"Marshal, I offer this bowl on behalf of myself and the three thousand brothers under my command!"
A captain of the Zhenhai Army came over carrying a jar of wine, his expression solemn as he raised a toast to Ye Zhen.
"Marshal, the brothers all remember your kindness. If not for you, I fear very few of us would have returned alive! Not to mention such generous rewards—and the compensation for our fallen brothers is ten times more generous than before..."
By this point, the broad-shouldered, burly man had become emotional. His eyes reddened, and his throat choked up.
Holding the wine jar in one hand, he fiercely wiped his eyes with his sleeve. "Marshal, I thank you on behalf of those old brothers who died in battle. From this day onward, the lives of us surviving brothers belong to you. This subordinate will drink first as a sign of respect!"
With that, he raised the jar and began gulping down its contents. Tears and wine mingled together, soaking into the ground.
Ye Zhen said nothing. He quietly watched the captain drain the jar, then lifted the bowl in his own hand and tipped his head back, emptying it in one draught. The captain's fingers immediately trembled with excitement.
"Remember this: our Zhenhai Army will never mistreat any brother, whether he lives or falls!"
Ye Zhen's words stirred another wave through the Zhenhai Army. Officers came forward to offer toasts in an unending stream. Ye Zhen treated them all equally—one bowl per man, and he drained every bowl offered.
The sight emboldened many soldiers as well. One after another, they stepped forward to toast Marshal Ye Zhen, whom they could usually only admire from afar.
After Ye Zhen clinked bowls with them and drained the wine, they smashed their bowls