Deep within the grasslands stood Dragon City.
The royal court of the Xiongnu was brilliantly illuminated.
Touman Chanyu sat high upon his throne, receiving the worship of his people.
The ritual honoring the Wolf God had only just reached its midpoint.
Suddenly, a figure stumbled and crawled into the royal tent.
It was a fleeing soldier from Huyan Tu’s army.
He brought news that Huyan Tu’s entire force had been annihilated.
And he also brought the humiliating words that had echoed across the battlefield.
“I am Touman Chanyu’s father!”
“Sons! Hand over your cattle, sheep, and your mothers already!!”
Inside the royal tent, the smiles of every Xiongnu noble froze in place.
The muscles on Touman’s face twitched slightly.
Slowly, he rose from his throne.
Step by step, he walked toward the fleeing soldier.
“Say that again.”
His voice was calm.
The terrified soldier trembled from head to toe and repeated the two lines once more.
Touman listened.
Then fell silent.
The next second—
“Haha… HAHAHAHAHAHA!”
He threw back his head and roared with laughter, the sound making the entire royal tent hum and shake.
Grabbing a wineskin beside him, he took a huge gulp.
“Good!”
“What an interesting Qin brat!”
He wiped his mouth.
“I’ve dominated these grasslands for thirty years, and this is the first time I’ve heard such an amusing joke!”
One tribal chief stepped forward cautiously.
“Great Chanyu, the Qin army is full of tricks. Huyan Tu’s defeat cannot be ignored.”
“Ignored?”
Touman kicked over the brazier in front of him, scattering sparks everywhere.
“Ignore what?!”
“A mere eight hundred lost Qin men!”
“They used a little sneak attack to beat a pack of idiots, and now you’re all scared out of your wits?”
He swept his fierce gaze across the tent.
“The fact they dared shout through those horns means they’ve already run far away!”
“The fact they don’t dare show themselves means they’re afraid!”
“Eight hundred men, two thousand li deep into the grasslands—they came here to die!”
Touman drew the golden blade from his waist and pointed it outside the tent.
“Pass down my order!”
“Tonight’s ritual feast will become a grand celebration!”
“Slaughter cattle and sheep! Let everyone know that I, Touman, don’t even put those Qin rats in my eyes!”
“Didn’t they ask for cattle, sheep, and women?”
“Then let my warriors wait for them on top of the cattle, sheep, and women’s bellies—and watch them come deliver themselves to death!”
“AOOOHHH!!”
The entire Dragon City erupted into even crazier howls.
The bonfires blazing into the sky burned even fiercer than during the ritual.
…
At the same time—
Three hundred li away from Dragon City—
The color of the sky changed.
Yellow sand blotted out the heavens.
A massive sandstorm swept across the grasslands.
“Stop.”
The voice of Ying Ziye rang out.
The eight hundred cavalrymen halted amidst the raging wind and sand.
Wang Li wiped the sand from his face and rode closer.
“Ninth Young Master, the wind’s too strong—we can’t see anything!”
“How about we find a place to take shelter first?”
Ying Ziye pulled down his face covering.
Looking toward the direction the storm came from, he smiled.
“Shelter?”
“This is a gift sent by the Wolf God.”
He waved his hand.
“Pass down the order.”
“The entire army is to wrap cloth around the horses’ hooves and place gag-sticks in their mouths!”
“Target—Dragon City!”
“Advance at full speed!”
Wang Li was stunned.
Charging forward at full speed in weather like this?
This was madness!
But when he looked at Ying Ziye’s childish yet unquestionable face, he swallowed all his doubts.
“Yes!”
The order was carried out immediately.
Ying Ziye turned to look at someone within the ranks.
“Fusu.”
Fusu urged his horse forward.
He wore only a thin leather armor, and his face showed no expression at all.
“Here.”
“Take ten men and clear the path ahead.”
The voice of Ying Ziye was icy cold.
“I don’t want a single living pair of eyes in front of our army.”
“Understood.”
Fusu said nothing more.
He picked ten equally silent soldiers and, like blades, they cut deeper into the darkness and sandstorm.
Behind a wind-sheltered dune—
Fusu stopped.
The sand-filled wind poured into their collars, cold enough to pierce the bone.
One soldier shivered violently and tried to start a small fire for warmth.
But they had nothing to ignite it with.
Silently, Fusu pulled a bundle of bamboo slips from his robe.
The Analects.
Something he had once treasured more than life itself.
He untied the cord.
Looked at it once.
Then, one scroll after another, he tossed them into the tiny fire pit surrounded by the soldiers.
The bamboo slips ignited.
Crackling softly.
The flickering firelight illuminated his expressionless face.
One soldier stared in shock.
“Squad… Squad Leader, that’s the Sage’s—”
“The Sage?”
Fusu raised his head.
“Can the Sage keep our brothers warm?”
He stood up and dusted off his hands.
“Move.”
The group disappeared into the storm once more.
They were ghosts of the night.
Fusu walked at the very front.
Suddenly, he raised a hand.
Everyone stopped.
He closed his eyes, his ears twitching slightly in the wind.
The next second—
He opened his eyes and removed the longbow from his back.
Drawing the bow and nocking the arrow in one smooth motion.
He did not aim.
Instead, he shot toward a patch of swirling sand that appeared completely empty.
Bzzzng!
The bowstring vibrated.
The arrow instantly vanished into the darkness.
Two or three seconds later—
A faint thud came from deep within the storm.
A hidden Xiongnu scout concealed behind a sand dune collapsed with an arrow through his forehead.
Until his death, he never understood how he had been exposed.
Fusu did not stop.
Another arrow was already on the string.
The sound of the wind was his eyes.
Bzzzng!
Bzzzng!
Bzzzng!
One arrow after another.
Each shot meant another life silently withering away within the sandstorm.
The art of archery—once one of the Six Arts he studied for ritual and etiquette—
Had now become the most efficient art of killing.
Night fully descended.
The eight hundred cavalrymen of Ying Ziye had already reached the outskirts of Dragon City like silent shadows.
The sandstorm weakened slightly.
Through gaps in the curtain of sand—
They could see it.
Ahead lay the massive camp, flames soaring into the sky.
Noisy shouting, wild laughter, and women’s screams mixed together, piercing the heavens.
The Xiongnu were celebrating wildly.
Wang Li looked at the scene, his hands and feet turning ice-cold.
He finally understood the Ninth Young Master’s plan.
What terrifying calculation this was.
Qinglong walked to Ying Ziye’s horse and untied the ropes securing him.
Ying Ziye jumped down from the horse, his backside already numb.
Stretching lazily, his bones cracked loudly.
Then he turned around and looked at the eight hundred pairs of eyes glowing frighteningly in the darkness behind him.
He raised a hand and pointed toward the noisy royal court ahead.
“Brothers.”
His voice was not loud, yet it drowned out the wind itself.
“Up ahead is that old bastard’s nest.”
“Tonight—”
“We’re going to the feast!”
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