Chapter Fifty-Nine: An Extraordinary Woman

Watching the rebel forces retreat like a receding tide once more, Chen Ying finally breathed a sigh of relief. Outwardly, he appeared calm and composed, but his heart was tightly knotted with anxiety, and his palms were slick with sweat.

Chen Ying knew all too well that after three consecutive days of forced marches, his soldiers were nearly spent, their stamina drained to the last drop. Their endurance up until now was sustained only by a stubborn willpower. In truth, the troops had long reached the limits of exhaustion; many scarcely had the strength to grip their spears, and if the battle continued, not for much longer—perhaps another quarter of an hour—his men would collapse in place.

Fortunately, the rebels had already withdrawn.

The soldiers from the Second Noble House, panting heavily, had little strength left even to stand. In several spots, men were using their hooked polearms merely to prop up their bodies.

Chen Ying understood that he could not let the enemy from Pangqi see the weakened state of his side. Even though the hooked polearm troops at the front were utterly depleted, unable to pursue even if they wished, Chen Ying still had over three hundred seasoned veterans serving as the battle oversight squad, whose vigor remained undiminished.

"Elite vanguard of the Second Noble House, attack!"

Chen Ying, sword in hand, strode forward as a few arrows wobbled towards him. He did not dodge. Long past the days of being a fledgling on the battlefield, he could instantly discern that these arrows were spent, lacking any real threat—not only because he wore fine armor, but even without it, they posed no mortal danger.

The arrows struck him like dull blows, falling harmlessly at his feet. Chen Ying did not spare them a glance. A surge of violent rage boiled within him.

"All soldiers, follow me—exterminate the rebels!"

"Exterminate the rebels!"

The veterans raised their swords and followed Chen Ying, charging towards the enemy.

Chen Ying’s sword cleaved into a rebel’s neck, a gush of warm blood spraying forth, transforming his once flawless, handsome face into something fierce and terrifying.

The rebel howled, collapsing to the ground in spasms, his cries fading into silence.

Another rebel, cheeks flushed with the distinct red of the plateau people, roared like a beast, brandishing a machete as he lunged at Chen Ying. Chen Ying stepped forward, kicking the burly man into a heap of corpses. Before the rebel could rise, Chen Ying brought his sword down on his skull, severing half his head and spilling a mix of red and white brain matter—ending his wicked life in one swift stroke.

"Kill!"

Chen Ying decapitated another rebel who lagged behind.

Seeing their commander so fierce, the veterans of the Second Noble House roared as one, throwing themselves forward with reckless abandon—gritting their teeth, eyes bloodshot, swords gleaming as they hacked relentlessly.

Led by Chen Ying, the Second Noble House surged forward like a heated iron brand pressed into butter—unstoppable. Where this "brand" passed, flesh and blood flew, rivers of blood flowed, and a corridor was carved through the enemy ranks in moments.

Wave after wave of rebels fell to the ground, the dying writhing and howling in agony everywhere.

Chen Ying led his vanguard less than a hundred paces forward before the last vestiges of courage among the rebel soldiers were utterly shattered by the shining blades. Almost simultaneously, the enemy ahead turned and fled in panic.

Suddenly, Chen Ying noticed Pangqi watching him. Chen Ying transferred his sword to his left hand, raised his right fist with only the thumb extended, and drew it across his throat from right to left—a gesture of "cutting the throat."

Pangqi’s face turned ashen at the sight. He still wanted to rally his followers for a desperate charge, but as he surged forward, he felt a powerful force pulling him back.

He turned and saw it was Mo Dake.

"Your Majesty, rage does not win battles," Mo Dake said gravely, glancing at the surrounding troops whose faces betrayed fear. He sighed, "I don’t know what sorcery this Chen Ying lad has used, but whenever our men advance, it’s as if their hands and feet are bound. If we force them to go forward again..."

Pangqi’s warfare had never followed any strategy. Since launching his rebellion, every victory was paid for with piles of corpses; every town captured was left awash in blood and mountains of bones.

The problem was, his usual methods were useless against Chen Ying.

"So what do you propose?" Mo Dake pointed his horsewhip at the Second Noble House’s formation. "Chen Ying is a tough nut to crack. But there’s no sense in letting ourselves be cornered here. We don’t have to slug it out with him!"

"Where should we retreat?" Pangqi asked.

Mo Dake pondered, pacing back and forth with his hands behind his back. After a long moment, he squatted and scratched a crooked line in the dirt.

"Let’s go to Mapan County in the northwest."

"Mapan County?"

At this moment, Pangqi had none of the bearing of the King of the Western Qiang—he was more like Mo Dake’s little follower. Pangqi asked in confusion, "Why should we go to Mapan County?"

"Mapan County is a crucial passage in the northwest. If we establish ourselves there, we can strike at Chouchi or retreat to the Western Sea—the world is vast, the sky’s the limit!"

"I… I will think about it," Pangqi replied, his reluctance obvious.

To reach Mapan County from Shizhou, the only route was through the ancient Golden Ox Road, but Chen Ying’s army was guarding it firmly. There was no hope of passing through.

If they couldn’t take the Golden Ox Road, there remained only one other path—the ancient Yinping Road, opened by the renowned Wei general Deng Ai in the Three Kingdoms era. It was treacherous but, for the Qiang people accustomed to traversing mountains, not impossible. Still, the cost would be steep—they would have to cross the perilous Motian Range, a journey fraught with mortal danger. Most crucially, taking this path meant abandoning all the loot accumulated since the rebellion began.

As Sima Guang once said, it is easy to go from frugality to luxury, but hard to return to frugality from luxury.

Since proclaiming himself King of the Western Qiang, Pangqi—though only a self-styled warlord—had lived in considerable splendor, especially his harem, filled with over a hundred beautiful women seized in his raids, who attended him nightly. His clothing, food, and all comforts matched those of nobility. Now he was expected to crawl through mountain passes and subsist on roots.

Pangqi could not endure such hardship.

He returned to his "royal tent," which was merely a slightly larger canvas shelter, piled high with stolen gold and silver. Fine, multicolored Shu brocade served as carpets, pure white silk draped everywhere, resembling funeral banners.

On his "royal desk" sat not only fake flowers strung with pearls but also four coral trees—utterly tasteless.

If Chen Ying saw Pangqi’s tent, he would certainly call him a country bumpkin.

Pangqi sat on a folding chair, his brows tightly knit in worry.

He had no appetite, and even the delicacies he once enjoyed tasted like wax in his mouth.

Just then, a woman entered, clad in a pale apricot-yellow dress as delicate as cicada wings, her voluptuous figure faintly visible beneath the soft hue—irresistibly alluring. As her black hair swayed, her breathtakingly beautiful face with two jet-black, lively eyes seemed to draw all the air from the room.