Mili carved a bloody path forward, fighting as he retreated.

He was extraordinarily fierce. Ordinary soldiers could not get near him. In the end, he managed to throw off the pursuers at his back, and with the soldiers who had caught up to him, escaped to the western mouth of the mountain.

To reduce the weight and allow his horse to run faster, he shed his iron armor. He was just about to increase speed and break out, planning his next move, when he came to an abrupt stop.

Right there at the mountain pass ahead, a man was blocking the way with a spear leveled, sitting motionless on horseback, leading an army behind him — a solid wall across his path.

It was a Han general.

Mili recognized this man.

Many years ago, when he was still not yet grown, it had been this very man — commanding Li dynasty troops — who had shattered the Di nation and driven them to split into east and west.

So many years had passed. The face of the man opposite had lost its former youthfulness, but those eyes, deep with authority — he needed only one look at them to know he would never forget.

The Li dynasty’s Grand General Jiang Yi!

In his heart, he ground his teeth and silently shouted the man’s name.

Beside Jiang Yi stood a youth, also mounted on horseback. He wore a red-tasseled helmet and a suit of chain mail armor, and the single red tassel atop his helmet swayed in the wind. In each hand he held a Hunyuan hammer, looking all around him with a proud and spirited air.

This youth needed even less introduction. Though he had grown considerably taller compared to a couple of years ago, how could Mili possibly not recognize him?

He was the current King of Western Di — that little mongrel with Han blood in him, Huaiwei!

Huaiwei took one look at Mili and his eyes went red. He swung his hammers and bellowed: “Mili, you harmed my elder brother and insulted my mother the Queen! You and I shall never coexist! Today, this very place, shall be your burial ground! Let me see where you can still flee to!” He then urged his horse forward, barely able to contain himself, and made to charge forward with the troops behind him.

Jiang Yi raised his spear and blocked it across the front of his horse.

Huaiwei understood that Jiang Yi was not letting him charge forward. He was somewhat unwilling in his heart, but he dared not disobey him. In the end he only put the hammers away grudgingly, hooking them back into the locks on his back, and glared with fury at Mili across the divide.

Mili naturally paid no mind to this milk-smelling little brat.

But the man at the boy’s side — that was a different matter.

He had just taken a heavy blow from Li Xuandu through careless underestimation and barely escaped. And now he had run straight into the former battle god of the Li dynasty.

Looking at the other man’s posture, it was clear he had come prepared and been waiting here for him.

He had previously learned that Jiang Yi had taken his troops to the western flank to deal with the Kangju army.

He had not expected the man to appear here at this moment.

Obviously, the battle on the western route had already concluded.

Mili understood: today, escaping was not going to be so easy.

His face darkened. He snatched up the wolf-tooth clubs hanging at his side, gave a great shout, and drove his horse charging straight at Jiang Yi.

Jiang Yi, gripping an iron-headed spear, spurred his horse and rode directly to meet him.

Mili’s pair of wolf-tooth clubs that he customarily used each weighed thirty jin. The clubs were studded with iron hooks as sharp as fangs. An opponent need not be struck directly — a mere graze would split the skin and lacerate the flesh, causing agonizing pain.

This was a brutal, life-or-death close combat with the sole purpose of killing the other man. Once the two met, there was no probing, not a single feinting move — they went straight for vital points.

The loser had only one road: death.

Mili knew this was a matter of life and death. His eyes went crimson, his teeth locked tight, and he swung his wolf-tooth clubs with a howling whistle through the air. After more than ten exchanges, several times he nearly landed a hit on Jiang Yi, but each time failed at the last moment to achieve his wish.

He grew more and more ferocious. Finally, he seized his moment, swung both clubs in a converging arc like a dragon coiling, and caught the spear tip as it stabbed toward him, clamping it between the wolf fangs.

With the spear tip wedged between the iron hooks, Mili gave Jiang Yi no opportunity to pull it back, and immediately, without pause, gave a brutal wrench.

His aim was to force Jiang Yi to release his grip and seize the long spear from him.

Jiang Yi did release his grip. But what happened next was something Mili had not imagined.

Just as Mili forced Jiang Yi to open his hand, the solid wood shaft of the iron spear suddenly bent under the force in Jiang Yi’s hands.

Just as it bent like a bow arm, Jiang Yi suddenly let go.

The end of the clubs snapped back toward Mili with the speed of lightning. Mili felt a rush of wind before him and could not react at all — the club’s head smashed heavily into the top of his skull.

He felt a thunderous buzz in his ears, his vision exploded with gold sparks, and his head rang with splitting pain as though his skull was cracking.

He let out a great cry. His body, like an iron tower, swayed, on the verge of toppling. Still mounted, he gritted his teeth and tried to recover his senses — when Jiang Yi’s palm had already caught the rebounding spear shaft. With one grip, he pulled the spear tip back from between the wolf fangs. Then in a single backhanded motion, with a thud, the sharp spear tip drove into Mili’s chest, piercing straight through.

Jiang Yi let out a furious roar. Throwing all his arm strength into an upward heave —

Mili, standing eight feet tall and weighing two hundred jin, skewered on the spear tip, was lifted bodily from the horse’s back by him, the entire man flung away like a broken-stringed kite, crashing heavily to the ground.

Mili lay face down. Blood gushed from his mouth. Pain filled his face, his limbs contorted. He convulsed on the ground for a moment, and then went still.

Jiang Yi slowly pulled back the long spear — its tip still dripping blood without cease — and balanced it across the horse’s back. He gazed coldly at Mili on the ground.

From the moment the two men had crossed spears, the breath of death had hovered over every head. Whether Jiang Yi’s people or Mili’s troops, both sides had just held their breath and watched the fight, the tension almost unbearable.

At this moment, the fight was finally over.

After a brief dead silence, Huaiwei — who had a moment before been watching so intently he could barely breathe — suddenly leapt down from his horse in excitement, commanding the men opposite to surrender, saying those who did would be spared, otherwise killed without mercy.

The soldiers at his back gave chase after Mili’s panicked followers.

He ran to Jiang Yi’s horse and looked up at Jiang Yi, still seated in the saddle, his eyes shining with boundless adoration.

“Grand General, what must I do, in the future, to become as formidable as you?”

Jiang Yi looked at him. A faint, barely perceptible tenderness showed in his gaze.

He was just about to speak when Mili — face down on the ground, having ceased all movement — suddenly raised his head. His eyes fixed with deadly intensity on Huaiwei’s back. Almost at the same instant, the man sprang up from the ground.

“Little mongrel — die with me!”

He pulled a dagger from his body and, with every last ounce of ferocity, lunged in a flying leap at Huaiwei.

With Huaiwei standing right in front of Mili, if he threw his spear the moment Huaiwei might be injured.

“Get out of the way!”

Jiang Yi’s pupils suddenly contracted. He shouted and flew off the horse’s back, swiftly sweeping the oblivious Huaiwei to one side, dodging the blow Mili drove forward with the last of his full strength.

But he himself did not dodge clear.

The dagger cut through iron like mud. Though he wore battle armor, the plates were still sliced through.

His brow furrowed slightly. Then he swiftly sent a flying kick, knocking the dagger from Mili’s hand. Mili also staggered and fell face-first to the ground once more.

Huaiwei finally realized what had happened, flew into a rage, grabbed one of his great hammers, charged up to Mili — not yet quite dead — and swung it with all his might at his head.

With a crack, Mili’s skull shattered, his brains spattered out. Only then did he finally stop breathing and die entirely.

Huaiwei had noticed, even several years ago when he was still young, that the way Mili looked at his mother was somehow different from how other people looked at her. Instinct had filled him with revulsion, though at the time he had not understood the matter and did not know what it meant. Over the past couple of years, as he gradually gained more knowledge of the world, he had suddenly understood — and had wanted to kill Mili ever since. Now that the man was dead, he still felt no satisfaction. He swung the hammer again and again, smashing the skull nearly flat, until it was completely unrecognizable as human. Then he kicked the corpse away.

He threw down the hammer, dusted off his hands, walked toward Jiang Yi standing off to the side, and asked: “Grand General, are you all right? You just saved me! That was a close thing!”

Jiang Yi’s face had gone slightly pale, but he showed a smile and shook his head: “I’m fine. I’ll send someone to escort you back to Yinyue City first. I need to go and see your fourth brother — check on how the battle there is going.”

He spoke and then turned, calling loudly for a deputy officer, commanding him to take men and escort the King of Western Di back to Yinyue City. He himself stepped forward, continuing in that direction.

Huaiwei panicked at hearing this.

Back on the western route, the Kangju forces had come in large numbers and with great momentum, but after Jiang Yi led his troops in and joined with Shan Yang’s forces and the Que warriors, the result had been almost without incident. After several large and small engagements, the Kangju prince was captured on the battlefield, and the fighting was essentially concluded. The western siege was instantly lifted.

For the past several days he had been following along at the rear, and had barely fought enough.

He hastily retrieved his hammer and dragged it behind him, chasing after Jiang Yi. While chasing, he made his case, trying to get permission to go along.

Ever since he had come to Xiyu earlier and the fighting was done, Shan Yang had led his troops back while Huaiwei had not returned, staying first in the garrison town, together with Pu Zhu and the others, and then following Jiang Yi out of Yumen to guard against the north. They had been together for several months now. In ordinary times Jiang Yi not only taught him military strategy and fighting technique, but also showed great patience toward him in everyday matters.

Yet right now, he was completely out of character — the moment he finished speaking, he paid no further attention to Huaiwei, quickened his pace, and very soon left him behind.

It was a completely different feeling from the sense of respect mixed with the ability to joke around that he had with his fourth imperial brother Prince Qin.

When it came to Grand General Jiang, Huaiwei’s feelings — beyond respect and admiration — carried a hint of awe. Seeing him unwilling to allow it, he did not dare make a scene. He had no choice but to stop, watching Jiang Yi’s receding back in frustration — then he suddenly noticed that on the ground at Jiang Yi’s feet, a drop of blood had fallen.

As Jiang Yi’s steps continued forward, more and more blood dripped down, drop after drop, beside his feet. At first only one drop at a time, but quickly it became a stream of blood, flowing along the edge of his battle armor, flowing without cease.

“Grand General, you’re bleeding!”

Huaiwei was greatly alarmed. He immediately chased after him, stepped in front of him, and looked down at the battle armor on his chest where the dagger had sliced through, only now realizing that beneath the armor, the inner shirt that had been cut open was already soaked through and through with blood.

So just now, when he had saved him, he had been wounded by the dagger — yet he had never let Huaiwei know!

Looking at all that blood, the wound must have been no shallow cut.

No military physician was nearby. Huaiwei immediately blocked Jiang Yi’s way, pushed him down onto a rock by the roadside, and helped him undo his armor and inner garments. Only then could he see clearly: on one side of his chest there was a long, deep wound. The flesh was turned back, and blood was still gushing from the wound, soaking the front of his blue inner robe and the entire lower half, until he looked as though he had just been hauled out of a pool of blood.

Huaiwei hastily called over an attendant, got the wound medicine that was always carried on the person, sprinkled it over the wound, then tore strips of cloth from the hem of his own inner garment and quickly bound and stanched the bleeding.

“It’s all my fault! It’s because of me that the Grand General was injured……”

Huaiwei watched the blood surge out again and quickly soak through the bandaging cloth as well. He couldn’t help it — his eyes went red, and his voice choked up.

Jiang Yi had lost quite a lot of blood. The color of his lips had gone temporarily pale. He sat on the rock, watching the remorse showing on Huaiwei’s face as he bound the wound, and smiled once more. In a warm voice he said: “You need not blame yourself. I am fine. This is a minor flesh wound — nothing serious.”

Huaiwei waited anxiously for a moment, and when he saw the wound medicine finally take effect and the blood at the wound seemed to be gradually stopping, he let out a long breath of relief and looked up: “Grand General, you’ve been hurt — come back with me to Yinyue City first!”

Jiang Yi paused, then shook his head: “You go first. As I just said, I still need to go and see your fourth brother.”

“Then I’ll go too!”

Jiang Yi shook his head again.

“You should go back. The city was under siege before — but now the road is open. You’ve been out here fighting this long, and your mother must be very worried about you.”

“You should go back now.”

His tone was still gentle, but it carried a force that admitted no argument.

Huaiwei hesitated, and at last answered: “All right. I’ll do as the Grand General says.”

A smile appeared on Jiang Yi’s face again as he gave a slight nod.

“When I was in He Xi, Fourth Sister-in-law said she wanted to go to Yinyue City for a visit. Once this fighting is all the way finished, she should be able to come. Remember to come to Yinyue City with Fourth Brother and Fourth Sister-in-law to see me — and my mother too. She’s a wonderful person; she and the Grand General are sure to get along!”

Jiang Yi sat on the rock, watching him. He only smiled but said nothing.

Huaiwei assumed he had agreed and felt relieved.

Jiang Yi straightened his garments once more, commanded the deputy officer again to escort Huaiwei back. Huaiwei reluctantly mounted his horse, bid him farewell, and followed everyone toward Yinyue City.

Jiang Yi stood at the roadside and watched him go, then suddenly called his name.

Huaiwei quickly turned back, and heard him say: “After you return, don’t tell your mother that I was injured.”

“Why not? You were injured because of saving me! How could I not tell her?” Huaiwei didn’t understand.

Jiang Yi hesitated a moment and said: “If you tell her, you’ll have to tell her the reason as well. If she knows you were nearly stabbed, she’ll worry terribly.”

“Besides, this really is just a minor flesh wound — two days of rest and it will be fine.”

Hearing his tone was serious, Huaiwei hesitated, then finally nodded with some reluctance.

Jiang Yi smiled and waved a hand at him: “All right, go on. Be careful on the road!”

Huaiwei answered, and rode away with three glances back for every step.

Jiang Yi watched his figure until it gradually disappeared from sight, then turned, gazed for a moment in the direction of Zhuo Yin Mountain, mounted his horse, and rode off swiftly with his escort.

……

After Mili fled, beneath the fierce encirclement and assault of the enemy, the remaining forces of the various Eastern Di kings collapsed and began fleeing northward.

After another half-day of fighting, when the blazing sun stood directly overhead in the afternoon, the battle at the foot of this mountain range finally gradually died down.

Li Xuandu stood in the center of the battlefield, looking out toward the north, when he suddenly saw Jiang Yi galloping over from a distance. He rode out to meet him. Upon learning that Mili had been personally hammered to death by Huaiwei, he slowly let out a long breath.

The soldiers began clearing the battlefield. The commanders, escorting the captured kings and nobles of the Eastern Di tribes, came gathering from all four directions, trickling in one after another toward his position.

Zhang Zhuo and several soldiers also escorted a middle-aged man forward.

The man had a curling beard and a high nose. His battle armor had long since been cast aside; his long robe was shredded to strips, and he looked completely wretched.

This man was the King of Wuli.

After Mili fled, seeing the situation turn against him, the King of Wuli had quickly wanted to withdraw his army and slip away as well — but there was no escaping. He was bound and sent forward alone.

He looked at the young man opposite him — cold of face, with two eyes that shot toward him like sharp arrows — and knew this was the Li dynasty’s Prince Qin. He immediately said: “This humble king is willing to submit to Prince Qin! To be loyal to the Li dynasty! I swear that from this day forward I will sever all ties with the Eastern Di! Henceforth I will only bow my head in submission to the Li dynasty, and pay tribute year after year!”

In his understanding, for border kingdoms like his — regardless of whether they had previously allied themselves with the Eastern Di — as long as they pledged their loyalty and submitted to the Li dynasty, they would not be made difficulties. The more than ten Eastern Di tribal kings who had just been captured along with him were said to be able to keep their lives as long as they surrendered.

If they could, then why not he, all the more so?

Unexpectedly, the young Prince Qin opposite him seemed not to hear a word.

He still stared at him with that cold gaze. His only response was to reach out a hand, grasp the hilt of the sword at his waist, slowly close his fingers around it — and then abruptly draw it.

The sunlight shone down, and along the snow-white edge of the blade, a flash of cold light seemed to pass in a moment, stinging the eye.

The King of Wuli watched Prince Qin take the sword in hand. Despite himself, his complexion changed.

“Kneel!” Suddenly, Li Xuandu’s voice rang out sharp and cold.

The King of Wuli gave a shudder. An ominous feeling swept through his heart, and he was filled with terror beyond measure.

But with so many people watching — including those captured generals and soldiers who had been taken along with him — as the King of Wuli, how could he show weakness?

He forced himself to argue: “What does Your Highness mean? Do you intend to kill this humble king? Was it not said you do not kill kings who have submitted……”

A soldier behind him gave a heavy kick to the back of his knee. Unable to stand, he stumbled and knelt before Li Xuandu.

He sprawled there in misery and turned his head to look at the captured Eastern Di tribal kings not far away.

“They can all live! Why can’t I?”

If he had only guessed before, now he could already read from the eyes of Prince Qin opposite him a dense, cold killing intent.

Seized by the terror of death, he could not control himself, and screamed again at the top of his lungs with all his might.

“This humble king refuses to accept this! Why kill me? In this assault on the Western Di, I was not the mastermind! I was coerced……”

“Do you still remember: twelve years ago, the Li dynasty’s envoy — the Left Colonel General of the Palace Guard?”

Li Xuandu suddenly cut off his words with cold indifference.

The King of Wuli was startled, and quickly thought back.

That Li dynasty envoy whom he had ordered ambushed and killed, and then had the corpse paraded to display his power — how could he ever forget?

His face immediately went deathly white. His mouth opened, but no sound could come out anymore.

“Anyone else — no matter who they are — can surrender! But you — there is no chance left for you!”

After Li Xuandu spoke these words one by one in a calm tone, in the King of Wuli’s terrified gaze, he swung his sword with sudden violence, and with a single stroke, severed the man at the waist.

The upper half of the King of Wuli’s body, still attached to his head, and his lower half, suddenly split in two. Foul blood sprayed wildly outward. But he did not die immediately.

His face wore an expression of utter disbelief, and his eyes — already glazing with the dullness of death — stared fixedly at his own lower half just beside him. His fingers clawed uselessly at the wild grass on the ground, twisting his half-body as though trying to crawl toward it.

Li Xuandu wiped the foul blood that had sprayed onto his face, opened his eyes, and issued his final cold order: “Tear the body apart!”

Soldiers swarmed forward, raising their sabers and axes.

The smell of blood, beneath the blazing sun, filled every breath. The battlefield below, as far as the eye could see, was heaped with corpses and blood, without end.

The vast wilderness seemed to fall into a silence like death.

Suddenly at that moment, on a high ridge of the mountain range, a great white wolf — the wolf king himself — leapt into view.

The beast’s eyes gleamed with ferocity. It seemed to have caught the scent of all that blood filling the pit, its sharp teeth dripping, ranging back and forth across the mountainside. It charged toward this side, howling out peal after peal of hair-raising cries, as though demonstrating its might.

The more than ten captured Eastern Di tribal kings and the several thousand Di who had surrendered and come along immediately erupted into a restless commotion.

Countless eyes fixed intently on the wolf king. Expressions varied among the crowd. Some seemed lost; others seemed to harbor a certain secret hope. Some even grew so agitated they prostrated themselves in worship.

Li Xuandu’s face showed no expression.

He bent down, picked up a masterless war bow from the ground, stained all over with blood — its owner’s whereabouts unknown — and from a nearby Eastern Di corpse casually pulled out an arrow whose tip was smeared with dark blood and flesh. He nocked it, drew the bowstring to full tension, aimed at that white wolf king leaping and bounding in the distance, and after a moment — released.

The arrow left the string, in pursuit of the wolf king. Like a storm, like a shooting star, like a bolt of lightning — in an instant it arrived, and with a single shot, buried itself in the very center of the wolf’s skull.

The wolf king let out its last long howl — a sound like a desolate lament — then from the rocks above, it dropped headlong to the ground.

Li Xuandu immediately threw down the bow, leapt onto his horse’s back, raised his arm, lifted his sword, pointed it in the direction of the Eastern Di royal court to the north, and shouted with fierce clarity: “Pursue!”

His order was relayed and amplified outward in wave after wave.

Whatever last remnants of light had remained in the eyes of the Eastern Di tribal kings — it was extinguished in an instant. Every face went ashen.

And Li Xuandu’s thousands upon thousands of soldiers — in the instant the wolf king fell and Li Xuandu issued the order to pursue — erupted in a united roar.

“Heaven grants the Son of Heaven divine might!”

“Glory without end through all ages!”

These battle cries were like the majesty of a dragon and the roar of a tiger, shaking the open wilderness, echoing on and on without cease.