On the Chile Plain, beneath the Yin Mountains.
The sky was like a domed tent, covering the wilderness on every side.
The heavens stretched blue, the wilds stretched boundless,
The wind bent the grass low, revealing cattle and sheep.
A bleak, lilting song rang out over the vast, untamed land. Ahead lay grasslands stretching beyond sight, shimmering rivers winding through the grass. Beside them, countless iron cavalry thundered onward, and the earth seemed to tremble.
Murong Chengguang sighed softly. "The folk songs of the Northern State always become more poetic and exquisite when composed by the Southern Kingdom. It was the same with that song the Xiongnu sang three hundred years ago: 'The loss of our Qilian Mountain leaves our six kinds of livestock unable to multiply; the loss of our Yanzhi Mountain leaves our brides without color.'"
Luo Chengzhi silently savored the desolate song, his right hand holding the reins tight. "I still prefer that battle song from ancient times. 'How can you say you have no clothes? I will share my battle robe with you. The king raises his armies; we mend our dagger-axes and spears, and share a common foe.'"
The Central Plains had marched into the Grasslands in force. With hundreds of thousands of troops on the move, the Xianbei tribes were naturally not blind to it. Though shocked by this sudden action, they settled on their response in mere moments. The visitors from the Central Plains bore ill intent; their only choice was battle.
Gurgle, gurgle-
Water and grass abounded on the Grasslands. Warhorses gulped down the clear, cold river water. Holding his horse's reins, Luo Chengzhi kept stroking the weary animal, easing its discomfort.
Once they entered the Grasslands, everything was vast and wild: ten thousand li from east to west, seven thousand