Chapter 347 Peace Talks

Chapter 347: Peace Negotiations

The young medicine boy felt a chill run down his spine under his gaze, quickly lowering his head, his voice as faint as a mosquito's whine, tinged with lingering fear.

"Y-yes, Assistant General Han, I understand. I was merely focused on dressing the wound just now and heard... heard nothing at all."

Han Zhen gave a barely audible grunt in response, his heavy eyelids slowly closing, concealing the turbulent emotions churning beneath.

Han Meng was his only son with his late wife.

Back then, he had been a lowly fire-tender in the army, wearing a worn-out uniform, spending his days around firewood and stoves.

His late wife's family, though not wealthy, were honest farming folk with a clean reputation.

She had followed him without ever enjoying a single day of comfort, instead staying in their hometown to care for his aging, ailing parents and manage the household, never once complaining.

Later, through sheer guts and a bit of luck, he had finally earned some military merit on the battlefield, slowly climbing the ranks.

At the time, he'd been full of the hope that he could finally give his wife and child a good life, no longer having to answer to anyone.

But fate was cruel—before he'd truly found his footing, she was struck down by a sudden illness, passing away without ever getting to enjoy the good days.

Han Meng, just a few years old at the time, had lost his mother without really understanding.

At the thought, Han Zhen's chest tightened as if something had gripped it hard, sending a dull, persistent ache through him.

Deep down, how could he not feel some guilt toward this son of his?

He always felt it was his own failings early on that had dragged them both down.

Though he knew full well that he had never relaxed his demands on Han Meng over the years because of that guilt—if anything, they'd only gotten harsher.

But had he been too severe just now, with that harsh tongue and even kicking him?

He let out a weary sigh, and the sigh pulled at the wound on his back, sending another sharp stab of pain through him.

He waved a hand, his voice heavy with lingering exhaustion and hoarseness: "...Continue applying the medicine."

The young medicine boy didn't dare linger, quickly acknowledging the order and tending to the wound with even greater care.

Han Zhen kept his eyes shut, feeling the sting of the medicinal powder.

He knew his son harbored resentment and felt wronged—he understood it all.

But on some paths, you couldn't take a single wrong step; some thoughts you couldn't even entertain for a moment.

That was a bottomless abyss—once you stepped in, there was no turning back.

He only hoped that today's thunderous fury would truly knock some sense into that reckless boy, make him understand what could be done and what couldn't even be imagined.

He only hoped that when he reached the Yellow Springs below, he could face the boy's mother and give an account.

In the Northern Di camp, inside the golden tent.

The air was thick with the reek of mutton, the smell of liquor, and a suffocating tension.

Gilded ox-tallow candles lit the tent as bright as day, yet they also illuminated a coarse face twisted with fury upon the throne.

Hutuke, the Great Khan of the Northern Di, like an enraged lion, violently slammed the pure gold wine goblet to the ground!

Wine and shattered gems splattered everywhere, the harsh clatter making every bowed head in the tent tremble.

"Useless! A bunch of useless fools!" Hutuke's roar rolled like thunder through the golden tent, making ears ring.

His chest heaved violently as he gasped for air, like a starving wolf robbed of its prey.

He suddenly kicked over the low table before him, sending cups and dishes crashing to the floor in a mess.

Those bastards under Cui Ji were about to gnaw on tree bark from hunger!

Another ten or fifteen days of waiting them out, and without even a fight, they'd have collapsed on their own! Then we could've done whatever we wanted with them!

But now, those Zhou rats had made off with the grain.

Now that they're fed, they've got the strength to defy him again.

And now that the supplies were taken, all the previous battles counted for nothing—and it was his own men who'd go hungry. How could he stomach this rage!

His eyes bloodshot, his gaze nearly spitting fire, his fury growing with every thought.

"We had them beaten flat on the front lines—how could Cui Ji still have slipped away?!"

His eyes blazing red, spittle nearly spraying onto the faces of the kneeling generals, "Are you all just dead weight eating rations? Huh?!"

He pointed at each one and cursed them out: "You! You had three thousand men and couldn't even hold a mountain pass!

And you! You clearly saw the Zhou pulling back west—why didn't you chase them?!"

Finally, that murderous gaze fixed squarely on Wuliji.

"And you! Wuliji! I sent you after the grain, and you didn't save a single grain for me!"

He looked ready to hit him, but his subordinates held him back: "Great Khan, please calm down! Wuliji is still wounded!"

Wuliji stood as unmovable as a mountain, head bowed, his face as calm as still water.

Hutuke stopped short when held back.

Wuliji was the top warrior of the Uliangha Tribe—a fierce and formidable clan.

But their loyalty to the royal court had always been limited, and yet on the battlefield, he couldn't do without them.

And the entire Uliangha Tribe only listened to Wuliji.

At that thought, Hutuke forced down his boiling anger, swallowing the curses on the tip of his tongue, his face changing colors.

"Enough! Wuliji's wounded, so it's understandable." But even after saying that, he still wasn't satisfied.

"As for everyone who escorted or guarded the grain this time—every last one of them, chop them up and feed them to the eagles!"

He ground the words out through clenched teeth, and anyone could hear the bitterness in his voice.

Just then, hurried footsteps and panicked shouts suddenly came from outside the tent.

"Report—! Great Khan, Zhao Cheng led a cavalry surprise attack on our left flank's vanguard camp, burning more than a dozen tents. Casualties... casualties not yet counted!"

Hutuke's eyelid twitched, and before he could digest the news—

"Report—! Great Khan, disaster! A light cavalry unit of the Zhou Army circled around the mountain pass and struck our rear-right baggage train. We lost a batch of arrows and medical supplies!"

Bad news came one after another, and Hutuke felt his head buzz as if it were about to explode.

A surge of fury shot straight to his skull, his irritation making him want to draw his blade and cut someone down.

That mad dog Cui Ji—acting like I slept with his damn wife!

The grain had barely been restocked and he's already pouncing back, and he's using this kind of harassing tactics—biting hard and dirty!

He instinctively wanted to roar at Wuliji to lead the troops out, but the words caught in his throat as he suddenly remembered Wuliji was still wounded.

He forced the words back down, his chest tight with the frustration he'd swallowed, and sent another general out with reinforcements instead.

The tent went quiet, save for Hutuke's heavy breathing.

One advisor spoke up, worried: "Great Khan, Cui Ji's intent is clear—he wants to counterattack and wear us down.

We've lost a large stock of grain, and as you know, we depend on the weather for our crops; our grain output is never abundant.

In past years at this time, if we hadn't 'helped ourselves' along the Great Zhou border, a lot of tribes would barely make it through winter.

Now that this shipment of grain has been seized, we won't be able to replace it anytime soon. And with Cui Ji choosing to strike now, we'll just keep getting pushed further back."

Another chimed in: "Indeed, just sitting here taking hits isn't going to work long-term."

Hutuke's face went pale. Didn't he know that better than anyone? That's exactly why losing the grain had sent him into such a rage—grain was their lifeline.

He took a deep breath, forcing down the anger churning in his gut, and asked in a low voice: "What about the Southern barbarians? Any word from them?"

The envoy who'd handled this before stepped forward, looking uncomfortable.

"Reporting to the Great Khan, the Southern barbarians replied that their harvest was bad this year too—poor yields all around. They really don't have any extra grain to lend..."

The words were polite, but the meaning was plain—they wouldn't lend.

Hutuke's face darkened even more. That door was shut tight now. His frustration spiked—how the hell was he supposed to fight a war without grain?!

Suddenly, another voice piped up, hesitant: "Great Khan, if the Southern barbarians won't lend, perhaps... we could try the Western Rong?

Just the other day, didn't the Western Rong king send over a beauty as a goodwill gesture? I hear she's already on her way."

Hutuke's eyes flickered. The Western Rong... he'd never thought much of them before.

The Western Rong king, for all his show of boldness and integrity, was actually the sneakiest bastard around.

He was a master at playing both sides, and dealing with him was like sleeping with a tiger—you'd always have to watch for the knife in your back.

But with his back against the wall, he couldn't afford to be picky.

But another problem hit him right away.

Even if the Western Rong agreed to lend grain, that's like trying to put out a fire with water from a distant well.

Hauling grain from the Western Rong would take forever, and war burned through grain faster than anything.

With Cui Ji pressing his attack so fiercely, they probably wouldn't hold out that long.

The tent fell even quieter, the silence heavy enough to choke on.

At last, an advisor, after going back and forth, finally steeled himself and spoke up:

"Great Khan... if... if the situation truly becomes dire, perhaps... perhaps we might consider... pretending to sue for peace with Great Zhou, just for now?"

The words hit Hutuke like a drop of water in a pan of boiling oil—exploding in his chest.

Peace? Since when did he, the Great Khan of the Northern Di, ever have to bow to the Zhou—people he saw as nothing but sheep?!

A wave of shame surged through him, and he nearly blew his top right there.

The veins bulged on Hutuke's temples, and his fists clenched so hard his knuckles cracked. That word "peace" stuck in his ears like a poisoned thorn.

He wanted nothing more than to cut down this idiot for talking crap!

But before he could erupt, several generals and tribal chiefs started chiming in, agreeing.

"Great Khan, this approach... humiliating as it is, it does look like a chance for us to catch our breath!"

"Yes, Great Khan! As long as we're not fighting, our grain will go further and last longer!"

"Even if the Western Rong won't lend us grain, we can free ourselves up and have each tribe scrounge up their own supplies. That's better than now—front lines stretched thin and the rear wide open!"

"Besides, Great Zhou has been at war for years. Their troops are worn out, their horses are spent, and their treasury's just about empty.

If we offer peace, it might be exactly what their emperor wants!"

That gave Hutuke's rage a moment's pause. He listened with a dark face, his gaze sweeping over the assembled men.

He saw plenty of them with their heads down, eyes darting—clearly beaten down by the grain shortage.

An old advisor, usually sharp, saw Hutuke hadn't shot it down right away and pressed his luck.

"Great Khan, we can first concentrate our forces and deal Cui Ji one more heavy blow!

We can't let on that we're low on grain. We need to look strong, keep them guessing, make them think we've still got plenty in reserve.

After that fight, win or lose, we send envoys to talk peace right away.

At the table, we can give a little ground and offer terms that look sincere...

Those civil officials in the Great Zhou court have been itching to smooth things over for a long time. No matter how good Cui Ji is, without the court behind him, he can't keep this up.

If we hand them an out, they'll grab it!"

Hutuke stared fixedly at the flickering candle flames, his chest heaving violently.

He took a deep swig of wine, the burn in his throat seeming to burn away the last of his hesitation.

He slammed the wineskin down on the table with a dull thud, his voice hoarse, heavy with reluctance and exhaustion.

"Fine... do what you say! We'll have one last goddamn battle with Cui Ji! After that... we'll send someone to talk!"

The men filed out of the golden tent, each off to prepare for this last gamble and the humiliating "peace talks" to come.

The tent emptied in a flash, leaving only the crackle of tallow candles and a few personal guards standing by the throne.

Hutuke rubbed his aching temples, turned away wearily, and tried to catch his breath.

Unexpectedly, he caught sight of Wuliji, who still stood there like a silent mountain.

His brow immediately furrowed, and he asked impatiently, "Is there something you need?"

Wuliji raised his eyes, meeting Hutuke's gaze calmly. He paused for a moment before speaking slowly, "I'd like to request someone from Great Zhou."

A flicker of surprise crossed Hutuke's face at that.

Wuliji had followed him for years and had rarely asked for anything; even the women bestowed upon him were always refused.

Usually, outside of his own people, there was little that mattered to him.

And this first-time request today piqued his genuine curiosity.

He glanced at Wuliji and probed, "Who do you want? Could it be you've taken a liking to some pretty Zhou woman?"

Wuliji shook his head and said, "No."

Hutuke had just been teasing, and when Wuliji said no, he figured it out.

His top general was cold and unyielding; most likely, some clueless Zhou had offended him, and he planned to take care of it himself.

He waved his hand with a magnanimous, indulgent air.

"Since you've spoken, not just ask—even if I have to tie them up, I'll deliver them to you! Out with it..."

Wuliji raised his eyes, his gaze calm and steady, and spoke a few words in a steady tone: "I want Lin Nanshu, the eldest young master of the Lin family."

Hutuke: "..." That's a tough one.

Hutuke ventured, "This eldest young master of the Lin family... has he offended you?"

Other than some deep grudge, Hutuke couldn't think of any other reason Wuliji would name this guy.

Wuliji shook his head again, and Hutuke was even more puzzled: "Then what is this..."

It couldn't be that he was impressed by the guy's brains and wanted him as a military advisor, right?

Wuliji paused for a moment, as if weighing his words, then spoke slowly:

"I want him to come and..." He hesitated, as if checking the word, then said, "marry into my family."

Hutuke: "..."