After riding his horse for about ten steps, Mu Chun noticed the absence of the familiar sound of hoofbeats behind him. Looking back, he found not a single supporter—none of those “brothers” had followed him.

Not only that, but even the ten bodyguards and one military physician his father Mu Ying had assigned to stick to him like dog-skin plaster remained standing motionless in place.

Mu Chun understood clearly that he alone could never rescue the young mother.

Even Mu Chun’s wisdom recognized this point, and others understood it even better—as long as they didn’t foolishly follow him, he wouldn’t impulsively charge out of the city to save people by himself.

So everyone very tacitly maintained their stillness.

Mu Chun cursed inwardly, on this less-than-festive day cordially greeting everyone’s mothers.

Just when everyone expected him to “realize his error and return,” Mu Chun suddenly spurred his horse into a wild gallop, charging through the damaged city gate while roaring: “If you’re brothers, remember to burn paper money for me on this day next year!”

With that, one man and one horse disappeared in a cloud of dust.

Everyone immediately understood why Marquis Xiping Mu Ying would beat his eldest son on sight—this fool really needed discipline!

Willful to the extreme and utterly incorrigible, they had told him “have patience” at least ten thousand times, yet he still charged off to save people!

The eleven dog-skin plaster men Mu Ying had sent immediately followed Mu Chun out of the city. Their mission was to protect the young master—if he died, they could only return with their heads to report, and since death was death anyway, so be it.

Captain Shi also went, telling the remaining six Jiangxi bandit captains: “I’ll go first. You don’t go—leave someone for Guaishi Ridge. Remember to burn paper money for your brothers during festivals.”

Three of the Jiangxi bandits followed Captain Shi.

Half of the Yingyang Guard also went, about fifty men.

Chen Xuan, the mountain king of Eighteen Strongholds in Zhouzhi County, Xi’an, had performed excellently in the battle against Prince Qin’s five thousand mansion troops. Ji Gang had taken it upon himself to grant amnesty, and Chen Xuan brought five hundred bandits to surrender and guard the frontier.

Chen Xuan came from a military family—his father was Deputy Commander of Chengdu Right Guard, a proper third-rank military official. The family fell into decline after being implicated in Hu Weiyong’s treason case and was exiled to the frontier. Unable to endure the abuse, they were driven to join the Eighteen Strongholds.

He often claimed that bandits weren’t devils either, so he led his fellow bandits to start an escort agency, switching careers. After cooperating with the Embroidered Uniform Guard to expose Prince Qin’s mansion’s true face, he smoothly “washed his feet and came ashore,” becoming a minor captain at the Ming frontier, climbing the official ladder from zero.

Though Mu Chun was born noble, he naturally possessed the temperament of a grassroots rogue, particularly attracting bandits. When Chen Xuan joined his command, Mu Chun didn’t discriminate based on origins, treating the privileged second-generation Yingyang Guard soldiers and Eighteen Strongholds bandits equally. Chen Xuan greatly admired this.

Now that Mu Chun was charging beyond the passes alone, Chen Xuan rationally disagreed but was emotionally ignited with passion. He mounted his horse and told his subordinates: “This journey bodes ill. Those who want to follow, follow; those who don’t want to follow can stay here without shame.”

About three hundred men followed Chen Xuan to chase after Mu Chun.

Sandstorms arose beyond the passes, blurring vision. Everyone covered their faces with triangular scarves, exposing only their eyes. Chen Xuan worried that Mu Chun had already run too far to catch up, but he soon dismissed this thought.

Ahead, Mu Chun had already dismounted and was leading two hunting dogs, holding a small infant’s clothing to the dogs’ noses, letting them smell the milk scent: “Smell carefully, lead us to find his mother.”

Mu Chun already had four bandit captains and fifty-some elite Yingyang Guard loyalists. Seeing Chen Xuan bringing three hundred reinforcements, he immediately beamed with joy: “Excellent! The numbers already exceed my expectations. Let’s set out.”

So it wasn’t going alone after all—he had staged a bitter-meat stratagem waiting for them to fall for it. Mu Chun had never planned to go die alone.

Everyone looked at each other: Ah, we’ve been tricked! Is it too late to back out now? Well, since we’re already here…

The two hunting dogs raced following the scent of breast milk, charging northeast. Mu Chun spurred his horse first in pursuit: “Go! Quick battle, quick resolution!”

Everyone followed. Indeed, as Mu Chun judged, the enemy moved slowly carrying plundered goods and young women, and Mu Chun’s group quickly caught up.

Not expecting Ming forces to counterattack, the Northern Yuan army was somewhat surprised. Mu Chun drew his bow while mounted and shot an arrow, piercing through a chest.

The Northern Yuan army began to fight back. The two armies engaged in battle.

This raiding party numbered five hundred, mixed with many opportunistic grassland herders. Mu Chun’s subordinates were all elite with excellent equipment. When the two armies faced off, the strong and weak were immediately apparent.

Sensing trouble, the Northern Yuan army blew ox horns to retreat. Unable to flee quickly while carrying goods and captives, they abandoned their plunder and retreated under cover of the sandstorm.

Mu Chun had already ordered not to pursue, so no one gave chase. Everyone withdrew and counted the captured people—mostly adolescent boys and adult women. Males were taken as slaves, females were seized as wives or sold to nobles as servants.

Mu Chun waved the infant’s clothing and asked the trembling women huddled together: “Who is Wang Suzhen?”

No one responded.

The hunting dogs barked wildly toward the direction of the Yuan army’s escape.

Mu Chun immediately understood—the Yuan army hadn’t released the new mother and had dragged her along.

Mu Chun stared at the infant’s clothing in a daze. The tiny piece of cloth wasn’t even as big as his sock, with fine, dense stitching that deliberately kept the rough edges on the outside so they wouldn’t chafe the infant’s tender skin.

This was a careful mother.

Mu Chun stuffed the clothing in his chest, mounted his horse, and said: “You escort the civilians back to the city. I’m going to save her.”

The eleven-man unit Mu Ying had sent immediately followed. Captain Shi and Chen Xuan exchanged glances and also followed. Gradually, about fifty men silently joined this “suicide squad” while the remaining troops escorted the civilians home.

The sandstorm grew stronger and the sky darker. Without the hunting dogs leading the way, Mu Chun wouldn’t know which direction to go.

He finally understood why the major wars between Ming and Northern Yuan were all won by Ming finding Northern Yuan’s main camp and launching attacks.

The Northwest was vast—nothing but grassland and desert. Ming and Northern Yuan were like playing a deadly version of “hide and seek.” Whoever was caught lost; if they couldn’t catch the enemy, Ming would be slowly worn down and become the loser.

The hunting dogs barked frantically—they had caught up!

Mu Chun drew his bow, searching for targets. In the sandstorm, only one horse was vaguely visible, with two hunting dogs circling it and barking wildly.

When Mu Chun and his men surrounded the horse and approached, they discovered a young woman tied to the horse’s back. Her mouth was gagged, she was prone on the horse’s back, firmly bound to the saddle, unable to move or make a sound.

Mu Chun removed the hemp stuffing from the woman’s mouth and asked: “What’s your name?”

The woman said: “Suzhen, Wang Suzhen.”

Mu Chun took out the infant’s clothing from his chest and handed it to the young mother: “I’m taking you home.”

At this moment, Chen Xuan called out: “No good! We’ve fallen into the enemy’s trap!”

Chen Xuan pointed to the compass in his hand with its wildly spinning needle: “The magnetic field here is chaotic, and the compass is useless. With sandstorms blocking our vision, we can’t determine direction by sun, moon, or stars either. The enemy knows the terrain—they deliberately drove the woman here, using the hunting dogs to lure us in step by step, trapping us while they escape.”

Mu Chun was unconcerned, saying: “Anyway, our purpose isn’t to fight but to save people. If the compass doesn’t work, we’ll wait for the sandstorm to stop, identify the stars, and head southeast to return. This sandstorm can’t blow forever, right?”

Everyone felt Mu Chun’s reasoning made sense and felt somewhat reassured.

About half an hour later, the sandstorm finally stopped—because hail began falling!

Hailstones rained down, large ones like goose eggs, small ones like sand grains. This was a basin with only withered grass and thorns, no trees. Everyone drove the horses to a mountain hollow, covered them with felt cloth used for camping, then set up shields outside to block the fierce wind and hail.

Clang! Clang!

The hailstones struck the temporarily constructed shield wall like an energetic giant outside continuously swinging pickaxes at the wall—fifty heavy strikes, twenty light ones.

Mu Chun took the wine gourd from his horse’s back to share with everyone: “First warm up. When the hail stops, we’ll go back.”

Half an hour later, the hail stopped and cotton-like heavy snow began falling!

Mu Chun had never seen such heavy snow. When the flakes fell, you could clearly see their hexagonal outlines—white, soft, light, and translucent, dancing and swirling in the wind.

By torchlight, Mu Chun opened his compass. The needle spun crazily, and his heart followed suit in confusion. He closed the cover and consoled his men: “When dawn comes and the sun rises, we can determine direction and return.”

Captain Shi asked: “What if it’s cloudy and we can’t see the sun?”

Mu Chun said: “Cut down a tree and look at the growth rings’ protruding direction—we can also distinguish north from south. I will definitely bring you all back.”

Though Mu Chun appeared steady as a dog, he was truly worried: It seemed like they hadn’t seen any trees along this entire route…

At this moment, the eleven-man unit Mu Ying had sent exchanged glances and produced their secret weapon—fireworks.

Mu Chun said: “Our people are too far from here. Even if we send signals, they won’t see them.”

The military physician said: “These were left by the Marquis for us to use for rescue. We can use them to contact scouts lurking in enemy camps—they’ll come save us.”

Mu Chun didn’t believe it: “Do they work?”

The military physician said seriously: “When the Marquis won the third Northern Expedition this spring, he relied on intelligence from these scouts—seven days and nights of forced marching, crossing the Yellow River, traversing Ningxia, climbing over the Helan Mountains, finding the Yuan army’s main camp and crushing them in one strike. They are Ming’s unsung heroes. We must trust them.”

The eleven men climbed to the mountaintop through the snow and set off five fireworks in succession.

Afterward, people and horses huddled together for warmth, waiting for support. Mu Chun, half-believing, guarded the outermost position against the wind, dozing while holding the two hunting dogs.

At dawn, the hunting dog in his arms suddenly pricked up its ears and barked wildly at the shield wall.

“Alert!” Mu Chun didn’t even open his eyes but drew his bow and nocked an arrow.

Outside the shield wall, someone knocked rhythmically on the shields, and a low voice said: “By the grassy bank, there are milk-collecting cattle.”

Mu Chun was stunned. The military physician ran over, responded by tapping the shield wall with his sheathed sword, then said: “By the Black River, there are fan-tailed sheep.”

The person outside stopped knocking and said again: “Swallows fly north.”

The military physician said: “People look north.” Then he gave Mu Chun a meaningful look: “The support has arrived.”

Captain Shi, Chen Xuan and others removed a row of shields. The person outside led his horse in. He was dressed like an ordinary herder, wearing a wolf-head hat and sheepskin robe. He removed his hat, shook off the accumulated snow, took out a handful of wheat grains from his pocket, and fed them to the horses.

He had the traditional Yuan hairstyle called “three patches”—the opposite of Ming children’s hairstyle. Ming children only kept the hair on top of their heads, shaving everything else. But Yuan people shaved the crown and back of the head completely, leaving bangs and hair on both sides, forming three distinct areas, hence “three patches.”

The man used a brush to clean all the ice and snow from his mount, even fed it a little wine, before turning to address everyone: “After daybreak, I’ll lead you out of Soul-Confusing Valley. Otherwise, you’ll never get out. The Yuan army returned empty-handed this time, tricking you into wandering around Soul-Confusing Valley, waiting for you to become half-dead from cold and hunger before slaughtering you like cattle and sheep. This is their usual trick. Ming soldiers rarely fall for it anymore—I didn’t expect you fools would still be deceived.”

When he turned around, Mu Chun could clearly see his appearance. His bangs looked freshly cut, neat as if trimmed with a knife. Despite this earth-shattering hairstyle, you could still tell he was a handsome man.

The young mother stepped forward and bowed: “It’s my fault. I was tied to the horse’s back by the Yuan army and driven to Soul-Confusing Valley. They all came to save me.”

“Bowl-Cut” was very surprised: “Sacrificing a hundred Ming soldiers for one woman? Are you some high official’s daughter?”

The woman said: “I’m just an ordinary commoner. They said they’d take me home to reunite with my husband and child.”

“Bowl-Cut” asked: “Who among you is the leader?”

Mu Chun kept his head down without speaking. He knew he had been too impulsive and nearly got everyone killed. His subordinates all stepped back in unison, isolating this foolish young general.

Mu Chun laughed dryly: “It’s me. May I ask the great savior’s honored name? I will definitely repay you in the future.”

“Bowl-Cut” raised his hand. No one stepped forward to mediate—everyone waited for the great savior Bowl-Cut to give the foolish young general a good beating and teach him a lesson.

Mu Chun kept retreating: “Gentlemen use words, not fists. Let’s talk nicely—or you can curse me too, just don’t curse my mother. Feel free to curse any other relatives.”

Especially my father.

“Bowl-Cut’s” hand fell on Mu Chun’s shoulder and even patted it: “Since ancient times, heroes emerge from youth. With passionate young men like you protecting the people, I believe we can win this Northern Expedition. We don’t fight for the sake of fighting—we fight to defend our homeland.”

Meeting a kindred spirit in a foreign land, Mu Chun excitedly embraced “Bowl-Cut”: “You’re truly my soulmate! Shall we become sworn brothers?”

Just as Marquis Xiping Mu Ying was about to inexplicably gain another son, before the eleven-man unit could stop the young master, “Bowl-Cut” decisively refused: “No, I must maintain my scout identity and stay detached. I can’t get too involved with people. You’re just a mission to me—I have no personal interest in you.”

After being cruelly rejected, Mu Chun still tried to get close, saying: “You praised me as a passionate youth, but you’re also very handsome and young.”

Still so good-looking despite that earth-shattering hairstyle.

“Bowl-Cut” put on his hat, mounted his horse to lead the way, and upon hearing this, sang a melancholy tune: “Today’s youth, tomorrow’s old. The mountains remain beautiful, but people grow haggard.”