Chapter 22: The General’s Defiance

 

Actually, He Simu had wronged Duan Xu this time. He thought sleep would evade him, yet he drifted off effortlessly—so deeply that even he was startled by it.

When morning sunlight pierced his eyes, Duan Xu lay dazed, wondering how he had managed such peace. After a moment’s thought, he realized the truth: for him, the dead were far more familiar—and far more comforting—than the living.

By then, the pale and bewitching Ghost King was gone. He stretched his arm across the spot she had occupied, now faintly warmed by his own body heat. Even a lifeless form, it seemed, could be warmed.

His mind wandered back to the first time he had seen her. Liangzhou’s city streets, drenched in blood. She stood amidst corpses, her face smeared crimson, a severed head dangling from her hand.

Above, black crows cawed endlessly, circling and perching on the piled dead, on her shoulders, as if she were their queen. Her expression was indifferent, death incarnate.

And then—light spilled across her face. She smiled.

Bright, dazzling, she tossed the head aside and ran toward him, laughing.
"General, the Huqi People slaughtered the city before retreating. I was terrified. Have you come to save us?"

Even then, he knew she was no ordinary girl. Her acting was clumsy, but her presence unforgettable. He had not expected her to be the Ghost King herself.

Duan Xu smiled faintly at the memory and rose from bed.

Meanwhile, Chen Ying fretted over his “Little Big Sister.” She had been sleeping far too much—so much that he feared the worst. When He Simu finally stirred, she found him slumped at her bedside like a wilted eggplant.

"Little Big Sister, you have to tell me the truth," he demanded, his round face serious. "Are you sick? The serious kind. The incurable kind."

"...Yes, exactly," she teased.

Chen Ying froze, eyes brimming with tears—until she pinched his nose and added, "I’m lovesick. There’s no cure for lovesickness. How tragic."

His eyes lit up instantly. "Is it Duan Xu-gege?"

She only smiled radiantly.

Later, Chen Ying returned breathless with gossip: Duan Xu was holding a martial arts competition. He Simu arched a brow. With crises pressing on all sides, he still had time for games? No—this was no mere competition. It was a stage for something greater.

Outside the city, Duan Xu’s defenses grew ever more cunning—boiling oil, scalding water, rolling stones, and even “well listeners” to detect tunneling enemies. Danzhi’s forces, frustrated, sent an envoy to persuade surrender.

The envoy praised Duan Xu’s brilliance, then warned of inevitable defeat. He recounted the fall of Yunzhou, where General Wu Nan’s people resorted to cannibalism before perishing.

Duan Xu listened with a warm smile that unsettled the envoy. Then he asked softly:
"If the people were starving, why didn’t they rebel? Why didn’t they flee? Why did they wait to be eaten?"

The envoy faltered.

"Because the Huqi massacre every city that resists," Duan Xu continued. "The people know they’ll die if the city falls, so they use their lives as walls. You call Wu Nan foolish, but his resistance forced the Huqi to abandon their massacres. Millions lived because of him."

He leaned closer, voice sharp as steel.
"The Huqi will never respect those who kneel. You must make them bleed, make them suffer. Only by standing can you survive. If I cut off your head and threw it into their camp, they’d be angry at the insult—but no one would mourn you. You’re nothing but a dog. But me? They’d never forgive me. They’d tear me limb from limb."

The envoy paled.

"As long as I live," Duan Xu declared, "this city will never resort to cannibalism. And you will never pass through Shuozhou to reach Great Liang."

The envoy tried to retreat, invoking the sanctity of envoys. But Duan Xu’s smile turned cold.
"Before you mentioned Wu Nan, I intended to spare you. But sparing envoys is a Han custom. When in Rome, I should follow Huqi rules instead."

He nodded to Meng Wan.
"Kill him and throw him off the city walls."

Meng Wan drew his sword. "Understood."

Four or five soldiers, led by Meng Wan, seized the envoy and dragged him away, his screams echoing against the stone walls. Duan Xu shook his head with a laugh.
"He won’t become an Evil Ghost, will he?"

A pale girl in red shimmered into view beside him, her presence like a drifting wisp of frost. Lazily, she replied,
"Someone that cowardly would hurry straight to reincarnation. Why would he become an Evil Ghost?"

Her gaze lingered on Duan Xu in his silver armor. After a pause, she asked curiously,
"How did you know I was here?"

"I didn’t," he answered with a grin. "Just asked casually—didn’t expect you to actually be here."

He Simu narrowed her eyes, but before she could speak, Duan Xu clasped his hands together and bowed dramatically, his smile boyish and bright.
"Ghost King, spare me, spare me!"

His eyes sparkled with mischief, showing none of the cold ferocity he had wielded moments earlier against the envoy. Ever-changing—Duan Shunxi.

---

The next day, after the envoy’s corpse had been hurled outside the city walls into Danzhi’s camp, He Simu sat at breakfast, idly chewing her tasteless meal. She looked up just in time to see Boss Lin Jun rushing from the main hall, his hair crown askew, mounting his horse in a frenzy before galloping away.

For the first time, she asked the steward with genuine curiosity, "What’s happened to Boss Lin?"

The steward’s face was drawn. "I heard… the Hú Qì People have captured Elder Lin from the main branch and brought him beneath the city walls."

The Lin family was one of Shuozhou’s most prominent clans. Lin Jun, heir of the second branch, had inherited the family business after his father’s death. The main branch, however, lived further north—deep in Huqi-controlled territory.

Chen Ying tugged nervously at He Simu’s sleeve. "What should we do? Will Brother Lin Jun be alright?"

He had recently taken to calling everyone “brother,” his childish concern earnest.

He Simu glanced down at him, then pulled him into a quiet corner. "Do you want to go see?"

Chen Ying nodded.

---

Soon after, He Simu and Xue Chenying, veiled beneath a wide hat, stood atop Shuozhou’s city walls. They moved openly among the soldiers, unseen by mortal eyes, peering through the battlements.

Below, Lin Jun’s eyes were bloodshot, his body straining forward again and again, only to be restrained by Han Lingqiu. "Boss Lin, it’s dangerous! Don’t go forward!"

Outside the walls, before Danzhi’s camp, stood a line of captives in fine clothing. At their head was an elderly man, white-haired yet still vigorous, clad in black fox fur. His hands were bound, but his gaze was steady as he looked up at the city walls, at the soldiers, at his nephew.

Behind him stood his family—men, women, children—some weeping, some silent. A Huqi soldier kicked him hard in the back. "Elder Lin, speak properly to those on the walls. Your wife, children, and elders are still behind you."

The old man staggered but refused to kneel.

After a long silence, his voice rang out, strong and unwavering.
"Jun’er."

On the walls, Lin Jun’s voice cracked as he answered, "Uncle."

Previous/Next