Chapter 317 Shanyue Tribe

Chapter 317: The Shanyue Tribe

Cui Ji watched General Cheng, who was wearing his helmet and marshaling troops in his dreams.

He felt both exasperated and amused, mixed with an indescribable tenderness.

He walked to the bedside and gently lifted the oversized black iron helmet off Cheng Ge's head, with uncharacteristic patience.

"This one's too big, doesn't fit. Next time... I'll have a proper one made for you."

Cheng Ge's mind was still mired in a fog of drowsiness when those words suddenly slipped into his ear, like a gentle nudge, making him abruptly lift his head.

With the helmet gone, his vision cleared. He blinked blankly, looked around, and finally focused on Cui Ji before him.

Cheng Ge: "???"

He clearly hadn't fully grasped the situation, his eyes still hazy with the fog of sleep.

He opened his mouth, looking at Cui Ji, momentarily at a loss for words.

The bold spirit of the general from his dream still seemed to smolder faintly in his chest.

Looking at Cui Ji, fully armored and ready to leave, a thought surfaced unbidden and slipped out.

"Can... can I come with you?"

"No." Cui Ji refused flatly, without a moment's hesitation.

The little flicker of hope that had just sparked in Cheng Ge's eyes instantly dimmed. He lowered his head and muttered in a subdued tone, "Oh..."

Seeing him wilt like that, Cui Ji's heart softened a touch, and he explained:

"The night is late and the dew is thick. The terrain of the Mingshui Marsh is treacherous and far too dangerous."

He paused, looking at Cheng Ge's newly raised face, and added, "Next time, if the situation allows, I'll take you along."

Cui Ji knew Cheng Ge was no caged bird, content to be cooped up in a tiny space, and he had never intended to keep him on a short leash.

He had intended to wait until Cheng Ge was healthier, then find him a suitable position in the camp—one that would play to his strengths without exposing him to excessive danger.

The situation at the Mingshui Marsh was still unknown; it truly wasn't the time to put him in harm's way.

Seeing that Cheng Ge had agreed but still couldn't quite mask his disappointment,

Cui Ji changed tack and settled for the next best thing, offering him a clear task: "You'll guard the city with Zhao Cheng."

Cheng Ge's eyes suddenly lit up: "Really?"

Guarding the city wasn't as thrilling as fighting on the front lines, but it was still better than twiddling his thumbs in the tent.

"Mm." Cui Ji nodded. "Zhao Cheng has extensive combat experience and knows the ropes when it comes to organizing defenses. Follow him and look at it as gaining experience."

"But if there's any sign of enemy activity, just watch from afar. Don't jump in on your own."

Cheng Ge knew he was still a rookie, with theory and practice a million miles apart, and he certainly wouldn't be so foolish as to cause trouble.

Though he did think that just coasting and doing nothing was pretty great, he still had a family to look after, so he should at least make a show of doing something—he couldn't be too obvious about slacking.

"I know..." Cheng Ge immediately assured him, a look of eager readiness spreading across his face.

Cui Ji watched him suddenly perk up, an almost imperceptible smile flickering in his eyes.

He reached for the fur-lined cloak, carefully draped it over Cheng Ge, and secured the straps.

Cheng Ge looked up at Cui Ji, his gaze full of mirth, but his mind had already wandered off outside.

Seeing him like this, Cui Ji instinctively reached out to hug him, but halfway up, he felt it might not be quite right at the moment.

In the end, he let it drop and said gravely, "Wait for my return."

Cheng Ge, his mind completely occupied with the city guard duty, didn't notice Cui Ji's gesture and only gave an absent reply: "Got it, got it! Just go already!"

Then he spun around in a rush, not bothering to keep up appearances, bundling his cloak around him as he ran out.

...

The night at the Mingshui Marsh was wrapped in a suffocating, deathly dampness.

Thick fog pressed low over the reed beds and puddles like rotten cotton wool, and moonlight struggled through, leaving only a sickly, wan halo of light.

The ground underfoot was uneven, muddy, and treacherous, each step accompanied by squelching sounds and the faint pops of bursting bubbles.

The air carried a strange mixture of decaying aquatic plants and a cold, rank, gamey smell.

Wang Meng's battalion of elite troops crept silently through the predetermined ambush zone.

They wore makeshift camouflage caked with mud and reed fragments, their faces daubed with black muck.

Only occasionally, when they turned, did a glint of hawk-like sharpness flash from their eyes.

Strong bows and crossbows were already at full draw, and pits and caltrops had been laid along the choke point, waiting for prey to walk into the net.

The wait wasn't long before barely audible rustling sounds came from deep within the marsh.

Then, several blurry figures emerged in the mist, picking their way carefully, avoiding the deeper water and advancing slowly along the raised banks.

They were dressed in Beidi garb—leather armor, curved blades, faces bearing their customary fierceness and wariness of unfamiliar terrain.

When the lead scouts stepped into the center of the ambush zone, Wang Meng didn't give the command immediately.

He bided his time until most of the squad had entered effective killing range.

With a fierce glint in his eyes, Wang Meng, poised to strike, abruptly swung his hand down: "Loose!"

"Whoosh, whoosh, whoosh—!" The whistle of arrows splitting the air tore through the silence!

Countless arrows streaked out from cover, swarming toward their targets like a nest of venomous wasps!

"Ambush! Form up!" Cries of shock rose among the Beidi. They reacted swiftly, closing ranks and parrying arrows with their curved blades.

But the ambush had been well laid, and the arrows came thick and fast. In an instant, over a dozen men went down with arrows in them, screams of agony echoing across the marsh.

"Charge with me!" Wang Meng roared like a tiger breaking free from its cage, taking the lead as he leaped out from cover.

His long blade came down with a shrill whistle, sending a Beidi leader who was trying to organize resistance flying, man and blade alike!

Seeing Wang Meng's ferocity, his soldiers' spirits surged. They roared and threw themselves forward, locking into a deadly struggle with the remaining Beidi.

The battle was fierce but short and sharp. Though the Beidi were fierce, caught in an ambush, outnumbered, and facing a commander of such ferocity, their resistance quickly crumbled.

The dying screams and the mud, churned into a bloody mess by struggling feet, painted a scene of utter chaos.

In under fifteen minutes, the battle was drawing to a close. Most of the Beidi warriors were slain, with a handful of wounded taken prisoner.

Cui Ji stood motionless on the earthen mound, his face expressionless as he watched the carnage below.

The air was thick with the pungent stench of blood and the reek of the swamp.

He stopped short beside the corpse of a Beidi officer sprawled face-down.

His gaze fell upon a small section of wrist peeking out from under the leather armor.

He crouched and rolled the body over.

Cui Ji's eyes narrowed slightly. With the tip of his short blade, he carefully worked open the front of the dead man's leather armor, already soaked in blood.

Beneath the armor, the coarse linen tunic was also torn, revealing a bronzed chest.

There, just above the heart, was a tattoo roughly the size of a baby's fist.

It was not the common wolf-eagle totem of the various Northern Di tribes, but a more sinister design—a three-headed serpent with twisted, contorted lines. The serpent's eyes gleamed a vicious red, exuding an aura of malevolence.

"The Shanyue Tribe!" Wang Meng's voice was laced with shock.

Cui Ji's fingertips tightened slightly around the cold hilt of his blade, his gaze turning utterly grim.