Beneath the night, before the army's formation, a figure clad in armor, steady and composed in bearing, stood silently—none other than Li Jing, who had been ordered to lead troops in secrecy and lie in wait for the right moment.
Seeing the father and son approaching, travel-worn yet still standing tall, Li Jing stepped forward half a pace, his eyes hiding the emotion and admiration born of a long wait.
Huang Tianhua hurried forward, the young man's voice carrying the exhaustion of their headlong journey, and even more the relief of dust finally settling, as he spoke solemnly.
"General Li Jing, we have finally waited until your arrival."
Li Jing looked at Huang Feihu, who had spent years undercover in the enemy camp, enduring humiliation and heavy burdens, throwing himself into the game, and he nodded slightly, his tone filled with respect and heartache.
"General Huang is the one who has truly suffered. You went undercover in Xiqi for several years, bore humiliation and heavy burdens, hid your edge in the dark, all for the greater situation today. General Huang, you have suffered much."
For several years, Huang Feihu had pretended to betray Shang and defect to Zhou, shouldering the infamy of treason, enduring the world's misunderstanding. Though his body was in Xiqi, his heart faced Great Shang; day after day he endured, step by step he planned. The loneliness and torment within it were known to no one.
Hearing these words, Huang Feihu, clad in battle armor, slowly lifted his head, revealing a resolute face weathered by hardship.
He looked at the elite Yin Shang troops before him, ready and waiting in perfect order, looked at the comrades and soldiers standing shoulder to shoulder for their country, and the grievances of years of forbearance, the hardship of lying low,