Finest Servant

Chapter 533 Let's Go Home

Both the Turkic warriors and the soldiers of Great Hua were stunned. The notion that someone from Great Hua, a nation known for its frailty, could kill Labuli—a man of great reputation on the plains—in a single round was unfathomable.

Hu Bugui and Gao Qiu were the first to come to their senses, their eyes red as they shouted, "The enemy leader Labuli is dead! Brothers, charge with me! Don't let a single Turk escape!"

"Charge!" Roiling fervor surged within the soldiers' chests. The death of Labuli ignited boundless excitement, while the loss of their comrades drove them to madness. In this storm of emotion and pain, their eyes glinted fiercely, their minds filled with a single thought—kill the Turks! Suddenly, they exploded with an insurmountable fighting spirit. These Great Hua warriors, dressed in foreign attire, burst into the enemy lines like ferocious lions, hacking and slashing. Their ferocity struck fear into the hearts of even the Turks.

Although Labuli was dead, the majority of the Turkic heavy infantry still guarded the walls. With a remaining force of three to four thousand, their brutal nature was fully exposed. The half-high tower of the city on the plains became the contested ground for both sides.

Behind Hu Bugui and Gao Qiu, thousands of their troops fought their way along the city wall, as if they had charged into a hornet's nest; all they saw were swarming Turks. Each advance was a bloodbath, with rivers of blood flowing and countless Turks falling, yet Great Hua soldiers also met their end. At this point, life and death were in the hands of fate. Hu Bugui and Gao Qiu led the charge, screaming, their bodies soaked in blood, their blades nicked and worn. Ahead of them, Lin Wanrong was like a lone wolf at the forefront, his blade rising and falling, severing Turks left and right. His earlier feat of killing Labuli cast a dark shadow over the Turks; none dared to cross his path, and he encountered no worthy opponents. Though his blade was chipped and battered, he seemed oblivious, his face a mask of ruthless intensity.

A thunderous roar erupted as an army of thousands stampeded in. Over six thousand Great Hua soldiers who had been lying in ambush outside the city burst in, crossing the gates of the city that had been opened by the sacrifices of Li Wuling and others. They became a torrential flood, charging straight for the Turks stubbornly resisting on the city walls.

The arrival of reinforcements acted like an adrenaline shot, energizing all the Great Hua soldiers. In contrast, the Turks felt their courage wane.

"For those who dare to invade our great Great Hua, none shall escape punishment, no matter how far! Kill all these Turks!" Hu Bugui yelled, tears streaming down his aged face. He brandished his curled blade, its white glint cutting through the air, his massive frame leading the troops like a soaring bird. With one swing of his blade, he cleaved a tall Turk in two.

Eight thousand divine soldiers who descended from the heavens broke through Helan Mountain and stepped into Bayanhot. Each wore a solemn expression, fearless in the face of death. When they came together, they became the death knell for the five thousand Turkic warriors in Bayanhot.

There were no powerful crossbows, no assisting cannons. From the moment the city gates flung open and the soldiers stepped inside, this battle had devolved into a brutal melee. The final stage of this surprise attack was a contest of life and death—a destiny they could not avoid. Under the veil of night, eight thousand sons of Great Hua and five thousand Turkic warriors fought a brutal hand-to-hand battle on the vast plains.

Lin Wanrong didn't know how long he had been fighting. His thoughts had long since stalled, and his tattered robe was drenched in blood, transforming him into a horrifying figure covered in gore. With a curved war blade piercing through a Turkic man's chest, he felt as though his hands weighed a ton and his body was entirely numb.

"General, General—" Two frantic shouts seemed to come from the edge of the sky. Slowly regaining his senses, he saw two similarly blood-soaked men standing beside him. Their faces were stained with blood, revealing only eyes full of extreme urgency. Lin Wanrong's arms were tightly held by them, and one of them, tears mingling with blood on his face, cried out, "General, stop killing. This man is already dead! He's dead!"

"Dead?" Lin Wanrong looked bewildered. He glanced down and saw the Turkic man lying on the ground covered in blade wounds, a curved war blade penetrating his chest and sinking deep into the earth. The man's face was unrecognizable, his blood spattered everywhere—he was clearly beyond dead.

"Brother Lin, what's come over you?" Seeing his confused expression, the man on his right hurriedly gripped his hand. Old tears mingled with fresh blood, giving him a terrifying visage.

"Are you Brother Gao?" Lin Wanrong asked softly, recognizing the voice but unable to identify the face obscured by blood.

The man hastily wiped away the tears and blood from his face, grinned broadly but awkwardly, and said, "It's me! Brother Lin, it's me, Old Gao! Thank heavens, you've finally come to your senses!"

Lin Wanrong then glanced at the blood-soaked man on his left. "You are Brother Hu?"

Hu Bugui quickly wiped away the tears and blood stains at the corner of his eyes and nodded eagerly, "It's me, it's me, General. You're finally awake. The battle is over. Bayanhot is ours now, it's ours!"

The elation on the faces of Hu Bugui and Gao Qiu couldn't be concealed. Despite the heavy price paid in blood and the fact that Bayanhot was so modest it could hardly be compared to a county office, it was still the first city captured abroad by the weakened Great Hua in a hundred years—and from their mortal enemies, the Turks. Words couldn't adequately express the immense significance of this monumental victory for Great Hua that had been weakened for so long.

"Is that so?" Lin Wanrong responded with an indifferent grunt, his gaze as elusive as clouds in the sky.

"Yes," Hu Bugui nodded urgently. "In this battle, we annihilated 4,802 Turkic cavalrymen and captured 198. We seized over 30,000 war horses and innumerable amounts of grain. Preliminary estimates suggest that we have enough food to sustain 300,000 troops for more than ten days. As long as the Helan Mountain pass holds for ten days, the Turks will have to fight us on an empty stomach. General, look—"

Following the direction of Hu Bugui's pointing finger, amidst the blazing torches, countless piles of grain stood tall. Thousands of soldiers held bundles of firewood, placed between the grain piles. One torch dropped, and all that grain would go up in flames.

Lin Wanrong nodded silently, "What are the casualties among our brothers?"

Hu Bugui lowered his head in sorrow and spoke softly, "We lost 1,377 men, and 326 are injured; that's almost a 20% casualty rate."

Lin Wanrong's cheeks twitched, his fists clenched tightly, and his eyes shimmered with tears. "Where are the bodies of Little Li and the others?!"

"They've all been taken care of," Hu Bugui choked up, tears cutting through the grime on his face. "They're waiting for you, General, to send them off on their final journey."

Tears silently streaked down his face as scenes flashed before his eyes—his hundred soldiers, pierced through with arrows, weeping blood in their desperate struggle to open the city gates. "Ah—ah—ah—" Lin Wanrong let out a sky-shattering howl, tears mingled with blood. With a surge of energy, he pulled a blade from the ground and swung it furiously against the city wall. With a loud crash, sparks flew and a section of the thick stone wall collapsed. The impact was so intense that it seemed to make even the plains tremble.

Clang. The blade fell, and Lin Wanrong's face turned pale. The palm gripping the sword even started bleeding. Hu Bugui and Gao Qiu stood silently behind him, their eyes blurred with tears.

The atmosphere was suffocating. After what felt like an eternity, seeing Lin Wanrong standing still as if turned to stone, Hu Bugui softly said, "Dying in battle is the most honorable end for a warrior, General. Please, don't blame yourself too much."

"But Little Li was only thirteen, just thirteen!" Lin Wanrong choked on his words, his fists clenched so tight they almost bled.

Li Wuling was the youngest among the soldiers who had gone on this expedition, personally brought by Lin Wanrong. He was also the only direct grandson of General Li Tai. Capturing Bayanhot could certainly lift spirits, but losing Li Wuling was a massive blow, both to Li Tai and to the morale of the troops. The weight of the loss could not be measured against the victory. Li Wuling's death made the triumph at Bayanhot feel significantly tarnished. Even in victory, there was defeat.

The night wind of the plains lashed against their faces, cold as ice, piercing through to the heart. Thousands of soldiers' bodies were laid out on makeshift wooden racks, lined up in long rows. Night crows circled above them, cawing mournfully.

The remaining five thousand or so soldiers stood in silence, tears hovering in their eyes before silently falling to the icy earth of the early spring plains.

Lin Wanrong, along with Hu Bugui and Gao Qiu, silently walked along this long row of heroic spirits, carefully examining each face that was growing colder and paler. A heavy sorrow filled the air, pervading everyone's hearts.

The most brutal sight was of those hundred-plus brave souls who had pushed open the city gates. Arrows had pierced through their bodies, and many were hung by arrows through their foreheads on the city gate when their bodies were retrieved. To preserve their corpses, the soldiers carefully cut the arrows off at the shaft, leaving the arrowheads inside. The faces of these hundreds of soldiers were still filled with rage, their eyes wide open even in death.

Facing these brothers—once by his side, now separated by the chasm of eternity—Lin Wanrong choked up. With trembling hands, he touched their cold, stiff cheeks, one by one, gently closing their eyes.

A slightly diminutive figure appeared before them, his youthful innocence still etched on his face. Yet, a sweet smile graced his lips, as serene as if he had entered a dreamland. Among the thousands of fallen soldiers, he was the smallest, the youngest. Yet, his battle cry—“My body may die, but my spirit will never perish”—had forever embedded itself in everyone's hearts.

"It's Little Li," Hu Bugui and Gao Qiu exclaimed simultaneously, their eyes instantly moistening.

Gazing at Li Wuling's youthful face, Lin Wanrong's shoulders trembled slightly. From an angle that no one else could see, tears poured down his face. He wept openly, as helpless as a child.

Li Wuling had been pierced by eight arrows. One in each leg and arm, one in the right rib, one in the left chest, and one in each shoulder. Perhaps because of his small stature and the way other soldiers had instinctively shielded him, his forehead was untouched. The most fatal shot was the arrow lodged in his left chest. His eyes were slightly open, yet a sweet smile still hung on his lips, as if he had entered a dreamland.

Choking back sobs, Lin Wanrong slowly extended his trembling hands to close Li Wuling’s eyes. "Little Li, it's Brother Lin’s fault for not protecting you well. I’ve let you down!" His warm tears fell as he softly closed Li Wuling's eyes. Looking up, he saw something unbelievable—somehow, Little Li’s eyes had opened again.

"Little Li—" Lin Wanrong exclaimed, not even pausing to wipe away his tears as he hurriedly checked for breath by placing his finger under Li Wuling's nose.

There was no sign of life; his cheeks were already cold. His eyes were half-closed, devoid of any luster. He had passed long ago.

‘Was it an illusion? Was Little Li blaming me?’ Lin Wanrong thought, his heart sinking further. He sighed softly, and once again closed the eyelids of Li Wuling. Just as he pulled his hand away, something astonishing occurred—Li Wuling's eyes slowly opened again.

Old Gao was also astonished and couldn't help but cry out, "Little Li, my good brother, I know you can’t rest in peace. Don't worry, I'll capture a few more Turkic women, behead them all, and send them to be your wives. May you rest in peace!" He extended his hand to close Li Wuling’s eyes, but the young man's eyes defiantly opened again. What kind of force was this? Hu Bugui stood nearby, his mouth agape in shock.

Lin Wanrong pondered for a moment and then pressed his large hand tightly against Li Wuling's chest. It felt cold, devoid of any warmth, indistinguishable from the other fallen soldiers.

Shaking his head in disappointment and about to retract his hand, he suddenly felt a faint throb pulsing against his palm. Though it was weak, it filled Lin Wanrong with ecstatic joy. He howled with tears streaming down his face, "He's still alive! Little Li is still alive!"

"Brother Lin, be sorrowful but rational!" Gao Qiu thought he had lost his mind and hurriedly pulled him back. "I've checked. Little Li's breath is cold, and he's not breathing. He's really gone."

"No, Brother Gao, he still has a heartbeat. I felt it!" Lin Wanrong shook his head frantically, grabbing Old Gao's hand and placing it on Li Wuling’s chest.

Gazing at the lucidity in Lin Wanrong's expression, Gao Qiu was caught between doubt and belief. He cautiously placed his palm over Li Wuling's chest. With one sentence, Lin Wanrong had ignited hope in everyone present. Countless anxious eyes converged on Gao Qiu, awaiting his verdict.

Gao Qiu held his breath and kept his hand on Li Wuling's chest. After a long, silent wait, he felt no heartbeat. Finally, he let his hand drop and shook his head in silence. Hu Bugui's face instantly darkened, his eyes moistening.

"Impossible!" Seeing the despair in the eyes of those around him, Lin Wanrong vehemently shook his head. "I felt it. Li Wuling is alive; he must be!"

"The loss of Li Wuling has deeply affected the general," Hu Bugui murmured, lowering his head in silent sorrow.

Ignoring what others thought, Lin Wanrong reached out his hand once more, placing it over Li Wuling's chest. A chilling sensation met his palm. Li Wuling's body lay still, no longer stirring in the slightest. After waiting for what seemed like an eternity, he felt no trace of the heartbeat he had sensed before.

‘Did I really hear it wrong?’ Lin Wanrong felt sorrow engulf him, the urge to burst into tears almost overwhelming. Despite a lengthy wait, even he had lost hope. Li Wuling was dead. He was never coming back.

Just as he was about to withdraw his hand, faint but undeniable, a slight pulse radiated from his palm. It was as faint as before, virtually imperceptible. Lin Wanrong was stunned. In that moment, no heartbeat in the world could have been stronger for him!

‘Li Wuling is still alive!’ Lin Wanrong exhaled deeply, holding back his elation. Given his previous experience, he dared not be careless. His palm remained over Li Wuling's chest, waiting for the next heartbeat.

His face was a shifting landscape of sorrow and joy, all observed by Gao Qiu and Hu Bugui. The two men exchanged a look, both shaking their heads in a resigned sigh.

Thump—after a prolonged interval, a second heartbeat finally arrived. It was still exceedingly faint, easy to overlook. But for Lin Wanrong, it was the most uplifting sound, the most precious heartbeat in the entire world. Holding his breath, tears streamed down his face.

"Brother Hu, Brother Gao, come and listen!" Lin Wanrong's voice quivered, though his gaze was resolute.

Slowly, Hu Bugui and Gao Qiu each placed their palms on Li Wuling's chest. Thump—a barely perceptible flutter immediately conveyed itself into their palms. They looked at each other in disbelief, their faces beaming with ecstatic joy.

After another quiet moment, the incredibly faint yet steadfast heartbeat could be heard clearly, time after time. The eyes of both Old Hu and Old Gao reddened instantaneously. "He's alive, Li Wuling is truly alive!"

The two burly men hugged each other tightly, tears flowing like a broken dam.

Lin Wanrong raised his arm and shouted toward the heavens, "Li Wuling is still alive! Brothers, our Li Wuling is still alive!"

"He's alive, our brother is still alive—" The news spread like wildfire. Countless soldiers raised their weapons high, jumping and shouting with indescribable joy. The scene of five thousand stalwart men crying together was etched deeply into everyone's hearts.

Cheering in front of fallen comrades was not a sign of disrespect. On the contrary, it was an expression of the most genuine and simple emotions. Li Wuling represented not just an individual; he embodied the countless heroic spirits of Great Hua who lay forever at rest in the depths of the grasslands. What could be more important than regaining a lost comrade, a brother-in-arms?

The news of Li Wuling's survival was like a spring rain in a drought, nourishing the hearts of all. From Lin Wanrong and Hu Bugui down to the ordinary soldiers, everyone was invigorated, sweeping away the lingering gloom brought by the casualties.

Though they still faced the somber reality of over a thousand fallen comrades, the morale of the soldiers was strikingly different from a moment ago. Just minutes earlier, they had been mournful; now they saw boundless hope. The feelings of having lost and then regained, of being saved from a dire situation, greatly strengthened their confidence and fighting spirit.

As the bodies of the deceased soldiers burned in the blazing fire, Lin Wanrong silently said, "Brother Gao, please gather our brothers' ashes. Let them go home with us."

The word "home" warmed and saddened the heart of Gao Qiu. Wiping away a tear, he nodded heavily and strode away.

"General, look!" Hu Bugui, returning on horseback, called out excitedly.

Lin Wanrong looked up to see a bloody, grotesque head hanging high above the main gate of the grassland city, at the very spot where Li Wuling and others had met their fate. It was the head of Labuli, whom Lin Wanrong had personally beheaded. This public display was an unambiguous act of intimidation—a slap in the face of the Turkic people.

The time for discussing humanitarianism was over. Such was the nature of war.

Looking at the still unconscious Li Wuling on the stretcher, and then at the thirty thousand warhorses left in the city, Lin Wanrong grunted, "Brother Hu, you know what to do with these Turkic warhorses, don't you?"

Li Wuling's survival had lifted everyone's spirits. Hu Bugui, shaking off his earlier despondency, snorted, "Rest assured, General. Not a single Turkic person will get a warhorse or a grain of food. See, it's already begun."

Thousands of horsemen surged forward, arrows flying, blades swinging. In moments, the enclosed Turkic warhorses were whinnying pitifully as blood flowed like a river.

"It's too brutal," Lin Wanrong shook his head, "Brother Hu, think of a more humane method in the future. Warhorses have lives too. If you scare the Turkic children with such gore, that will be on you."

Hu Bugui chuckled, "It was Old Gao who suggested it. He said poisoning the horses was too troublesome and cost money for the poison. We can't afford to waste our military funds like that. Using swords is more practical—it both trains our men in swordsmanship and boosts their courage."

Lin Wanrong shook his head with a wry smile. ‘Old Gao, what can I say about you?’

The horizon faintly lightened with a white color similar to that of a fish belly. In just a couple of hours, the red sun would rise over the grasslands, and the cavalry reinforcements for Bayanhot would also arrive. The endless grasslands would witness a dramatic change.

"General, we can start now!" All the heaps of grain were already connected by firewood. Hu Bugui handed the burning torch to Lin Wanrong.

The flickering lamps popped softly, their intermittent bursts accompanied by the crackling of torches. Lin Wanrong looked out to see Gao Qiu and several hundred of his men silently collecting the ashes of their fallen comrades. With a tug of the horse's reins in his left hand and a squeeze of his legs, he spurred his steed into a swift gallop.

In full stride, Lin Wanrong let out a powerful cry, "Burn, Bayanhot!" As his words echoed, he yanked the reins sharply. The horse neighed, and the torch in his hand flew out like a forceful javelin, hitting a haystack squarely at its center.

A resounding "Boom!" followed as a red blaze shot skyward. Thick flames quickly spread, setting the massive supply of fodder and grain gathered by the nomadic tribes ablaze. The sky, tinged with indigo against the dark night, turned red with the flickering flames.

"Roar—"

"Roar—"

The firelight cast eerie glows on the blood-stained uniforms and faces of the soldiers of the Great Hua. They shouted in unison, as if to scatter all their humiliation with these very flames.

The fire grew more fierce. The city was ablaze from end to end. Gunpowder smoke rolled, and fog enveloped everything. The scorching heat soaked Lin Wanrong's clothes through and through. Blood, tears, and sweat mingled, creating an indescribable sensation.

A half-hour later, over half the fodder and grain had burned. Even if a torrential downpour were to occur at that moment, it would be too late. The ground was charred; the city enveloped in smoke and ashes, making it impossible to see anyone within several yards.

The extra warhorses had all been slain, and the remains of the fallen soldiers neatly collected. Over five thousand troops were arrayed in formation before the city gates, ready to depart.

Gazing at the battle-weary, smoke-blackened faces before him, Lin Wanrong paused, then spoke loudly, "You all have seen it. We have done something unprecedented in the history of our Great Hua—Bayanhot, the linchpin of the nomadic tribes, is burning under our feet, reduced to scorched earth. From now on, this fortress will be completely erased from the map of the Turkic people."

"Roar—Roar—" Gao Qiu and Hu Bugui led the way, brandishing their war blades, and the soldiers roared in agreement.

With a sweeping motion of his hands, Lin Wanrong silenced the troops: "Our presence here has completely exposed us to the nomads. To assault a fortress on their own turf is something they've never experienced. More brutal battles on the plains are bound to come. Remember, from this moment on, our strategy must change completely. We will become like rabbits on the plains, evading the hawk's talons. Surviving to return home is our greatest victory."

The field fell silent. All eyes were fixed on Lin Wanrong. Everyone understood that while the mission was accomplished, the harshest part of the journey was yet to come—a route more perilous than any had ever faced. In these vast grasslands, they would become the prey of the Turkic tribes. The dream of safely returning to Helan Mountain seemed more like a fleeting fantasy. Yet, after enduring countless bloody battles and witnessing the separation of life and death, who could truly say they were afraid?

The gaze of over 5,000 men, unafraid of death, choked Lin Wanrong into speechlessness. With a wave of his hand, the first war horse leaped out of the city gate, followed by the second, the third…

The 5,000 soldiers silently retreated from Bayanhot, their crisp hoofbeats blending with the roaring flames, like a clear pastoral song across the plains.

Lin Wanrong, along with Hu Bugui and Gao Qiu, rode at the rear. As they stepped out of the city gates, the trio couldn't help but look back. The city amidst the grasslands was shrouded in gunpowder and flames. Other than the sounds of fire and wind, no longer were there any human voices or neighs of horses. It was a stark contrast to their arrival.

Lin Wanrong pondered for a moment, then suddenly yanked on the reins and rushed back.

"What is General Lin doing?" Hu Bugui asked, puzzled.

Gao Qiu thought for a moment, then shook his head weakly, "I have no idea. But General Lin has always been inscrutable in his actions. With our wisdom, we can't begin to guess. For instance, could you have believed that he would decapitate Labuli with a single stroke tonight?"

Recalling that thunderous strike by General Lin, Hu Bugui shivered inwardly, shaking his head as he sighed softly, "Profound, truly profound!"

When he reached the city gate, Lin Wanrong dismounted. He found a thick, burning stick by the roadside. The ground was soaked with the fresh blood of slain Turkic horses. He stirred the stick in the blood a few times, then quickly began writing characters on the city wall. These characters were flamboyant and dripping with blood, exuding immense energy. After finishing, he tossed away the bloodied stick, glanced left and right, and then burst into hearty laughter.n/o/vel/b//in dot c//om

Gao Qiu, who had the keenest eyes, could see that although the characters were somewhat awkward, they were enormously large and instantly readable: "Lin San of Great Hua was here! Rebuild it if you dare; I shall return next year!"

No sooner had he finished reading than Hu Bugui laughed aloud, "Excellent! 'I shall return next year!' What momentum, what writing style! This is indeed the style of General Lin!"

"Wonderful poetry," said Gao Qiu as he saw Lin Wanrong gallop back to join them, giving him a thumbs-up, "Perfect rhyming, strictly adhering to poetic form, truly a unique masterpiece and a gift of a lifetime. With this poem and this calligraphy, hundreds of years from now, it could fetch hundreds of thousands of silver taels."

Hu Bugui spoke solemnly, "Indeed, indeed. The handwriting of General Lin is a rare treasure even in our great Great Hua. But what inspired the General to compose such a magnificent work on the wall of the steppe city?"

Lin Wanrong laughed heartily, "I am ashamed; it was merely doodling, a habit when traveling. I just worry that the Turks won't understand our Great Hua script, thereby wasting my eloquence."

All burst into hearty laughter, their voices piercing through the vault of the grassland sky...

Gazing at Li Wuling, who lay on the stretcher, pale-faced and still unconscious, Lin Wanrong tightly gripped his hand and smiled, "Brother, let's go home!"

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