The news of the King entering the city had filled the army with boundless confidence. No one shouted of exhaustion. They were immersed in the most primal frenzy.

Would this be enough to stop all the Xianbei? Xiao Rong didn’t know, but he could do no more.

Hoofbeats came from behind. Xiao Rong turned to see Yu Shaoxie catch up. Seeing that he hadn’t plunged into the battlefield, Yu Shaoxie finally sighed in relief. “You nearly scared me to death. I thought you were charging in!”

Xiao Rong: “…”

He touched the Chilong Sword at his waist. He had brought it, but never intended to use it. With his limbs, how many could he kill? He would only burden those guarding him.

Xiao Rong said nothing. Yu Shaoxie didn’t care, his eyes burned on the battlefield. He even forgot his brother’s safety. His face was full of obsession and excitement.

“Three hundred years…”

Xiao Rong glanced at him, hearing his voice grow more and more twisted.

“Three hundred years of humiliation finally ended today! Hahahaha! Delightful, truly delightful!”

Xiao Rong: “…”

Did he not realize the war wasn’t yet over???

Clearly Yu Shaoxie believed that reaching this stage was as good as victory. Xiao Rong was far less certain. He turned back, his expression grave.

Unless Qu Yunmie stood before him, unless he saw with his own eyes that it was over, he would never relax.

*

This was why they chose this timing: to pin the Xianbei outside the city. They had succeeded, though not perfectly. With so many Xianbei, some would still slip back toward the south gate.

However, the south gate remained shut. The Xianbei weren’t fools. The army hadn’t returned. If they opened the gate now, the Northern Army would pour in.

Murong Kui hadn’t closed his eyes all night. He’d just returned to camp when news came of the Northern ambush. Since then, he remained on the battlefield. The Northerners who died under his blade were beyond counting.

Following the great general, the Xianbei elite gained courage. Yet they didn’t know that their general’s face grew increasingly grim. If this continued, the Xianbei army would be worn to death, and the King of the North’s troops would reach the imperial palace.

Murong Kui’s heart tormented him. He didn’t want to abandon his soldiers, but…

But…

Suddenly, a warhorse neighed loudly. Those fighting nearby heard the sound, turned around, and saw Murong Kui suddenly tightening the reins.

He shouted to his personal guards, “The Emperor is in danger! Follow me at once to support him! The rest, obey the orders of the General of the Eastern Expedition!”

After speaking, he immediately turned his horse around. His personal guards followed without question—they would never disobey Murong Kui’s command.

The remaining soldiers watched the great general depart, feeling as if a bucket of cold water had been poured over them.

No matter how grandly he spoke, it couldn’t disguise his actions. Emperor Guangjia had abandoned the people north of the Han River, earning universal condemnation. Murong Kui, however, had abandoned his loyal soldiers, breaking the oath he had once sworn never to forsake a Xianbei clansman.

Human nature revealed itself most fully in crucial moments. Regardless of whether Murong Kui truly intended to restore the Xianbei in the future, to those soldiers at that moment, he was an unpardonable traitor.

…

After some time, news of Murong Kui’s departure reached Xiao Rong. Since he had gone alone, taking only a few hundred personal guards, Xiao Rong didn’t care where he went. After all, he could not escape the range of the Northern Army.

Without the great general, Xianbei morale sank further. Seeing this, the Northern Army pressed their advantage. The battle had lasted so long that some weapons had dulled.

An hour later, Xiao Rong had been standing in the cold wind so long that his hands nearly lost all sensation. He usually feared the cold, but today he had brought no gloves—and even if he had, it would have made no difference. His hands gripped the reins constantly, and even if others told him to release them, he would not.

He remained alert for any unexpected developments. If something truly occurred, he wouldn’t care about his guards behind him—he would charge straight into the battlefield, all the way to Shengle City.

Qu Yunmie relied on his own skills. Xiao Rong relied on Qu Yunmie in every sense. He would protect him, even when Xiao Rong himself didn’t know it.

Murphy’s Law applied in every era. Whatever one feared most tended to happen. At the end of the Yin hour, chaos suddenly erupted on the battlefield. The previously visible Xianbei city gate opened. Heavy cavalry surged from the north gate. Leading them, a soldier held a snow-colored spear and immediately cut off the heads of the two guards at the gate.

It wasn’t the end of the night, but another minute before dawn.

“The King is here!”

“The King opened the city gate!”

“Charge—”

From so far away, Xiao Rong couldn’t make out Qu Yunmie’s face. To him, Qu Yunmie’s figure was ant-sized, like everyone else’s. He watched him enter the fray and lost sight of his position.

Yu Shaoxie searched for his younger brother and suddenly heard Xiao Rong laugh softly.

It was very light, almost swallowed by the blood-soaked air.

He turned and saw Xiao Rong lowering his eyes. He was no longer laughing, yet he looked… genuinely happy.

Xiao Rong inhaled lightly, then opened his hands, still holding the reins. He did so slowly, feeling faint pain.

This sting would worsen once he returned to warmth, but he didn’t care.

He lifted his head. Though it was still night, he seemed to glimpse the coming dawn. Feeling the gaze beside him, he looked at Yu Shaoxie, who pressed his lips slightly, a complex look in his eyes.

Xiao Rong paused, confused. “What is it?”

Yu Shaoxie shook his head. “Nothing.”

He’d just felt a sudden surge of emotion.

What merit or ability did the King possess to make Rong so worried for him? Yu Shaoxie and Shacheng were brothers, yet their bond seemed less intense than that between the King and Rong.

Such loyalty between ruler and subject was unprecedented.

…

By the third quarter of the Mao hour, the day gradually broke.

The dawn wouldn’t appear for another half hour. The sun had yet to rise. The deep blue sky stretched vast and mesmerizing. The crescent moon still hung in a corner, gazing down on the unchanging human world.

Countless corpses littered the ground. The fierce battle subsided. The Xianbei retained their pride and stubbornness. They hadn’t surrendered willingly. Of the more than a hundred thousand Xianbei soldiers, only twenty thousand remained alive. The reinforcements surrendered quickly. These twenty thousand weren’t voluntarily laying down their arms—they had no choice but to be captured.

Xue Yinchuang stabbed his spear into the ground with a “thud.” Qu Yunmie removed his helmet, breathing heavily, surveying the bloodied field.

This was both his debt of blood and his glory.

Those still capable began clearing the battlefield. Jian Qiao ordered the wounded to be sent back quickly. Military doctors and Agusheja had already arrived, stationed about a mile away.

Gongsun Yuan and Yuan Baifu were assigned to Shengle City to assist Wang Xinyong. After Qu Yunmie captured the Xianbei imperial palace with Wang Xinyong, he immediately left for the north gate. As for the palace and the captives on the streets, Wang Xinyong stayed behind to guard them.

Yu Shaocheng, naturally, followed Qu Yunmie. After all, that was where enemies remained to be fought.

…

As the enemy thinned, Qu Yunmie spotted Xiao Rong, but he lacked energy to focus on him. After the battle, he was soaked in blood, unsure how many men he had killed.

Of the hundreds of thousands of troops, he had exerted the most. Now he felt some fatigue, recuperating while debating whether to seek Xiao Rong.

Before deciding, he heard footsteps approaching.

His body moved faster than his mind. He turned swiftly and saw Xiao Rong stepping over corpses, walking slowly toward him.

At about five steps’ distance, Xiao Rong stopped, studying Qu Yunmie’s bloodied body. Nothing seemed critically wrong. Since Xiao Rong was unharmed and Qu Yunmie had fought for so long, he likely had no major injury.

Xiao Rong said, “I thought the King wanted me to enter the city to find you.”

After a moment, Qu Yunmie replied, “It makes no difference who seeks whom.”

Xiao Rong smiled. He noticed the cloth wrapped around Qu Yunmie’s hands, now hardened with dried blood, some flaking off.

He frowned, reaching to remove it. Qu Yunmie suddenly flinched backward.

Xiao Rong paused, looked at him. Qu Yunmie opened his mouth and said a single word, “Dirty.”

Xiao Rong hesitated, but still reached. He gently supported Qu Yunmie’s armored arm and slowly unwound the cloth.

“I don’t think it’s dirty,” Xiao Rong said. “I think the King was truly magnificent today.”

Qu Yunmie raised an eyebrow. “Just today?”

Before Xiao Rong could speak, he removed the entire cloth. When his fingertips touched Qu Yunmie’s palm, the icy cold made Qu Yunmie instinctively tighten his grip.

Startled, Xiao Rong tried to pull back. “No—cold!”

Qu Yunmie ignored him, asking, “You stood outside all night? Why no gloves?

“Xiao Rong, you really—”

He stopped mid-sentence, pressed his lips, and took Xiao Rong’s other hand, wrapping both hands tightly around him.

“You said you don’t mind if I am dirty.”

Xiao Rong: “…”

He meant to refuse, but Qu Yunmie’s reply stunned him. After a long pause, Xiao Rong laughed.

His icy hands gradually warmed. The sting intensified but became bearable. Xiao Rong forced himself not to move. Meanwhile, the sky lightened. The sun finally rose. It was sunrise, yet neither entered the city. In this blood-soaked wasteland outside, the two stood face to face, sharing a brief moment of warmth.

On the eleventh day of the ninth month, the sixth year of Shèngdé, under a bright sun, the Xianbei perished.

Yet history wouldn’t stop here. The countless changes of the world continued.

Outside Pingcheng, on a ruined stretch of the Great Wall, Han Qing—or rather Han Liangru—stood. The night before, he had smelled blood in the air but saw none of the flames or smoke that should’ve erupted in Shengle City.

Entering the city, killing, burning, looting—this had become the default procedure among forces. The Northern Army had done no differently in the past. They simply refrained from plundering their own northern people but were faster than anyone else against the Hu.

Now, that is gone. The Northern Army no longer vented rage and no longer pillaged civilians like locusts.

It seemed the King of North intended to govern Shengle properly. If so, other cities would likely receive the same treatment.

Han Qing pressed his lips and turned, descending from the ruined wall.

 

Edited by: Antiope

 

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