Chapter 690: A Soldier Dies for a Confidant; With a Commander Like This, What More Could One Ask?

"What?!"

"Prime Minister… how… how can this be used?"

When those words were spoken, the entire tent was startled, as if a sudden thunderclap had struck the ground, shaking the candles inside the tent into violent flickering.

The air seemed to freeze in that instant.

Whether it was the battle‑hardened veteran Feng Muye, accustomed to life and death, or the rough‑hearted, fearless warrior Lu Ming, both were shocked, eyes widened, mouths slightly open, hardly daring to believe what they heard.

He is the Prime Minister, the Duke of Wei! In the present Great Zhou Court, he stands above ten thousand men and below only two, wielding supreme authority!

In this age of strict hierarchy, where rank is as rigid as iron law, a vast chasm separates the aristocracy from the common folk.

Those in power might loosen their robes and offer food to win hearts, or weep over coffins to earn a virtuous reputation, but to personally carry the coffins of a group of low‑ranking soldiers, even a mass of nameless commoners—cannon fodder?

This is unheard of, unseen!

It is not merely an honor; it is to lift those fallen heroes onto the clouds, to receive the incense of a national sage!

New Duke Wang Zheng's body trembled violently; his tiger‑like eyes, which never blinked even before Qi's massive armies, now instantly welled with turbid old tears.

His graying beard quivered, his knees gave way, and with a "Thump" he knelt heavily onto the hard, cold ground, about to bow his head to Chen Yan:

"Prime Minister! This… this… I, on behalf of the thousands of fallen brothers, on behalf of my son, on behalf of the lonely wandering souls beneath Gancao City, thank you, Prime Minister, for your boundless benevolence!"

Wang Zheng knew all too well that Chen Yan's words weighed far more than a reward of ten thousand taels of gold or the bestowal of a ten‑thousand‑household dukedom.

Since ancient times, a defeated commander cannot be called brave, and those who die defending a lone city are often dismissed with a perfunctory "did their best" assessment.

But with Chen Yan's words today, future historians will dare not label the defenders of Gancao City as insignificant cannon fodder.

They are national heroes!

They are heroes escorted by the current Duke of Wei himself!

This honor can cleanse their families of a century of obscurity and allow their descendants to stand upright with pride!

"Uncle Shi! Absolutely not!"

Chen Yan's eyes were sharp and his hands swift; just as Wang Zheng's forehead was about to hit the ground, he stepped forward, his hands like iron tongs supporting Wang Zheng's arms, forcibly pulling the emotionally unhinged veteran to his feet.

His movements were strong and resolute, without any pretense.

Beside them, Wang Xiong and Huang Shizhang were already weeping profusely; these two hard men who had emerged from piles of corpses without shedding a tear now cried like children.

They supported each other, ignoring the gaping wounds on their bodies, and bowed deeply to Chen Yan, their foreheads pounding the blood‑stained ground with a heavy thud, emitting a muffled sound:

"On behalf of the fallen brothers, we thank the Prime Minister for his great grace!"

"Prime Minister, this act makes the brothers' deaths worthwhile! Truly… worthwhile!"

Chen Yan did not accept the bow; instead he swiftly stepped aside, evading the heavy tribute.

He turned, his gaze sweeping over every emotional commander in the tent, his tone becoming unprecedentedly solemn and impassioned: "Wrong! Gravely wrong!"

"Wang Xiong, Huang Shizhang, and all of you present, you have all misunderstood one thing!"

Chen Yan pointed at the pitch‑black night sky beyond the tent, his voice resonant as if to pierce the endless night: "It is not you who should thank me; it is I, Chen Yan, the Court, the countless lands and people of Great Zhou who should thank you!"

He stepped forward sharply: "If you had not stubbornly defended Gancao City, if you had not used your flesh and blood to hold back the iron hooves of the Qi army for these many days, slowing their advance and draining their vigor, there would be no such resounding victory today."

"How could we now sit here calmly and speak at all?"

"These sky‑splitting battle achievements may appear to have been captured by my Left Martial Guard, but in truth they were forged by your lives!" Chen Yan scanned the surroundings, his gaze like a torch, speaking each word deliberately, "You are the primary merit of this battle! Carrying coffins is not a reward, but my duty! It is what Great Zhou owes you!"

These words, like a blaze, instantly ignited the hearts of everyone in the tent.

Lu Ming clenched his fists tightly, his eyes reddening, wishing he could grab his horse‑spear and charge out now, to slay the enemy again for such a commander.

Feng Muye inhaled deeply, his gaze at Chen Yan filled with unprecedented fervor and loyal devotion.

A soldier dies for a confidant; a commander so noble—what more could one ask?

"Come!"

Chen Yan said no more, immediately shouting loudly toward the outside of the tent, breaking the suffocating sentiment, "Fetch the best army doctor attached to the troops! And bring out all those centuries‑old ginseng roots I brought from Chang'an!"

He pointed at Wang Xiong and Huang Shizhang, sternly ordering the hurried, frightened army doctor, his tone domineering and unquestionable: "Give me the finest medicine! No matter the cost! Use every life‑extending treasure on them! If any illness remains, I will hold you solely responsible!"

The doctor trembled in fear, nodding repeatedly, unable to wipe the cold sweat from his forehead, hurriedly calling several apprentices, clumsily lifting Wang Xiong and Huang Shizhang down for careful treatment.

As the wounded were carried out, the strong scent of blood and the lingering warm atmosphere seemed to be taken away together.

The air inside the great tent underwent a dramatic shift within a few breaths.

The moment before, the compassionate, coffin‑promising "benevolent master" Chen Yan, in an instant of turning, seemed to change his face. The warm, spring‑like aura that surrounded him vanished, replaced by a suffocating chill, Dark Hawk and murderous aura.

It was like a sheathed sword drawn again, its edge only cold and keen.

Chen Yan strode to the massive military Shupan at the center of the tent.

On this Shupan, mountains, rivers, cities, and passes lay fully within view.

He casually picked up the Horse Whip on the table, his gaze scanning the Shupan like a hawk, finally crossing the newly reclaimed Gancao City, traversing the endless desert, and fixing his point on the red marker to the west—Lingzhou.

There, Ku Di Gan's fifty‑thousand‑strong main force, now reinforced with Rouran cavalry, sat like a malignant tumor blocking a crucial choke point of Great Zhou.

"The warm sentiments have been expressed, the tears have dried, it's time to get down to business."

Chen Yan's voice turned as fierce as a wolf.

"Relay the command to the entire army!"

"Effective immediately, the entire army shall rest for two days!"

"During these two days, let the brothers eat and drink their fill, sharpen their swords, feed the horses! Slaughter the cattle and sheep brought, and let the big ones feast on meat!"

"Two days later!"

"Break camp and march west! Directly strike Lingzhou!"

"I, this Duke, will decide the fate of the world in one battle, completely cutting off the Qi State's claw reaching into Guanzhong!"