Chapter 85: Contest of Strength (Part Nineteen)

The white steed, Swallowing Dragon, neighed long and loud, pawed the ground with its front hooves, still unsated from the recent clash. Now fallen into Heiguo’s hands, confined to a feeding trough, the dragon colt’s spirit had no chance for release. But snatched away by Xu Le, even in this short time, Swallowing Dragon would surely have cried out in exhilaration—if only it could speak.

Zhibi Sili sprawled groggily across the horse’s back, feeling a hot trickle inside his nostrils. Everything before his eyes wavered; aside from stars—big and small—it was only the ground he saw. In that moment, Zhibi Sili could turn over only a single thought in his mind: Who am I? Where am I?

Around Zhibi Luoluo, the Turkic Blue Wolf Riders had bloodshot eyes; many howled, intent on surging forward—ready to trade their lives to rescue their young khan.

But Zhibi Luoluo bellowed, “Halt, all of you!”

At that shout, Achian She of the Zhibi clan, who had been hiding behind the Blue Wolf Riders, shoved aside his guards and strode forth, fixing Xu Le with a cold stare. “What do you want?”

Xu Le sat easily astride his horse, the shaft of his long spear pressing against the back of Zhibi Sili’s head. He smiled, yet hadn’t spoken before Buli had already urged her mount forward, drew close, and pressed a dagger to Zhibi Sili’s side, speaking first: “I want my grandfather!”

The little wolf maiden’s words were childish, her pronunciation awkward, her face streaked black and white like a painted cat. Yet the killing intent in her blue eyes was unmistakable; if Zhibi Luoluo uttered even a hint of refusal, that dagger would plunge in without hesitation.

Zhibi Luoluo roared without delay, “Where is Heiguo!”

The commotion finally roused the hundred or so Qianyue warriors still running about in panic. Eyes turned, and amidst the chaos, several dozen disheveled Qianyue fighters hurriedly escorted the father and son, Black Guo and Uto, toward them.

Heiguo’s face was blackened with soot, his whole body quivering—whether from anger or fear was unclear. Uto, limping, cast a complicated gaze at the heroic Xu Le astride his horse. So this is old Xu Gan’s grandson...

Tonight, as disaster erupted suddenly, Heiguo was among the first to react when the fires broke out. He shielded his father, Uto, as subordinates rushed to him for orders, but Heiguo was at a loss. It was Uto who, calm and commanding, sent men to fight the flames and others to guard the camp walls, wary of enemy collusion aiming to wipe out the Qianyue in one fell swoop.

The Qianyue themselves were a frantic mess, so distracted by chaos that they failed to notice Xu Le and Buli slipping straight into the main camp and capturing Zhibi Sili.

Amidst the stampede of panicked horses—both from burning and untouched stables—Xu Le and Buli were simply too inconspicuous to draw attention. Once tasks had been delegated, Uto recalled the presence of the Turkic nobles at the heart of the camp and led his now utterly flustered son to them in haste.

Tonight’s upheaval in camp, for whatever reason it had arisen, demanded above all that they answer to the Turkic lords. Having pledged allegiance, such was their duty.

But as Heiguo and Uto arrived, they saw from afar Xu Le and Buli charging into the midst of the Blue Wolf Riders, seizing Zhibi Sili in one bold stroke.

Among the crowd, Heiguo could hardly believe his eyes. What kind of courage did this Young Master Le possess, what manner of heart? With so few companions, he repeatedly defied the Qianyue. No matter how formidable the foe, he showed no fear. Did he not understand what it meant to be afraid? Did he not know when to give up? Did he treat his own life as nothing?

What would it take for him to yield? What would it take for him to spare the Qianyue?

Uto, from a distance, bowed to Zhibi Luoluo. “Forgive us, noble one, for our late arrival.”

Zhibi Luoluo’s gaze remained fixed on Xu Le, as if to etch his face into memory. Without turning his head, he roared, “Hand Rodun over to him!”

Groggy atop his horse, Zhibi Sili protested, “Uncle, don’t let our Zhibi clan’s honor slip. My death is nothing—take Young Master Le with me if you must.”

Xu Le grinned, surprised by the resolve of his captive.

Zhibi Luoluo’s face darkened as he retorted, “The Zhibi clan’s honor you’ve already squandered! I must bring you back alive for my brother’s judgment!”

His thunderous shouts continued, “Bring Rodun here at once!”

Uto turned to his warriors, hastily ordering, “Find Rodun immediately!”

Standing by his father, Heiguo suddenly broke into a cold sweat. He had already sent Lie Lie to kill Rodun; if Rodun was dead, how could they hand him over? If so, Young Master Le would surely kill Zhibi Sili in vengeance, and the Zhibi clan’s wrath would fall upon the Qianyue—how could they bear it?

What a fine alliance with the Turks this was meant to be, uniting the nine tribes—how had it come to this? How had they crossed paths with such a Young Master Le? If only they’d known, they’d have let the Lianghait clan enjoy their freedom after the Eight Tribes Council.

Then another thought struck Heiguo—his father lived in a tent nearby and must have overheard the order to kill Rodun. How could he not fear the consequences?

Heiguo glanced at his father, only to see Uto’s face grave, his withered hands clenched. He made a subtle signal to the guards at his side, who began to quietly reach for their weapons.

Heiguo instantly understood: if Rodun was dead, Uto was prepared to slaughter all the Turks present, seal the news, and buy time—perhaps even migrate the entire Qianyue tribe. These old men, who had once fought the Turks in blood-soaked battles, might be worn down by age, but their ruthlessness remained. Though Heiguo now held the clan’s power, he was still far from their caliber.

In this moment, Heiguo wished he were but an ordinary herdsman, rather than burdened with this cursed chieftaincy.

Flames raged and sparks danced, painting half the night sky with a bloody glow. Such chaos could not have escaped the attention of Yunzhong City. Horses still galloped wildly through the camp; Qianyue tribesmen battled fire and rounded up steeds. Yet near the royal tent, all was deathly silent.

Soon, several Qianyue warriors, dispatched by Uto, returned supporting a figure.

At the sight of this person, Heiguo’s tension melted away; his eyes grew wet and tears nearly fell. It was Rodun!

Beside Heiguo, Uto trembled in relief, even managing a smile. “Old Rodun, look who’s come to rescue you!”

Rodun, propped up by warriors, surveyed the scene. Xu Le, atop his horse, nodded and saluted him. “Grandpa Rodun, forgive my late arrival.”

Rodun glanced around, snorted, and grumbled, “I’m an old man, not long for the world. Must you make such a fuss—are you trying to get yourself killed too?”

Xu Le chuckled, “If it were the Turkic royal camp, I wouldn’t have dared. But the Qianyue king’s tent—I thought I’d take my chances. If fortune favored me, at least I could answer to my grandfather back home.”

As Rodun and Xu Le conversed as if alone, Heiguo finally couldn’t help but ask, “Where’s Lie Lie?”

Rodun snorted, “When the fires broke out, chaos reigned—he cared for nothing but his own skin, tucked tail and fled, terrified Liu Wuzhou was about to annihilate us. How did I not see what a coward he was?”

Uto shook his head. “These young ones have never known blood and fire. They seem capable enough in peace, but when crisis comes, they fall apart. Men like old Xu Gan’s grandson—how many are there in the world?”

Zhibi Luoluo watched their exchanges with cold eyes, finally speaking in a chilling tone, “Old Rodun has been brought—now, will you return my nephew?”

Xu Le looked at Zhibi Luoluo’s icy face and shrugged. “He’s my talisman. Find a good horse for Grandpa Rodun, see us safely from the camp, and then I’ll hand your young khan back.”

Zhibi Luoluo closed his eyes, then opened them again and shouted, “Open the gates!”