Chapter 396 Demanding

Chapter 396: The Demand

The shock and dread on his face gradually faded, replaced by a colder, hollower void.

Something more twisted, more desperate, began to fester.

He walked to the doorway of the hall, silent.

He stopped outside the gates of Changchun Palace, shadows swallowing most of his figure.

The attendants kneeling on either side prostrated themselves almost flat on the ground, trembling violently.

After a moment of dead silence, he slowly took a step, his figure gradually swallowed by the deeper darkness ahead.

And behind him, faint screams of agony were swallowed by the silent night.

…………

Wuliji stood at the center of the khan's tent. The brazier inside burned fiercely, making the fur robes uncomfortably hot, yet it could not keep out the chill seeping in from outside the tent.

"Wuliji!" Hutuke's voice was thick with drink, and carried an unyielding brutality. "You want the livestock back? Get that hope out of your head!

The livestock have long since filled the warriors' bellies and turned into strength! If you've got the guts, go ask them yourself!"

He slammed his heavy golden cup onto the low table, splashing a small pool of wine that gleamed brightly.

His words were blunt and hard, leaving no room for negotiation.

Wuliji raised his eyes slightly, his face still expressionless, as if the sting in those words hadn't even landed.

But the firelight from the brazier flickered in his eyes—weighted, darker than usual.

Hutuke, after speaking, realized his own words had been too harsh.

His chest heaved twice, and he changed his tone, leaning in like he was about to open up: "Brother, it's not like I'm picking on your Uriankhai tribe alone.

The snow this year was heavy, the pastures failed—has any tribe had an easy time?

And the Zhou people are no pushovers, especially now that Nanling has gotten involved.

If the warriors go hungry, their swords unsteady in their hands, their horses too weak to run, how can we protect our pastures and tents?

The extra levy of livestock is for the Northern Di, to ensure we have the strength come spring to deal with the Zhou!"

His words sounded reasonable, laying out the tribe's interests and the Great Khan's troubles, trying to pressure Wuliji.

Wuliji listened in silence, his lips pressed into a thin line.

After a long moment, he spoke, his voice low but each word landing like a stone in the heavy air of the tent:

"If the Great Khan gives back the extra livestock, the Uriankhai will have no complaints."

He didn't bother with Hutuke's grand speech, but his meaning was clear—what was taken beyond what's owed, you give back.

Hutuke was taken aback at first, as if hit by the sheer bluntness of it.

Then his face darkened further, anger mixed with a flicker of unease at being called out.

"Return it?" He let out a mocking laugh, his gaze sharpening. "Wuliji, I think you've forgotten what you did!

You dared defy my orders, and I didn't punish you—I only took a few extra livestock, and that's already the greatest mercy! And you still dare to demand more?"

Wuliji's lips pressed into a pale line, his jaw muscles standing out sharply.

That last incident—both knew full well what had happened. Hutuke bringing it up now was just an excuse to shut him up.

The tent fell into a deep hush, broken only by the crackle of the fire and the howling wind outside.

Seeing Wuliji silent, Hutuke felt he had the upper hand. He leaned back, softening his tone, yet it carried even more finality:

"Wuliji, you're a sensible man. Take this as a lesson.

From now on, keep your people in line. Your blade should be aimed at enemies, not causing trouble for your own."

He paused, fixing his eyes on Wuliji, his meaning unmistakable.

"Forget those livestock. Think instead about how to keep Uriankhai's pastures feeding people next year, and think about how you should act next time spoils are divided and pastures are allotted!"

Obey, and you get meat; defy, and you might not even get soup.

Wuliji stood rooted in place, the wind and snow outside seeming to howl more fiercely, gust after gust.

"I can't go on—I'm too tired. I'll make up the word count tomorrow. Sorry. Good night."