Chapter 400 Replace Him

Chapter 400: To Take His Place

The air was thick with tension, the faint firelight casting a dim, flickering glow.

"You..." Cheng Ge's voice hitched for a fraction of a second, barely perceptible, tinged with breathiness. "Have you ever thought... about taking his place?"

Wuliji's breath hitched almost imperceptibly.

His eyes, which had been grave in the dim light, suddenly narrowed at the last four words.

The air inside the tent went from stagnant to frozen.

Take... Hutuke's place?

Wuliji's gaze bore into the depths of Cheng Ge's eyes like a probing needle.

Cheng Ge met his stare without the slightest hint of avoidance.

After the deaths of Tana and her husband, even he, an outsider, could see the root problem plaguing the Uerha Tribe and the Northern Di as a whole.

Endless concession and swallowing one's pride only made their plight worse.

Survival of the fittest—if one wanted to break the deadlock, one couldn't keep licking old wounds until they festered.

A sharp enough blade was needed to cleave through this stagnant pool.

And now, everyone was watching and waiting.

No one dared to make the first move, and no one was willing to be the "blade" that might shatter.

Cheng Ge's words merely tore away the veneer of peace, laying bare the brutal power games and laws of survival of the grassland before Wuliji.

The tent fell deathly silent, broken only by the sound of their mingled breathing.

Wuliji remained silent, his hand on Cheng Ge's blanket tightening unconsciously. The scar on the back of his hand looked even more stark and glaring in the dim light.

After a long moment, Wuliji finally moved. Without a word, he reached out and carefully smoothed the corner of the blanket that Cheng Ge had disturbed when he had thrown it off, tucking it back into place.

Then he closed his eyes, his breathing gradually evening out.

After speaking those words, the faint unease Cheng Ge felt from having "overstepped" strangely settled into a calm.

The words were out, water under the bridge—no point in regretting.

He watched Wuliji's closed eyes and silent profile, knowing that once a seed was planted, it was out of anyone's control.

He yawned softly, closed his eyes as well, and the tent fell silent again.

After a long while—so long that Cheng Ge's breathing had become slow and steady—Wuliji slowly opened his eyes.

In the dim light, his gaze was wide awake, devoid of any drowsiness, fathomless.

He quietly studied the sleeping face of Cheng Ge, his expression complex and unreadable.

After a long pause, his fingertips, as if confirming something, brushed the spot on his chest where the letter lay beneath his leather robe.

His rough fingertips seemed to trace the texture of the paper. His lips moved slightly as he silently mouthed Cheng Ge's words.

"No... break... no... stand."

...

Sure enough, with Wuliji claiming illness and refusing to take the field, the Northern Di's already dire predicament of being caught between two fronts went from bad to worse.

The Great Zhou had sent the veteran general Liu Ben to take charge—as steady as a rock. Several probing attacks were repelled with bloody noses.

And Nanling, that mad dog, seized the opportunity to press the attack relentlessly, inch by inch.

Hutuke sent his generals into battle time and again, trying to turn the tide, but each time they were routed, casting aside their armor and fleeing with their tails between their legs.

Casualty numbers kept climbing, morale sank to rock bottom, and the front line was on the verge of being pushed back to the outskirts of the Northern Di royal court.

In the past, no matter how critical the situation, there were always Wuliji and his Uerha warriors to hold the line.

Wuliji—though he could be overly straightforward, even dense, in certain matters—had once been a hard bone on the battlefield, one that even the Great Zhou's elite Cui Family Army had learned to fear, able to hold them in a grinding stalemate for years. His pivotal role was self-evident.

Now that hardest bone had started to soften. No matter how Hutuke threatened or cajoled, the Uerha tribe simply refused to move, only claiming that their Chief's wounds had yet to heal and that the tribe needed to recuperate. Hutuke was truly at his wit's end.

Inside the royal tent, the atmosphere was so oppressive you could wring water from the air.

Hutuke listened to yet another report of defeat from his subordinates, veins bulging on his temples, several fever blisters on his lips bright red and swollen.

The resentment burning in his chest toward Wuliji had long since blazed into towering hatred.

"Useless! You're all useless!" He shot to his feet and kicked the kneeling messenger hard, sending him sprawling.

The soldier let out a muffled grunt, struggling a few times but failing to get up.

Hutuke didn't even spare him a glance. His eyes bloodshot, pacing like a caged beast, he whipped his head toward the tent entrance and roared:

"Where is Suhe?! Tell him to get over here now! Why hasn't he come? Is he dead?!"

Just then, the tent flap was yanked open, and a trusted aide stumbled in, his face ashen. Without even stopping to salute properly, he reported in a trembling voice:

"Great Khan! Suhe... Suhe sent word that his tribe's men are exhausted and their horses are worn out, and the wounded haven't recovered. He truly... truly can't spare any troops to take the field! He begs... begs the Great Khan for understanding..."

"What?!!"

Hutuke's entire body jolted, then a roar of fury nearly blew the tent roof off!

He swung his arm and sent the wooden table crashing to the ground with a loud crash!

Utensils and wine smashed onto the floor, shards and liquid splattering everywhere.

"Mutiny! They're all mutinying!" Veins bulged in his forehead, his face twisted in fury, teeth grinding audibly. His hatred for Wuliji reached its peak—he wished he could cut him into a thousand pieces and grind his bones to dust!

"If it weren't for Wuliji starting this mutiny, how would these turncoats dare defy me like this?!"

He, Hutuke, was born into the Hejin Tribe—the most noble Golden Family on the grassland.

The Khans of the Northern Di had come from this bloodline for generations. They were the divine clan blessed by the Eternal Heaven!

And now, these lowly tribes that clung to him, these scum who could only stand on the grassland thanks to the might of his Hejin name—they dared to give him lip service and make excuses when he needed them most!

Rage seared his rationality, but deeper still, a cold panic spread rapidly through him.

He knew better than anyone that Wuliji's "illness" and Erdene's "exhaustion" were just the beginning.

Once this crack was torn open, all the grievances and disloyalty once suppressed by brute force would swarm in like hyenas scenting blood.

Outside the royal tent, the cold wind howled, carrying an ominous sense of doom.

Inside, Hutuke stood amid the wreckage, panting heavily. The fury in his bloodshot eyes gradually gave way to a desperate, ruthless resolve.

He knew he couldn't wait any longer. Some nails had to be pulled out entirely, and some sparks of rebellion had to be crushed with the most brutal means.