125: People That Thought Themselves to be Men

He Lianying turned his horse to retreat, leaving behind the captured Tartars. Ning Shu sneered coldly, her eyes narrowing. Did he truly believe he could tread freely on the soil of Great Yong and leave unscathed?

Reaching for her bow, she notched an arrow, pulling the string taut until the bow curved like a full moon. The tip of the arrow glinted sharply as she took aim at He Lianying's back.

The bowstring twanged as the arrow was released, slicing through the air with deadly precision. But He Lianying's reflexes proved quicker—he flattened himself against his horse just in time. The arrow narrowly missed him, embedding itself into a nearby tree.

Turning to glance at the arrow quivering in the bark, He Lianying's gaze flicked back to Ning Shu. She sat tall on her horse, her posture unyielding, her eyes radiating cold murder.

Ning Shu's lips pressed into a thin line. She felt a pang of disappointment. "Scourges live a thousand years," she thought bitterly. A quick end for He Lianying would have been too much to hope for. Their entangled fates, forged in a prior lifetime where they had even been wed, seemed impossible to sever.

Her thoughts broke as she barked orders to the soldiers around her. "Clean up the battlefield. Record the names of the fallen, evaluate their merits, and ensure their families receive threefold compensation."

Her eyes swept the carnage before her: bodies mangled beneath horses' hooves, entrails glistening under the dimming sun, and blood-soaked soil clumped in dark patches. The acrid stench of death and iron filled the air, making it hard to breathe.

War was merciless. Ning Shu felt a heat rise behind her eyes but forced herself to remain composed.

She turned her cold gaze to the late-arriving general, who stiffened under her scrutiny. The man shifted awkwardly before saluting her. "Princess, what should be done with these Tartars?"

"The heads of Tartars can be exchanged for military merit," he suggested, his tone too eager. His eyes gleamed as they lingered on the captives.

Ning Shu's expression darkened. Arrive late, lose comrades, and then covet credit? She felt her irritation boil over. "This princess will cripple anyone who dares touch these Tartars. Do you want merit that badly?"

The general paled, bowing his head hurriedly. "This general does not dare."

Her rank and title as both princess and left vanguard placed her far above him. Still, she caught the flash of resentment in his eyes—resentment born of bowing to a woman.

Ning Shu dismissed his glare with a flick of her whip and commanded, "Return to camp!"

---

The campgrounds fell silent as Ning Shu led the Tartars to the central stage. The twenty prisoners were bound but defiant, their eyes gleaming with mockery. Confident in the Great Yong's adherence to protocol, they believed their lives would be spared.

Ning Shu strode into the main tent and knelt before Shen Feng. Her report was thorough and precise, including the delay of the officer who prioritized his own safety over his comrades' lives.

The officer bristled at her words, glaring at her in outrage. But Ning Shu's cold smirk only deepened as she toyed with the whip at her waist.

How could a fractured army stand against the Tartars? Disobedience and division had cost lives. Her resolve hardened. Authority must be consolidated. Respect must be demanded.

The captives would serve as a warning. "Kill the chicken to scare the monkey," she thought.

Ning Shu ascended the stage, her voice cutting through the air. "The Tartars have harmed our siblings—kill! They have trampled our land—kill!"

"Kill! Kill!"

The soldiers below roared in unison, their spears lifted high. The Tartars' confidence wavered, their pale faces betraying their growing fear.

Ning Shu stepped forward, her whip trailing ominously. The prisoners began babbling in their native tongue, their boldness dissolving into frantic pleas.