"Hahaha! If drinking medicine let me crush the Barbarians for a thousand miles, what medicine wouldn't I drink?"
Zheng Haoran held out his fist to Old Li, who bumped it with his own. It was an understanding that needed no words.
The short, swift skirmish had Zheng Haoran's blood pumping. But for the other soldiers, the battle was over before they even had a chance to act—Zheng Haoran had cleared the field all by himself.
Zheng Haoran dismounted and walked among his troops, who erupted in cheers of "General Zheng is mighty!"
As he passed Zheng Xiu, Zheng Haoran took a few steps before turning back. He stroked his beard, studying Zheng Xiu's face.
Zheng Xiu's heart hammered in his chest. He cupped his fist in salute. "General Zheng is mighty."
"Why is it that when you say that, I find it a little odd?"
Zheng Haoran held out his fist to Zheng Xiu.
Silently chanting, 'My heart is as calm as ice,' Zheng Xiu bumped his fist against Zheng Haoran's.
