Liaodong in spring was not very pretty.
The trees along the roads had long since been chopped down, leaving the land bare and desolate. On the distant hills, a clear dividing line could be seen. Below it was empty and barren; above it, green shadows flowed amid blooming peach blossoms. All of it had been consumed for warmth during the winter.
Yet Liaodong in spring could still be considered beautiful. The spring breeze carried the fresh fragrance of earth, grass, and trees. Children ran wild at play, while the fields and ridges were filled with people tilling the soil as far as the eye could see. The people labored, planting the joy of autumn in spring. That, too, was beautiful.
A dense rhythm of footsteps sounded in the distance along the widened and reinforced road, and the dust they kicked up was swept high by the wind. Soon, dozens of soldiers came into view. They wore light armor and carried weapons on their backs. Some carried large cooking pots, while others bore bulky packs that were clearly sacks of food. They were drenched in sweat, panting like oxen, yet their pace did not slow. Their legs moved mechanically as they ran forward for their lives.
Not long after they passed, several hundred more came running by. No one spoke. Every one of them had been exhausted beyond recognition.
Zhen Sheng rode beside the General as they advanced slowly. Looking at the sparse, straggling line of troops stretching for at least three li, he truly did not know what to say for a moment.
Only after the main force had passed and the dust settled, leaving just scattered groups of a few men, dozens of men, or even lone soldiers still running forward, did he cup his hands and say, "General,