Yan Cheng remained silent, as if he had lost all his strength, and collapsed to his knees on the ground in despair.
The elders, their faces filled with sorrow, came forward to offer their advice:
"Chief, please stop talking."
"General Yan, he...he..."
Wu Li ignored him, instead shaking Yan Cheng violently and shouting:
"The king died at Yanluo Mountain. I don't know what he was thinking before he died, or whether he regretted sending troops."
"But I know that whether he sends troops or not, he is making my entire barbarian tribe his top priority!"
"If he were here now, I believe he would never fight again! He would never allow my barbarian tribe to perish!"
"Go and fight. After you die, go and ask the king: Is it more important to avenge him, or to ensure the continuation of our people?"
Panting heavily, Wu Li released Yan Cheng's collar, gripped his cane tightly, and stood bent over, watching him.
Yan Cheng knelt on the ground, as if he had collapsed. His face was deathly pale and bloodless. He moved his lips, but could not utter a single strong word.
The clan elders around fell silent, standing quietly to the side.
Silence reigned, broken only by the gentle night breeze and the crackling of firewood burning in the distant bonfire.
But at this moment, a timid, childish voice rang out:
"Grandpa Wu, did Uncle Yan do something wrong?"
"He's not a bad person... He was the one who had someone find our cow for my mother when it went missing... Please don't be angry with him..."
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