It was true enough—the Yan Kingdom was gone, the general was gone, and naturally the Northeastern Army was gone too. What were they still hoping for?
Though these were Han Chinese soldiers, they no longer belonged to the former Yan Kingdom or the general. Whose faction were they now part of?
But none of that mattered much to them. The nation and the people they had sworn to protect were lost.
The hollow, numb gaze of the Northeastern Army made Yao Ji’s heart ache. He understood their feelings all too well—they were the same as his own from before.
If not for his master and the great general, he himself would likely have turned to dust by now.
Dong Si also felt a pang of unease. Though he had known the Northeastern Army’s condition wouldn’t be good, it was even worse than he had anticipated.
“There are fifteen thousand civilians here. Take your pick.” Song Gui, seated on his horse, gestured toward the Han Chinese commoners behind him.
Dong Si steadied himself and studied the Han civilians.
He had a sharp eye for judging people. After observing for a moment, he selected a dozen or so individuals, asked them a few questions, and then instructed them to pick out their relatives and acquaintances.
Only then did the anxious civilians realize that they were about to be exchanged to a Han Chinese faction. Relief spread across their faces.
After all, a Han Chinese faction was usually better than the Quzhao people.
The chosen dozen immediately pointed out their family members and fellow villagers.
Then, each person they named brought forward more acquaintances, and soon enough, six thousand people had been gathered.
Song Gui frowned. The Quzhao had indeed planted their own spies among the fifteen thousand civilians.
But the other side had completely ignored conventional tactics—none of the Quzhao’s planted men had been selected.
He cast a furtive glance at Dong Si, this man who didn’t quite look like a man.
He had to admit that Dong Si’s method was clever. As long as the initial dozen were trustworthy, the subsequent selections would naturally be reliable.
“This will do,” Dong Si said.
Song Gui didn’t want to cause further trouble. The priority now was to get Qu Wenzhou back. He nodded to the Quzhao soldiers.
Quickly, the selected people were moved to one side, ready to be exchanged at any moment.
Dong Si gestured toward the Quzhao prisoners behind him. “We’ve treated your people well, haven’t we?”
Song Gui couldn’t help twitching the corner of his mouth. Well?
How could they be considered well-treated?
They clearly hadn’t been fed for several days. Even Qu Wenzhou was so starved that snot bubbled from his nose.
The magistrate of Chunrong County had his trousers soaked and caked with filth—who knew how many times he had wet himself.
The others were even worse, all skin and bones from hunger, barely able to stand. It would take who knows how long to nurse them back to health.
By comparison, Qu Wenzhou’s condition was the best. He had provided plenty of useful information and so had been granted a few full meals.
Now, his face was full of excitement as he looked at Song Gui, but he dared not speak.
During this time of torment, he had learned to fear the Jinyang Army. He was terrified that one wrong word might make them change their minds about the exchange. Who would he complain to then?
Song Gui caught Qu Wenzhou’s gaze and quickly put on a fawning, reassuring smile.
Under Dong Si’s contemptuous stare, Song Gui seemed to realize that such a smile wasn’t proper, so he immediately composed himself and said solemnly, “Let’s begin the exchange.”
Dong Si let out a cold laugh and pointed at the Northeastern Army. “How should we do this? These men are badly injured and will move slowly. Should we let them come over first?”
Song Gui hesitated for a moment, then nodded. “Fine.”
The battered soldiers of the Northeastern Army were indeed severely abused and extremely weak.
They were pushed forward, and the Quzhao soldiers raised their swords, urging them on. “Move! Go!”
The Northeastern Army swallowed the cold fury in their eyes, supporting one another as they stumbled toward the Jinyang Army’s formation.
The distance between the two sides was only about fifty meters, yet it took the Northeastern Army nearly a quarter of an hour to reach the Jinyang ranks.
Yao Ji immediately ordered his soldiers to untie their ropes and shield them in their midst.
The Northeastern soldiers felt the goodwill from these men but didn’t understand why they were being treated kindly. Just as they didn’t understand why they had been suddenly exchanged.
Almost all of them were crippled—unfit for battle or heavy labor. What use were they?
Song Gui looked at Dong Si. “Can we get our people back now?”
Dong Si nodded. “Our people will move at the same time.”
“Since there are many of us, for safety’s sake, shouldn’t both sides retreat a bit?” he suggested.
Song Gui had no objections. He led his men back a dozen zhang, leaving only the six thousand selected civilians in their original position.
Dong Si did the same, backing away, leaving the Quzhao prisoners alone on the field.
At the command, the six thousand Han civilians and the Quzhao prisoners began to walk forward, switching places.
As the two groups drew closer, nearly about to cross paths, Qu Wenzhou finally relaxed. He was saved. Wonderful!
But just then, from a nearby hill, a suddenly appeared group of masked bandits wielding all kinds of weapons charged straight at the Quzhao prisoners, hacking at them.
Qu Wenzhou was terrified. He sprinted toward the Quzhao camp, shouting, “Save me! Save me!”
Song Gui was also alarmed. “Hurry! Protect Magistrate Qu!”
Pandemonium erupted, especially on the Quzhao side. Soldiers rushed toward Qu Wenzhou, desperate to rescue him.
But because they had retreated earlier, they were now too far away. Worse still, they had brought no bows or arrows.
Dong Si, on the other hand, remained calm and called out, “Quick! Avoid the bandits and run toward me!”
The words were hardly necessary—the six thousand civilians were already sprinting toward him.
Jiang Jin, her face masked and subtly disguised, swung her blade. A Quzhao soldier’s head flew from his shoulders.
Before the head even hit the ground, her blade had already sliced toward another Quzhao prisoner.
Also masked, Yun Chengxuan fought even more ferociously. Though his blade was ordinary, he cut through enemies as if chopping vegetables. Limbs scattered through the air.
He hadn’t forgotten the task Jiang Jin had given him. While cutting down enemies along the way, his steps didn’t slow, and he chased straight after Qu Wenzhou.
In just a few leaps, he caught up with Qu Wenzhou. Reaching out with his long arm, he grabbed him by the head and lifted him into the air.
Qu Wenzhou had been running for his life—faster than he had ever run before.
He watched the Quzhao soldiers charging toward him, closing the distance, and a wild joy spread across his face.
Then his expression froze. He realized he seemed to be… growing taller?
No, his feet—why couldn’t he feel the ground?
Still in the motion of running, he looked down in horror—his feet were treading on empty air. No wonder he couldn’t touch the ground!
“Ah—!” A bloodcurdling scream rang out. Before he could even process having been lifted up, he was hurled through the air.
Qu Wenzhou flew several zhang before crashing with a thud onto a pile of Quzhao prisoners.
Three or four prisoners crushed beneath him wailed in agony. They scrambled to shove him off, no longer caring whether he was the general’s relative.
After flinging Qu Wenzhou away, Yun Chengxuan was about to turn back when he saw Quzhao soldiers rushing toward him.
He swung his blade without hesitation, cutting the foremost soldier clean in two at the waist.
At the same time, he kicked out, sending one of the Qu conscript soldiers flying, crashing into a group of soldiers behind him.
Yun Chengxuan gave a cold snort and quickly stepped back.
