Chapter 565: Drum the Battle, March Forward!

Dou De’s expression was solemn; this tall, dark-complexioned martial hero exhaled slowly as he gazed at the intelligence purchased from the Ghost Market and the many changes across the land.

He said softly to Shan Xiong beside him: “To bury civilians alive is against heavenly principle. Compared to the Qin we’ve known, what must we do with this Ying state is already clear.”

Shan Xiong still seemed reluctant: “But must we aid the Qin Emperor? Must this seven-foot hero, this man of noble ambition, become a tool for another?”

Dou De stared at his sworn brother: “It is not for the Qin Emperor.”

“It is for the people of the land.”

Shan Xiong could not answer. He could not refute.

Dou De said: “Is it better for the ruler to bury people alive because they starve from forced labor, or to grant them land, teach them to read and train in martial arts, lighten their taxes, and even refrain from building palaces? You cannot fail to see which is better, brother.”

Shan Xiong said: “But what benefit do we gain by aiding the Qin Emperor now?”

“Better to sit and watch the tiger and the weasel fight—let us reap the rewards.”

He looked at this brother, whose bearing once seemed that of a dragon in chaotic times, and finally felt disappointment, sighing:

“In your eyes, the people mean nothing.”

“Men like you will never match the Qin Emperor. If you pursue your own ambition and doom the people to more suffering, better to aid the Qin Emperor—wait until peace returns, then roam the martial world as we once did. Would that not be glorious?”

“Did we rise in rebellion for our own wealth and glory?!”

Dou De’s expression remained solemn and calm; this eighth-layer martial hero gripped his weapon, recalling the solemn Divine Martial Prince who once led tens of thousands of oppressed “rebels” charging into the distance.

At that moment, they noticed the people were moving.

They were fleeing, migrating—most toward the waterways. They saw many young, strong men silently guarding their families, leaving the heartland of Ying, hiding away.

Some young men, hearing Dou De’s intent to aid the Qin Emperor, struggled visibly, then begged to join:

“I don’t know who the emperor is, or who holds the throne—but life in Qin is good. They don’t bury their fathers alive.”

I don’t know who the emperor is, or who holds the title, but life in Qin is good—they wouldn’t let their own fathers be buried alive.

The youth, numb, replied: “My father was seized to dig the canal for Jiang Yuan’s foolish emperor. His legs stood in the river for five or six hours a day in summer—his lower body and legs rotted, crawling with maggots.”

The young man said numbly, “My father was taken to dig canals for Jiang Yuan, that foolish ruler; his legs stood in the river, exposed for five or six hours each summer, his lower body and legs rotting, crawling with maggots.”

Dou De’s face softened with emotion.

The youth said: “The new emperor gave me silver as compensation—but silver cannot bring back my father or grandfather. As a child, I heard how Qin Wu Hou led the people across the river. I want to avenge my father.”

The young man said, “After the new emperor took power, he gave compensation—silver coins—but the silver didn’t bring back my father or grandfather. When I was a child, I heard how General Qin Wu led the people across the river; I want to avenge my father.”

Dou De’s expression turned solemn; just as the Wolf King had once guided him, he bent and placed both hands on the youth’s shoulders: “You have no martial skill, cannot fight on the battlefield—but protect your mother, or carry grain toward Qin’s direction. The Qin Emperor’s greatest weakness is logistics and foundation.”

Dou De’s expression turned solemn. Just as the Wolf King had once guided him, he bent down, placed both hands on the young man’s shoulders, and said, “You have no martial arts, you cannot take the battlefield—but protect your mother, or transport grain toward Qin’s direction… The Qin Emperor’s greatest weakness is logistics and foundational strength.”

“But you, the people living here, know the back trails. You cannot break through their lines—but one man can carry a little grain, slip past, and give them a mouthful.”

“That is still a great contribution to peace!”

“Even the greatest heroes cannot fight on an empty stomach.”

The youth asked, puzzled: “That’s all?”

Dou De said: “That is vengeance.”

He clapped the young man’s shoulder, then moved forward—suddenly, a sharp troop burst from ahead; both sides nearly clashed, but the soldiers ahead wore crude leather armor and strange formations, not standard military tactics.

He patted the young man’s shoulder, then stepped forward—suddenly, a sharp, elite force surged from ahead; the two sides nearly clashed, but he saw the soldiers’ leather armor was crude, their battle formation bizarre, not of orthodox military lineage.

“Are you Prince Bo of Qi Commandery?!”

The bearded man, who had been ready to die fighting, froze—then beamed with joy:

“Fate has brought us together!”

“It’s Brother Dou De!”

Dou De also rejoiced: “You weren’t killed by that foolish emperor’s troops?!”

Prince Bo of Qi replied: “I nearly died—barely survived thanks to Brother Bai Posuo’s aid. I hid in the deep mountains, found a place to rest.”

Prince Bo of Qi answered, “It was dangerous—I nearly died—but White Posuo came to my aid, and I barely clung to life, hiding deep in the mountains, finding a place to rest.”

“I don’t know how many days we’ll survive under Jiang Gao’s regular army—but we heard Qin and Ying are clashing. If Ying wins, we’ll be buried alive too!”

“Better to fight than wait to die. If Qin wins, we can return to farming.”

Prince Bo of Qi spoke bluntly: “We’re just rough men.”

“We don’t understand Qin’s strategies or virtues.”

“We only want to live.”

Dou De sighed deeply: “To live under the Qin Emperor is already the will of the people. Since you feel this way, let us march together!” He had thought only he carried such noble resolve—now he saw it spreading.

Dou De sighed with resolve: “Surviving under the Qin Emperor is already a sign of the people’s heart. Since you share this thought, then let us go together!” He had thought himself alone in this lofty resolve, until it began to spread.

Chaos erupted across Ying’s territories.

In Yan and Zhao, many noble, sorrowful heroes rose!

You buried our brothers alive—now you summon us? Ha!

Do you think the Ying Emperor can decide everything?

Do you know what a true hero’s rage can do?

Across Ying, martial heroes rose—some roamed freely, others stormed government granaries and arsenals for food and weapons. Others were the very warriors once favored by the Divine Martial Prince.

A man of seven feet cannot live like a dog in this world!

Prince Bo of Qi, Meng Rang, Guo Fangyu of Beihai, Zhang Jincheng of Qinghe, Hao Xiaode of Pingyuan, Ge Qian of Hejian, Sun Xuanya of Bo Hai, Zhao Po, Wu Ba Dao, Bai Yuso, Meng Hai, Gao Shida…

Prince Bo of Qi, Meng Rang, Guo Fangyu of Beihai, Zhang Jincheng of Qinghe, Hao Xiaode of Pingyuan, Ge Qian of Hejian, Sun Xuanya of Bohai, Zhao Po, Wu Badao, Bai Yuso, Meng Hai, Gao Shida…

Shan Xiong’s face grew grave—he finally realized: after the Qin Emperor tied down the front-line generals and divine commanders, it wasn’t just one hero rising—these martial lords, without hesitation, marched toward Zhenbei Pass.

Shan Xiong’s face grew solemn; he finally realized that after the Qin Emperor tied down the front-line divine generals, more than one hero had risen—and these heroes, without hesitation, were marching toward Zhenbei Pass.

The whole world knew their names.

The people’s hearts turned toward them.

The tide surged, overfull, overflowing.

This was like a dam bursting—the harder it had been suppressed, the fiercer the backlash. In barely five or six days, smoke and fire blazed across every corner.

The Qin Emperor launched his offensive—only ten days passed.

He seemed to tear the three-hundred-year Ying state from its throne as the central power, exposing its many flaws. Jiang Gao remained silent for a long time—finally forced to mobilize his rear-line troops.

Armored and armed, they circled behind the “rebel” forces.

Wei Yiwen said: “Your Majesty, all our top generals are stationed at the front, holding back the Qin Emperor. If we move our rear troops now, our cities will be weak. If something unexpected happens, we risk repeating the Wolf King’s tragedy.”

Jiang Gao’s face was weary; he whispered: “But He Ruo’s Tiger General already struggles to hold Yue Pengwu. If these rebels break through, won’t that only increase He Ruo’s burden?”

Jiang Gao’s face bore weariness as he murmured, “But He Ruo’s General Holding the Tiger was already barely holding his ground against Yue Pengwu—now if these rebel forces pass through, won’t they only add more pressure to General He Ruo?”

Jiang Gao fell silent.

He did not continue.

But Wei Yiwen and Jiang Cai understood the unspoken meaning: this war was history’s first large-scale, multi-army coordinated campaign. If Qin Yulong’s front collapsed, even eighth-layer generals might not sway the battlefield.

But if Yue Pengwu broke through He Ruo’s lines—he could march north to the Eastern Capital, or strike south at Jiang Su—this was the decisive [variable], the key to victory.

Wei Yiwen was no general, but as a veteran court minister,

for some reason, he felt a creeping dread, a chilling unease.

He felt as if his side was being manipulated by the Qin Emperor.

Faintly, it seemed as if threads stretched from himself, Jiang Cai, Jiang Gao—rising upward—until he glimpsed the Qin Emperor, clad in battle robes, coldly watching them.

He had a gut feeling: he must not follow the Qin Emperor’s plan.

But the tide surged too fiercely.

To defy the Qin Emperor’s design would bring greater disaster.

The old minister felt helpless, weary—since Chen Dingye, the Divine Martial Prince, and Jiang Wanxiang had died, no one could match the young Qin Emperor’s grandeur.

He fell silent for a long time, then wondered: if he had supported Jiang Gao from the start, would things be different?

But even then, Jiang Gao lacked this resolve.

Many things in life offer no choice.

Wei Yiwen whispered softly:

“As Your Majesty commands.”

The Ying state’s regular army marched out to suppress the “rebels” and the “uprising forces” of history.

Meanwhile, beyond the northern border:

The gentle, humble youth tossed aside his bamboo pole, rubbed his chin, and said:

“The time is right.”

Yuan Shitong and Xue Tianxing’s expressions hardened; Wen Qingyu said: “We have only eighty thousand troops here—normally useless. But now, it’s different.”

“The world has shifted. Ying’s internal chaos is too great—they’ve pulled other units to intercept rebels and suppress the people.”

“The world’s situation has changed; Ying’s internal affairs are too numerous—they’ve redirected other battalions to intercept the rebel armies and suppress the people.”

“The posture Ying has shown us now is too perfect—we can’t help but strike.”

Yuan Shitong and Xue Tianxing instantly understood the criticality of their position: all divine generals were tied down, Ying’s homeland was in chaos, and many armored rear-line troops had been pulled to crush the furious populace.

This was a posture any general would crave to exploit.

That posture was one any general couldn’t help but want to strike with brutal force.

Lu Youxian might see this as a trap.

Then he’d stack armor, build walls, and wait.

Xue Tianxing, however, worried: “We’re in Saibei—roads are rough. Will we make it in time?”

Xue Tianxing, however, felt some concern and said, “We’re in Saibei after all, where the roads are rugged—will we make it in time?”

The gentle, humble youth asked in confusion:

“Didn’t Jiang Yuan already build the roads and relay stations?”

Xue Tianxing’s expression froze: “Huh???”

He couldn’t process it at first.

Then his pupils shrank slightly—he realized what the gentleman meant: Jiang Yuan intended to launch a campaign against the Taiping Army beyond the Northern Frontier, so he mobilized vast numbers of laborers and civilians to construct roads from the heartland of Ying Guo to the Northern Frontier.

Even roads for transporting pearls had been repaired.

And all these actions had been guided by this very gentleman.

Had everything been calculated?

Xue Tianxing looked at the gentle, humble, utterly trustworthy youth before him, and a chill crept down his spine. Yuan Shitong still didn’t understand, but Wen Qingyu said calmly: “After all, roads run both ways.”

“They can come here—and we can march right back.”

“We should thank Jiang Yuan.”

“He’s truly a top-tier ‘good man’—no less than Hou Zhongyu.”

“He’s given us a great victory.”

Xue Tianxing thought this was the peak of the gentleman’s cunning—until the next day, when he saw General Wen Qingyu assemble the troops and declare: “The shameless rogues of Ying Guo have cruelly oppressed the people and broken our agreement by murdering Lord Li Xingyi.”

“Lord Li Xingyi rendered great service to all under heaven. How can we, then, fail to avenge him? If we cannot avenge Lord Li Xingyi, how can we face His Majesty, the Emperor of Qin?”

Wen Qingyu picked up his brush and wrote a proclamation against the bandits.

Unadorned, written in one breath, its power surged—it galvanized the army with the fury of Li Xingyi’s death. The troops marched forward, morale soaring. Only then, among the Twenty-Four Generals of the late Taiping Duke, did the strategist Xue Tianxing finally comprehend Wen Qingyu’s entire scheme.

Since his arrival, every action had a purpose.

He planned three steps ahead with every move.

Not a single step was wasted.

Could a genius of the realm truly achieve this?

Yet this time, the man hailed as the greatest schemer in history had joined the army himself. Yuan Shitong patted his chest and swore: “Even if old Yuan dies, I’ll protect General Wen Qingyu with my life.”

But Xue Tianxing asked: “What shall we do after we take the city?”

Wen Qingyu replied: “We strike where the enemy must defend.”

Xue Tianxing’s eyes flickered with sudden insight. He whispered: “The Eastern Capital of Ying Guo.”

Wen Qingyu said: “Mm.”

He added casually: “I plan to burn it down.”

Xue Tianxing blinked. “Mm… HUH???” Even a master strategist couldn’t keep his composure—he froze, staring at Wen Qingyu’s half-smiling face, his mind momentarily blank.

But Yuan Shitong was thrilled, rubbing his hands together:

“Excellent!”

“Whatever you say, sir—I’ll gather the oil right away!”

Xue Tianxing snapped: “Fool! Come back!”

“Master, this would violate the Dao of Heaven—please, do not do it.”

Wen Qingyu looked at him and burst into a carefree laugh: “Ha ha! Don’t take it seriously—I was only jesting!”

Xue Tianxing wiped sweat from his brow, staring at Wen Qingyu’s warm, sincere, trustworthy face—and wondered, for the first time, whether this mastermind, the greatest schemer of his age, had spoken truth or lie.

Or how much of each?

Could he really mean to burn it?!

He couldn’t… could he??

Xue Tianxing changed the subject stiffly: “Master, you’ve always schemed for yourself—why now choose to lead the army in person?”

Wen Qingyu fell silent, then spoke plainly: “When the world acts, the world must act. There is no retreat now. To scheme for the world is to scheme for oneself—if there is no world, how can there be self?”

“At this point, one must not shirk.”

“It is merely stepping into the game.”

As soon as the words fell, their calm, unshakable grandeur moved Yuan Shitong to awe—but stirred in Xue Tianxing a flood of memories: his fallen Taiping comrades who had once stepped into the game. His face darkened with sorrow.

Then the scholar added lightly:

“We seek peace. We demand the Ying Emperor’s head.”

Xue Tianxing’s pupils contracted violently.

Wen Qingyu smiled, spurred his horse forward, and the army marched. Two days later, just as they neared Ying Guo’s border, they encountered a force of iron cavalry—tall, heavily armored, armed with weapons, their expressions grim.

Three leaders rode forward.

One raised his hand and removed his hood. Above, an eagle shrieked. He extended his arm, letting the strange bird land upon it—he was fully white-haired, and beside his horse lay a warbow.

Another was a towering man, still radiating fierce valor.

Behind his back he carried a massive chest, and in hand he held a heavy iron monk’s staff.

The third was an outsider, long absent from battle—tall, solemn.

Yuan Shitong and Xue Tianxing saw the two aging giants and paled—then their faces lit with suppressed joy.

Xue Tianxing could still control himself.

Yuan Shitong nearly shouted.

The elder dismounted, his laughter booming. The middle-aged giant stepped down, his battle robe swirling open to reveal a heavy, dark armor like a steel beast. The man with the chest set it down heavily. All three bowed to Wen Qingyu:

“Taiping Army, Wang Shunchen.” “Taiping Army, Yan Xuanji.” “Qilin Army, Ashina.”

They chorused: “By the Emperor’s command, we come to reinforce!”

Wen Qingyu stepped forward solemnly and helped them rise.

“Rise, all three.”

Xue Tianxing and Yuan Shitong stared at Wang Shunchen and Yan Xuanji, trembling with emotion.

They were among the last surviving Taiping soldiers—especially seeing Pang Shuiyun, they were overjoyed. When they rose to fame, they were the same age as Wen Qingyu today.

But after the Taiping Duke’s death, they scattered across the land—over twenty years had passed.

Now reunited, the elders’ eyes reddened. They gripped each other’s arms, speechless, choked with tears. Pang Shuiyun wiped his eyes and said: “This is embarrassing—someone will laugh.”

“Stand up, all of you.”

Yuan Shitong and Xue Tianxing asked: “How did you get here?”

Pang Shuiyun replied: “The Lord has been campaigning against Ying Guo for over ten days. Three days before he marched, we received orders—just a few of us rode hard across the grasslands. General Ashina held the line here, then we crossed the steppe to reach you.”

“The Lord ordered us to await General Wen Qingyu. If the situation changed, we were to follow his strategy.”

Yuan Shitong and Xue Tianxing finally understood.

These men had at least Sixth Layer Wu Gong—enough time had passed for them to reach the grasslands and ride with Ashina’s forces to this spot.

Yuan Shitong stared at the massive chest beside Yan Xuanji.

“Yan brother, what’s in there?”

Yan Xuanji said: “It’s what the Lord ordered us to bring…”

Under everyone’s gaze, he opened the chest. Inside lay a vast banner—silk base, embroidered with cloud patterns, bearing two mighty characters:

【TAIPING】.

But upon closer look, the so-called ink-cloud patterns were not patterns at all—they were names, densely packed.

Yuan Shitong’s eyes widened.

Yan Xuanji said: “The Emperor found it in Chen Guo’s treasury. After Chen Ding the Cruel killed the Lord, he never burned our battle flag.”

Yuan Shitong cried: “Let me see—is my name on it?”

He scanned the cloth, then burst into laughter.

He was forty-three when he joined—now sixty-five, a grizzled general, yet he clapped his hands like a boy: “Ha ha! I found mine! Zhuge Gong’s is here too! And this one—this one’s old Xue’s!

“This neat, proper one? That’s Gu Daohui’s.

“This crooked, claw-scratched one? That’s the Lord’s—ha ha ha, ugly as hell…”

Yuan Shitong laughed, but his eyes grew red.

The old Taiping soldiers were all gone—only they remained.

They wanted to laugh—but tears came first.

Yan Xuanji gathered the eighty thousand Taiping soldiers and solemnly raised the banner. As the troops saw it reappear, Wen Qingyu felt the army’s momentum suddenly still.

It was hard to describe—the air seemed crushed by a sledgehammer, collapsing inward, heavy and oppressive, suffocating.

Honestly, Wen Qingyu had never regarded this army as frontline-tier—let alone compared to the elite Qilin Guards or the Canglang Guards.

Too much time had passed.

They had once been the finest troops on the battlefield—but twenty years had passed. This Taiping Army, dormant for two decades, had gray hair on every head.

When they followed the Taiping Duke, they were barely in their twenties.

Now they were over forty.

Forty years old, often cold, often hungry, enduring ice and snow beyond the Northern Frontier—they looked older than their years, white-haired, wrinkled.

They were all veterans.

Not a single youth among them—yet in that instant, something unspoken stirred in these old soldiers. Their pupils shrank. Their bodies straightened instinctively. Their breaths grew heavy—then changed.

Huh—

Hss!

In that instant, the Seven Kings Ashina felt a chill crawl up his spine.

As if these eighty thousand veterans had, in a breath, become one single entity—a beast slumbering for twenty years, now opening its eyes, grinding its teeth, thirsting for blood.

Yan Xuanji suddenly trembled, the Great Peace Army’s banner billowing violently.

Yan Xuanji drew a deep breath.

He gazed ahead; this veteran general, long past his youth, exhaled, pouring into that breath all his lifelong courage, all his final resolve, all his blood and fire, and roared:

“Where is the Great Peace Army!!!”

BOOM!!

Eighty thousand remnants of the Great Peace Army stepped forward in perfect unison.

They raised their arms in perfect unison and struck their chests.

They answered in perfect unison, as if shaking heaven and earth, saying:

“Here!”

The army’s spirit awakened; in an instant, the murderous aura turned nearly ink-black and surged skyward.

Their hair was streaked white, their battle robes long faded, yet their bodies remained rigidly straight—as if they were still the men they had been, still clad in brand-new armor.

As if beneath that billowing banner, that man stood there, smiling at them.

No more words.

Then, as if reaching out to grasp his cloak, he turned, clenched his fist.

He strode away.

Yan Xuanji’s eyes burned red as he roared: “Soldiers of the Great Peace Army, our ancestral vow lies in this moment—to fulfill our lord’s will, to honor the dreams we held long ago—take up your weapons!”

“Great Peace Army, beat the war drums!!”

“Advance!!!”

The war drums thundered once more.

At this moment, this army that had lingered in the past finally arrived in the present; they raised the Great Peace Army’s banner, the ancient battle flag rolling and whipping in the wind.

Wang Ashi’s pupils shrank violently as he watched this army pass before him, witnessing the Great Peace Army cross twenty years of time.

Once again, they had arrived in this age!

The fourth year of Emperor Qin’s reign, seventh month, first day.

The seventeenth day of Emperor Qin’s campaign against Ying, twenty-two years after the death of Duke Taiping.

The last of the Great Peace Army, carrying their solitary, desperate ideal, stepped into the tide of history.

Their blades cut with deadly precision, smashing through enemies, advancing straight toward the Eastern Capital.

Twenty-two years since they vanished from the world!

The Great Peace Army—

Stepped onto the battlefield.

Beat the drums.

Advance!

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