Winter came early that year, with snow falling as early as September—a light dusting, like tiny white blossoms blooming amidst spring pasture grass.
The Daxia Army had retreated once more. This was already the third day of their siege, yet the anticipated large-scale assault had not materialized. Zhao Yang cautiously surrounded Dragon's Roar Pass, blocking Chu Qiao's intended advance. His thoughts at this moment were undoubtedly complex: fearing it might be a trap set by Yanbei, yet also afraid that missing this chance to kill Chu Qiao would be a mistake if Yan and Chu had truly turned against each other. After all, rumors of discord between Yan Xun and Chu Qiao had spread far and wide over the past two years, and Zhao Yang couldn't possibly be unaware.
At night, a fierce wind swept across the land. Chu Qiao stood on a high earthen slope, gazing at the war-torn battlefield. The night breeze lifted her enchanting long hair, making it flutter like a swarm of dancing butterflies.
The war had dragged on for three full years. Dragon's Roar Pass was built several zhang taller than Wild Goose Cry Pass. The vast wilderness between the two armies lay desolate, with autumn grass reaching waist-high and white frost clinging to the blades. When the autumn wind blew, the grass rustled like a shimmering white sea, reflecting silvery light under the moonlight, dazzlingly beautiful. A flock of crows flew overhead, stirring up fine snow mist. One crow's sharp claws lightly swept through the grass, effortlessly picking up something—a pale, glimmering object that vanished in an instant.
Though she had only glimpsed it, Chu Qiao knew immediately what it was. Her gaze returned to the white sea of grass before her, and a wave of sorrow and disgust slowly rose within her. How many young bones lay buried beneath these countless swaying tendrils?
War, like a devouring maw, had bloodily consumed countless vibrant lives. The desolate winds of this chaotic era swept through the broken eaves of shattered homes, leaving behind mournful howls like the lamenting cries of lonely souls from the underworld. And she—was she too an executioner standing beside this world-ending blade?
"A Chu..." In the darkness, a low voice seemed to call softly: "A Chu..."
It was the same voice she had heard over two thousand past nights—a young man nestling beside her, pulling up her quilt, whispering: "A Chu, are you cold?"
Back then, the chilly wind pierced through the window paper, and the cold moonlight outside lay pale upon the ground.
Birds flew across the sky, and twilight snow stretched for thousands of miles.
Perhaps a person's life is like an unfathomable game of chess—the path ahead obscured, obstacles on all sides. You never know where to place your next move or when to stop. Once the game begins, you must struggle on with all your might. Yet in the end, even if you fought with all your strength, you might find yourself drifting further from victory.
She slowly closed her eyes, and countless mountains and rivers flashed through her mind. Hazily, she seemed to see so many faces: the upright and gentle Mr. Wu, the calm and wise Miss Yu, the lively and clever Huanhuan, the kind and honest Xiao He, Xue Zhiyuan who died to sound the alarm, Wen Yang who was executed defending the army flag, Feng Ting, Murong, Wu Danyu who charged alone into the enemy camp brandishing his sword only to be pierced by ten thousand arrows, the living and dead soldiers of the Xiuli Army, countless residents of Shangshen, Huihui, and Beishuo, even Cao Mengtong who committed suicide to atone for his mistakes, and those pedantic Datong elders...A lone, weak army with no provisions or supplies, in the bitter cold and freezing weather, leading tens of thousands of unarmed civilians. Time passed bit by bit, the enemy's iron hooves gradually losing patience. Children wailed from hunger. Winter was approaching, and heavy snow would soon blanket this vast, desolate land.
Chu Qiao lifted her head to gaze at the empty sky, faintly seeming to see another pair of eyes—eyes that had forever sunk into the depths of icy seas, quietly watching her. Stripped of their former intensity, fury, cold sharpness, and sarcasm, only a pool of serene understanding remained, repeating over and over: Survive...
I know.
Chu Qiao faintly curled the corners of her lips, smiling softly at the empty sky as she whispered, "I will always persevere."
She turned to look at the undulating camps stretching into the distance and said calmly, "I will always protect you."
**
In the autumn of the 778th year of the Baicang Calendar, at the foot of Dragon's Roar Pass, the Daxia Army completed the first encirclement in history. Nearly 130,000 troops surrounded Dragon's Roar Pass from all sides, cutting off all avenues of escape. Various long-range siege weapons were continuously transported to the front lines. It was foreseeable that a battle of vastly mismatched strength was about to unfold.
Although Zhao Yang was once again facing Chu Qiao—the same commander who had defeated him twice at Chidu and Beishuo—this time, he was not worried. Firstly, Dragon's Roar Pass was very close to Wild Goose Cry Pass, and he had prepared ample reserve forces. If he discovered it was a trap, he could easily retreat to the city. Secondly, Chu Qiao had no city to defend this time and no sharp arrows to utilize. Pitting the 5,000 lightly armored cavalry of the Xiuli Army and a group of elderly, weak, and infirm civilians against his 100,000 heavily armored troops on the open plains was nothing short of suicide. Thirdly, Yanbei spies had finally sent back news the day before: just seven days ago, Yan Xun and Chu Qiao had clashed fiercely outside Beishuo City, resulting in tens of thousands of casualties. Now, the core members of Yanbei's Datong faction were nearly wiped out, leaving only Chu Qiao. If this situation still turned out to be a trap, then he could only say that Yan Xun was far too ruthless and cunning—beyond what any ordinary person could withstand.
On the morning of September 18th, as dawn barely broke and a thick fog enveloped the land, the thunderous beat of war drums and the blare of military horns suddenly erupted. Like lightning tearing through the sky, it pierced the most vulnerable hearts of the Xiuli Army and the civilians.
The morning sunlight filtered through the white mist, casting golden shadows across the vast wilderness. The iron-gray armor of the Daxia Army spread like an overwhelming ocean, gradually creeping over the edge of the plains. The heavy stomping of their feet shook the earth, the deafening noise seeming to crawl from the soles of their feet up their spines. The civilians let out panicked screams, huddling tightly together as they fearfully watched the vast enemy forces. Their own small group seemed like a mere speck of dust compared to the opposing multitude.
"Heavens!"
Someone murmured in awe, "What is that? An avalanche?"
"Ready!"
A sharp command suddenly rang out from the enemy ranks. Immediately after, rows of infantrymen moved through the front-line cavalry, kneeling on one knee and preparing to charge.
"Throw!"
"Whoosh!"Spears pierced the sky, tracing arcs as they descended. A flock of birds happened to pass by and were instantly impaled by the dense rain of spears. Blood showered from midair amidst scattered feathers. The civilians had just opened their mouths in terror, not yet able to scream in fear, when the sky-filling spear rain came thrusting down.
Piercing wails immediately soared to the heavens like a desperate elegy, rising high into the clouds. Warhorses neighed wildly in unison, their roars resembling trapped beasts.
"All troops, form ranks! Charge!"
Amid the bloody storm, Chu Qiao sat astride her horse, raising her silver war blade as she charged at the forefront. Upon seeing this, the five thousand Xiuli Army soldiers followed behind her in orderly formation without hesitation or wavering. Though traces of fear and trepidation showed on the young soldiers' faces, none retreated or shrank from battle.
He Xiao, guarding Chu Qiao's side, shouted fiercely: "Brothers, don't let them take one step closer to the civilians!"
"Fight to the death!"
Deafening battle cries erupted immediately, stirring the blood with their fervent shouts.
Facing them was a vast ocean - these five thousand charging soldiers resembled but a small wave, seemingly suicidal in their determination.
Everyone was stunned: the despairing Yanbei civilians, the Yanbei troops watching the spectacle from Dragon's Roar Pass, Daxia's elite soldiers and commanders, including Zhao Yang. No one could have imagined that Chu Qiao, with so few troops, would dare to charge head-on against Zhao Yang's hundred-thousand-strong army. The opposing weapons stretched like a sea, cold as the underworld's ghost realm. Suddenly, everyone understood - this was open plains where Chu Qiao had no defensive advantages. Letting the Daxia soldiers reach the pass would only drag civilians into the battlefield. Her choice was to protect the innocent women and children behind her.
Zhao Yang was slightly shaken, his gaze growing somewhat dazed. Watching the Xiuli Army brandishing their war blades drawing nearer, watching the green-cloaked girl leading the charge, his blood gradually began to boil.
"Soldiers! Is your courage inferior to a woman's?"
The Daxia commander shouted loudly, and the black ocean instantly erupted with deafening roars.
"All troops attack! Charge!"
"Kill the enemy!" Uniform battle horns suddenly blared as iron-gray war banners fluttered in the wind. Soldiers spurred their horses into furious gallops, like an angry sea breaching dikes, tearing open a raging gap as they swept forth overwhelmingly.
"Spread out! Form ranks!"
Chu Qiao issued the command. However, the Xiuli Army's so-called formation was merely stretching into a long horizontal line facing the Daxia army. The line stretched so far that all five thousand soldiers stood shoulder to shoulder, winding continuously, shielding the entire Dragon's Roar Pass behind them. The soldiers wore black armor with fiery red cloud banners embroidered on their shoulders, gleaming brilliantly in the sunlight. They held their war blades diagonally before them, controlling their horses with their legs, their faces calm as silent stone as they watched the churning dust of the opposing cavalry.
This was utter madness - sheer suicide!The Daxia army drew ever closer, dust swirling and smoke billowing as they approached, nearer and nearer, so close that one could smell the breath from the horses' nostrils. Finally, with a thunderous crash, the two armies collided violently. A storm of fury erupted abruptly, flesh and steel clashing fiercely, the clang of weapons ringing in their ears. Wave after wave of attacks surged forth, blades gleaming and swords flashing, blood splattering everywhere. The fragile defense lines seemed struck by massive boulders, leaving only scattered limbs and blood as remnants after the muffled echoes of impact.
Close-quarters combat was as sharp and terrifying as a dark night, the stench of blood clouding the soldiers' vision. Layers of corpses piled up on the ground, their ears buzzing with the symphony of hoofbeats, shouts, screams, curses, and battle cries. War blades clashed, emitting fiery sparks. The wounded no longer groaned; the fight made them forget their physical pain. The ground was a slippery, chaotic mess, blood and severed limbs mingling with the melted snow from the previous night, resembling a bowl of red mud. Blades were notched, spears snapped, and eyes were caked with blood, obscuring the path ahead and the figures around them. All thoughts narrowed to a single conviction: kill, kill, kill! They hacked and slashed relentlessly, fighting until their last breath. The words of the young woman before their departure echoed incessantly in their ears: "Whoever lets the enemy break through their line will be the Xiuli Army's sinner!"
When weapons were gone, they lunged forward to bite through the enemy's throat. When warhorses were lost, they grabbed the horses' legs, dragging the riders down with them.
The brutality of the battle was appalling. He Xiao shed his cumbersome armor and swung his blade, cleaving a Daxia soldier's skull in half. Crimson blood and pale brain matter splattered across his face, but the man paid no heed, immediately seeking his next target. The Daxia soldiers were terrified by his fearless ferocity, shrinking back and trying to flee his line.
The individual combat prowess of the Xiuli Army was unnaturally strong. A single soldier standing there was like an inexhaustible machine. Even with chests pierced, thighs stabbed, or arms slashed, they fought on heedlessly, bleeding profusely. One soldier, his abdomen run through, intestines dangling like cotton from his waistband, still roared and charged forward.
The Daxia Army was stunned. These were not men—no, they were no longer human. They were a pack of madmen, a horde of demons. Zhao Yang gnashed his teeth in fury. Again, it was like this. It seemed to happen every time. He couldn't understand—what kind of sorcery did that woman possess? What was it about her that made these soldiers so fearlessly devoted? To command such fierce generals and valiant troops was the ultimate, unattainable dream for any commander. Wealth couldn't achieve it, power couldn't secure it, intimidation couldn't compel it. Yet she had accomplished it with such ease.The war drums beat relentlessly as one regiment after another charged silently into the blood-soaked battlefield. The plains were flooded with gore, the muddy earth unable to absorb the endless nourishment, forming small winding streams of blood that coiled beneath human feet. The Daxia officers couldn't comprehend it—even if the enemy were truly an iron wall, they should have breached it by now. Why did that defensive line, seemingly on the verge of collapse at any moment, stubbornly refuse to fall?
Three vanguard heavy cavalry units had been completely wiped out, and five infantry regiments were decimated. Before that defensive line, corpses piled over three feet high, resembling a low wall. From dawn till noon, the battle showed no signs of ending, yet the defense grew increasingly solid instead of faltering. Zhao Yang knew: the Daxia Army was losing its nerve. Faced with such frenzied, suicidal assaults, even he felt his temples throbbing.
The sky darkened, the sun gradually swallowed by clouds, as if unwilling to witness the desperate slaughter below.
Zhao Yang even wondered: Was this Yanbei's scheme? Did they deliberately deploy such elite forces to lull him into carelessness, drawing him away from the pass to destroy his heavy armor? But if so, why hadn't their reinforcements from within the pass arrived yet?
Though perplexed, Zhao Yang felt his fighting spirit ebbing away layer by layer. Facing the Xiuli Army fighting with their backs against the wall, he grew somewhat fearful. Even if he won, what would he gain? Five thousand corpses of the Xiuli Army? This was no easily conquered battle. The idea of killing Chu Qiao and eliminating Yanbei's most troublesome enemy no longer burned with the same fervor.
At the final moment of fading sunlight, Daxia's retreat horns finally sounded. The Daxia soldiers cheered in unison, retreating like a receding tide.
The Xiuli Army no longer had the strength to pursue. Almost the instant the Daxia forces returned to their outer camps, the Xiuli soldiers collapsed en masse, like a dam that had exhausted its last ounce of strength.
Zhao Yang immediately spotted this development. Wheeling his horse around, he ordered the bugler to sound the charge again, then galloped alone toward the direction opposite his retreating troops, shouting: "Warriors, follow me!"
The Daxia soldiers turned back in alarm, only to find the once-impenetrable defensive line gone. The shrewd veterans instantly understood: facing twenty times their numbers, the Xiuli Army had long been at the end of their tether. Seeing the retreat, they had finally collapsed.
This was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity!
Thus, the entire army turned their horses and charged after Zhao Yang once more.
"All troops, assemble!"
In the cold northern wind, a calm, clear voice rang out—not particularly loud, yet audible to every single person.Then, just as all the Daxia soldiers were rubbing their eyes in disbelief, behind that wall of corpses, some staggering figures rose one by one like ghosts. Their clothes were tattered, their faces pale and uneven, their war blades chipped and broken. Dragging their exhausted bodies, they slowly stepped forward, taking their original positions, shoulder to shoulder—one, two, three, ten, a hundred, a thousand...
It was as if the morning's scene had been replicated. The blood-soaked soldiers stood up once more, swaying as they formed a long battle line, looking as if a single breath could knock them down. Yet when they stood together, their bodies suddenly straightened like a forest of stone. The defensive line once again became as solid as a mountain. He Xiao stood before them, fiercely swinging his war blade as thousands of voices roared in unison: "For freedom!"
Like a thunderclap rolling across the plains, everything was shaken. Without bugles or war drums, the Daxia soldiers involuntarily halted. A terrifying despair welled up in their hearts: "We cannot win."
No one knew who first conceived this thought, but soon it spread rapidly through the army via exchanged glances. Facing those tattered, blood-soaked enemies, the Daxia soldiers almost simultaneously felt both dreadful fear and profound respect.
Zhao Yang stood at the forefront of his troops, his face as still as water. Gazing at the girl now completely drenched in crimson, her figure straight as a spear, heartfelt admiration surged within him. Finally, Zhao Yang dismounted, removed his helmet, and before the hundred thousand Daxia troops, before the five thousand living and dead Xiuli Army soldiers, before tens of thousands of Yanbei civilians, before countless eyes within Dragon's Roar Pass, he deeply, deeply bowed his noble waist!
The Daxia soldiers followed suit, repeating this gesture. Facing the army they had once despised as traitors, they bowed deeply, then almost in unison echoed their enemy's battle cry: "For freedom!"
The Daxia Army withdrew with a thunderous retreat, leaving the world desolate and somber. An autumn wind swept across the blood-stained grasslands, everything feeling as unreal as a grand dream.
None of the soldiers fell again. They remained standing in place, as if fearing the Daxia Army might turn back and attack once more.
Chu Qiao dragged her heavy war blade, her posture erect as she slowly advanced. Her steps were heavy, her face pale as snow, blood staining her blue fur cloak—whether hers or others', it was impossible to tell. The soldiers watched her, seemingly unable to believe the Daxia Army had truly retreated. She stood there, the wind tousling the disheveled hair across her forehead, brushing past her delicate brows and face. Her voice was already hoarse, her eyes slightly reddened. Like Zhao Yang, she bowed deeply to her own army and spoke slowly, word by word: "Warriors, you have won."
A broken sob suddenly rose from behind, swelling like a bursting dam, growing louder and louder. It was the civilians they had protected, now rushing forward with tear-streaked faces.
Led by He Xiao, the Xiuli Army bowed to her in unison, their resolute voices merging into one: "You have worked hard, my lady."
"You... have worked hard."Dark clouds blotted out the sun above. Chu Qiao rose to her feet, two streams of clear tears silently tracing down her cheeks.
**
The Daxia Army did not launch another assault, yet they made no move to open their encirclement and allow the others to depart. The merciless siege had truly begun. At this moment, Zhao Yang was convinced of the accuracy of the intelligence—Chu Qiao had indeed fallen out with Yan Xun. They intended to leave Yanbei, and the gates of Dragon's Roar Pass would not open for them. Aside from heading south to take the water route through Nanjiang to Biantang, their only path was through his defensive line. And Yan Xun had already completely sealed off the southern water route through Nanjiang.
He was certain of this, beyond any doubt.
On the twentieth of September, it began to snow. The snowfall was light at first, but it continued for two full days. The provisions of the Xiuli Army were nearly exhausted. If not for the civilians who had brought some grain with them, they would have already starved. All the army tents had been allocated to the elderly, weak, women, and children, with over thirty people crammed into each tent. Yet, even so, the old and the young continued to freeze to death night after night. The army had run out of medical supplies, and the wounded soldiers could not even get a sip of warm water. Chu Qiao could only watch helplessly as cold and injuries claimed the lives of warriors who had stood unyielding against the Daxia Army, utterly powerless to stop it.
Each time she saw soldiers dying one by one, or watched young children crying from hunger and cold in the bitter wind, she wished she could rush back to Dragon's Roar Pass at once, kneel before Yan Xun, and beg his forgiveness, pleading with him to save these innocent people.
She smiled helplessly, feeling completely drained of strength. Yan Xun was indeed the person in this world who understood her weaknesses best. He had probably calculated this long ago—she wasn't afraid of Daxia, not of war, not of slaughter, not even of death. The only thing she feared was having those who loved her sacrifice themselves in vain for her.
Over the past two days, she had led her troops in four assaults, all of which ended in failure. Zhao Yang maintained a strictly defensive posture, neither engaging in battle nor responding to their attacks. Each time they charged forward, they were met with a dense volley of arrows, leaving dozens of innocent corpses behind.
On the evening of September 22nd, a blizzard descended, and the temperature plummeted abruptly. The biting cold wind swept through, and within just half a night, over fifty wounded soldiers and more than eighty civilians had frozen to death. Eventually, some of the civilians could no longer endure it. A woman in her forties suddenly broke away from the army and ran toward Dragon's Roar Pass, shouting for the gates to be opened. Like a flood, more people followed, abandoning the tents of the Xiuli Army. Braving the cold wind, they wept bitterly and stumbled toward Dragon's Roar Pass.
At the brink of life and death, the fear of death in their hearts finally overcame their conscience. They abandoned the army that had fought desperately to protect them and fled toward their homeland.
The soldiers of the Xiuli Army stood silently by, neither speaking out nor attempting to stop them. They watched expressionlessly as the weeping, broken crowd departed.
An elderly woman in her sixties ran weeping to Chu Qiao, clutching a child whose breathing was already faint. Her face was filled with shame as she looked at Chu Qiao, wanting to say something but only managing a few choked sobs.
The child's face had turned pale and bluish. Chu Qiao knew that without warmth, he would likely die soon.
Her throat felt as if something were stuck in it. She felt no anger, no sorrow, no resentment toward their betrayal.
As a soldier, she had failed to protect the people who had supported her, and could only watch them die innocent deaths. She had nothing to say. She couldn't bear to look into the old woman's guilt-ridden eyes, for the guilt in her own heart was even greater. She could only lower her head in silence, wordlessly expressing her emotions.
I'm sorry.
Gradually, bright lights began to illuminate Dragon's Roar Pass. Below the gate, countless elderly, children, and women stumbled forward. People shouted loudly, "Open the gates! Open the gates!" Their voices were filled with indescribable despair and fear. In the end, they were just ordinary civilians whose only wish was to survive, with perhaps an occasional flicker of hope for a slightly better life.
The snow grew heavier, blanketing the world in white. An officer on the city wall shouted, "Do not approach! Fall back! Fall back!"
But no one paid him any attention. His voice was drowned out by the clamoring crowd. The civilians wept bitterly, pressing against the city gate, pounding on it with all their might, and crying out, "Open the gates! Let us in! We are the people of Yanbei! Why won't you open the gates?"
Their cries pierced the sky. The soldiers of Dragon's Roar Pass were stunned. They had all clearly witnessed the battle two days earlier, and now, not a single one of them was willing to raise their weapons against their former comrades. Seeing these civilians, they stood frozen, unsure how to fulfill their duties as defenders of the pass.
"Open the gates!"The people frantically battered against the city gates. Someone fell, and those behind pressed forward without regard, trampling the fallen into a bloody pulp.
Sobs and screams echoed across the wilderness as the world turned bleak and cold. Snow fell thick and fast, blanketing everything in a vast expanse of white.
"Step back! Or we'll shoot arrows!"
The officers on the city walls shouted loudly.
"Don't shoot! We're just ordinary people!"
"Please! Save my child!" The woman who had run out first knelt on the ground, holding up the swaddled infant in her arms that had long ceased crying. She wept bitterly, "You don't have to save me! But I beg you, please save my child!"
"Open the gates! Open the gates! Let us in!"
...
"Lady Chu!" the city guards shouted from the walls. "Come back! We cannot open the gates unless you enter. His Majesty has decreed that if you return, all will be forgiven!"
"Lady Chu! All will be forgiven!"
Hundreds of city guards shouted in unison, their voices rolling like thunder across the vast plain.
The people seemed to have found their savior. Some suddenly turned and knelt toward the direction of the Xiuli Army, crying out in despair:
"My Lady! Please go back!"
"My Lady! Save us, please go back!"
"My Lady! Go back and apologize to His Majesty!"
"My Lady!" The woman rushed out from the crowd, stumbled, and fell to the ground. The child in her arms was jolted and suddenly began to wail with a heart-wrenching cry, sharper than the sabers of Daxia. "My Lady, I beg you, save my child! My Lady, I beg you, save my child!"
The world was so cold, so utterly dark. The Xiuli Army stood in silence, watching their commander.
Chu Qiao felt as if her heart had been torn into a thousand pieces. She bit her lower lip tightly, the taste of blood spreading in her mouth. Her hands were icy cold, her fingertips trembling faintly.
Yan Xun, Yan Xun, you had foreseen this all along, hadn't you?
You had anticipated all of this. Are you now waiting quietly on the Huolei Plain outside Beishuo, waiting for me to return and kneel before you in apology?
The screams around her came in waves. Tens of thousands of people knelt at her feet, their heads bowed to the ground, weeping openly before her. Just days ago, they had raised their fists and sworn allegiance to her, shouting slogans of "Long live freedom!" But now, they were pleading with her, begging her to return and apologize to Yan Xun.
Reality was so cruel, yet so inescapable.
Her eyes were dry, unable to shed any more tears. A bitter taste surged wildly in her chest. Fate had driven her into an abyss of despair, where every step forward seemed to leave her battered and bruised.
"My Lady."
He Xiao approached and stood firmly behind her, his gaze filled with worry. In his eyes, one could glimpse a sea of heartache and compassion.
"My Lady..."
He wanted to persuade her, but he didn't know what to say. Everything was so absurd and ridiculous. The world was so vast, yet where could they go?
"He Xiao,"
Chu Qiao sighed softly, feeling as if the blood in her veins had frozen solid. Despair made her wish to die on the spot, yet she forced herself to issue a brief command: "Order the entire army, we..."At that moment, rapid hoofbeats suddenly sounded from behind. The soldiers of the Xiuli Army swiftly turned to see the menacing war banners of Daxia approaching—Zhao Yang was leading his troops back for another assault!
"Pass the order to the entire army! Follow me to resist the Xia invaders!"
For the first time in her life, Chu Qiao found the Daxia army so endearing. She didn't know if it was right to think this way, but like an ostrich, she just wanted to flee this place. With the Xia forces attacking, she could no longer afford to hesitate—she had to turn back and fight! Yet, in her heart, she quietly thanked the heavens for sparing her from making that heart-wrenching decision at this moment, even though it might cost her dearly.
"Your Highness! The entire army is ready to attack."
"No need!" Zhao Yang said indifferently. "We're just making a round and leaving."
"Ah?" His subordinate was slightly taken aback. "Why?"
Zhao Yang remained silent for a long time, his gaze deep as he stared into the thick darkness. After a while, he said quietly, "We can't let her return to Yanbei."
This back-and-forth fighting lasted the entire night. Daxia seemed to treat Dragon's Roar Pass like an amusement park, circling back every now and then. It wasn't until the sun dispersed the long night and the heavy snow stopped that the retreat horn finally sounded.
Chu Qiao led her exhausted troops back to camp, only to be met with the silent eyes of countless civilians. Rows of corpses were neatly laid out in front of the army—lives that had been vibrant just yesterday now lay lifeless on the ground like fish out of water. The heavy snow had covered their faces, piling up into small snowy mounds.
As the battlefield quieted, people gradually began to leave the camp, slowly moving away. The trickle of people grew into a stream, then a river, and finally into a vast, dark ocean. They weren't heading toward Dragon's Roar Pass or Yanbei, but were slowly making their way toward Daxia's Wild Goose Cry Pass.
"Come back!"
Ping An, standing beside Chu Qiao, suddenly shouted loudly. He tried to pull the people back but was shoved to the ground. Lying there, he yelled, "Come back, all of you! Don't go!"
But no one paid him any attention.
The crowd gradually moved farther away, approaching Zhao Yang's army. They raised their hands high in surrender, repeatedly emphasizing that they were just civilians.
A contingent from Zhao Yang's army stepped forward and ordered them to kneel. Thousands of civilians dropped to their knees in unison, raising their hands and kowtowing frantically. From afar, the sound of suppressed sobs and the triumphant laughter of the Xia soldiers drifted over. The soldiers of the Xiuli Army stood frozen in place, some silently shedding tears, but they could say nothing. What could they say? Encourage these unarmed people to fight the enemy? Or promise that they would rescue them?
Heavy snow began to fall from the sky once more. Chu Qiao's heart felt as cold as a stone beneath the ice. Her gaze was vacant, the war banners fluttered like fiery red clouds, and the world seemed desolate. Winter of the seventh or eighth year, welcome.
————Divider————
Update tomorrow at 3 PM sharp.
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