Chapter 385: Sowing Discord and Feigned Surrender

After another half day of marching, the sun gradually sank toward the west, yet Jiang Mingyu had not ordered the army to set up camp when a swift horse suddenly blocked the path of the main force.

The rider was a young scout dressed in plain military garb, his expression frantic, drenched in sweat, as if he had just ridden from afar. He gripped the reins tightly; the horse neighed and reared its front hooves high, visibly agitated.

“Report! Grain supplies have been seized! The soldiers sent by Yan Hao have been imprisoned by Wang Yi!”

Jiang Mingyu furrowed his sword-like brows slightly, his expression darkening. “Tell me the details.”

The scout nodded, took a deep breath, and slowed his pace: “Your Majesty, I was ordered to monitor movements within Lingtaicheng. Upon hearing of your army’s advance, Yan Hao immediately dispatched messengers to Gebao City to demand grain. But Wei Yangyao claimed the grain had already been dispatched—only then did Yan Hao realize Wang Yi had intercepted it. Wang Yi not only denied it but bound Yan Hao’s soldiers in ropes, declaring that if Yan Hao spoke out again, even if you captured Lingtaicheng, not a single grain of food would reach you... The returning soldiers could not clarify the grain’s whereabouts...”

After hearing the report, Jiang Mingyu frowned slightly and let out a cold laugh: “Heaven is dooming the Southern Frontier, and they still play these tricks...” He turned to E Bu and spoke with hidden meaning: “What do you make of this?”

E Bu reined his horse forward, stroked his beard, and mused: “Your Majesty, Yan Hao’s frantic demand for grain proves the granaries within Lingtaicheng are nearly empty. If so, once we encircle the city, they won’t hold out ten days!”

A flash of cold light gleamed in Jiang Mingyu’s eyes. He immediately ordered: “Advance swiftly! We must complete the encirclement of Lingtaicheng before dawn! Delay invites change!”

The army pressed on, winding through twisted mountain paths under cover of night. The journey was grueling: the roads were rugged, the forests dense, visibility blurred. The troops relied only on faint moonlight and starlight to find their way. Soldiers’ faces were grim, eyes locked forward, terrified of misstepping. The clatter of hooves, the clink of armor, the shouts of officers echoed through the valleys.

Jiang Mingyu rode atop his horse, gazing intently ahead. Throughout the march, his brow had remained tightly furrowed, his eyes sharp as lightning, his expression heavy. He knew this battle was critical—he must strike swiftly and decisively, leaving no opening for the enemy.

At the first watch of the morning, the army finally reached Lingtaicheng. The walls loomed faintly in the pre-dawn dark, tall and thick; occasional flashes of firelight moved along the ramparts—the torches of patrolling guards. From within the city came sporadic neighs and the clank of armor, as if the defenders were preparing for battle.

Jiang Mingyu stood at the front of the formation, studying the mountain fortress. Dense trees surrounded it; the terrain was extraordinarily complex—far harder to assault than Tagang City. He knew he must quickly devise a complete assault plan to complete the encirclement by sunrise and crush enemy resistance.

Thinking this, he immediately issued orders, deploying each unit into position. The sky grew lighter; a hazy dawn light spilled across the hills. A brutal battle loomed.

When the situation matched Che Gang’s predictions, Jiang Mingyu said nothing more—he raised his sword and ordered the army to swiftly complete the full encirclement of Lingtaicheng.

The defenders on the walls were already prepared, densely packed along the battlements, armed with arrows and gleaming long blades that reflected the rising sun with cold, merciless light.

Seeing this, Jiang Mingyu signaled Tu Kesiluo to deliver a message. The great general rode forward calmly, raised his hand toward the walls, and called out coldly: “Yan Hao! I come by imperial command—listen well! Open your gates and surrender. My Great Jiang King is merciful and will not harm you. Delay further, and your fate, like Tong Wa’s, will be identical!”

From the ramparts emerged a middle-aged officer clad in silver armor, arms crossed, eyes brimming with defiance. It was Yan Hao, the overall commander of the Southern Frontier. He sized up Tu Kesiluo, snorted, and sneered: “Oh? You’re the famed General Tu Kesiluo? What audacity!”

He threw back his head and laughed loudly: “Yes, your Jiang army is numerous and powerful—but Lingtaicheng is fortified, our grain stores are ample, and taking it won’t be easy! Six months’ supply is more than enough for us. Come then—let’s see whose grain runs out first!”

No sooner had he finished than a familiar voice cut in: “Yan Hao, I’ve heard this same nonsense too many times... I suspect it’s all lies!” Che Gang had appeared at the city’s foot, his eyes fixed on Yan Hao, smirking coldly: “If you claim ample grain, then let’s see who holds out longest!”

Yan Hao’s eyes locked onto Che Gang, and he exploded like a cat with its tail stepped on: “You dog of a lackey! How dare you show your face before two armies? Had His Majesty been merciful, I’d have already plowed your ancestral graves and turned your home into farmland!” He then roared toward the enemy lines: “You think encirclement frightens me? I’ll take Che Gang’s head and present it to His Majesty at Gebao!”

Che Gang remained unfazed, a sly smile curling his lips. He glanced sideways and said: “Waiting? For what? Are you waiting for Wang Yi to deliver your grain?” He paused deliberately, then declared loudly: “To be honest—Wang Yi has secretly defected to Great Jiang! Want grain? Dream on!”

Yan Hao had long been at odds with Wang Yi. Hearing this, his brow twitched, his face filled with suspicion. Jiang Mingyu thought: this will shake Yan Hao’s morale, making him more likely to sortie. Once this rumor spreads, Wei Yangyao will grow doubly suspicious of Wang Yi. Then we can exploit the rift, reducing resistance from behind. Even if Wei Yangyao executes Wang Yi outright, our advance will become smoother.

At that moment, Che Gang’s sly smile deepened—he was likely plotting the same scheme. Yet it was precisely because of Shi Zhuo’s scheming that he had been forced to surrender to Great Jiang. Now his own words had come full circle—karma, unerring.

Seeing Yan Hao’s face turn ashen and his expression darken, Che Gang continued slowly: “Yan Gong, we once served the same sovereign. Now the times have changed—we meet as enemies.”

He shook his head with a long sigh, his tone dripping with feigned regret: “The tide has turned. Wei Yangyao is foolish and cruel; the Southern Frontier’s fate hangs by a thread. Rather than fight one last bloody battle against Great Jiang before your end, why not surrender now? You might yet cling to life. Otherwise, when your grain and arrows run out, regret will come too late...”

Yan Hao’s eyes turned bloodshot. He gritted his teeth: “That old traitor Wang Yi dares betray His Majesty? I’ll flay his skin alive!” He glared furiously at Che Gang and Tu Kesiluo.

After a long pause, as if making a final decision, he let out a heavy grunt and said coolly: “Enough. Tell that Jiang Mingyu—I’ll consider surrender. But I need a few days to prepare.”

Tu Kesiluo snorted, turned to Che Gang, and muttered: “Hmph. Thought he was some hardened warrior—turns out he’s just a coward.” Then he raised his voice: “Good sense! You get one chance! Don’t waste it!”

With that, the two rode off without looking back, ignoring Yan Hao’s curses from the ramparts. Soon they returned to the newly erected camp. As Che Gang stepped toward the tent, Tu Kesiluo seized his wrist, his expression sharp: “Wait. I feel Yan Hao didn’t fight with full strength—it’s suspicious. Did you notice?”

Che Gang’s heart jolted. He recalled Yan Hao’s expression, then smiled faintly: “Your Highness overthinks. Yan Hao may roar loudly, but he’s a coward at heart. This retreat is merely a desperate gambit—I’m certain he’ll surrender within the day!”

Tu Kesiluo nodded slightly, his tension easing. As they turned to enter the tent, a faint, mocking laugh drifted from the city walls.

In Jiang Mingyu’s central command tent, firelight blazed like an eternal city. Dozens of large tents stood tall, their golden tops gleaming under the flames. Inside, Jiang Mingyu’s generals stood in two neat rows, their faces grim, eyes gleaming, clad in polished armor, weapons in hand—all battle-hardened warriors.

Tu Kesiluo strode in, his face alight with barely concealed excitement. He hurried to Jiang Mingyu’s side and asked: “Brother, do you believe Yan Hao’s words?” His tone held clear skepticism.

Jiang Mingyu, clad in a deep black soft armor edged with gold thread that shimmered faintly in the firelight, crossed his arms. His gaze burned steady, his voice calm: “Yan Hao’s surrender isn’t impossible. Che Gang already noted—he’s a clever man. And clever men never sit waiting for death.”

“Today’s scheme of division has severed Yan Hao’s last hope. Surrendering is now a viable option for him.” Jiang Mingyu turned slightly, his eyes sweeping toward Che Gang in the second row. Che Gang stood motionless, expression calm—as if none of this concerned him.

Li Goudan, standing in the front row, immediately spoke: “Your Majesty, I sense something fishy here—we must be cautious.” His suspicion stirred Jiang Mingyu’s thoughts.

Feng Xi had felt the same, but Li Goudan had spoken first. Now he could only smile and agree: “Indeed, Your Majesty. That old fox Yan Hao may seem weak, but his heart is deep and cunning. This might be a trick.”

Jiang Mingyu nodded slightly, then sighed: “That’s precisely my concern. Yan Hao’s intentions are unclear—anything could happen.” His obsidian eyes sharpened suddenly: “What if today’s surrender is merely a ruse to lure us into complacency, then strike back when our guard is down?”

He lowered his voice: “From now on, monitor Yan Hao and Lingtaicheng’s every move. Not a whisper must escape our notice.” He paused, then added: “The scout reported Lingtaicheng’s grain is nearly exhausted. If Yan Hao refuses to surrender, he’ll act soon.”

“All encircling units must communicate every half-hour. Stay vigilant. Do not let Yan Hao exploit any gap.” Jiang Mingyu emphasized, then turned to E Bu. On E Bu’s defiant face glowed a smug grin. He flicked his whip and shouted: “Brother, rest easy! I’ve already ordered it—should Lingtaicheng stir, the Iron Cavalry will strike at once!” His expression radiated certainty of victory.

Jiang Mingyu smiled faintly, nodded slowly, and said: “Then we wait for Yan Hao’s reply.” He glanced toward the tent’s entrance, where the night outside lay dark and silent. But Jiang Mingyu knew—in Lingtaicheng, whether Yan Hao, himself, or any soldier within, all were now studying Great Jiang’s forces. In this darkness, both sides probed, waiting for the other to reveal a weakness. Jiang Mingyu knew his hand held stronger cards. Victory would belong to Great Jiang—only time remained. His task: patience, and readiness to seize the moment.

Jiang Mingyu sat upright in the central command tent, his gaze sharp as lightning, fixed on the kneeling envoy of Yan Hao. His posture—slightly turned away—stood in stark contrast to the envoy’s groveling stance.

Jiang Mingyu’s thick brows furrowed slightly; his expression remained calm, unmoved by the envoy’s flattery. His eyes, like a hawk’s, pierced through the envoy, fixed on the hidden city beyond the dark.

The envoy knelt, his body bent low in a posture of submission, like a worshipper prostrating. When he raised his head, his eyes gleamed with sycophantic adoration, his voice thin and trembling with servility: “After much deliberation, Yan Hao has decided to surrender to Your Majesty. This is most advantageous for you!”

Jiang Mingyu uttered a cold “Mm,” his gaze sweeping over the envoy as if appraising a dog begging for scraps. His fingers tapped idly on the table, his brow tightening slightly, yet his face retained its detached indifference.

The envoy chuckled nervously, sensing Jiang Mingyu’s displeasure, and lowered his eyes in fear. He stammered: “T...T...Yan Hao still has preparations to make... he dares not delay... m...morning... tomorrow morning, he will personally come out to beg Your Majesty’s forgiveness!”

Jiang Mingyu snorted, his finger-tapping accelerating. His gaze, sharp as a hawk’s, locked onto the envoy: “I’ve surrounded your city for days. Yet Yan Hao delays surrender until tomorrow? Is surrendering truly so complicated?”

The envoy flinched, beads of sweat breaking on his forehead. He trembled as he raised a military token like a sacred offering: “This is Yan Hao’s personal token—proof of his sincerity to Your Majesty!”

Jiang Mingyu narrowed his eyes, studied the token, then reached out slowly, took it, and tossed it carelessly onto the table with a sharp clatter.

The envoy exhaled softly, his tone growing even more obsequious: “The townsfolk still don’t know Yan Hao’s decision. If Your Majesty continues the siege, unrest may erupt—harmful to Your Majesty’s rule.”

Jiang Mingyu raised an eyebrow, scanned the envoy from head to toe, then let out a cold snort. He rose, looking down at the envoy: “A wise man knows when to yield. I hope Yan Hao won’t regret this.” His voice carried a chill—his threat unmistakable.

The envoy bowed repeatedly, then fled the tent like a startled rabbit.

Yan Hao stood atop the city wall, watching the enemy’s orderly retreat, and finally exhaled. He sneered, a cunning glint in his eye: “Jiang—finally, you’ve taken the bait!”

He turned to the scout beside him, impatiently demanding: “Are you ready?”

The scout dropped to his knees, bowing: “Report, Commander—the troops and horses are fully assembled, ready to strike at any moment!”

Yan Hao burst into loud laughter, clapping his hands in delight: “Perfect! Tonight—this is Jiang Mingyu’s death night!”

He strode to the edge of the wall, squinting at Jiang Mingyu’s camp. Beneath the moonlight, the enemy’s fires dimmed, the camp grew quiet.

Yan Hao’s lips curled into a cold smile. He began meticulously planning tonight’s scheme. He whispered to himself: “Before tonight, I’ll perfect every detail—I’ll annihilate this arrogant brat!”

The wine from the banquet still warmed his body. He felt a flush rise from below, coughed lightly, and asked: “What’s become of that girl we captured two days ago?”

The two guards standing at attention turned their heads toward Yan Hao. One quickly replied: “Master, the woman is locked in the back courtyard, awaiting your pleasure.” He grinned obsequiously.

Yan Hao’s lips curled upward. He was pleased. He gave a soft hum, rose, and strode toward the back courtyard.

The side room in the courtyard was pitch-black, save for a dim yellow light flickering behind the window screen. Yan Hao dismissed his guards, then shoved the door open. Inside, a girl with an oval face trembled violently, her eyes wide with terror as she stared at him.

Yan Hao calmly removed his heavy cloak and laid it aside. He narrowed his eyes, studying the girl. She appeared no more than fifteen or sixteen—plain of face, but her chest full and rounded, hinting at a tempting curve.

He raised a finger, then yanked off her red veil. He stared intently at her terrified expression, smiled faintly, and said: “Now, it’s just you and me. Scream as loud as you like—make it your last cry!” With a sudden shove, he flung her onto the redwood bed.

Soon, the room echoed with the girl’s piercing screams, mixed with Yan Hao’s heavy breathing and wild laughter.

Along the dark corridor, two armored guards stood expressionless. Suddenly, muffled screams pierced the silence. They exchanged glances, a silent understanding passing between them. One cleared his throat and muttered: “Old Yan’s in a good mood tonight—how soon?” The other chuckled: “On days like this, it’s the only way Old Yan vents...” They continued their quiet chatter, standing guard, utterly ignoring the cries—this had become routine.