BEGW C98

Chapter 98

On the other side of the sea of fire, the Zherou army burst into laughter, egged on by the two men’s call-and-response taunts.

On horseback, the Qiuqi King’s eyes brimmed not only with killing intent and hatred, but also with uncontrollable excitement and madness.

He knew perfectly well that Gabul and Da’e had deliberately pushed him out as cannon fodder.

But the towering blaze before him filled him with confidence—so what if they had?

The Zhou were arrogant, facing death yet still refusing to retreat.

Qiuqi slowly broke into a grin, lifting his head toward the sky amid the soldiers’ cheers.

The ferocious wind from the northwest continued to howl without pause.

Today, even Heaven stood on his side!

Not only would he refuse to die in this battle as they wished—he would seize this chance to lead his troops south and trample Great Zhou beneath his hooves…

The flames dyed Qiuqi’s brown eyes an even deeper red.

He tightened his grip on the reins, waiting only for the moment the fire reached the hills.

But the next instant—everything stopped dead.

“Ah—!”

A scream ripped through the air, instantly drowning out the laughter.

Arrows gleaming with cold light tore through flame and smoke, piercing straight through the skulls of the two Zherou soldiers!

They did not stop there—continuing onward to strike another soldier behind them square in the chest.

Red-and-white fluid burst outward, splattering onto the scorched grass and raising wisps of greenish smoke.

The warhorse beneath Qiuqi lurched violently backward, nearly throwing the famed mounted archer from the saddle.

“Th-this…?!”

The Dingwumu Vast Grasslands fell suddenly silent.

On the foremost horse, the Zherou soldier who had been shouting so brazenly moments before now bore a thumb-sized black hole in his forehead.

His eyes widened unwillingly as he reached up, instinctively touching the wound.

Before his fingers could meet the blood, his body crumpled as if his soul had been snatched away, crashing heavily from the saddle.

—Fast.

That arrow had been impossibly fast.

So fast that only after it passed clean through his head did the soldier truly die.

Above the fireline, vultures cut through the smoke, circling again and again overhead.

Fear scorched Qiuqi like the flames themselves.

He instinctively tightened his reins, trying to retreat—

but it was already too late.

Another gale swept in from the northwest.

The fire roared, stretching claw-like toward the hills—

then, in the very next instant, dissolved into pale smoke.

The fire was extinguished.

Clad in black armor, Ying Changchuan smiled as he lowered his bow.

Like an asura, he stood revealed before the Zherou.

Behind him, Great Zhou’s cavalry stood fully prepared.

“…What’s going on?”

“Why did the fire go out?!”

“That’s impossible—how could such a fire be extinguished?!”

“Run—run now—!”

Riding at the very front, Qiuqi looked down toward the ground ahead.

Before the former wall of fire lay a swath of grassland three zhang wide—already burned completely bare!

…In that instant, realization struck him.

The Zhou had anticipated his fire attack long ago—and had already burned away the grass here!

Unprecedented terror wrapped tightly around him and the surrounding Zherou soldiers like a massive net.

…Scorched earth and ash cannot burn.

This was an age before cavalry were fully equipped with heavy armor.

Ninety-nine percent of Zherou soldiers had never undergone systematic military training.

They fought relying solely on the mounted archery skills honed through daily nomadic life.

Attack from afar if possible; if not, flee immediately.

But now—everything they relied upon had turned to dust in just over three years.

“Retreat! Retreat—!” Qiuqi roared with all his strength.

He and his soldiers should have yanked the reins and turned their horses at once—

yet paralyzed by fear, their bodies had gone rigid, utterly unable to move.

There was nowhere left to retreat.

The Fulín Army, personally trained by Ying Changchuan, surged down from the hills like a black cloud.

Untrained in formations, the Zherou soldiers had no organization or discipline—they did not even know where to flee.

Great Zhou’s soldiers might not have grown up on horseback like them—

but the advent of bridge-style saddles had completely erased that disadvantage.

With high fronts and backs, the saddles locked riders firmly in place.

Swinging blades and striking with swords became effortless.

“Kill—!”

“Charge!!!”

…

Ying Changchuan had turned the wildfire into an opportunity.

Using the flames and smoke as cover, he had transported large trebuchets and firearms to this position.

At the very moment the Zherou turned to flee in panic—

the trebuchets hurled fireballs, and iron caltrops scattered explosively, cutting off their escape routes.

Men and horses toppled together, chaos erupting beyond control.

In the blink of an eye, the Zhou forces were upon them.

Silver light flashed from blades, piercing smoke and crimson clouds.

Warm blood splashed onto the grass.

The ground—still scorching moments before—sent up wisps of steam, cooling rapidly.

A century of blood feud between Zhou and Zherou would end on this very day.

The Zherou army split into six routes, attempting a linear encirclement of the Zhenbei Army camp.

On the very first day of battle, the sixty thousand elite cavalry under Qiuqi were either slain or surrendered.

Qiuqi himself died beneath the chaos of trampling hooves—

his flesh repaying the land he had scorched black with fire.

Leading the Fulín Army northward, Ying Changchuan annihilated King Gabul and three of his divisions within ten days as they fled in panic toward the western border.

Now only Da’e remained, scurrying like a rat through the sea of sand with his cavalry, trying to shake off the pursuing Zhou troops, rest briefly, then flee toward Qiaoluo.

Little did he know that before the war even began, Ying Changchuan had already dispatched Gu Yejiao and others to lead troops on a detour toward Qiaoluo.

…It was time for Great Zhou’s new generation of generals to be tempered.

Grass is the most fragile—and the most resilient—of things.

Early summer is the rainy season on the Dingwumu Vast Grasslands.

After several heavy rains, hints of green had already emerged from what was once pitch-black land.

At dawn, dewdrops trembled on the tips of grass blades in the wind.

From afar, it looked pitiful indeed.

“A-Xun, A-Xun, come quick! There’s still a live one here!” Zhuang Youli’s voice shattered the grassland’s quiet. He turned and waved excitedly at Jiang Yuxun.

“It looks like a newborn calf!”

As he spoke, Zhuang Youli leapt down from his horse.

Jiang Yuxun dismounted and hurried over.

“It really is!” His eyes lit up.

“There’s a stream nearby—it must have survived by soaking in the water.”

The calf, still covered in fine down, had only just been born.

It slumped on the ground, unable to stand, its legs smeared with blood—heartbreakingly pitiful.

Zhuang Youli tried to pick it up, only to be startled by a sudden kick, freezing in place.

“…Never mind. You hold it,” he said, retreating a step and yielding space to Jiang Yuxun.

After that kick, the calf quickly lost its strength.

It stopped struggling and lay quietly in Jiang Yuxun’s arms, allowing itself to be carried onto a nearby cart.

The cart was already filled with calves and lambs.

Some were charred black; others gravely injured—lying motionless, occasionally twitching.

Seeing this, Jiang Yuxun let out a soft sigh.

The Zherou had been utterly ruthless.

…The grassland before them was strewn with the charred corpses of animals.

With early summer approaching and temperatures rising, if these bodies were not dealt with promptly, disaster would surely follow.

Thus, immediately after the battle, Jiang Yuxun led people deep into the Dingwumu grasslands to clear the carcasses—

and search for any surviving animals.

They scoured the entire grassland and ultimately found only three carts’ worth—

mostly young animals that had survived in the gaps between streams.

Deep in Dingwumu, enormous pits were dug overnight to bury the remains.

Soldiers with cotton cloths covering their mouths and noses carried the bodies in, buried them carefully, and finally scattered grass seeds over the soil.

Fire-scorched earth had become looser than before, and insect eggs hidden in soil and grass had been burned clean.

After the burials were finished, another heavy rain fell over the grasslands.

When the skies cleared, a green carpet had already emerged over the once-blackened land.

Bloodshed and slaughter drifted farther and farther away from Great Zhou with each rainfall—

until finally, they too were covered by vegetation.

Half a month passed.

The main force formed by the Fulín Army and the Zhenbei Army had already pushed deep into Zherou’s northwest.

Meanwhile, nobles who surrendered led their people continuously toward Dingwumu.

Alongside the steady stream of victory reports came herds of abandoned, ownerless cattle and sheep.

Dingwumu’s carrying capacity was limited—it could not support so many living beings at once.

Arranging these people and animals in a short time became the top priority.

Though Jiang Yuxun never stepped onto the battlefield himself, he was busier than anyone else.

By the time he caught his breath, King Da’e had already retreated into the deepest reaches of the desert.

With a complete map of Zherou territory, Ying Changchuan did not rush into the sands, instead stationing troops at both ends of the desert.

After nearly a month of continuous campaigning, Great Zhou’s main army finally returned to the Dingwumu Vast Grasslands.

※

Timber flowed continuously from Great Zhou’s northern borders into Dingwumu.

Along with the escorting soldiers came women from Zefang Commandery.

Living year-round on the Zhou–Zherou frontlines with their serving family members, these women handled not only uniform sewing but also logistics.

The cattle and sheep delivered to Dingwumu were all placed under their care.

The grasslands near the Zhenbei Army had abundant water, and the pasture grew exceptionally well.

Some of the ownerless livestock from the war were penned here.

As Jiang Yuxun arrived, a woman sharpening her knife greeted him cheerfully:

“Lord Jiang! What are we eating tonight?”

Her face was reddened by the northern winds, yet well-nourished and brimming with strength, her eyes shining brightly.

Jiang Yuxun stepped forward with a smile.

“Lots of people today—whatever’s easiest!”

“Great! With that, I know what to do.” She laughed, set aside her knife, and briskly went to pick out sheep from the pen.

Dust flew everywhere; the place buzzed with life.

Great Zhou was no longer shackled by war as it had been in the original course of history.

Beyond soldiers, the state valued people in all walks of life.

Women like these—skilled in animal husbandry and responsible for cooking—earned solid wages every month.

After the war, they could even take home unclaimed lambs and calves to raise.

With the great enemy nearly destroyed and hope in sight, they worked with a vigor never seen before.

…

According to frontline reports, Ying Changchuan would return to camp with the main army that very night for rest and reorganization.

To celebrate the decisive victory, the Zhenbei Army prepared a grand feast.

How could one come to the northern lands without eating meat?

Compared to the lavish banquets of Zhaodu, this feast was simple—

but Jiang Yuxun spared no expense where food was concerned.

He calculated numbers in advance and slaughtered dozens of rarely eaten cattle and nearly a thousand sheep to reward the soldiers.

The precious beef was already stewing in pots according to Xing Zhi’s recipe.

The sheep had been selected—once processed, they would go straight onto the grills.

By the time the army returned, the meat would be crisp outside and tender within.

The grassland sunset was breathtaking.

A crimson sun hung unobstructed on the horizon, lighting the ribbon-like streams winding through the grass and dyeing the coats of cattle and sheep red.

This should have been the most tranquil time of day—

yet hoofbeats rolling in from the horizon shattered the silence.

At some unknown moment, a dark cloud advanced against the setting sun, gradually appearing on the far side of Dingwumu.

Within the Zhenbei camp, aside from patrols and logistics personnel still at work,

everyone else waited outside with Jiang Yuxun.

He stood atop a small hill.

His heartbeat quickened with the sound of hooves, and while waiting for Ying Changchuan’s return, he turned to look behind him.

—Thin curls of cooking smoke rose from the camp.

Ivory tents dotted the endless grassland like scattered stars.

Evenly spaced, they stretched as far as the eye could see.

…On the other side of the hill, several thousand soldiers waited on horseback behind him.

In that instant, the scene burned itself into Jiang Yuxun’s heart like a painting.

“Woo—”

A war horn made from animal horn sounded low and deep.

The black-armored emperor finally appeared before Jiang Yuxun.

The sun was nearly set. Borrowing the last crimson light, Jiang Yuxun looked deeply at him—

then dismounted and bowed solemnly.

“Your servant Jiang Yuxun pays respect to Your Majesty. Long live the Emperor—ten thousand years, ten thousand times ten thousand years.”

Never before had he bowed so formally.

Behind him, the soldiers remaining at the Zhenbei camp dismounted and knelt on one knee in military salute.

Yet in the next moment, Ying Changchuan did not say “Rise” from horseback as before.

Instead, he too dismounted and walked forward.

Thousands of soldiers bowed with heads lowered; none saw the gentleness and profound affection in his eyes.

Ying Changchuan’s gaze fell upon Jiang Yuxun’s interlaced fingers—

red marks lingered on his palm from gripping reins, his long fingers trembling faintly with each breath.

The emperor’s heart had not grown numb from war.

It trembled with Jiang Yuxun’s fingertips in the cool evening air of the grasslands.

“Rise—”

The emperor’s voice carried across the plains.

The kneeling soldiers lifted their heads—

and all held their breath.

Before tens of thousands of eyes, Great Zhou’s emperor slowly raised his hand and returned Jiang Yuxun’s bow.

The setting sun bathed them both in red, gilding the black armor.

Their shadows stretched long across the ground.

…The sight was utterly unexpected.

In this era, imperial power had not yet centralized as in later ages.

Most visibly—officials sat during court, rather than standing as they would in later dynasties.

Earlier dynasties even retained the so-called “rites between ruler and minister.”

After a minister bowed, the ruler might return the salute.

That custom had vanished by Great Zhou—

or so everyone thought.

No one imagined Ying Changchuan would revive it, before so many, for Jiang Yuxun.

Even Jiang Yuxun himself blanked for an instant.

This was not the first time Ying Changchuan had returned his salute.

Years ago, when Jiang Yuxun led a mission to Zherou, he had done the same—

only then, Jiang Yuxun alone had noticed.

Another gale swept through, rattling the battle flags.

Ying Changchuan smiled faintly, lifted Jiang Yuxun’s wrist, and helped him rise.

Warmth from his grasp pulled Jiang Yuxun back to himself.

This time was completely different.

Tens of thousands had witnessed it—this scene, and their names, would spread by word of mouth across the realm.

They might even be recorded in history, known centuries hence.

Coming from the modern world, Jiang Yuxun found himself momentarily dazed.

Even the blood pooled in his fingertips seemed to burn.

There were simply too many people in the camp; every stove had been set up outdoors.

Though the meat was not yet fully cooked, the night wind had already carried its fragrance everywhere.

The air itself was rich with aroma.

Strong liquor had been brought from the storehouses and set beside the bonfires.

About two incense-sticks’ time remained before the feast.

Returning soldiers rested briefly in their tents, changing out of heavy armor.

Jiang Yuxun was busiest at this moment—

yet before he could ask about dinner preparations, he was suddenly pulled into a tent with a firm tug.

…

“Ah—”

The darkness before Jiang Yuxun’s eyes suddenly brightened.

Before he could react, Ying Changchuan was already in front of him.

Candles had been lit; red firelight reflected off his armor.

The camp was bustling tonight—people everywhere.

Even outside the emperor’s tent, footsteps and voices filled the air.

Dragged inside so abruptly, Jiang Yuxun’s heart leapt uneasily.

…Had anyone seen that just now?

“Does Your Majesty need something?” Pinned lightly against the tent wall, Jiang Yuxun pushed at Ying Changchuan and lowered his voice helplessly.

“…I still have things to do. Let’s talk later.”

Today, however, the emperor refused to cooperate.

Ying Changchuan shook his head, leaned down, rested his chin on Jiang Yuxun’s shoulder, and whispered near his ear,

“What—does my dear minister not miss me?”

Jiang Yuxun could not deny this.

He bit his lip and squeezed out a soft answer: “I do.”

Satisfied, Ying Changchuan chuckled and pulled him closer.

He exhaled slowly, closing his eyes—

as though content to stand like this forever.

Before returning to camp, the emperor had bathed, washing away the stench of blood.

Now Jiang Yuxun smelled only the familiar, faint dragon-incense.

The only difference was that Ying Changchuan had yet to remove his armor.

Metal armor at night was cold—and pressed painfully against the body.

Jiang Yuxun shifted aside and whispered, “Why hasn’t Your Majesty removed his armor yet?”

Instead of answering, Ying Changchuan lifted his head and gently breathed near Jiang Yuxun’s ear.

“Come help me, my dear minister.”

A slight nasal tone and barely concealed fatigue colored his voice.

Warm breath brushed Jiang Yuxun’s neck—

like fingers stroking lightly over skin.

His body shuddered. “…”

Perhaps because they had been apart for some time, Ying Changchuan was especially reluctant to let go tonight.

This armor was not only cold—it was unbearably heavy.

Though revered like a god, Ying Changchuan was still flesh and blood.

Wearing such armor for long periods exhausted even him.

At that thought, Jiang Yuxun’s nose stung faintly.

He did not realize just how gentle his gaze had become—

deep as an ink-dark abyss, drawing one in.

He did not refuse, but nodded softly.

“Let go first. I’ll help you remove it.”

Ying Changchuan kissed his cheek and reluctantly released him.

Yet just as Jiang Yuxun’s sympathy lingered—

he realized something was wrong.

—His hands fumbled uselessly at the silver clasps on Ying Changchuan’s waist armor, unable to find how to remove it.

Right. I don’t even know how to put armor on—why did he ask me to do this?!

His fingers continued to toy halfheartedly with the clasps as resignation crept in.

All of it showed plainly on his face—and in Ying Changchuan’s eyes.

The emperor’s gaze darkened; a hint of amusement curved his lips.

Just as Jiang Yuxun pressed his fingers against the armor at Ying Changchuan’s ribs, ready to pry the clasp open by force—

the man before him suddenly frowned and sucked in a sharp breath.

The movement was small, but it startled Jiang Yuxun.

He froze, looked up at him, and withdrew his hand.

“What’s wrong?!”

He hadn’t used much force—why did Ying Changchuan frown?

…Had he been injured in battle?

No matter how formidable, swords on the battlefield spared no one.

And historically, Ying Changchuan had died after the Zhou–Zherou war—cause unclear, but likely related.

The thought made Jiang Yuxun tense instantly.

Ying Changchuan gently took his hand.

Instead of answering, he asked softly, meeting those dark eyes,

“What is my dear minister worried about?”

“…Were you injured?” Jiang Yuxun asked instinctively.

His voice trembled, thick with unhidden fear.

Ying Changchuan guided his hand back to the armor.

“I don’t know,” he said, shaking his head.

…Don’t know?

That answer rang wrong.

How could he not know if he was hurt?

But with a soft click, the clasp suddenly loosened.

Ying Changchuan smiled down at him and murmured by his ear:

“Why don’t you check for me, my dear minister?”