Zheng’s fingers had curled in a rather wicked and uncontrolled manner.

From Tian Wujing’s position or rather, even setting aside the relationship between master and disciple, even setting aside the fact that his son called Zheng Fan Godfather and was still being raised in Zheng Fan’s Shengle City purely from the perspective of the army’s supreme commander, an isolated force had already contributed enormously to the entire campaign.

No matter what, he had to reach them as quickly as possible.

He had to reinforce them.

He had to lift the siege.

A commander valued clearly defined rewards and punishments above all.

So the Marquis of Jingnan, terrified that Zheng Fan might collapse tonight or tomorrow morning and die miserably at the final moment, drove the cavalry beneath him in an almost nonstop forced march eastward.

It was a dangerous choice.

If the savage rout ahead managed to coordinate with the savage army outside Snow Sea Pass, they could potentially turn around and envelop Tian Wujing’s pursuing force from both sides.

But perhaps the savages had already lost all courage.

Perhaps their command structure had collapsed too completely.

Or perhaps the banner of the Marquis of Jingnan pursuing behind them was simply too terrifying.

Whatever the reason, the savages no longer possessed the courage to turn around and face the cavalry of that Southern Marquis of Yan.

And so throughout the pursuit, the Marquis of Jingnan simply kept chasing.

The savages kept fleeing.

From time to time, routed savages dropped away from the main flow.

Tian Wujing could not even be bothered spending effort on them.

He ignored them and continued east.

The savages who had either prepared to surrender or turn and fight to the death before returning to the stars were left feeling strangely helpless.

Almost as though their emotions had been completely wasted.

...

While the war across the Three Jin—and perhaps the entire balance of power in the north—was changing with astonishing speed, two horses galloped hard more than sixty li south of Yupan City.

The Eighth Prince looked miserable.

He was accustomed to sitting in carriages.

How could his body endure this kind of brutal horseback pounding?

Both of his inner thighs felt as though the flesh had already been rubbed raw and bloody.

But he did not dare complain.

If they did not leave now if they delayed any longer they might genuinely never escape.

Fortunately, the main clash between Yan and the savages had taken place north of Yupan City, upstream along the Wang River.

After the savages collapsed, they also fled east.

The Yan pursued east.

As for Yupan City itself, the Yan were currently content to surround it.

They had not yet spread enough troops southward to seal the region.

That created the opening the Swordsmith and Eighth Prince needed to escape.

From here, they would follow the Wang River south.

Then turn east along one of its tributaries.

After crossing the water, they would more or less enter Chu territory.

There was still a great distance between them and the heavily defended Chu strategic pass separating Chu from the lands of the Situ Clan.

But reaching that pass required traveling too far east.

The savages were fleeing that way.

The Yan were certain to pursue there.

The two of them did not dare take that route.

They would rather cross mountains and ridges and suffer for it.

On horseback, the Eighth Prince almost wailed through tears:

“Aren’t you one of the Four Great Swordsmen?

“Can’t you carry me and fly on your sword like one of those Sword Immortals in paintings?”

The Swordsmith answered:

“My sword can only carry one person.”

The Eighth Prince’s face twisted with misery.

Very seriously, he said:

“Then I am the one dragging you down.”

Among the Four Great Swordsmen, the Swordsmith was the most mysterious.

The world knew only that he excelled at forging swords.

Almost no one had ever seen him fight.

Many believed the Swordsmith might not actually be some extraordinary expert at all.

Perhaps he had simply gifted Longyuan, the sword he forged himself, to the Sword Saint.

Then the Sword Saint praised him a few times, and his reputation somehow exploded.

But many people of Chu firmly believed their own member of the Four Great Swordsmen merely concealed his ability deeply and disdained showing his hand.

Whether the title was genuine or inflated did not really matter to Chu’s upper nobility.

As long as he carried the name “one of the Four Great Swordsmen,” that was enough.

So everyone across Chu treated the Swordsmith with extraordinary respect.

Even the late Emperor, while alive, had addressed him as “Sir.”

The Eighth Prince had once been intensely curious about him as well.

From time to time, he had tested the waters indirectly, circling around with verbal feints.

But now, watching the Swordsmith grit his teeth in pain on horseback exactly like him the Eighth Prince increasingly felt that perhaps this “Sir” truly...

“Another twenty li south and we’ll meet a Great Chu merchant caravan coming to receive us,” the Swordsmith said.

“Really?”

The Eighth Prince immediately brightened.

“I arranged it personally.

“It belongs to my clan.”

“Sir truly plans far ahead.”

“Of course.”

In truth, that merchant caravan had come because members of the Swordsmith’s clan wanted to transport wealth and goods back to Chu.

The savages were not the only ones plundering.

The Chu army had not exactly kept its hands clean.

Because Chu troops needed to hold Yupan City and guard against Yan, they had not looted quite as wildly as the savages.

But they had still accumulated a great amount of wealth and matériel that once belonged to the people of Jin.

Here, those goods were worth far less.

Transport them into Chu territory, however, and their value became real value again.

Members of the Swordsmith’s clan had sent a letter last month informing him of the caravan.

He had merely put the letter aside and paid it little attention.

His clan was hardly the only noble house doing this.

The Qu Clan caravan tied to Qu Tiannan had arrived even earlier.

This could almost be called an unspoken rule.

When nobles provided their own private troops for a campaign, captured wealth and spoils naturally belonged mostly to the noble house behind those troops.

Perhaps one tenth would be submitted into His Majesty’s treasury so everyone could preserve appearances.

Some would be distributed among the soldiers.

The rest naturally entered the noble clan’s own pockets.

But days like these probably would not last much longer.

Judging from everything the Fourth Prince—the man about to ascend the throne—had done in the past, he clearly intended to imitate the Emperor of Yan.

The Eighth Prince suddenly asked:

“Sir, what happens to the Azure Luan Army inside Yupan City?”

“Once we return home, request reinforcements.”

“The savages have lost here.

“The Azure Luan Army is trapped.

“Then Fourth Brother...

Fourth Brother’s side...”

The Swordsmith understood.

The Eighth Prince was afraid the excellent situation Fourth Highness had built inside Chu would be damaged.

For all the boy’s foxlike cleverness, he was still young.

He had never truly endured and settled through major events.

At a moment like this, panic was inevitable.

“What are you afraid of?

“Once the Yan drive away the savages, that is equivalent to swallowing the entire land of the Three Jin.

“The Yan will be right at our doorstep.

“Do you really think those old bastards back home will still dare keep dragging each other backward and continuing their internal struggle?

“If anything, this is good news for Fourth Highness.”

Then the Swordsmith could not help sighing.

“But Yan’s momentum has already formed.

“From now on, Great Chu will have to join hands with Qian.”

...

The savage night assault continued for the entire night.

Under the pressure of despair, the savages erupted with astonishing combat power.

At one point, they actually reached the top of the walls and secured several separate footholds.

Fortunately, the Shengle Army had not become dizzy with victory merely because routed savage troops appeared from the west.

Instead, they had actively prepared for exactly this sort of final desperate struggle.

Wherever the savages gained the wall, fresh troops were sent in to drive them back down.

Wherever a gap appeared, men immediately filled it.

After an entire night of brutal fighting, the savages withdrew at dawn.

Shengle defenders atop the walls could even hear weeping from inside the retreating savage ranks.

It was a grief born from profound despair.

Their homeland stood right in front of them.

Yet they could not return.

And from the west, that terrifying Yan Marquis was leading his army toward them.

They had already suffered one catastrophic defeat at that Marquis’s hands.

They no longer possessed the courage to face either him or the army he led again.

To the Shengle defenders, the savages’ crying sounded like the finest music in the world.

Many men in the Shengle Army were from Jin.

And many of the slaves inside the fortress were Jin as well.

No one knew who began it.

But soon a folk song from the lands of the Three Jin rose along the wall.

The melody carried the familiar cadence every Jin man had grown up hearing.

Zheng Fan was exhausted.

He lay flat on the ground.

The previous night, he had personally killed several savages.

At the most dangerous point in the fighting, even A’Ming could no longer remain beside him.

One savage commander with formidable strength had forced his way onto the wall.

After killing several Shengle defenders, the man reached Zheng Fan.

Then the Demon Child launched a sudden ambush and smashed apart the back of his skull in one strike.

On a chaotic battlefield at night, using the Demon Child for sneak attacks was almost unfairly convenient.

Even so, General Zheng had taken a saber wound to his right arm.

An arrow struck his back as well.

Fortunately, his armor was of excellent quality.

Neither injury was especially severe.

They were nowhere close to deep, bone-exposing wounds.

Even so, that alone showed how dangerous the fighting had become.

But at least it was over.

After the previous night’s madness, the savages would find it difficult to launch another meaningful assault.

Their front had suffered catastrophic defeat.

Their road home was blocked.

Only one fate remained: destruction.

“Master, drink some water.”

Xue San eagerly offered a waterskin.

Zheng Fan nodded.

He pushed himself upright and accepted it.

First he took two mouthfuls and rinsed his mouth.

Then he drank several large gulps.

Only afterward did he finally feel as though his soul had returned to his body.

“Haaa...”

He let out a long breath.

Liang Cheng was still busy tallying casualties.

After the savages withdrew, he also lowered Jin slaves beyond the walls in baskets and had them collect arrows and other usable military equipment from below.

A cold zombie without feelings truly was a cold zombie without feelings.

Meticulous at every moment.

Zheng Fan braced both hands against the battlement.

He wanted to shout something.

But when the sound reached his throat, it came out hollow and broken.

He had shouted far too much during the night.

In that kind of chaotic fighting, you had to keep shouting simply to keep yourself moving.

The wall was only so wide.

Every encounter became another repetition of the same principle: when two men meet on a narrow road, the braver one wins.

This war had lasted more than a year.

The Jin defeat had allowed the savages to enter the pass and devastate the land.

Yet in the end, it was an army composed mostly of Jin men that held the savages’ road of retreat and nailed the lid onto the coffin of every savage who had entered Jin.

Zheng Fan suddenly felt very tired.

He wanted to go home.

He missed the hot spring inside the General of Shengle’s Residence.

He missed the smoothness of Siniang’s skin.

He missed Shengle’s sunlight.

He missed those peaceful days.

Like a man who had spent years fooling around outside only to suddenly discover his conscience and long for the warmth of home.

Yet beneath the exhaustion lay an enormous sense of satisfaction.

This time my merit should be the greatest, right?

Territory.

Population.

Power.

Status.

Surely all of that should finally come now?

The danger of bankruptcy ought to ease too, right?

Then Siniang would not need to work herself so hard.

She could spend more time with me too, right?

*Slap!*

Zheng Fan smacked himself across the forehead.

Had he really been pent up this badly?

Why did every train of thought eventually curve back toward the same subject?

“Take Master back to rest,” Xue San said, pointing toward two armored soldiers nearby.

Zheng Fan waved a hand.

“I want to sit in the sun a little longer.”

Blood was hot when it first splashed from a body.

Scalding, almost.

Objectively, human blood was not truly that hot.

But psychologically, fresh blood always felt scorching.

Then, very quickly, it cooled.

Cold enough to make a man shiver.

The sun slowly rose.

General Zheng simply lifted his head and watched it, feeling its warmth spread across his body.

Never before had he thought sunrise could be this beautiful.

This impossible to leave behind.

Breakfast was brought up onto the walls.

Since victory was already decided, there was finally no need to conserve food quite so strictly.

The men had fought bitterly all night and needed to recover.

The morning meal was soup boiled with dried meat.

There were as many coarse steamed corn buns as anyone wanted.

Zheng Fan accepted a bowl of soup and drank slowly.

His gaze continued wandering across the open land beyond the walls.

When he had finished half the bowl and was about to hand the rest to an armored soldier beside him a cry suddenly sounded from above.

Zheng Fan raised his head.

With his right hand shielding his brow, he saw an eagle soaring and circling in the sky.

In an instant the poet, the essayist, the artist, and every other sentimental role he had assumed moments ago vanished completely.

All the melancholy.

All the literary feeling.

All that affected nonsense about *a solitary column of smoke rising straight above the great desert* gone.

Zheng Fan felt as though he had suddenly returned to the normal rhythm of his life.

He shouted at Xue San beside him:

“Quick!

“Smear more blood on my face!

“Undo the bandages you just wrapped!

“Quick, quick, quick!”

[End of Chapter 345]