"Great Khan!"
A burly, well-fed general left the banquet, walked to the center of the platform, placed his right hand over his chest, and bowed to Monkge.
"General A'shu, what is it?"
Monkge took a sip of fermented mare's milk, then let out a hearty laugh and asked.
"Great Khan, winter is coming, and the grasslands no longer have enough food to last the season, let alone to feed the cattle and sheep. I wish to ride south and raid for supplies. I beg you to grant me permission!"
At these words, the Han beauties in everyone's arms suddenly lost their appeal. They all looked toward Monkge, eager to hear his decision.
Raiding for supplies was a long-standing custom among the Mongols.
In winter, the grass and water dried up, and the grasslands grew bitterly cold. The only way to survive was to go south and plunder Great Song. People and supplies alike were fair game.
Monkge didn't answer right away. He poured himself several more cups of wine, then looked at the impatient faces around him and finally spoke.
"Don't rush. Our raids in past years have already put Great Song on its guard. This time, I sent the State Preceptor to Great Song to gather intelligence. Once he returns, we'll march on Bianjing. This time, we'll go—and we won't come back!"
Delight flashed in everyone's eyes, and they looked at one another, barely able to contain their excitement.
"The Great Khan is wise!"
"The Great Khan is mighty!"
"..."
They were all chiefs of Mongol tribes or outstanding generals, but Monkge had brought them under his command. Wasn't that so their people could live better?
Great Song was a land overflowing with wealth, a thousand times better than the bitterly cold grasslands.
They had tested their strength against