"Nengchen Di… what a coincidence. I didn't expect to see you here."
Zhang Xin approached with a faint, forced smile and crouched before him.
"Tell me—what happened?"
"General Ming… General Ming, spare my life!" Nengchen Di gasped, his voice shaking. "I—I—"
"Take your time." Zhang Xin patted his shoulder lightly. "I'm not going to eat you. Why the hurry?"
Nengchen Di drew a deep breath, calming himself.
"Reporting to General Ming—after the autumn harvest, my men exchanged a large amount of grain in Yuyang. It was enough to last us through the winter."
He swallowed before continuing.
"This year, thanks to your great kindness, we survived without plundering. I planned a sacrificial feast to celebrate… but while my men were eating and singing, the Xianbei suddenly attacked!"
"So," Zhang Xin said casually, "you surrendered?"
"No!" Nengchen Di shook his head frantically, nearly striking the blade at his neck. The soldiers holding him flinched and pulled their swords back slightly.
"It all happened too quickly. I barely had time to react—I gathered what men I could and fought my way toward Yuyang."
He clenched his fists.
"I finally reached the city… but Xianyu Gongcao refused to open the gates. He forced us to remain outside."
His voice broke.
"The fields beyond the walls were already overrun with Xianbei. My men were exhausted… we had no way out…"
"So you surrendered."
"…Yes."
Zhang Xin nodded and stood.
"Take him away. Execute him."
"General Ming!" Nengchen Di cried out desperately. "I never intended to defect! I had no choice—please, spare me!"
Zhang Xin waved his hand. The soldiers dragged him out.
As he was hauled away, Nengchen Di shouted:
"Zhang Xin! I marched a thousand miles to fight beside you! When the Xianbei attacked, I risked my life to break through! Your own officer refused me entry—what else could I do? And now you kill me for it?!"
"My lord," Yan Rou said softly, "he did fight his way out. If Xianyu Gongcao truly refused him entry, his surrender may have been forced. If we kill him like this…"
Zhang Xin raised his voice deliberately.
"And how do you know he speaks the truth? What if he surrendered only to deceive us—to lure open the gates? If that were so, Xianyu Fu would already be dead!"
Yan Rou stiffened.
"My lord is wise. I spoke without full consideration."
In truth, verifying Nengchen Di's story would have been simple.
Fuluohan was present.
But Zhang Xin had no intention of asking.
He needed Nengchen Di's death to send a message:
Betrayal—no matter the reason—would not be tolerated.
Moments later, a scream rang out.
Soon, Nengchen Di's severed head was presented.
Zhang Xin cast a subtle glance at Ju Shu. Seeing his hardened expression, he knew his purpose had been achieved.
The stick had fallen.
Now came the reward.
"Ju Shu," Zhang Xin said.
"I am here, my lord." Ju Shu stepped forward and bowed.
"Nengchen Di betrayed us. I have executed him. You, however, have fought loyally at my side and rendered great service."
Zhang Xin looked at him.
"From this day forward, you will command his troops."
Ju Shu's face lit with joy. He dropped to his knees.
"Many thanks, General Ming!"
Zhang Xin laughed.
"See that you discipline them well. Do not disappoint me."
"Rest assured, my lord," Ju Shu said firmly. "Your kindness is as vast as the sea. Because of you, our Wuhuan people no longer suffer hunger. With food to eat, who would risk their lives to harm the Han again?"
Zhang Xin nodded, then turned his gaze elsewhere.
"And you," he said to the Third Master, "do you choose life—or death?"
Outside the royal court, nine thousand soldiers stood shivering in the cold wind, grumbling under their breath.
"What's taking so long?"
"Yeah—why is Lord Kui so slow today? I'm freezing!"
Suddenly, a Xianbei pointed ahead.
"Look! Isn't that Lord Kuitou coming to fetch us?"
In the distance, a force of about a thousand men carrying torches emerged from the royal tent.
"It must be him!"
"Let's go—time to head home!"
The soldiers surged forward eagerly.
After traveling several miles, a group of riders galloped toward them.
"Hold!" one of them shouted.
"What now?" the Xianbei grumbled.
"Are we going home or not?!"
"Of course you are!" the leader called back. "Xianbei may proceed—the Wuhuan will remain here!"
The Xianbei cheered and rushed ahead, leaving the Wuhuan behind.
Three thousand Wuhuan stood frozen, confused and leaderless.
Once the Xianbei had gone far enough, the riders turned to them.
"Light the torches."
Flames flickered to life, revealing a stern face.
It was Yan Rou.
"Brothers of Wuhuan, listen!" he called out. "I am Yan Rou, a commander under the Protector of Wuhuan."
His voice rang clearly.
"I will tell you the truth—the army in the royal tent is Han! All Xianbei tribal leaders have already been captured!"
"What?!"
Gasps spread through the crowd.
"We can testify!" Ju Shu and Wu Xue stepped forward.
Recognizing them, the Wuhuan immediately believed most of what they heard.
Ju Shu, son of Nanlou. Wu Xue, of Nengchen Di's tribe.
Familiar faces.
Proof.
Then Yan Rou unwrapped a bundle.
Under the torchlight, Nengchen Di's severed head was revealed.
"The traitor has been executed!" Yan Rou declared. "The captain knows the truth—the Xianbei attack forced your hand. You will not be punished. Only the ringleaders are condemned!"
"My people!" Ju Shu shouted. "Under the captain's rule, trade has opened—we no longer need to risk our lives raiding for grain!"
He raised his voice.
"The Xianbei drove us from our homes! Do you wish to return to starving, never knowing your next meal?!"
"No!" the Wuhuan roared.
"Then follow me!" Ju Shu shouted. "Join the captain—kill those Xianbei bastards!"
"Kill! Kill! Kill!"
Yan Rou raised his hand.
"The captain grants you pardon!"
"Pardon! Pardon!" the Wuhuan cried. "The captain is merciful!"
Ahead, a Xianbei soldier glanced back.
"What are those Wuhuan shouting about?"
"Sounds like… 'captain'?" another said uncertainly.
"Captain? What nonsense…" He shrugged. "Forget it—we're almost home."
As the royal tent drew near, a faint smile appeared on his face.
"I wonder if my wife missed me…"
A sharp whistle cut through the air.
An arrow struck his throat.
He collapsed, clutching at the wound.
As darkness closed in, the last thing he saw—
was a storm of arrows raining from the night.