Wedding

Marching through the snowy night was incomparably difficult. After racing a hundred li in one breath, the warhorses were foaming at the mouth. The Right Virtuous King knew they could not keep running. If the horses collapsed from exhaustion, there would be even less hope.

By then, heavy snow had covered the entire land, and night had fully fallen. They found a sheltered spot to rest.

They did not dare light a fire.

The temperature was bitterly cold. Because of the battle, they had abandoned all their supplies earlier, leaving them without even a bite to eat.

Someone led over an injured warhorse and stabbed it with a knife. Hot blood immediately gushed out. The Right Virtuous King bent over the horse's neck and gulped down several mouthfuls of blood, then sat dejectedly to one side. Watching his men drag away the horse and divide up its raw meat, he felt indescribably miserable.

How glorious they had been before. Tens of thousands of troops had ravaged the desert, living like emperors. Yet in the blink of an eye, they had suffered a crushing defeat and fled in panic like stray dogs. What was he supposed to do now? Where could he go?

However, the Right Virtuous King soon made up his mind.

He had not lost completely yet. There was still a chance to turn things around. He could not give up. He had to live. He absolutely had to live.

They would go to the Cheshi Kingdom. Once there, they could reorganize their forces. With the heavy snow now falling, no one in the Western Regions could continue campaigning. When spring came, he would lead his men back to the grasslands, rebuild his army, and return to kill them all. This grudge had to be avenged.

Compared with the