Chapter 325: We Won

In the sixteenth year of Hongwu, the twelfth day of the seventh month, at the end of the Shen Hour.

The battle outside Samarhan City has already ended for two hours.

The setting sun slants westward, dyeing the whole Gobi plain a dark red.

That red cannot be distinguished as sunset glow or blood, layered upon the sand and stretching to the horizon.

On the city wall, Longxiang Army soldiers are still on guard.

Although the remnants of Jiahanjier's troops have fled, no one dares to guarantee they won't slay a rider with a returning spear.

On the battlefield three li outside the city, the engineers' camp personnel are still busy.

Zhou Da Niu crouches beside a collapsed pit, holding a wooden stick, rummaging through the hole.

"Brother Zhou, what are you looking for?" a rookie steps up.

Zhou Da Niu, without raising his head, says, "Checking if there's any living ones."

The rookie peers into the pit, his face turning pale, and quickly withdraws.

At the bottom of the pit are only corpses, impaled on Wooden Stakes, some still bleeding.

"This... could there still be any alive?"

Zhou Da Niu stands, wipes the sweat from his face with his sleeve, and says, "Hard to say; what if there is? Prince said, rescue those who can be saved, bury the rest."

The rookie swallows, mutters softly, "These people... just now wanted to kill us."

Zhou Da Niu turns, glares at him, "Now they are prisoners, workers; remember Prince's rule clearly."

The rookie shrinks his neck, daring not to speak further.

……

Inside the city, atop a mosque's minaret, the Imam is performing the evening prayer.

His voice is long and resonant, drifting in the dusk.

The townsfolk hear the sound, and many emerge from their homes, heading toward the mosque.

Passing the Street, they see the Ming soldiers clad in iron armor still patrolling.

In squads, they are as orderly as if measured with a ruler.

But this time, the townspeople do not lower their heads and hurry away.

Someone stops, curiously sizing up the soldiers.

"These people... really won?"

"Didn't you hear? Outside the city they fought for a full hour; those Tie Mu Er, Great Khan's troops, suffered tens of thousands dead."

"Tens of thousands... how is that possible, how many were they?"

"Three thousand, I heard it was three thousand."

Three thousand against one hundred thousand, they won.

How could that be....

But the mountain of corpses and sea of blood outside the city cannot deceive anyone.

An old man selling baked flatbread stands at the corner of the Street, watching the patrolling soldiers, suddenly recalling what happened three days ago.

Back then he was also frightened, hiding at home, daring not to go out.

But now…

He hesitates, then takes a freshly baked flatbread from his cart and walks up to a young Longxiang Army soldier.

"Soldier, have a taste…"

The soldier pauses, shaking his head.

The old man, undeterred, offers the flatbread again.

"Taste it, fresh from the oven, fragrant!"

The soldier, reluctantly, takes the flatbread, pulls out a few copper coins from his chest, and hands them to the old man.

The old man waves his hand quickly.

"No money, no money, it's a gift for the soldier to eat."

The soldier stuffs the coins into his hand, turns, and walks away.

The old man looks at the copper coins, then at the iron‑armored soldiers, his eyes filled with complexity.

"These people... are different from those before."

A young man nearby whispers, "Of course they're different; they don't loot, they don't kill, they pay when they buy."

"Then why are they here?"

"I don't know, but surely they're not here to harm us."

The old man nods, pushes his cart and walks away slowly.

……

At the city gate, a group of Timur Empire conscripts are carrying corpses out of the city.

They are the group led by Aziz, sent to clean the battlefield.

Aziz walks at the front, shouldering a corpse, his face expressionless.

He has already become numb.

Three hours ago, he was a Timur Empire soldier, helping defend the city.

Now, he is helping Great Ming clean the battlefield, burying his former compatriots.

But there is no other way.

If he doesn't work, he will die.

He walks to a pre‑dug large pit and throws the corpse in.

The pit already held dozens of bodies, all soldiers of the Timur Empire.

Beside it, another pit contains the corpse of a warhorse.

Aziz stands at the pit's edge, looking at those familiar faces.

Some he knows, with whom he once drank Wine and visited the kiln together.

They are all dead now.

He sighs, turns and walks back.

After a few steps, he suddenly hears someone calling his name.

"Aziz!"

Aziz turns his head and sees a Longxiang Army soldier waving at him.

The soldier wears iron armor, his face obscured, but his voice sounds quite young.

Aziz walks over.

The soldier hands him a Water Bag and says in halting Persian, "Have some to drink."

Aziz takes it, drinks a sip, and is stunned.

It's sweet.

He lifts his head, looking at the soldier.

The soldier removes his mask, revealing a young face, and smiles at him.

"My name is Zhao Hu, and you?"

Aziz stares blankly for a while, then manages to say in broken Persian, "A…Aziz."

Zhao Hu nods, then hands him a piece of Dry Rations.

"Eat some, there's still plenty."

Aziz takes the Dry Rations, looks at the young man, and suddenly asks, "Why… why don't you kill us?"

Zhao Hu pauses, then laughs, "Why would we kill you! You didn't resist."

Aziz falls silent.

He didn't resist because he was afraid.

But these people really seem not to care who they were before.

As long as they obey, they're fine.

Zhao Hu pats his shoulder, puts on his iron mask, and turns to leave.

Aziz stands where he is, watching his back, unmoving for a long while.

…

The palace, side hall.

Tie Mu Er sits by the window, gazing at the sky outside gradually darkening.

The windows are sealed with wooden slats; only a sliver of sky can be seen through the cracks.

He doesn't know what happened outside.

But he can guess.

Jiahanjil was defeated.

The hundred‑thousand‑strong army was defeated.

He closes his eyes, leans against the chair back, and remains motionless.

The door opens.

Shahra walks in.

Tie Mu Er opens his eyes, looking at his son.