Compared to Yan Cheng, who was broad-shouldered, tall, and had distinct barbarian features, Wu Li was less than seven feet tall, with a full head of white hair as white as snow, with not a single strand of black hair left.
Now seventy-six years old, he has no connection whatsoever with the words "dark-haired and green-haired." Although he is less than seven feet tall, he was once ambitious in his youth. A few months ago, when he saw off his clansmen who had gone to fight in Beiliang, Wu Li was full of expectations, hoping to see the barbarian tribe rise in his lifetime.
Only when the devastating news arrived—that the army, which carried the hopes of the barbarians, had been utterly defeated at Yanluo Mountain, with not a single survivor—did he finally confront the bloody reality amidst profound grief.
Those who died fought for the barbarians, and dying on the battlefield was their destiny, which is understandable. At other times, death is certainly terrifying and terrifying, but in a war, death is as simple as eating and drinking. Someone will always die, and many people will die.
The dead are now at rest; all their ambitions and aspirations have vanished like smoke. What remains, then?
It is those who are alive, those hundreds of thousands who have lost loved ones.
The dead have found peace and are now at peace, but they have plunged the living into a torment far more painful than death itself.
Last year there was a heavy snowfall, but this year, as soon as spring arrived, the weather was favorable. After several spring thunderstorms and drizzles, the crops in the fields are thriving, the deer and rabbits in the mountains are ripe, and the shrimp and fish in the streams are ready to be caught. This year, the southern barbarians have had a good start.
The harsh winter with its biting winds has passed, and the warm spring has eased some of the pain. Wu Li felt much comforted, at least the deaths of hundreds of thousands of people had not yet plunged the living into immediate suffering.
But if we remain fixated on that war, then this rare good year will undoubtedly turn into a year of disaster.
Compared to the soldiers who died far away, he could not bear to see his young clansmen die before his eyes. After all, they were right beside him. They might have been playing and laughing around him the day before, but would he have to watch their cold corpses lying on the land that his ancestors had cultivated for generations?
"Perhaps it's because I'm getting old," he could only tell himself.
After being elected as the clan chief, he became even more aware of his responsibilities.
The lives of the entire barbarian tribe, millions of people, regardless of age or gender, depended on him.
The heavy burden made his already short body appear even shorter. He walked with a hunched back through the southern barbarian lands, comforting the families who had lost loved ones.
He saw too many faces, some filled with hatred, hatred for the enemy's ruthlessness, and others with anger, anger at why the army was sent to kill their husbands and sons thousands of miles away, leaving not even a corpse behind.
But more than anything, there is sorrow: adults sobbing uncontrollably on their beds or tables, and children with tearful faces hiding behind doors, in closets, or among haystacks.
When is my dad coming back?
As he got older, Wu Li's memory weakened considerably, but he had heard this question so many times that it was now etched into his mind like a brand.
He couldn't give a cruel answer to this question, because every time he would just pat the head of the person asking the question and say:
"When you grow up."
He really didn't want to answer that question anymore, and he really didn't want to see any more people asking it.
The pain has been intense enough and enough to serve as a wake-up call.
Now that he holds the reins of the entire barbarian tribe, the life and death of his people will depend on the decisions he makes.
Even if some people don't understand, even if some people still harbor resentment, as the chieftain, he still has to consider the entire barbarian tribe and make the most appropriate choice.
Yan Cheng was willing to die for the sake of war, so it was indeed possible to frame him, cut off his head, and use this as a warning to his warlike clansmen not to cause any more trouble.
But if he did this, sooner or later the barbarians would repeat the same mistakes and fall into a cycle of suffering again and again. Therefore, he had to persuade Yan Cheng.
At this moment, after roaring, Wu Li looked at Yan Cheng with his chest heaving violently and his breathing heavy.
Under the moonlight, Yan Cheng's face was as pale as frost.
He pursed his lips, his face twitching slightly. Looking at those timid faces, Yan Cheng dared not meet their gaze.
He bent down, lowered his head, and turned his face away. The anger in his eyes had vanished, leaving only the same helplessness in the eyes of the children.
"Speak up!"
"You wanted to fight?! Here! I'll give you a chance!"
"You are the highest-ranking general in our barbarian tribe. Many young people look up to you as a role model. If you go to war, people will follow you!"
"I won't stop you! You can leave tonight!"
Wu Li grabbed Yan Cheng by the collar and then shouted angrily:
"Go! Go and gather them!"
"Call them out of their homes! Take your weapons and go to the battlefield to show your prowess and display your bravery!"
"I know you're not afraid to die, and you'll make those who follow you fearless too! Go ahead and fight to the death!"
By this point, Wu Li was already panting heavily; he was getting old after all.
But then, he grabbed Yan Cheng by the collar, forcing Yan Cheng's slumped head up. Wu Li pointed at the children and shouted:
"If you die in battle, you will only turn into a handful of dust."
"But what about them?!"
"What will happen to them? Who will help them?!"
"If you're going to war, then take all the soldiers' families with you. They're all going to die anyway, so it's better for them all to die together! At least they can be together in the afterlife!"
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