DLERB -Chapter 115 Father, We’re Rich! What Kind of Horse Is Rome?

Night had finally passed.

Above the ruins of the royal court drifted a strange sweet scent mixed with scorched flesh and blood.

“We’re rich! We’re rich!”

Wang Li kicked open a chest full of gold artifacts.

Gold ingots scattered all over the ground.

He grabbed a handful and stuffed them into the arms of a Qin soldier.

“Take them! They’re all yours!”

“Glory to the General!”

“Glory to the Ninth Young Master!”

The soldiers erupted into thunderous cheers.

Two soldiers dragged a figure over and threw him before Ying Ziye’s horse.

It was Tuman.

The once-mighty ruler of the steppe was now bound in ropes like a wriggling maggot, covered in mud and blood.

Wang Li walked over and kicked him in the chest.

“Old bastard, wake up!”

Tuman let out a painful groan and opened his eyes.

Wang Li crouched down, picked up a golden wine goblet from the ground, and waved it before his face.

“Recognize this?”

“You Xiongnu stole our Central Plains treasures. Now they’re finally being returned to their rightful owner!”

Tuman’s lips trembled.

He looked at the excited Qin soldiers around him and at the mountain-like piles of treasure.

Suddenly, he crawled desperately toward Ying Ziye on his hands and knees.

Bang! Bang! Bang!

He slammed his forehead against the ground repeatedly.

“Heavenly God… Heavenly God, spare me!”

“I… I am only a mortal! I failed to recognize Mount Tai and offended the Heavenly God!”

“Gold, women, cattle, sheep… all of it is yours! I only beg the Heavenly God to spare my life!”

Fusu stood nearby watching the scene.

His hand rested on the hilt of his sword.

There was not the slightest expression on his face.

Ying Ziye sat atop his horse without even glancing down at Tuman.

His gaze passed over the crowd and landed upon the ruined altar at the center of the royal court.

“Come.”

He lightly tugged the reins.

“Let’s go take a look over there.”

Wang Li hesitated.

“Ninth Young Master, what about all this treasure…”

“Reward it.”

Ying Ziye dropped those two words and rode off immediately.

Wang Li looked at his departing figure, then at the gold and silver covering the ground, before bursting into loud laughter.

“You hear that?! The Ninth Young Master says it all belongs to the brothers!”

“Anything we can’t carry, bury it on the spot! We’ll come back for it later!”

With a wave of his hand, he shouted:

“Follow the Ninth Young Master!”

Before the cellar beneath the altar ruins—

Ying Ziye pointed at the dozen black ceramic jars.

“Wang Li.”

“Your subordinate is here!”

“Take every single one of these jars away for me.”

“Not one can be missing. Not a single drop can spill!”

Wang Li stared at the foul-smelling jars with obvious disgust.

“Ninth Young Master, these things stink and weigh a ton. Why bother carrying them?”

“These are ten thousand times more valuable than gold,” Ying Ziye said calmly.

Wang Li and the surrounding soldiers exchanged bewildered glances.

More valuable than gold?

These things?

Everyone felt the Ninth Young Master might have gone crazy.

But an order was an order.

The soldiers carefully carried out the “devil’s blood,” wrapping the jars layer upon layer with thick felt blankets.

The army began to regroup.

Eight hundred Qin cavalrymen escorted tens of thousands of cattle and sheep, along with a massive sea of Xiongnu prisoners.

At the very front of the procession was Chanyu Tuman himself, led by ropes like a dog.

An unbelievably bizarre triumphant army set off grandly on its journey home.

…

Shang Commandery.

On the city walls, fierce winds whipped through the air.

Ying Zheng stood atop the battlements.

He had stood there for three days and three nights.

Behind him, Meng Tian had sunken eyes filled with bloodshot veins.

Ten full days had passed.

Not a single piece of news had arrived.

Those eight hundred cavalrymen had vanished into the endless grasslands like a drop of water into the sea.

“Your Majesty, the wind is strong. You should rest,” Meng Tian said hoarsely.

Ying Zheng did not move.

His eyes remained fixed upon the vast northern horizon.

Just then—

a scout stumbled and crawled onto the city wall.

“Report—!”

“To the north… to the north, a massive cloud of dust has appeared!”

Meng Tian’s heart instantly leapt into his throat.

“How many cavalry are there?! Did you see their banners clearly?!”

“T-Too far away… I couldn’t see clearly!”

The scout’s voice carried a sobbing tremor.

“But the dust clouds cover the sky itself! There must be at least tens of thousands of riders!”

Tens of thousands of cavalry!

Meng Tian’s face instantly turned pale.

It was over.

Ying Ziye and the others… were all dead!

The Xiongnu had come out in full force to take revenge!

He abruptly drew his sword.

“Prepare for battle!!”

“The entire army, prepare for battle!!”

“Archers, nock your bows! Ready the rolling stones and timber!”

The walls of Shang Commandery instantly transformed into a fully wound war machine.

But Ying Zheng still did not move.

He merely raised a hand slowly and rested it upon the hilt of the Tai’e Sword at his waist.

The sword hilt was icy cold.

His heart was colder still.

If…

If Ying Ziye was truly gone—

then what use was this empire to him?

He would personally lead an army to flatten the grasslands.

He would erase the very name “Xiongnu” from this land forever.

Not even grass would grow there again.

The dust clouds drew closer and closer.

Like a black storm sweeping toward Shang Commandery.

The Qin soldiers atop the walls had palms slick with sweat.

They could feel the city walls trembling faintly beneath the terrifying thunder of hooves.

Closer.

Closer still.

At last—

within the dust, the outline of a banner gradually appeared.

The banner was tattered and full of holes.

But its color was black.

And the ferocious dragon embroidered upon it was black as well.

It was Great Qin’s Black Water Dragon Banner!

Meng Tian’s jaw nearly hit the ground.

Every soldier on the wall was stunned.

Beneath the banner—

a small figure rode atop a fiery-red divine steed.

It was none other than Ying Ziye.

This time, he was not tied up.

He sat upright and proud, like a little victorious general returning from war.

Behind him followed two men who looked like savages dug out from the earth itself.

One was the blood-soaked, hollow-eyed Fusu.

The other was Wang Li, whose armor still had strips of flesh hanging from it while he grinned foolishly.

And behind them—

a man dressed in luxurious royal robes staggered forward like a dog, led by a thick hemp rope tied around his neck.

That man—

was Tuman!

Ying Zheng froze.

He stared at that tiny, living figure.

At that unbearably smug little face.

Meng Tian froze as well.

He rubbed his eyes hard, thinking he was hallucinating.

Ying Ziye also spotted Ying Zheng atop the city wall.

Not only did he lack any awareness of having narrowly escaped death—

he looked instead like a child returning home after a wildly successful shopping spree.

Raising his little face, he shouted excitedly with all his strength across the great distance:

“Father!!”

“Quick, prepare some carts! I got rich!”

“I brought you something amazing!”

That clear, energetic voice pierced through the wind and sand, reaching everyone’s ears distinctly.

Ying Zheng looked at that lively figure.

Looked at his smug and triumphant expression.

And without warning—

his eyes reddened.

The next second—

he threw back his head and burst into thunderous laughter.

“Hahahahahaha!”

“Good! Good!”

“As expected of my Qilin son!!”

Cheers erupted above and below the city walls.

But while everyone was immersed in the ecstasy of surviving disaster—

Ying Ziye had someone carry forward a black ceramic jar wrapped tightly in felt blankets.

Patting the jar proudly, he spoke to Ying Zheng, who had already hurried down from the wall to meet him.

“Father, gold and cattle are trivial matters.”

His face was full of pride.

“With this thing, forget the Xiongnu—even the turtle shells of those Roman people, I can burn them into ashes.”

Ying Zheng’s face was first filled with relief and fatherly affection.

Then confusion.

“Rome?”

“What kind of horse is that?”