Chapter 910: Looking from the city wall to settle the world; the abandoned pawn realizes they have been betrayed

On the north city wall of Xiazhou, the wind poured in from the crenels of the city wall, carrying a faint scorched smell from the direction of the grassland. That smell was diluted by the distance of hundreds of miles, leaving only a trace of bitterness.

Chen Yan's black cloak was rolled back by the wind. His two hands were tucked into his sleeves under the cloak, and his body leaned against the bricks of the crenels. His gaze passed through the light circle of the iron lantern on the city wall and landed on that dark red night sky in the north.

Zhang Wenqian walked up from the stone steps of the city wall, holding a coarse porcelain bowl in his hand. The hot tea in the bowl was emitting white steam in the night wind. He walked to Chen Yan's side and stood still, handing the bowl over.

"Pillar of State, the night wind is cold, drink something hot."

Chen Yan took the bowl but didn't drink, holding it in his hand to let the heat of the tea float up from the bowl mouth to warm his fingers, his gaze still nailed to that patch of red in the northern sky.

"Did you see it?"

Zhang Wenqian glanced at the north following his gaze.

"I saw it. The fire burned half the sky."

Chen Yan held the bowl and took a sip of tea. The temperature of the tea water passed from his lips to his fingers and back to his palms.

"Qifugu will definitely die tonight."

Zhang Wenqian tucked both hands into his sleeves, the night wind blowing his robe corners until they crackled.

"The Pillar of State is certain he can't charge out?"

Chen Yan placed the bowl on the bricks of the crenels, and the tea water was blown into fine ripples by the wind in the bowl.

"Nuhe Ti surrounded him for six days without attacking, just waiting for him to come out. The pocket of surrounding three sides and leaving one open was dug from the first day. Qifugu charging in with four thousand men is no different from throwing meat into an iron bowl."

Zhang Wenqian's voice sank two degrees.

"What about Gao Jiong?"

Chen Yan turned around and leaned his back against the crenels, his two hands tucked into his sleeves again under the cloak. The expression on his face was so flat under the light of the iron lantern that there wasn't a trace of fluctuation.

"Gao Jiong left the camp three hours ago, retreated south through the secret tunnel, and moved twelve bags of things from the treasury."

The corners of Zhang Wenqian's mouth moved, an amplitude that looked like he wanted to laugh but didn't.

"Are twelve bags enough to make up for the cost of the military equipment given to Qifugu?"

Chen Yan didn't answer this question, picked up the tea bowl from the bricks of the crenels, and took a gulp. The tea water was mostly cold.

"Nuhe Ti finished this battle. With the consumption of twenty thousand men's long-distance expedition plus the casualties caused by Qifugu's last desperate fight, he won't be able to bring back more than fifteen thousand to the royal court. In these fifteen thousand, injured soldiers account for thirty percent. In the short term, his mobile forces are more than half less than before the war."

Zhang Wenqian's voice was lowered to the point where only the two of them could hear.

"The Pillar of State never intended to let Qifugu live from the beginning?"

Chen Yan took the tea dregs in the bowl and drew a circle with the rotation of his fingers.

"His value alive is not as great as his value dead."

Zhang Wenqian didn't pursue this topic further. The two stood on the city wall for a while, and that dark red light in the northern sky slowly changed from thick to thin, compressed from half the sky into a narrow band, and finally shrank into a dim point on the horizon.

"Zhang Wenqian."

"I am here."

"How many more people can the porridge shed at the settlement camp hold?"

Zhang Wenqian's brows squeezed into the middle by a section.

"The Pillar of State means..."

Chen Yan took the bowl and turned to walk toward the stone steps of the city wall, the hem of his cloak dragging behind him, making a loud sound in the wind.

"Qifugu is dead. Those of his five thousand men who are still alive will run south, and the old, weak, women, and children left in the camp will also run south. Added together, tens of thousands of people will arrive at our border within three days."

Zhang Wenqian followed him to walk down the stone steps, his footsteps hurried by two points.

"The Pillar of State wants to take them all?"

Chen Yan's footsteps didn't stop, his voice drifting out from the wind of the cloak rolling.

"Take them all, not one left. Organize the young and strong into labor camps to build roads and cities, organize the women, children, and old into farming households to farm and spin thread, send the craftsmen to the Military Weaponry Bureau, and the livestock belongs to the pasture."

Zhang Wenqian tucked the tea bowl under his armpit and rubbed his two hands in his sleeves.

"Is there enough grain? The daily rations for tens of thousands of people..."

When Chen Yan reached the top of the stone steps, he paused and looked back at him.

"You calculate an account: how much grain is the labor of one able-bodied man for ten years worth? How many weapons can a blacksmith forge in ten years? If tens of thousands of people are incorporated into the Xia Prefecture's foundation, what will the scale of this land be after ten years?"

Zhang Wenqian's lips parted, but he said nothing more and followed Chen Yan down the stone steps.

On the battlefield.

Qifugu retreated from the gap between the second and third shield walls.

It was not that he wanted to retreat; of the dozen or so people who had squeezed in behind him, nine were already dead, and those still alive were covered in wounds and could barely stand. The third shield wall remained motionless, and long spears thrust through the gaps wave after wave. In that four-step-wide gap, he barely had room to dodge.

When he retreated to the breach in the first shield wall, the situation outside was even more miserable than when he had entered.

Of the five hundred riders who had entered, fewer than one hundred were still standing. The rest had all fallen into a pool of blood mixed with gravel and mud; some were still moving, while others were already still. The iron shield wall had contracted from all sides to a distance of a dozen steps, and long spears and curved sabers kept probing through the shield gaps, harvesting everyone still standing.

When Qifugu retreated through the breach, he stepped on the chest of a corpse. The corpse's mouth was still bubbling with blood, and its hand remained clenched around the broken handle of a saber.

He recognized that face.

It was one of the old brothers who had been with him from the very beginning, named Buhe. There was an old scar on his left cheek running from the corner of his mouth to his earlobe; that scar had been cut three years ago when they were raiding the royal court's horse herd together.

Buhe's eyes were still open, his pupils already dilated. Blood bubbles surged from the corner of his mouth, filling the ravine of the old scar and turning it into a red trench.

Qifugu moved his foot off the corpse's chest and turned to look toward the south.

The south.

The direction of the camp.

When he had charged out, the camp was still behind him. Now, if he could carve out a path to retreat, the camp still had fences, caltrops, and fortifications; they could hold out for a while longer.

"Retreat! Retreat south! Retreat to the camp!"

His throat was already as hoarse as rusted iron ground by sandpaper, and when the sound squeezed out from the depths of his throat, it carried blood foam and bits of flesh.

The fewer than one hundred people still alive heard this order and, like a group of rabbits chased by hounds for too long that had suddenly found a direction, they charged south regardless of anything else.

The section of the iron shield wall to the south was indeed thinner. Yun Geti's pocket formation was a structure that surrounded on three sides and left a gap in the south to lure people in. Although it had now closed, the troop strength on the closed side was nearly half that of the other three sides.

Qifugu led the remaining men to charge toward that section of the shield wall in the south. The sound of curved sabers hacking at shields, the screams, and the sound of bones breaking merged into a chaotic noise under the firelight.

He charged out of the pocket formation.

When he charged out through that breach, which had been bought with seven or eight lives, only thirty-some people remained by his side. Everyone was covered in wounds; some had even lost their curved sabers and were running empty-handed.

The battlefield outside was likewise a Shura field, with small groups of the Qifu tribe being divided and surrounded everywhere. The light of torches shone from all directions, and patrols of armored soldiers shuttled back and forth between the tents, harvesting the straggling remnants.

Qifugu did not stop to wait for anyone, leading those thirty-some people to run desperately toward the camp in the south.

After running out of the periphery of Yun Geti's connected camps, there was no more encirclement by armored soldiers on the dark, desolate wilderness ahead, only the night wind and the silhouette of the low hill in the distance toward the camp.

He ran until his left leg was going soft, and the long gash on his right thigh kept tearing open and closing as he ran. With every step he took, warm liquid surged from the wound and poured down his leg into his boot.

The outline of the camp's fence appeared in the night.

The caltrops and reinforced fences gleamed with the gray-white color of wood in the faint light of the moon filtering through the clouds. The tent tops inside the camp were still there, the shadows of the chimneys were still there; it looked no different from when he had left.

But there were no lights.

There was no light in any of the tents.

There were no footsteps of patrols, no sound of horses neighing, no movement that any living person should make.

Qifugu's pace slowed down.

When he charged into the camp through the breach in the fence, the thirty-some people behind him also poured in, the sound of each person's panting as heavy as a broken bellows.

The camp was empty.

At the location of that row of small tents belonging to Gao Jiong, the tents were still there, the curtains flapping loudly in the wind, but there was no one inside.

Where were the old, weak, women, and children who had been left behind to guard the camp?

The tent curtains on both sides of the muddy road in the middle of the camp were open or closed. Pots, bowls, and household belongings of every family were scattered at the tent entrances. The pots of a few tents were still set on the stoves, but the stoves were cold; not even a trace of red fire could be seen in the ashes.

Qifugu ran toward the direction of the royal tent.

The curtain of the royal tent was blown open by the wind on one side. The gilded saddle inside was still in its original position, the fire basin had overturned, and ashes were scattered all over the ground. The things on the table had been rummaged through, and documents and bamboo slips were scattered on the carpet.

He charged out of the royal tent and circled to the back of the tent.

The stone cellar.

That square stone slab had been pushed to one side, and the black hole beneath the stone steps was gaping open. He supported himself on the edge of the stone steps, half-sliding and half-falling to the bottom of the cellar, reaching out and groping wildly in the darkness.

Empty.

Half of the wooden crates against the three walls had been moved away, and the lids of the remaining crates had been pried open and were also empty. Even the shadows of those cowhide bags in the corner were gone.

Qifugu's fingers scraped a shrill sound against the mud floor of the empty stone cellar. He squatted in the darkness, the square of gray daylight from the mouth of the stone steps above falling onto his blood-covered face.

Gao Jiong.

His gold, his pearls, his jade, the family fortune he had scraped together from various tribes over these two years.

All had been moved away.

The people were also gone.

That man who sat on a stone whittling a wooden stick, that man who chewed on dried meat while drawing the ambush map of Stony Valley for him, that man who handed him that fake defense map and let him take four thousand men to their deaths, along with those dozens of subordinates in his tent, had all vanished.

Qifugu climbed up from the bottom of the stone cellar.

When he climbed to the ground, his hands pressed against the edge of the stone slab, two of his fingernails broken and blood oozing from his fingertips. He knelt in the mud behind the royal tent, his face toward the southern sky, his mouth opened to an angle that no living person should have.

The sound that came from his throat was not a howl, not a cry, nor anything that could be described by language. The frequency of that sound was like that of a beast being skinned alive, squeezed out from the raw flesh exposed to the air, so sharp that the thirty-some remnants who had run back behind him all stopped their footsteps.

"Gao Jiong——"

These two words squeezed out from Qifugu's mouth, bringing out a mouthful of black blood foam. The blood foam landed on the mud in front of him, and the wind swept across the ground, blowing that mass of blood into a dark stain.

He had been sold.

From the first horizontal saber with a hollow wooden pin, from the first set of leather armor stitched with inferior wet hemp rope, from that victory at Stony Valley that seemed like he had won but was actually roasting him on a fire, from the fire in the granary that had been set by someone, from that fake defense map that led him into the pocket formation—from beginning to end, he was never a chess player, not even a chess piece; he was just a knife held in someone's hand to stab at Yun Geti, and once the stabbing was done, the knife was broken and discarded.

Great Zhou never intended to help him.

Great Zhou never intended to let him live.

All his struggling, resistance, fighting, and bleeding over these two years had all been making wedding clothes for someone else, making wedding clothes for that man sitting in Xia Prefecture City drinking tea and reading battle reports.

The sounds of fighting from the direction of the northern battlefield were still coming over. Those Qifu tribe soldiers who were still being surrounded and killed were still fighting desperately; they did not know that their Khan had already run back to an empty camp and was kneeling beside a treasury that had been emptied by others.

Qifugu's knees pushed up from the mud.

The movement of him standing up was as slow as a piece of rotten wood trying to straighten itself in the wind. The set of iron armor on his body, which had been hacked to pieces, emitted a scattered metallic sound as he stood up. The wound on his left shoulder, the long gash on his right leg, and the countless large and small wounds all over his body were all oozing blood. His complexion was as white as a paper-pasted mask in the night.

But his eyes had come alive.

In those eyeballs that were already bloodshot and nearly blind from congestion, the fear, despair, and the pain of being betrayed all burned into something else at this moment.

It was not the instinct to survive.

It was the madness of wanting to drag everyone into the grave pit to be buried together.

He turned around to face the north, to face the direction of Yun Geti's golden eagle banner. He drew his curved saber from his waist, the blade still hanging with bits of blood and flesh hacked from others a few hours ago.

"Those who can still move, follow this Khan."

"What about those without sabers?"

"Pick them up from the dead."

"What if there are no horses?"

"Walk on your legs."

"What after charging into the enemy formation?"

"Fix your eyes on the golden eagle banner, don't worry about what's behind you."

A personal guard picked up a broken saber from the ground and asked with a hoarse voice: "Does the Khan really want to die in the same place as Yun Geti?"

"He destroyed the Qifu tribe, and this Khan has also killed everyone on the grassland who dared to oppose him for him."

Qifugu walked toward the north, leaving bloodstains on the mud with every step: "This account cannot be left for Gao Jiong to watch alone in Xia Prefecture City; this Khan must personally find Yun Geti to settle it."

"If we can charge to the base of the banner, this subordinate will block the left side for the Khan."

"I will block the right side."

"My saber hasn't broken yet; I will follow in front of the Khan."

Qifugu did not look back, only gripping his curved saber back into his palm: "Follow closely; there are no deserters from the Qifu tribe tonight."

Thirty-seven people picked up their weapons one after another, following that swaying back out of the empty camp.

"Go back, charge at his golden eagle banner."

Qifugu looked toward the north and said: "This Khan wants to die together with Yun Geti under that banner."