“At least seven thousand men.”

Feng Jiu’er picked up her bowl and ladled herself a serving of porridge.

“From what we’ve gathered, of the five thousand elite soldiers garrisoning Yamu City, three thousand are stationed near the city gate we plan to storm tonight.”

She lifted her gaze to the man sitting across from her and lightly raised an eyebrow.

“Well? Are you confident?”

“Six thousand against seven thousand — why wouldn’t I be?”

Zhao Yusheng smiled and nodded. “Jiu’er, rest assured — every one of my men will give it everything they have.”

“Excellent! Let’s see how you all perform.”

Feng Jiu’er passed him the bowl of porridge in her hand. “Care for one?”

“Sure.”

Zhao Yusheng stood, accepted the bowl, and sat back down.

Feng Jiu’er handed a bowl to Jian Yi first, then ladled one for herself.

After a short while, having finished the porridge in her bowl, Feng Jiu’er picked up the map booklet in her hand and moved to sit beside Zhao Yusheng.

“Tonight…” The few men in the center were still discussing strategy while the brothers gradually lay down to rest.

At some point, the grove fell completely, utterly silent.

After Feng Jiu’er had finished conveying all her instructions, she retired to the small tent to rest for just over an hour.

In this place with no alarm clocks, she somehow managed to wake up right on time at one o’clock in the morning — Feng Jiu’er thought rather highly of herself for that.

When she stepped out dressed in her dark night-stalking attire, Jian Yi, equally clad in black, stood guard outside the entrance with his sword in his arms.

Without disturbing a soul, two figures in black leapt lightly and vanished into the grove.

The night sky above Yamu City seemed no different from any other night — yet, without warning, battles broke out simultaneously at every city gate.

“Report!”

In front of the main wing of the Nanmen Manor, a man knelt.

The gate guard recognized the arrival and hastily rapped on the chamber door.

Nanmen Yan appeared at the entrance of his chamber shortly after, a robe draped carelessly over his shoulders.

“What is it?”

“Gate Master, the south gate, north gate, and west gate are all in crisis! Word has it that… that the enemy forces have already — already broken through the gates.”

The messenger raised his eyes for a brief glance, then immediately dropped his head again.

“What?”

Nanmen Yan’s brow creased sharply, even his voice carrying a slight tremor.

“In reply to the Gate Master — this subordinate speaks the truth; messengers have come from all three gates to report it.”

The messenger responded with a trembling nervousness.

“How could it be this sudden? Have we not had men stationed at each of the key fortifications all along? How could an army have passed through without my knowledge?”

Before Nanmen Yan’s words had even finished, two dark silhouettes dropped from the sky.

The nearby servants and guards had not yet had time to react when a long sword was already pressed against Nanmen Yan’s throat.

Everyone present immediately drew their own swords and leveled them at Nanmen Yan and the two masked figures in black; hearing the commotion, more than ten guards came rushing in from outside.

“How dare you — release our master at once!”

The man at the front spoke in a heavy, low voice.

Nanmen Yan stared wide-eyed at the long sword pressed against his own throat and was too frightened to utter a single word.

“Surrender.”

A woman’s voice came from the shorter of the two figures in black.

“Who are you?”

Nanmen Yan looked at Feng Jiu’er and asked.

“The new master of Yamu City.”

Feng Jiu’er arched an eyebrow and said, “I have no desire to massacre this city. You had best order your people to stand down.”

“Surrender now, and from this day forward we will all be brothers. But should you choose to resist…” Suddenly, a flash of silver — at some unknown moment, a short blade had appeared in the hand of the woman in black, now leveled before Nanmen Yan’s face.

“What do you intend to do? I, Nanmen Yan, am not a man who fears death. You had better…” Suddenly, from not far away, a cry for help rang out.

“Father, save me.”

“Papa, save us.”

“My lord, save me — my lord…” “My lord, save me — save my Wei’er.”

“…” In an instant, Nanmen Yan’s family members were all herded forward by the figures in black.

During the time Feng Jiu’er had been lying low in Yamu City gathering intelligence, the brothers who had originally accompanied her to the Feng Clan — those who had not been injured — had slipped into Yamu City one by one.

Had it not been for their coordination from within, the three city gates would never have fallen so easily.

The figures in black herded the family members forward; the guards did not dare act rashly either, and only stood by, waiting for orders.

How many guards were stationed at Nanmen Manor — Feng Jiu’er knew every detail like the back of her hand.

With the fighting pressing in from three sides right now, calling men back was no simple matter.

“Who exactly are you people? Release my family!”

Nanmen Yan said in a low, grave voice.

“I said — as long as you are willing to surrender, Yamu City remains Yamu City, merely under a new master.”

Feng Jiu’er’s voice rang out.

“Of course, should you continue to be obstinate…” She swept a glance at Nanmen Yan, then turned back to look at the brothers standing behind her.

“We begin with the ladies. For every question I ask that the City Master of Nanmen refuses to answer to my satisfaction, send one lady on her way.”

With a cold smile, Feng Jiu’er added: “From oldest to youngest — I imagine the City Master of Nanmen feels considerably more attachment to the younger ones than the older ones, does he not?”

“No!”

The First Madam was so frightened she nearly fainted.

Unfortunately, with a long sword still held against her throat, collapsing was no easy matter.

“Let go of my mother!”

The person beside the First Madam, who appeared to be the eldest young master, fixed a cold stare on Feng Jiu’er and scoffed.

“Don’t look at me like that — if your mother dies, it will be because of your father. Because your father cannot bear to part with his seat as City Master.”

Shaking her head, Feng Jiu’er turned her gaze without mercy back to Nanmen Yan.

“City Master Nanmen, I wonder — what have you decided? Will you surrender?”

“Never!”

Nanmen Yan let out a cold snort.

With a swift slash, the First Madam collapsed to the ground and did not rise.

“Mother… Mother…” The eldest young master watched helplessly as the figure collapsed to the ground, desperately wanting to go to her but utterly powerless.

A chorus of screams erupted from all around; seeing the First Madam lying on the ground, blood pooling beneath her, those of weaker constitution were so terrified they could barely manage to keep even their knees from giving out.

The Second Madam also lost her life amid a torrent of frantic screams. The Third Madam fainted dead away on the ground. The Fourth Madam clung desperately to her young son, who was shaking and trembling in terror.

Feng Jiu’er looked at the cold and impassive man beside her, and pressed the short blade once more against his face.

“Nanmen Yan — I never imagined you would be even more depraved than Nanmen Rong!”

Watching him — seeing his own wives die before him without the slightest trace of grief — Feng Jiu’er’s fury ran deep.

Then again, what kind of man with any real feeling could possibly have taken ten or eight wives in one go? It was nothing but an appetite for novelty, through and through.

“The outcome of this battle is already decided. Even if it means sacrificing every last brother and family member — you still will not surrender, will you?”

Feng Jiu’er asked in an icy voice.

“That is correct.”

A faint curve slowly formed at the corner of Nanmen Yan’s lips. “What kind of woman could I, Nanmen Rong, possibly lack? You kill two people and expect me to surrender? Laughable!”

“Father, how can you speak like this? We are all your family.”

The person appearing to be the eldest young master cried out.

Another young master had not spoken a single word the entire time — it was unclear which of the madams had borne him.

Several young misses and young madams were sobbing and weeping.

One madam clutched her son, who appeared to be seven or eight years old, huddled in a trembling heap.

Another madam held a wailing infant in her arms; upon hearing Nanmen Yan’s words, she fell silent — neither calling out nor speaking — her face drained to an ashen pallor.