"News of victory from the border, General Lan Ying has defeated the Wulangha Tribe of the Tartars, decapitating thirty thousand..."
The messenger, facing the bright sunshine of the Grain-in-Ear season, galloped through Luting County, his exhilarating shouts attracting countless locals who swarmed to the streets to watch.
Wherever the messenger went,
cheers would follow.
Shopkeeper Liu waited in front of the inn and, after watching the messenger race past, he briskly walked back into the inn and declared with gusto, "Lads, bring out the wine, this round’s on us!"
Yang Ge stood behind the counter, also smiling, and upon hearing this he picked up his pen and loudly said, "Alright, Shopkeeper Liu is treating everyone to three-year-aged ’tongue-loosening’ fragrant wine, ten jin... Er Niu, bring out the wine!"
"Look at you, Yang Ge, playing Robin Hood here!"
Shopkeeper Liu laughed and scolded, but not only was there no sign of displeasure on his face, he even turned back and urged Zhang Erniu, who was looking at him to gauge his reaction, "What’s with the dawdling, bring out the wine, are you afraid we can’t afford it?"
The regulars returning from the excitement at the door, upon hearing this, all "ha ha" laughed out loud.
"Shopkeeper Liu always puts on quite the show!"
"That’s why of all the inns and taverns in Lu Ting, Shopkeeper Liu’s business is the biggest, right? With Shopkeeper Liu’s generosity, others really can’t compare!"
"The lad does things with a grand manner as well, heckling his boss, he’s quite adept at it..."
"A grand victory for the King’s army, we must drink a couple of cups, hey, let’s break the rules and drink until half drunk today..."
"Hahaha, last time your old sow miscarried, you said the same thing..."
The inn was filled with a joyous atmosphere.
Shopkeeper Liu stood in front of the counter, his smile so wide his eyes were nearly invisible, repeatedly bowing, "This is a momentous occasion, we’re just humble folks, but we can at least treat everyone to a drink, let’s all be happy together!"
The old man might not possess any noble sentiments of worrying about the country and the people.
But having lived to his age, he understood all too well the weight of the word "peace"!
In peaceful times, not every day is a good day.
But in turbulent times, there are definitely no good days!
Yang Ge, tallying the accounts, thought to himself, ’The battle is won, Jiang Kui should finally be able to come back and enjoy the copper pot mutton once again, right?’
...
"Dong dong dong..."
The sky vast, the battle drums fury.
Jiang Kui led his troops against the Tartar flanking forces for half an hour, his three layers of armor soaking through with blood, yet he was still desperately urging his warhorse forward to charge and kill.
The warhorse was near exhaustion, breathing heavily, foaming at the mouth, as if it would collapse at any moment.
The battle sabre had become notched, dense cracks spread across its blade, as if with the next swing it would shatter into pieces.
He paid it no mind.
Still, he whipped his warhorse forward relentlessly.
Still, he swung his battle sabre, cutting down enemy after enemy.
The scene before him was strangely familiar,
like a poisonously fierce fire,
searing his senses.
Roasting his innards.
Agony...
Torment...
Only in the instant when his sabre chopped off the head of his enemy did he feel a moment of coolness.
Only in the instant when the hot blood of his enemy splashed upon his face did he feel a moment of peace.
Only by killing the enemy did he feel that he was still alive...
Some say that the departure of loved ones is not a downpour, but a lifetime of dampness.
The blaze at Lü Mountain brought Jiang Kui neither a downpour nor dampness.
But a living hell on Earth...
Neither reaching heaven above nor touching the ground below, only endless agony and ceaseless torment remained in this hell on Earth.
"General, general!"
A messenger soldier fought valiantly to his side, grabbing the reins of his steed.
Jiang Kui wielded his sabre to kill a Tartar cavalry soldier, his eyes bloodshot as he looked at him.
The bodyguard, also having killed until his eyes were bloodshot, was not afraid upon seeing him looking like a demon, and shouted with a stiff neck, "The Commander has ordered us to move our camp closer to the left flank of the Tartar forces, to cover the breakout of the central army!"
Upon hearing this, Jiang Kui looked up towards the front right and saw an endless mass of the pressing Tartar army.
Their troop had been engaged in a fierce battle for a long time, and their morale was greatly depleted. To fight again would likely mean everyone would be left here.
But he couldn’t not save the central army...
If the central army couldn’t retreat, the artillery camp in the rear wouldn’t be able to exert its power.
Jiang Kui hesitated only for a few breaths, then leaped up fiercely and swung his sabre towards the front right with the momentum of a wild lion, shouting, "Haughty Snow, Scornful Frost!"
A sweep of pale sabre energy three or four zhang long, like a towering tower collapsing, crashed fiercely into the midst of the dense Tartar troops, numerous burly Tartar cavalrymen were blown into a blood mist by this single stroke, man and horse alike.
Amidst the flying flesh and blood, a blood-red path thus appeared before the troops under Jiang Kui’s command.
When Jiang Kui landed, his battle horse, which had fought for a long time, had already fallen to the ground, its large, glossy eyes shedding tears, breathing out more than it breathed in.
He closed his bloodshot eyes, stooped down to cover the horse’s eyes, and hoarsely whispered, "My horse, my noble steed, you go first. If there is a next life, let you be the human, and I will be the horse for you..."
"Puchi."
The serrated great sabre penetrated the horse’s chest, and without a struggle, the horse was gone.
When Jiang Kui opened his eyes again, they were so red it seemed they could bleed.
This chapter is updated by freēwēbnovel.com.
He snatched his "Jiang" banner from the hands of his bodyguard, raised the flag with one hand, brandished his sabre with the other, and roared, "Brothers, follow me and charge!"
He rushed into the about-to-close flesh corridor, straining to surge forward, forward.
About a hundred bodyguards steadfastly guarded his sides and struggled to keep up with his pace, clearing the way for their brothers behind them.
Some fell in battle.
Immediately someone else filled the gap.
But their fearless ferocity also ignited the fighting spirit of the enemy.
The dense Tartar army, howling like wolves, rushed one after another to block their way.