Chapter 380: Killed the Enemy

On the streets of Samarkand, the setting sun dyed the whole city a golden hue.

Zhu Biao stood at the city gate, watching the city his second younger brother had captured, and a vague feeling churned in his heart.

The city walls were taller than he imagined, and the city itself larger than he imagined.

The blue‑domed mosques glimmered in the afterglow, different from the glazed tiles of Yingtian Prefecture, yet equally beautiful.

On the street, the populace included Han People, Persians, Turks, and blond‑eyed European merchants; people of all kinds crowded onto a single street, and the sounds of haggling rose and fell.

"Big brother, let's go, back to the residence first," Zhu Yong said beside him.

Zhu Biao nodded and followed his younger brother inside.

Zhu Xiongying trailed behind, his eyes darting—one moment at the mosque here, the next at the flatbread stall there, and then fixed on a Persian merchant leading a camel.

"Second uncle, that person's clothing is so strange," he whispered.

Zhu Yong turned his head, smiled, "That's a Persian merchant, coming from the west to trade; you'll get used to seeing them later."

Zhu Xiongying let out a soft "oh," and kept looking around.

After about the time it takes to finish a cup of tea, hurried footsteps came from ahead.

Guanyin Nu came forward leading Zhu Huanhuan and Zhu Qiong Jiong.

"Big brother..." Guanyin Nu saluted, her voice low but steady.

Zhu Biao quickly helped her up, smiling, "You younger sister‑in‑law, thank you for your effort."

Guanyin Nu shook her head, her eyes a little red, but said nothing.

She has never been the type to wear her emotions on her face.

Zhu Huanhuan stood behind her mother, bowing properly, and said, "Uncle."

Zhu Biao looked at this eldest niece, already seventeen, graceful and poised, her features like Guanyin Nu's but her temperament more like Zhu Yong's—calm and restrained, standing there neither humble nor arrogant.

"Huan Huan has grown," Zhu Biao laughed.

Zhu Huanhuan bowed her head slightly and replied, "Uncle, the journey has been hard for you."

Zhu Biao waved his hand, his gaze landing on the half‑grown boy beside him.

Zhu Qiong Jiong wore a half‑worn iron armor, the Wolf Fang Club slung over his shoulder, its head still stained with blood that hadn't been wiped clean.

The twelve‑year‑old boy was almost as tall as his shoulder, his back straight as a sword freshly drawn from its scabbard in the sunset.

Blood still smeared on his face, his eyes shone terrifyingly, and a murderous aura that seemed to have just descended from the battlefield radiated from his whole body.

Zhu Biao examined him for a moment, then suddenly laughed, "Qiong Jiong, have you killed the enemy?"

Zhu Qiong Jiong grinned, "Killed them, Uncle. A few days ago I fought alongside father and killed about a hundred."

He spoke lightly, as if merely saying he had eaten a few buns today.

Zhu Biao nodded, his eyes full of satisfaction, "Good lad, even harsher than your father back then. Your father only went to war at fourteen; you, at twelve, have already killed a hundred."

Zhu Qiong Jiong puffed his chest, then scratched his head and said, "Uncle, my father says killing enemies is not about numbers, but about usefulness."

"Your father is right," Zhu Biao patted his shoulder, his hand lingering on the boy's shoulder for a moment, feeling the solid muscles beneath the iron armor.

This child is born to be a warrior.

Zhu Xiongying came up from behind, his eyes sparkling as he looked at his cousin.

He was three years older than Zhu Qiong Jiong and taller, yet standing before this aura‑laden cousin, he felt like a frail scholar.

"Qiong Jiong, you really killed over a hundred?" he couldn't help asking.

Zhu Qiong Jiong grinned, "Brother Xiong Ying, if you don't believe it, later I'll take you outside the city to see the prisoners' camp; that Ottoman Marshal's banner is the one I seized back."

Zhu Xiongying's eyes brightened further, and he turned to Zhu Yong, "Second uncle, really?"

Zhu Yong nodded, "It's true; the banner hangs in his tent, you can see it later."

Zhu Xiongying nodded vigorously, his gaze at Zhu Qiong Jiong now tinged with a few more degrees of admiration.

He suddenly recalled his childhood, when his father told him the story of his second uncle breaking through the gates of Kaiping City with three hammer blows; back then he thought his second uncle was the greatest man under heaven.

Now he also has a brother like that.

Zhu Biao looked at the two children, a slight smile curling his lips.

He remembered his own and his second brother, also like that: one literary, one martial, one steady, one fierce.

"Let's go in and talk," Zhu Yong led the way.

The Governor‑General's Office stood in the city center; it had once been Tie Mu Er's royal palace, now converted into Wu Wang Fu.

The courtyard was spacious but lacked luxury, with blue bricks underfoot, a few pomegranate trees, and weapon racks piled in the corners, making it look more like a barracks.

Zhu Biao entered the main hall, sat on a chair, and let out a long sigh.

It took over two months to travel from Yingtian Prefecture to here—by train, carriage, and horseback, the journey was bumpy, but finally they arrived.

Zhu Xiongying sat beside his father, his back straight, yet his eyes couldn't help glancing out the door; he wanted to see that Ottoman Marshal's banner.

Zhu Yong sat opposite him; Guanyin Nu took Zhu Huanhuan to arrange dinner, and Zhu Qiong Jiong leaned his Wolf Fang Club against the wall, sitting beside Zhu Xiongying.

"Big brother, how long was the journey?" Zhu Yong asked.

"Over two months—took the train from Yingtian to Lanzhou, twelve days, then from Lanzhou westward for nearly two months," Zhu Biao said, taking the tea Zhu Huanhuan handed him and sipping.

"The road wasn't easy, was it!"

"It was tough; the Gobi flats were treacherous, the carriage got stuck in sand pits a few times, but Xiong Ying led people to pull it out."

Zhu Yong looked at his nephew.

Zhu Xiongying smiled shyly, "Second uncle, I was just lending a hand."

Zhu Yong nodded, saying nothing.

Zhu Biao set down his teacup, looking at his younger brother, "Second brother, you've worked hard these years."

Zhu Yong shook his head, "Not hard; you, big brother, are the one who suffers. Court affairs—so many documents to approve, so many people to manage. Over here I'm just fighting; once the battle's over, that's it."

Zhu Biao laughed, "You really are carefree."

The two brothers glanced at each other, and said nothing further.

Some words need not be spoken; they are understood in the heart.

Zhu Huanhuan brought up several plates of snacks, including local naan from Samarkhan, pastries brought from Yingtian Prefecture, and laid them out on a table.