After inspecting the refugee settlement, as twilight descended, Madam Yu returned to the residence arranged by Tian Yao.
Hejian Prefecture, untouched by the assaults of the Jurchen people, retained its former splendor. The courtyard behind the government office was both opulent and warm.
The courtyard bustled with maidservants attending Madam Yu, helping her wash and change, serving exquisite food and beverages. The families of cultured bureaucrats and military generals gathered in the sitting room, accompanying Madam Yu in casual conversation.
Not until the lamps were fully illuminated did the women bid their collective farewells.
Inside the room, the curtains were drawn, the lights extinguished one by one, and the maidservants withdrew, leaving Madam Yu alone.
Only at this moment did Madam Yu slowly exhale, her weariness unconcealed as she leaned against the bed. It was unclear how much time passed before she seemed to doze off momentarily, yet in the next moment, she slowly extended her hand and retrieved a Jade Pendant from her neck.
It was a small Jade Ring, not of particularly fine quality, secured by a red string.
With her eyes closed, Madam Yu gently caressed the Jade Ring over and over.
"Young Master, it seems in this lifetime, you will leave before me," she murmured softly, her eyes glinting with unshed tears.
She gripped the Jade Ring tightly, slowly sitting upright. Gazing at the dim lamp in the room, her posture was unyielding.
The night was like ink—complete darkness enveloped the earth and sky.
But in the distance, under the night sky, torches glimmered like scattered stars, and as one drew nearer, their vast numbers revealed themselves, resembling an expansive river.
Late into the night, the clamorous slaughter of daytime had dissipated, leaving behind an air thick with the stench of blood.
Under the flickering light of torches, one could see the tattered encampments, with flags planted crookedly into the ground—charred, stained with blood and mud, their original forms unrecognizable. Many lay fallen on the earth.
The plain was encircled by trench after trench, which, at first glance, seemed devoid of life. Upon closer inspection, however, human heads moved within them.
Moans and low sobs emerged from within.
The crunching sound of boots on the ground momentarily silenced the trenches.
"What are the casualties?" a rich, sonorous voice resonated from within the trenches.
The clatter of armor resounded—a clear indication of soldiers rising to attention.
In the flickering light, their faces remained unclear; instead, shadows crowded closely in the narrow trenches.
"Reporting to the Duke, one hundred and twenty men survive on our right flank," a hoarse voice replied.
The sound plunged the trench into silence once more.
"Brave sons," the rich voice said.
Footsteps followed, moving along the trench as the heavy shadows inspected the soldiers lying and sitting within.
After an indeterminate amount of time, the steps halted, and a towering figure climbed out of the trench.
Shadows hurriedly followed, standing behind him.
The towering figure stood silently for a long time. A gust of wind blew past, carrying a mournful tune, almost as if it were the sound of war horns.
"Withdraw the military generals to the third defensive line," the rich voice commanded suddenly. "There's a ruined city wall there to rely on."
Retreat one, retreat two—now they had finally reached the third.
The masses had lost three in every ten, over half had perished, and the grand formation had scattered.
The so-called ruined city wall symbolized the beginning of a final death match.
His voice was steady; amidst the pitch-black darkness and the injured littering the ground, it sounded as calm as ever.
"Understood."
The voices of the generals behind him echoed immediately, equally fearless and composed.
"It's a pity Duolu escaped," the rich voice lamented.
"However, the people of our three counties will retreat in safety," one of the generals replied. "Exchanging him for the safety of tens of thousands of civilians—worth it."
The rich voice chuckled.
"Indeed, worth it," he said.
Others joined in his laughter.
Amid the blood-soaked battlefield, their laughter rippled like an intoxicating spring breeze.
At that moment, a vibration rumbled from the distance, as though a black mass was compressing toward them.
The laughter ceased.
"So eager to attack again? It seems Tuoba Wu is quite desperate," the rich voice observed.
"He fears reinforcements may arrive, so he wants a swift victory," a general replied.
The rich voice chuckled again.
"But I, Zhu Shan, have never waited for reinforcements," he declared. With that, his shadow swayed and turned, carrying a ripple of inky darkness. "Prepare for battle."
"Yes!" the generals shouted in unison.
The mournful sound of war horns spread across the earth in the deep night, clashing and merging with the advancing black clouds.
The horn sounds seemed to provoke the black clouds, and moments later, a buzzing roar emerged.
This roar was no longer guttural foreign speech—it was clearly Han Chinese, though the intonation was strange. Every word, however, was distinct.
"Kill Zhu Shan!"
"Kill Zhu Shan!"
"Kill Zhu Shan!"
............
Light leaked inch by inch from the ground, as the earth gradually brightened.
On this vast plain, spring seemed yet to arrive, leaving the land barren.
As dawn broke, a formation of troops appeared on the plain—roughly seven to eight thousand men, clad in immaculate armor, accompanied by ten supply carts.
The hurried sound of hooves rose from afar, and within sight emerged three black horses.
The horses galloped swiftly; their speed whipped the red cloak of the leading rider, causing their headscarf to unravel and a braid to trail behind. In the blink of an eye, they reached the military formation.
The soldiers in the formation stood solemnly; the arrival of the trio caused no stir. The three riders passed through the lines, swiftly arriving at the center near one of the carts.
Many stood by the cart, poring over maps laid atop a table. Yang Jing, Xia Yong, and Li Guorui, along with others, leaned closely, quietly exchanging words.
Approaching nearer revealed the maps were of a single area, but heavily magnified, delineating clear gorges and rural paths.
Miss Jun stood to one side, listening to their discussion, her expression calm.
"Sister," Zhao Hanqing called out, maneuvering her horse to turn slightly. Holding a whip, she pointed behind and said, "Ahead lies White Hair Ditch."
At these words, those gathered around the maps immediately smiled, with Li Guorui even clenching his fist and thrusting it triumphantly.
"This route was indeed the right choice," he said. "It shaved five full days off our journey."
"Of course, it was the right choice," Xia Yong said emphatically. "There's no doubt about it."
Li Guorui chuckled, glancing at Miss Jun with a mix of admiration.
He had lived in the northern lands for eight to nine years, yet never discovered such a viable route. Let alone from someone as young as Miss Jun, who was still in her teens.
This map...
Li Guorui looked down at the map spread across the table—how could something be drawn so precisely? Its pinpoint accuracy was almost unsettling, though some village names were off, the majority were correct.
Maps were supposed to mirror the local terrain, yet this one made it seem as though the environment had conformed to the map.
Miss Jun raised her hand, gesturing for the map to be packed away.
"We're about to enter Yizhou," she said.
Though her voice was gentle, the mention of Yizhou sent a shiver through those nearby—a tingling combination of excitement and dread.
Yizhou.
These soldiers, these generals, in all their years had yet to set foot onto the Jurchen land, much less lead troops armed with cannons deep into it.
The sensation was equal parts fear and exhilaration.
Miss Jun took a few steps forward, surveying them before turning her gaze to the regiment.
The banners fluttering above the regiment were plentiful, yet only displayed two names—Shun'an Army and Qingshan Army.
The few remaining Qingshan Army soldiers no longer formed separate ranks; instead, they intermingled with the Shun'an Army forces. Many Shun'an troops had donned the same type of armor as the Qingshan soldiers, making it almost impossible to distinguish one from the other.
"Lord Li," Miss Jun said, turning to Li Guorui. "Bringing your troops to Yizhou with me—does this count as unauthorized troop deployment?"
The Shun'an Army in Hejian had been dispatched to Bazhou under the pretext of evacuating civilians southward. Yet Li Guorui had led them north, successfully concealing it from the Hejian Camp.
"This isn't unauthorized deployment," Li Guorui said firmly. "We belong to Duke Zhu Shan's command."
What difference does that make?
Yang Jing, Xia Yong, and others cast him questioning looks.
"Soldiers obey generals, generals obey commanders, commanders follow their sovereign. The dynasty's orders are far-reaching; as mere soldiers and generals, we do not comprehend nor are we qualified to. The dynasty gives commands for Duke Zhu Shan to follow, and we follow Duke Zhu Shan's orders. The Duke has never commanded us to retreat, and now, with him fighting in Yizhou against the Jurchen, we naturally must join him and fight." Li Guorui continued, his expression grave.
"Thus, this is not unauthorized action. If the dynasty seeks to punish, the blame lies not with us but with Duke Zhu Shan."
Miss Jun laughed aloud.
From among the ranks, Eighteenth Jin's lips curled into a faint, mocking smile.
"What are you laughing at?" Lei Zhonglian asked quickly.
Eighteenth Jin, uncharacteristically, responded.
"I laugh at how proximity breeds likeness," he said. "Even a mere junior officer dares to boldly lie while sounding so righteous."
"I think what he said is true, not deceitful," Lei Zhonglian argued.
Eighteenth Jin looked at him.
"Because you are blind," he retorted.
Lei Zhonglian raised an eyebrow, prepared to retort, but Miss Jun's voice sounded again, prompting him to hold his tongue and focus intently.
Miss Jun turned her gaze to the regiment.
"We have fewer than eight thousand men," she stated, "and are about to face tens of thousands of Jurchen troops, in their land, within their borders. Are you afraid?"
"No!" Their collective shout rang out.
"Why are you unafraid?" Miss Jun asked.
"Because Duke Zhu Shan does not fear!" they shouted again. "Because Miss Jun does not fear!"
Li Guorui joined the shout—it seemed instinctive, almost natural.
Indeed, Duke Zhu Shan did not fear, plunging deep into the Jurchen territory to strike down their prince, and Miss Jun, a fragile young woman, remained unafraid, steadfast in leading them to confront the Jurchen forces.
Besides, with this finely crafted armor, and the supply carts carrying the Divine Artifact weapons—each capable of replacing ten soldiers—what was there to fear!
As their cries filled the air, Miss Jun smiled and mounted her horse, followed closely by Li Guorui, Xia Yong, and others.
Miss Jun urged her horse forward a few steps.
"Then let us…" she said, taking the long blade handed over by Zhao Hanqing and pointing northward, "rescue Duke Zhu Shan."
Within the regiment, a cacophony arose as long spears and long knives formed a forest pointing northward. The resounding battle cries shook the heavens.
"Rescue Duke Zhu Shan!"
"Rescue Duke Zhu Shan!"
"Rescue Duke Zhu Shan!"