Chapter 37: Worshiping with Native Soil in the Coming Days

The rumbling seemed endless, the ground shaking as if the earth itself was trembling.

In the blink of an eye, amidst the fire and smoke, a massive pit appeared in the soil.

So quick, and without the slightest expenditure of manpower.

But the generals standing outside the fortress remained dazed, staring at the stone projectiles raining down from the sky, devoid of any joy.

"So this is the weapon that made the Jurchen people retreat in terror," a general murmured.

During the intense battle earlier, they had heard the tremors but hadn't given them much thought—it had been a matter of life and death then. Yet, seeing the Jurchens panic and flee, it wasn't hard to guess its power.

Seeing it now made it even clearer.

Miss Jun had called these stone projectiles, but this? This wasn't simply a stone projectile. A single one could only kill a person or destroy a cart, but this one wiped out clusters of people.

Underneath this weapon, flesh and blood were utterly defenseless. It was unstoppable, there was no doubt. No wonder the Jurchens fled in panic.

It was truly formidable!

However...

"You actually used this mighty weapon—to dig a hole?" one general murmured.

Such a terrifying weapon, capable of striking fear into the hearts of the Jurchen soldiers, used just like this.

The generals felt as if their hearts were being shredded.

Wastrels.

"What if the Jurchens come back?" Someone clutched at his chest and shouted, hoarse with distress.

The dead deserved respect, but risking countless more lives to honor them? That would be sheer foolishness.

Miss Jun smiled faintly, her chin lifting ever so slightly, an air of arrogance about her.

"They won't dare," she said.

......................

The immense tremors once again threw the distant Jin camp into chaos.

The constant rumblings, the shaking ground, the visceral image of flesh splattering—they left every face pale.

They weren't afraid of gore. Having fought this long, what horrific scenes had they not witnessed? But this—their flesh torn apart before even approaching the enemy—this wasn't a battle. It was a massacre.

An outright massacre targeting them.

"The Zhou soldiers have come again."

Countless shouts nearly unraveled the camp, especially for the seventh prince, still shell-shocked by the stone projectiles and crossbows. He immediately clamored for another retreat.

Fortunately, a sentry brought word that it wasn't the Zhou soldiers advancing but merely launching stone projectiles from their position.

This revelation baffled the Jurchen troops.

Why launch projectiles in place?

Intimidation? Boasting? Threatening?

It was outrageously arrogant and utterly infuriating.

Tuoba Wu turned red with fury, screaming at the top of his lungs.

"Warriors, follow me and fight the Zhou people to the death!" he shouted.

But none of the surrounding generals answered him. Many had fear in their eyes.

Tuoba Wu grew even angrier.

This was their territory, and here they were, fearing the Zhou people. It was utterly humiliating.

"You cowards! Fearful of the enemy, shrinking from battle! You've disgraced the face of the Great Emperor!" he cursed.

His words angered a young man seated at the head of the command tent.

"Then, Roc King, why don't you lead as the vanguard in battle?" he sneered, coldly speaking while pressing down on a bruise on his forehead.

This was the seventh prince. Though he addressed Tuoba Wu as "uncle," his expression lacked any trace of deference.

Tuoba Wu's face flushed further, but he didn't dare instantly respond with an agreement to lead the charge.

"We don't fear those Zhou soldiers," a Jin general hurriedly interjected to mediate. "But the Zhou are cunning, avoiding direct engagement and using cruel weapons to weaken our warriors. It's not worth it."

"Yes, in just that last encounter, we already lost a good number of brave men," others quickly chimed in.

Tuoba Wu's face fluctuated between red and pale as he gripped the axe in his hand tightly.

"Once those stone projectiles are exhausted, what is there left to fear?" he gritted his teeth and said.

"What if they haven't run out?" the seventh prince retorted coldly.

The tent fell silent.

Thinking of the earlier danger, the seventh prince pressed his injured forehead, his irritation growing.

"Tuoba Wu, what's the matter with you? How did you fail to know the Zhou soldiers possessed such powerful weapons? Why weren't we prepared?" he yelled.

Tuoba Wu's face turned livid with shame.

The other generals quickly stepped in to diffuse the tension.

"We're not refraining from battle; we're waiting for the right moment to fight."

"Yes, we should first study the Qingshan Army's tactics."

"As Han people say, 'Keep the green hills, and you'll never worry about running out of firewood.' If all our warriors perish, now that would truly be a disaster."

The room buzzed with agreement.

Tuoba Wu's face twitched as he observed the generals in the tent, a scene both unfamiliar and familiar.

Unfamiliar, because since he began leading battles, his warriors had rarely displayed such fear.

Familiar, because long ago, he often saw this same fear. It had been during the encounters with the Duke of Chengguo's army.

This dread had loomed over them for more than a decade. It had finally eased when the Zhou wore down the Duke through relentless campaigns, and with their successive victories, the warriors no longer feared his forces.

Yet now, in mere moments, a new Qingshan Army had emerged.

The Duke of Chengguo hadn't died, and now fresh threats arose. Truly...

Tuoba Wu clenched his axe, half furious and half disheartened.

Yet he now realized, they couldn't engage anymore—his warriors were already too scared. Without a fight, they had already been defeated.

The rumbling explosions ceased.

The ringing still buzzed in the generals' ears, but amid the distant rows of military formations, soldiers had already begun gathering up the dead from the battlefield.

Thousands swept the ground like combs, their movements swift and thorough, leaving nothing behind as they amassed the corpses in the massive pit.

Identification plates piled up into a cart, packed densely.

The generals' expressions gradually shifted from shock to solemnity.

The Duke of Chengguo motioned to be carried to the edge of the pit, stubbornly insisting on stepping down despite opposition. The generals were torn.

They understood his intent, but his injuries were clearly severe. Was this wise?

Instinctively, they turned to Miss Jun. Such matters were usually within the purview of doctors to persuade against.

"It's fine," Miss Jun nodded and said, "With injuries this grave, it doesn't matter if they worsen slightly."

What kind of logic was that! The generals' expressions darkened.

With Miss Jun's approval, no one had room to argue further. A few personal aides supported the Duke as he slowly made his way to the edge of the pit, standing there with difficulty.

The mingled scents of blood, sulfur, and stone added a further note of grim majesty.

The Duke of Chengguo gazed at the crowded pit of corpses, saying nothing but scanning each and every inch with meticulous attention.

"Bring me a blade," he ordered.

A blade? Again?

The generals sighed inwardly but complied.

The Duke took the blade, motioning for his aides to step away. Wobbly but resolute, he staggered forward, planting the blade into the earth to support himself as he straightened his figure.

The generals behind him stared at his silhouetted back, their eyes suddenly stinging.

This image was familiar—before every battle, the Duke would walk to the formation's front, looking at his troops, while they looked back at him.

"Sound the drums," the Duke commanded.

A general hastily gestured, and heavy, stirring war drums began to beat, growing heroic amidst the solemnness.

Slowly, the Duke raised the blade in his hand, lifting it high.

A declaration of battle.

The generals instinctively felt their throats burn and harshly dry; one after another, they drew their blades and weapons, raising them high.

Long blades high, long spears densely arrayed.

Miss Jun sighed lightly, nodding to Xia Yong.

With drumbeats in the background, the soldiers by the pit began shoveling earth over it, layer by layer, until the corpses were fully concealed.

The pit was covered, the soil piled high, and stone slabs tightly pressed atop.

The Duke of Chengguo lay back onto his stretcher.

His expression remained calm throughout—neither grieving nor angry.

"Let's go," he said, closing his eyes.

"Hold on a moment," Miss Jun interjected, whispering briefly to Xia Yong and Li Guorui before they rushed toward the military formation.

What more was there to do?

The generals watched in confusion as the Duke reopened his eyes. What he saw were rows of soldiers marching forward, each holding a flag in their arms.

Flags!

The Duke sat up halfway, watching these soldiers place flags onto the stone mound—until the final grand standard was jointly planted atop the highest point by several soldiers.

A six-foot flag of red heart bordered in blue flapped resoundingly in the wind.

"Come some future day, I'll come back here and bring you home," the Duke said, his gaze fixed on the soaring flag.

Miss Jun smiled faintly.

"Or, come some future day, this will be your home, and we'll come here to pay our respects," she said.

The generals couldn't help but glance at her.

What bold words! She implied taking over the Jurchen's land entirely.

The Duke turned toward her, smiling.

"Good soldier," he said, nodding to her again.

Miss Jun nodded back with a hint of a smile.

..................…

When word arrived from scouts that the Zhou Army had broken camp and left, the Jin camp remained complicated in its expressions.

Some showed resentment, others frustration, yet still others bore subtle relief they didn't dare reveal.

"Why not pursue..." a burly Jin general roared. "..Just letting Duke Zhu Shan escape like this, we might never have another chance to kill him. We..."

His words were cut short as another series of earth-shaking explosions erupted, plunging the tent into mayhem.

"This thing again!"

"The Zhou soldiers are attacking?"

"But weren't they retreating?"

The entire camp's horns and gongs rang sharply in alarm as vigilance surged. No one spoke again of pursuit.

Staring at the billowing smoke and fire, Zhao Hanqing clapped her hands from atop her horse.

"Two remaining—just for the sound," she said.

With that, she spurred her mount to turn, followed by two supply carts rolling in tow.

The mighty army ahead surged forward, banners flying southward amidst thunderous marching.

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