Chapter 375: A Good Show

The next morning, Jiang Mingyu and his men set out again, heading straight for Qusheng. By noon, Jiang Mingyu’s army finally advanced to the outskirts of Qusheng City. Rolling war drums echoed as thousands of troops halted beyond the city walls, tension thickening in every direction, ready to ignite at any moment.

Tukesuo rode at the very front of the army, gripping his long spear tightly, his fist clenched. “Soldiers, listen up! Prepare for battle—take your positions!” The clinking of iron shackles grew louder as ten thousand voices roared in unison: “By your command, Your Highness, rest assured!” Tukesuo’s eyes blazed with intensity—his gaze radiated a chilling frost, the unmistakable aura of General Feng Lei, a commander who had long dominated the battlefield.

It was as if the spirits of ancient peerless generals, war gods who launched surprise raids, death-defying warriors in mortal combat, and masterminds with piercing intellect had all merged into the flesh of Tukesuo. This commander, clad in battle armor and bearing the name Feng Lei, was known for his ruthless brutality. After conquering Qusheng, he had turned the small city-state into a roaring southern wave of the empire—no one in the southern frontier did not know the name of the Black-Faced Yama.

Jiang Mingyu scanned the surroundings. On the steep city walls, Qusheng’s defenders stood in dense layers, each clad in full metal armor, wielding long halberds. Their formation was impenetrable, like a fortress of demons, forbidding any underestimation.

Jiang Mingyu narrowed his eyes, studying the enemy’s “Heaven-Sealing Formation”—the famed defensive array perfected by Du Jianmu. He saw the glint of curved sabers and steel blades reflecting from the watchtowers, and the green dragon banners fluttering high above, their emblem interwoven with Du Jianmu’s insignia.

Though Jiang Mingyu had anticipated Du Jianmu’s defensive setup, he remained silent, quickly shifting his thoughts to devise a strategy. The Qusheng defenders, seeing the southern frontier army advancing in overwhelming force, shed their usual laziness and snapped into elite combat readiness—fully armed, rigidly disciplined, their morale surging.

Jiang Mingyu’s gaze turned icy. He sneered, sweeping his eyes over the walls—everywhere he saw archers armed with iron crossbows and quivers, and catapults loaded with stones. The defense was formidable. Clearly, this would be a hard fight, demanding careful planning.

At that moment, Tukesuo strode up to Jiang Mingyu, followed by Ebu and He Jing. His brows were knotted, his face flushed red, radiating unmistakable fury.

“Big brother, look! Du Jianmu is holed up like a coward, treating us as if we’re nothing! We’re an army of one hundred thousand!” Tukesuo roared, his voice thunderous. As he spoke, he slammed his fists toward the wall, muscles bulging, veins protruding, his face twisted in rage—fierce and terrifying.

Yet Jiang Mingyu remained calm, letting the wind brush his jet-black hair, his eyes steady as he regarded Tukesuo: “Don’t rush. Being a wolf or a tiger isn’t your style.”

“The enemy is holding the city—that proves my plan has succeeded. He’s fallen into my trap and has committed all his strength against us. His city must be nearly empty.” Jiang Mingyu analyzed coolly, his tone brimming with absolute certainty—as if he had already seen the outcome.

Tukesuo’s eyes flew open wide, his chest heaving. He opened his mouth to speak, then closed it, stunned into silence. Seeing this, He Jing rushed forward and seized Tukesuo’s wrist, fearing he might impulsively provoke the enemy inside.

Ebu cleared his throat and spoke slowly, trying to organize his thoughts: “Your Majesty, we’ve surrounded the city on all sides as you ordered. The defenders inside are barely holding on. There’s no need to rush an attack...” He paused, frowning, his expression grave and tinged with anxiety.

Jiang Mingyu nodded calmly: “Correct. Our supplies are ample—we can wage a war of attrition, drain their provisions, and force Du Jianmu to surrender.”

“Then shall we camp here and attack tomorrow?” Ebu asked.

“Tukesuo,” Jiang Mingyu said, ignoring Ebu, “calm down. Wait for good news. The weather is clear—let our troops rest for now. We’ll fight tomorrow.” No sooner had he finished than he whipped his horse and rode calmly back to his tent, his robes fluttering in the wind.

At once, drums sounded across the camp, and the ten thousand troops marched in perfect unison across the open field, practicing battle formations. Yet Du Jianmu held firm within the city, ignoring Jiang Mingyu’s provocations. The archers on the walls remained seated, unmoving as mountains; the gates stood sealed like iron barrels. Jiang Mingyu paid no mind—he stood high above, gazing at the city, his eyes steady and deep, faintly gleaming with anticipation.

Moments later, Jiang Mingyu walked slowly to Tukesuo and Ebu’s side, watching the enemy’s stubborn defense.

“It seems Du Jianmu has decided to wait for reinforcements before fighting us to the death,” Jiang Mingyu sneered, his expression fearless.

Hearing this, Tukesuo clenched his fists, veins bulging, eyes bloodshot, teeth bared. He roared and turned to ride back to camp, ready to launch a counterattack.

Jiang Mingyu shouted: “Wait!” Tukesuo stopped reluctantly, his face twitching with impatience, clearly on the verge of exploding.

Jiang Mingyu spoke calmly: “Since the enemy is prepared, I might as well play along.” With that, he gestured to his aides, who galloped off at full speed to deliver new battle orders to every camp.

The once disorganized army now moved with precise order, following Jiang Mingyu’s commands. Every soldier’s face was grim, none dared slack. Morale soared; a suppressed killing intent hung thick in the air. Soldiers gripped their spears and swords tightly, eyes burning with eager anticipation. The formations stretched orderly across the mountains, iron armor and weapons glinting coldly under the setting sun.

Soon, Qusheng was completely encircled, sealed off like a giant iron barrel. Du Jianmu’s forces were trapped inside, cut off from the outside. Yet Du Jianmu remained unmoved—the watchtowers stood silent, ignoring Jiang Mingyu’s movements. The defenders on the walls showed no panic, patrolling slowly and calmly, as if utterly indifferent to the world beyond.

Tukesuo suddenly threw his head back and roared to the heavens: “Du Jianmu! Surrender now! Your reinforcements won’t arrive in time!” His deep, powerful voice echoed over ten miles—evidence of his ferocious aura. Yet the walls offered no reply. The defenders, as if already prepared for the worst, stood resolute, ready to die.

Jiang Mingyu walked up to Tukesuo, placed a hand on his shoulder, and spoke calmly: “Tuku, don’t rush. My plan is already in motion—it will bear fruit soon. Du Jianmu’s stubborn defense, his fortress-like walls, suits me perfectly. We need only wait patiently.” Tukesuo’s face remained dark, lips pressed tight. Jiang Mingyu noticed, but said nothing—only turned his head and smiled faintly, utterly composed.

With that, Jiang Mingyu ignored the furious Tukesuo and turned toward the cliff’s peak, gazing into the distance. He looked up at the sky: a crimson sun slowly sank below the horizon, painting the mountains and Qusheng City in brilliant red. Jiang Mingyu narrowed his eyes; his sharp brows grew more imposing, his piercing gaze chilling.

He studied the defenders on the walls—soldiers in helmets marched in disciplined, orderly patrols. Yet despite the thunder of Jiang’s iron hooves and the clamor of horns, the city showed no chaos. Everything unfolded precisely as General Jiang had foreseen.

Jiang Mingyu’s lips curled into a faint, expectant smile: “The show is about to begin.” He murmured softly, barely audible. Then he turned and strode confidently into his tent, his crimson cloak fluttering behind him, majestic in the dying sunlight.

At that moment, Tukesuo paced angrily through the camp, steel sword in hand. Behind him followed He Jing, Ebu, and other officers—all grim, silent. They waited for Jiang Mingyu’s next order; the atmosphere grew heavier by the second.

Autumn days were short; dusk fell. As smoke rose from Jiang Mingyu’s camp, a soldier, panting heavily, suddenly rushed to his side.

“Your Majesty, news has arrived.”

He held out a feathered arrow tied with a letter, both hands raised. Jiang Mingyu took it, his long fingers swiftly untying the scroll. His usually tightly pressed lips parted slightly; a faint, sinister smile curled at his mouth, and a glint of cunning flashed in his eyes.

Moments later, Jiang Mingyu closed the letter. A sharp gleam passed through his deep eyes. He spoke calmly: “Good. Send word immediately—tell Tukesuo, Li Goudan, and the others to keep their eyes wide open. The plan begins soon.”

Jiang Mingyu’s heart rejoiced. Days of waiting and planning had finally borne fruit. He longed to see his troops storm the city, burning and looting. The thought of claiming this wealthy city filled him with quiet pride—he relaxed his brow slightly.

“Yes!” The soldier bowed respectfully and turned to leave.

“Wait.” Jiang Mingyu raised his hand to stop him. He motioned the soldier closer, lowered his voice, and gave a few quiet orders. The soldier nodded frantically, bowing low, then sprinted away into the darkness beyond the tent.

Jiang Mingyu watched the soldier vanish, then turned, arms crossed, his expression growing stern. He walked slowly to the camp entrance, gazing up at the city walls. Night had fallen; stars glittered across the sky, moonlight flowed like water, and the distant watchtowers shimmered faintly in the stillness.

The city’s residents remained unaware of the peril. Night deepened; families prepared for sleep, streets emptied. Then, half an hour later, a thunderous explosion erupted—fire shot skyward from the southern city gate, and the clash of battle rang out sharply in the silent night. Panic erupted. Civilians poured from their homes, bewildered and terrified.

Jiang Mingyu caught the sharp sounds of clashing blades and shouting from the walls. He narrowed his eyes—figures moved violently on the ramparts, locked in fierce combat. A cold gleam flashed in his eyes. At last—the moment had come.

At that moment, the thunder of hooves came from behind. Tukesuo galloped up, followed by He Jing and others, weapons in hand.

“Big brother, shall we launch the assault?” Tukesuo gripped his long blade, face alight with excitement, eyes burning with fervor.

Jiang Mingyu nodded calmly: “It’s time. Lead your men to seize the southern gate and link up with Li Goudan. No survivors—strike fast and finish it.”

“Understood!” Tukesuo laughed loudly, gripping his blade, its edge glinting coldly. He turned and roared—a thousand cavalrymen, already ready, erupted in a chorus of war cries and surged toward the southern gate.

Jiang Mingyu watched from afar, seeing flames engulf the southern watchtower, chaos erupting. Li Goudan raised his heavy steel mace and led the charge into the city. Screams of agony echoed endlessly, followed by the rumbling collapse of buildings. Defenseless civilians fled in terror—but before they could run far, Tukesuo’s blades brought them down. Blood soon flowed like rivers across the quiet streets...

Jiang Mingyu watched it all, his lips finally curling into a victorious smile, his eyes harder than steel. His deep gaze swept over Qusheng City beneath the moon—four gates breached, Jiang’s troops descending like a mountain crushing all resistance. His soldiers turned the city into a sea of blood and carnage—bodies littered the ground, cries filled the air.

Jiang Mingyu’s heart swelled with satisfaction. He had finally cleared this thorn from his side. He looked up at the night sky, a wave of relief washing over him. This wealthy city, its abundant grain and supplies—now all belonged to the Jiang Army! The thought of wielding such power made his eyes gleam with brilliance, his lips curving into the long-planned, satisfied smile.

All of this began with a single order Jiang Mingyu had given.

After learning Du Jianmu had sent messengers to Gebao City for aid, Jiang Mingyu found the courier sent by Liu Yifei. Holding a brush, he swiftly wrote several lines on paper, sealed the letter, and handed it to the courier: “Hurry. Deliver this to the Empress. Let her know our movements—she must coordinate with us for a surprise attack!”

The courier bowed respectfully and turned to leave. Jiang Mingyu raised his hand to stop him, leaned close, and whispered a few instructions. The courier understood instantly, nodding vigorously, then galloped away, vanishing into the dust.

The courier fulfilled his mission. Once inside the city, Liu Yifei began frantic preparations. Her demeanor was always gentle, yet her every gesture carried resolve. With a simple trick, she bribed the city’s sentries and junior officers, gaining full knowledge of troop deployments. Beneath her sweet smile lay a heart of ruthless cruelty.

Jiang Mingyu, learning Liu Yifei’s plan was complete, secretly rejoiced. A gleam flashed in his eyes—this city’s treasures must be immense.

The plan was simple: once Jiang Mingyu arrived at Qusheng, Liu Yifei would, under the guise of boosting morale, brew large vats of fragrant, potent wine and deliver them to the guards at all four gates to celebrate. The letter Jiang Mingyu had just received was from Liu Yifei—confirming everything was ready, and the strike could begin at any moment.

The weary soldiers guarding the walls had long heard of Liu Yifei, the wealthy merchant. They never imagined they’d see her face in person—much less taste her Qinshou brewed wine! Without hesitation, they accepted the drugged wine, grinning broadly.

Liu Yifei stood nearby, smiling warmly, exchanging polite words. Her gentle smile hid a cold sneer as she watched these ignorant southern soldiers drain the poisoned wine. She had already planned: once they collapsed, she would act swiftly, personally ordering her men to open the gates and welcome Jiang Mingyu’s army.

Indeed, the guards soon collapsed, drunk and incapacitated. Seeing the moment had come, Liu Yifei ordered her trusted men to prepare to open the gates. At that instant, a guard officer, drunk and enraged, lunged at her!

“You!” he slurred, “Whore! You’re in league with the enemy!”

Liu Yifei sidestepped nimbly—the officer stumbled and fell. She calmly drew a small dagger from her waist, her eyes icy: “Fool. Your fate is sealed.”

A scream rang out—his head rolled to the side... A few drops of blood spattered her face, but her expression didn’t change. She wiped the blade clean, sheathed it swiftly, and said coldly: “Open the gates!”

Once all the guards were incapacitated, Liu Yifei sent her men to open the gates and let Jiang Mingyu’s troops in. She had also specified in her letter: the southern soldiers, exhausted from a day of tension, had returned to camp and were preparing to eat—perfect timing. This seductive woman understood human nature perfectly—her planning was meticulous, leaving Jiang Mingyu both astonished and delighted.

This was why Tukesuo and his men dared charge into the city without hesitation. Chaos erupted inside and out—blades flashed, war cries thundered. Jiang Mingyu’s generals stormed through like ghosts, unstoppable. The poisoned defenders offered no resistance, slaughtered in droves. Civilians suffered a nightmare—screams rose everywhere, cries of death never ceased...

At the same time, a middle-aged man in merchant’s attire ran up to Tukesuo, panting, drenched in sweat—clearly just escaped fierce combat.

“Your Highness, I’m sent by Her Majesty to guide your army. I know where Du Jianmu’s camp is—follow me.” He bowed respectfully, sweat pouring from his brow, face anxious.

Tukesuo beamed: “Good! Lead the way!” He spurred his horse forward, his ten thousand troops surging behind like a tidal wave.

The merchant didn’t hesitate—he leapt onto a sturdy horse, deftly pulling the reins. He sat steady, one hand holding the whip, the other pointing ahead, calling out: “Brave warriors, follow me!”

With a whip crack, he galloped off. Tukesuo and his officers followed, hooves thundering, kicking up clouds of dust.

In an instant, the merchant led the army through winding streets to a massive camp at the heart of Qusheng’s inner city—Du Jianmu’s main camp.

Behind the high walls, faint shouts and cries echoed—the defenders hadn’t yet realized what had happened. The merchant halted, shouted: “The enemy commander is inside! Surround the camp!”

“Kill!” The soldiers roared and surged into the camp. Instantly, Jiang Mingyu’s troops encircled all four walls, layer upon layer.

Du Jianmu, disheveled and barely standing, burst from his main tent with a few aides. His eyes were wide with terror, his face pale, his lips still twitching—evidence he hadn’t fully shaken the poison. Several of his men lay writhing on the ground, convulsing.