Chapter 363

Watching Liu Yifei’s figure fade into the distance, Tukesiluo spoke with concern: “Big brother, is she really going to be safe?”

Hearing this, Jiang Mingyu’s face flickered with bitterness; he sighed softly: “I only hope she arrives safely.” These past two days, he had worried endlessly over her safety, urging her countless times to change her mind and not go alone to Qusheng.

But Liu Yifei had shown extraordinary determination; whenever Jiang Mingyu tried to persuade her, she would furrow her brows, fix him with her bright eyes, and speak with unwavering resolve: “My decision won’t change—I must go to Qusheng.”

Jiang Mingyu could only shake his head helplessly, smiling wryly in silent acceptance of her choice, for he knew well: once Liu Yifei made up her mind, no amount of pleading would make her retreat.

That night, Jiang Mingyu stood atop the camp’s high ground, gazing at the lingering sunset on the horizon, still echoing in his mind Liu Yifei’s words from earlier—“Mingyu, I must go to Qusheng. Don’t try to stop me again—your objections are invalid!” She had stood with hands on hips, her tone firm yet tinged with childish stubbornness, leaving him speechless.

Jiang Mingyu felt uneasy, but then he reminded himself: Liu Yifei was skilled and highly respected—perhaps she truly could reach Qusheng unharmed. He steadied himself, silently praying: “I only hope she travels safely.” He longed to reunite with his wife as soon as possible after this separation.

The setting sun painted the plains red, staining the distant rolling mountains. The army had marched dozens of li; soldiers’ faces were caked in dust, sweat beading on their foreheads. Then, sudden hoofbeats pierced the dust ahead.

Jiang Mingyu squinted, seeing a young scout galloping out of the dust on a gray, swift horse—a strong but utterly exhausted warhorse, caked in mud, mane soaked with sweat, foam dripping from its bit as it strained to carry its rider forward.

The scout looked barely twenty, dressed in coarse civilian linen, face streaked with dirt from a full day and night of relentless riding. He whipped his horse to a halt before Jiang Mingyu, yanking the reins hard; the steed reared, neighing loudly, then crashed down, kicking up a cloud of dust. The scout leapt off, knelt, and cried out: “Your Majesty!” in salute.

Jiang Mingyu rushed forward, his face betraying urgent anxiety. He gripped the scout’s shoulders and whispered: “You’ve done well—rise and speak. How is the situation in Xiongzhou? What movements have Zuo Zhao and Tong Wa made?” His hands trembled; his eyes burned with anticipation.

The scout wiped sweat and dirt from his face, revealing a youthful countenance. His babyish cheeks were worn thin by exhaustion, but his eyes shone with excitement and purpose. He looked at Jiang Mingyu and said solemnly: “Your Majesty, the defenses in Xiongzhou are tight. I spent great effort to infiltrate. Since Zuo Zhao fled there to join Tong Wa, Tong Wa has tightened security, closed the gates, and ordered all civilians inside—clearing the land and fortifying the walls.”

Jiang Mingyu nodded slightly, relaxing. This was exactly what he expected. He pressed: “How many troops are inside? Has Wei Yangyao sent reinforcements? Did you confirm this?” His voice carried anxiety, fearing bad news.

“Including Tong Wa’s men, the garrison totals about one hundred fifty thousand. As for Wei Yangyao’s reinforcements—I heard nothing.” The scout answered firmly, each word clear and strong.

Standing beside Jiang Mingyu, Tukesiluo asked sharply: “Are you certain Wei Yangyao hasn’t moved troops to Xiongzhou?” His gaze was piercing, his tone uncompromising, suspicion lacing his words.

“I hid in Xiongzhou for a full day and night. If any large troop movement occurred, I would have heard it.” The scout stood his ground, resolute: “I stake my life on it!”

Hearing the scout’s report, Jiang Mingyu finally let out a deep breath, a smile spreading across his face. He clapped the scout’s shoulder, strode back to the front of the army, and shouted: “Since Wei Yangyao hasn’t moved, our one hundred thirty thousand troops can easily take Xiongzhou! The sun is setting—we must press on. Delay invites disaster! All units, quicken pace! We reach Xiongzhou’s gates tonight!” He waved his arms, urging the troops forward; soldiers responded with cheers.

Tukesiluo also exhaled in relief, smiling in agreement: “Big brother, brilliant! Xiongzhou is ours! Let’s move!” His stern face finally softened with relief and joy.

Li Goudan stepped forward, rising slightly on his toes to appear taller, cleared his throat, and said: “Your Majesty, the Prince speaks truly—Wei Yangyao hasn’t sent reinforcements yet, but that doesn’t mean he won’t.” His voice was low and powerful, deliberate and precise.

“He may have already dispatched troops, but since Wangjiang is so far from Xiongzhou, they haven’t arrived yet.” Li Goudan continued, stroking his beard, brow furrowed in seriousness.

He gestured to a nearby soldier, who sprinted forward and presented a scroll of sheepskin map. Li Goudan unrolled it, pointing: “Your Majesty, look—west of Xiongzhou lies the vast Honghe Sea; south of Honghe Sea lies the South Sea.” His finger traced the map, stopping at the South Sea.

“The South Sea borders Baocheng. If Wei Yangyao sends reinforcements by sea, our position becomes extremely vulnerable.” Li Goudan frowned, scanning the map with a stern gaze.

Jiang Mingyu’s expression grew grave. He took the map from Li Goudan, studying it intently. Though early autumn, the continent’s prevailing winds were still southeast—ideal for Wei Yangyao’s naval reinforcements. Jiang Mingyu fell silent, then suddenly slapped his thigh, looking up: “You’re right. All units, hasten your pace—we must reach Xiongzhou’s gates within two days.”

“Yes, Your Majesty!” Li Goudan and Tukesiluo bowed deeply. Jiang Mingyu waved them up and strode toward the front ranks: “All troops, advance swiftly—day and night, no pause!”

The disciplined ranks began running across the plains, heavy iron hooves thudding dully through the mud. Jiang Mingyu rode at the front, his towering banner snapping in the wind. One hundred thirty thousand soldiers, splashing through mud, vanished into the horizon beneath the dying sun—the road ahead bristled with thorns, yet stirred their blood with fervor.

With scouts leading, the army advanced smoothly. By mid-morning the next day, Jiang Mingyu’s one hundred thirty thousand troops reached Xiongzhou’s territory. As they neared the city, settlements grew sparse, then vanished entirely—no people, no signs of life, doors barred, villages abandoned.

At dusk, the army halted before a deserted village. Tukesiluo spat fiercely on the ground, muttering curses: “Damn it—Tong Wa’s scorched-earth tactics are no joke. He’s evacuated every soul outside the walls. This brat means to fight us to the death!” His brow was knotted, fists clenched tight with hatred for Tong Wa.

Jiang Mingyu said nothing, only gazed at the sinking sun and asked calmly: “How far to Xiongzhou?” Li Goudan studied the map and replied: “According to the map, we’re no more than fifty-six li from Xiongzhou. With speed, we can reach it in two hours.”

Jiang Mingyu nodded. He stroked his horse’s mane, soothing its weary body, then dismounted and addressed his officers: “We stop here. Set up camp in this village. Cook food, let the men rest well tonight!” The soldiers cheered—after three days of marching, they could finally rest.

Jiang Mingyu added: “Tukesiluo, rest your men. We strike Xiongzhou at dawn—aim for a single, decisive blow!” Tukesiluo nodded fiercely, murder blazing in his eyes: “Understood—I’ll let Tong Wa taste our blades!”

The thirteen-thousand-strong army set up camp, lighting fires to cook. Smoke curled upward, horses whinnied in relief, soldiers gathered in groups around fires, laughing loudly. Anticipation and tension filled the air—every face glowed with excitement and resolve...

No sooner had the camp been established than Jiang Mingyu stood in his command tent, studying the map. A breeze brushed his face; heat shimmered over the distant desert. As they waited for food, a sharp cry pierced the wind and rustling sand:

“Old Yang! Old Yang! What’s wrong? Wake up!”

The voice was frantic, rising in urgency. Then came a chorus of murmurs, punctuated by gasps of fear.

“Heaven above—Old Yang’s fainted!”

“He must’ve collapsed from exhaustion on the march?”

“No—look at his lips—they’re turning blue. That’s poisoning!”

“What?! Poisoned? He just drank from the well... Could the well be poisoned?!”

Having narrowly escaped poisoning twice, Jiang Mingyu had always despised and distrusted the word “poison.” Hearing it now, his eyes narrowed, his brow knotted, his face paled. He spun from his desk and strode out of the tent, his black uniform snapping in the wind.

Around him, cooks and soldiers clustered in groups, whispering. Hearing his footsteps, they parted like a tide, clearing a path. Jiang Mingyu, face set, followed the murmurs to the scene: a burly middle-aged soldier lay motionless on the rocky ground, face deathly pale, black-blue blood oozing from his lips—he was dead. Crowds of curious, terrified soldiers surrounded him; seeing Jiang Mingyu, they scrambled to kneel.

“What happened? Speak!” Jiang Mingyu’s voice was low, commanding, brooking no defiance.

A grizzled veteran with wild beard and dark skin stepped forward, his weathered face etched with caution and concern: “Commander, the dead man is Old Niu—one of our cooks assigned to fetch water. He went to the village well, drank a few sips, then collapsed, eyes rolling back. The well was poisoned.”

Jiang Mingyu’s brow tightened. He instantly realized they were on Xiongzhou’s outskirts—the well had been poisoned by Tong Wa. His mind raced. He barked: “Order: no soldier near the well. Tukesiluo, lead a detachment to inspect it. We must confirm if the water source has been tainted!”

Soldiers snapped to attention and moved swiftly. Jiang Mingyu stood still, arms crossed, eyes fixed on the well, grim and silent, weighing every possibility.

Tukesiluo had already ridden ahead with a few personal guards, their formation orderly yet tense. Jiang Mingyu’s gaze followed them, sharp as a hawk’s.

Tukesiluo returned quickly, dismounted, and strode to Jiang Mingyu, face grim: “Big brother—you were right. The well water is laced with poison. Color and odor are subtle—clearly Tong Wa’s doing. He meant to wipe out our entire army.” His voice turned icy, fists clenched, knuckles white: “Cowardly, vile—he’s asking for death!”

Jiang Mingyu’s brow snapped shut, his eyes glinting with cold fury: “Tong Wa—how dare you resort to such treachery! You bring this upon yourself!” He ordered: “Command: cease all fires. Soldiers eat dry rations now. No one touches any water source. We endure hunger and thirst tonight. Tomorrow, when we take Xiongzhou, I’ll make Tong Wa taste wine!”

After chewing dry rations, the army collapsed where they stood. Three days of relentless marching left them utterly spent; snoring rose in waves across the village. Night deepened, fires died, silence settled—only insects chirped and owls hooted.

Jiang Mingyu sat alone in his humble tent. Outside, darkness lay still. Candlelight flickered, casting orange glow on his resolute profile. His brow was furrowed, eyes fixed in deep thought—as if mapping a crucial strategy.

At this moment, Jiang Mingyu’s heart churned. Learning the well was poisoned, that Tong Wa—a cunning foe—had used such vile tactics to annihilate his army, filled him with rage and unease. Even his confidence wavered.

He drew a deep breath, forcing calm. This sudden crisis demanded a new plan—lives hung in the balance. Thinking of Tong Wa’s poison, Jiang Mingyu’s eyes flashed cold, fists clenching, knuckles white. This was his due! Tong Wa—I will make you pay!

Outside the tent, night thickened, insects chirped, owls called. Jiang Mingyu tilted his head, listening—as if reading enemy movements in the silence. The snoring of his soldiers drifted from every corner of the camp—they were utterly exhausted, asleep in moments. The sound reminded him of today: three days of marching, one brutal battle—all his men drained. And Tong Wa had poisoned them—how vile, how cruel!

Jiang Mingyu exhaled slowly, steadying his turbulent emotions. He needed focus—to reassess his position, to choose wisely. The situation was dire: no water, no choice but to endure hunger and thirst tonight—a brutal test for his men.

He looked up at the tent ceiling, studying the fabric’s folds in the flickering candlelight. A resolve rose within him—he must instill in his army the strength to endure. This battle would test the Great Jiang Army’s honor! Endure humiliation—never yield!

His gaze returned to the map on the table. The familiar terrain now felt alien, uncertain. His army’s momentum had stalled, the situation critical—only a desperate gamble could win the city... He mentally simulated strategies, his phoenix eyes blazing with intensity. Finally, a spark lit in his gaze—he had decided.

The candle flickered. Jiang Mingyu looked at the weary Tukesiluo and spoke slowly: “Tukesiluo.”

Tukesiluo had been dozing. At the call, he jolted awake, tense: “Big brother? What’s wrong?” He instinctively half-drew his sword, hand gripping the hilt, ready for any threat.

Jiang Mingyu smiled gently, his phoenix eyes calm and composed. Tukesiluo tensed further—Jiang Mingyu waved him to lower his weapon and explained: “Don’t be alarmed. Nothing’s happened yet.”

Tukesiluo froze, puzzled: “What do you mean ‘not yet’? Will something happen soon?” He frowned, his hawk-like eyes flickering with suspicion and worry.

Jiang Mingyu studied him in silence, expression unreadable. Then, slowly, he raised an eyebrow: “Think—this is the only road to Xiongzhou. That’s why Tong Wa poisoned the well. If you were him, knowing our army camped here...” He paused, gaze deep and piercing, “...and suspecting we’ve already been poisoned—wouldn’t you come to check?”

Tukesiluo’s eyes widened—he understood. He inwardly marveled at Jiang Mingyu’s insight. Their gazes met; both nodded knowingly. Their southern campaign was the greatest threat to the Southern Frontier—Tong Wa would never let them escape. If he saw an opening, he’d come himself to destroy them.

Jiang Mingyu lifted his gaze, a glint of sharpness in his eyes: “We’ve captured no Southern Frontier spies, but I know where they hide. They’ve been watching us all along, reporting our movements to Tong Wa. Tonight—he will act.”

Tukesiluo’s eyes flashed with understanding. He rose, bowed deeply to Jiang Mingyu, and said solemnly: “Big brother, brilliant! Then I’ll prepare—we’ll trap this cunning rat!” He strode out of the tent, his earlier fatigue vanished.

Soon, the once-quiet camp hummed with hushed whispers. Under Tukesiluo’s command, troops moved silently into position. Moonlight bathed the hills in silver; beneath the still night, another fierce battle loomed...

Jiang Mingyu sat alone in his tent, watching the flickering candle, a faint smile touching his lips. A surge of fierce resolve rose within him—this battle, he would make Tong Wa retreat, taste the price of mutual destruction!