It was night.
The moonlight washed over the scene, and the stars shone brilliantly.
The cold radiance fell upon the Song Army camp, yet it failed to illuminate the deathly silence and ruin.
The daytime clamor and chaos had passed, leaving behind the remains of an almost deserted camp.
Most of the campfires had extinguished, leaving only scattered embers flickering with a dim red glow.
The tents leaned askew, fences had been knocked down, barriers and carts overturned, and the ground was littered with abandoned armor, banners, and scattered personal belongings, as if it had all weathered a catastrophe.
There was an eerie quietude in the air, like the aftermath of a disaster, occasionally punctuated by muffled groans from wounded soldiers somewhere, adding to the desolation.
Inside the central military tent, the lights were dim.
Zhao Gou gradually awakened, feeling weak all over, with a splitting headache.
