Meng Shanming, You Old Bastard

Meng Shanming did not linger in the tent. After demanding an explanation for those fifty thousand soldiers before everyone, he had Luo Da'an turn his wheelchair around and leave, showing no reaction whatsoever to the weeping behind him.

It was not that he was cold-blooded and heartless, but that after a lifetime in the military, he had long grown accustomed to such things. He kept many things buried in his heart and no longer wore his feelings on his face.

He understood why Sun Gaotian was crying.

The only place that could make a group of men hardened by slaughter weep bitterly was the battlefield.

Upon reaching Zhang Hu's central command tent, the wheelchair habitually stopped before the hanging map. Staring at it, Meng Shanming asked, "How are the preparations at Riverside County? Cough, cough..."

Zhang Hu said, "The troops have already set out, hiding by day and traveling by night..." Halfway through, his gaze flicked toward the hand Meng Shanming had lowered from his mouth after coughing. The sight was startling—a streak of crimson stained Meng Shanming's palm. He had coughed up blood!

Zhang Hu's face changed drastically. He rushed forward. "Marshal, what is wrong?"

Meng Shanming had intended to conceal it, but it had still been discovered. When Gong Lince and the others stepped forward to look, they too were greatly shocked.

At such a critical point in the war, this old man absolutely could not have anything happen to him!

Gong Lince panicked somewhat and personally examined Meng Shanming's condition.

Meng Shanming sighed. "It is nothing."

How could it be nothing? At his age, he had barely closed his eyes these past days. In arranging this battle, he had truly wracked his brains and poured out his heart's blood; his body was nearly worn down.

After examining