Daiyue's choice

Just as the Fire Tribe was achieving a great victory at the Little Valley Camp Outpost and Fish River, Yingmu led four thousand cavalrymen of the Fire Tribe in a fierce attack on the enemy forces outside the south gate of the Valley Tribe's main camp. Under Daiyue's orders, Fengren opened the south gate of the camp and launched a fierce attack on the enemy's rear. The two thousand-plus enemy troops were no match for them and were soon annihilated by Yingmu and Fengren. Xiong Lie, the leader of the Bear Tribe, was also killed. They did not stop and continued to lead their troops to the north gate of the Valley Tribe's main camp to pursue the four thousand-plus troops of the Tiger Tribe. When the Tiger Tribe troops outside the north gate saw that the Tiger Tribe's navy had been defeated in an instant, they also fled to the north. After Yingmu and Fengren had chased and killed more than a thousand people, they did not return to the Valley Tribe's main camp until it was getting late.

Night had completely fallen. There was no moonlight tonight, only sparse stars shining in the sky, the larger ones brighter, the smaller ones dimmer, scattered across the deep blue expanse. As Yan led his men out of the Valley Tribe's headquarters council hall, the night wind rushed towards them, ruffling their clothes. He paused at the doorway, as if allowing his body to adjust to the transition from lamplight to darkness, letting the wind brush against his face. The wooden door behind him slammed shut with a low thud, the light shining through the crack drawing a thin, elongated line on the door panel, then gradually narrowing as the hinges turned, like a gap being closed, until it was completely shut.

Behind him, Shibang's footsteps landed first, followed by Bailin. The three walked along the path leading to the dock. Most of the wooden houses on both sides of the path had their lights off, with only a few still letting out a faint light from the cracks in their doors. Torches had been lit at the dock of the Valley Tribe headquarters, more numerous and denser than in the camp. The firelight cast flickering orange-red patches on the water's surface, moving slightly with the current, as if there were rows of dancing flames on the dark water's surface. The tents at the Fire Tribe's temporary camp had already been set up. Part of the journey was complete. The Fire Tribe's boats were moored at the dock. Their silhouettes appeared even more imposing in the night than during the day, blending into the dark transition zone between the water and the shore. Each boat floated quietly in its place, its ropes tied tightly to the wooden stakes on the shore. One boat bore several shallow marks from arrows grazing its hull, while another boat had a torn sail, the edges of which fluttered slightly in the night wind, like a corner of a garment repeatedly lifted and then falling. A corner of the sail hung down, swaying slowly in the wind.

Yan stopped at the dock, turning to look at Shibang behind him. His voice carried a slight chill from the night wind, but his words remained clear. "How are your casualties?"

Shibang stopped beside him, dusted off his clothes, and said, "The cavalry suffered minor losses, less than two hundred men. The Wolf Tribe ran fast and didn't fight us head-on. We chased them for a while, then stopped. At the Little Valley Camp Outpost, we left three hundred men to garrison there after taking over. We've plugged the gaps in the wall with timber, and we've also sent people to watch the boats at the dock to prevent anything else from being lost. Everything else has been brought back. The elderly and weak from the Valley Tribe who were rescued have been taken inside to rest. We'll arrange the next steps after dawn. We've also separately sorted out the weapons and supplies we seized from the wounded soldiers of the Bear Tribe."

Yan stood on the dock, watching the boats sway gently on the water in the night. The reflections on the water flickered on his face, like the breath of the night caressing his features. In a corner of the camp, someone was starting a fire. The flames lit up the clearing next to a tent, first scattered, dark red sparks dancing among the dry grass and twigs, like tiny creatures groping their way in the darkness. Then bright yellow flames emerged, gradually settling into a gleaming core, swirling upwards and casting a warm yellow halo over the surrounding ground. The crackling of the flames accompanied the burning dry Mucai, clear and short in the quiet night, each sound like a brief tap followed by a release.

Yan paused by the fire, squatted down, and warmed his hands in the flames. The firelight illuminated the back of his hands, clearly outlining his knuckles and the lines on his palms. A faint, old scar on his fingertip was faintly visible in the firelight. He turned his palm over, palm down, and held it above the flames for a moment, feeling the warmth slowly seep through his skin into his palm and fingertips, as if using that brief warmth to dispel some of the chill brought by the night breeze. Then he stood up and walked towards his tent. The two soldiers by the fire glanced up at him, then lowered their heads again, continuing to tend the firewood, making the flames burn brighter.

Bailin stood behind Yan for a moment, watching him enter the tent, then turned and walked towards the dock, his footsteps gradually fading into the night. Shibang also dispersed, heading towards the tent area on the other side of the camp. The sound of their footsteps gradually separated in the night, extending in different directions. One was gathered by the sound of the water lapping against the shore at the dock, while the other was covered by the whispers of the warriors in the distant tents.

In the council hall of the Valley Tribe's headquarters, the lights were still on. The oil in the lamps had been refilled, and the flames were more stable than before, compressing the shadows in the corners of the room. The wooden tablets spread out on the table had not yet been put away; a few had been blown out of place by the wind, and the engravings on them shimmered with fine white light under the lamplight, like lines of writing carved into a dry riverbed. The light from the oil lamp in the corner cast long and then narrow shadows on the walls of the weapon racks and animal hide ornaments, as if every object in the room was breathing slowly in rhythm with the flames.

Daiyue remained seated in the main seat, not rising. His hands rested on the table, palms flat, fingertips slightly curved against the wooden surface, as if trying to maintain his weight while seated, as if to confirm that he was still there, and not that he had been carried away by the shouts of battle and the cracking of wood all day. His shoulders were slumped slightly more than usual, and his back was not fully against the chair back, but maintained a posture between sitting upright and relaxed, as if searching for a position that would prevent his old injuries from flaring up.

Fengren stood beside him, the edges of his boots still stained with the compacted mud from the base of the wall during the day. Dried, it had turned into fine, grayish-brown dust, forming a faint mark at the crease of the boot shaft. A few grains scattered to the ground with each slight movement he made. The sweat on his face had dried, leaving faint white streaks of salt running from his forehead to his temples, faintly visible in the lamplight, like dried water stains. A new bandage was wrapped around his left arm, tightly tied at the edges, with no blood seeping through, as if it had just been changed. He stood there, his hands hanging at his sides, his fingers occasionally clenching and unclenching, as if unaccustomed to remaining still when there was nothing to do.

When Quyong walked in through the door, he was carrying a bowl of water. A little steam was still rising from the rim, as if it had just been taken from the stove. He walked to the table, placed the bowl in front of Daiyue, and the rim made a soft sound on the wooden board. The reflection in the water swayed briefly under the lamplight before settling back down. Then he straightened up, took a half-step back, and stood beside Fengren, his hands hanging at his sides, fingers interlaced in front of his abdomen, as if using his posture to leave room for what might be discussed next.

Daiyue stared at the bowl of water, not picking it up. His gaze first fell on the slowly expanding and contracting ripples on the water's surface, lingered for a moment, then shifted away, as if trying to see deeper through the calming ripples. His voice was hoarse from days of shouting, as if a thin shell had been worn away in his throat, each word requiring extra effort. "After this battle, how many warriors of our Valley Tribe are left?"

Fengren didn't hesitate, as if he had calculated this number many times in his mind. "Including the able-bodied men who came from the Bean Tribe, and those wounded who can recover, there are less than three thousand people in total. Of them, less than two thousand can immediately join the battle. Those who are seriously injured will need at least a month of rest before they can pick up their weapons again. Those who are lightly injured may not be able to go back to the battlefield immediately and will need someone to guide them through retraining before they can recover."

Quyong chimed in, his voice slightly lower than Fengren's, but equally clear. "The camp defenses at Little Valley Camp Outpost have been largely destroyed, and Leader Daiyan has also been killed in battle."

After listening, Daiyue's gaze fell on the table, as if a long speech had been compressed into the length of a single breath. His fingers slowly clenched on the table, then relaxed, leaving a shallow damp mark on the wooden board. "The battlefield is ruthless. Our Valley Tribe has suffered heavy losses this time, and it will probably be difficult to recover in a short time. Even if we want to rebuild the Little Valley Camp, we don't have enough manpower and resources. It would just be an empty shell."

Fengren looked at him without replying, Quyong also stood silently, waiting quietly. Daiyue lifted his gaze from the table and landed on the direction of the council hall entrance. The door was open, and several torches could be seen flickering in the distance in the night, as if repeatedly confirming their existence in the wind, shining continuously, or as if someone was carrying them back and forth in the distance, their footsteps muffled by the wind. When he spoke, his voice was not loud, as if he had paused before letting out the words, as if he were bringing out something he had been thinking about for some time and placing it before everyone to see if it could stand up to scrutiny, "I want to lead the Valley Tribe to join the Fire Tribe. What do you two think?"

Fengren's gaze lingered on Daiyue's face for a moment, his fingers twitching slightly at his side. He turned to face Daiyue and said, "The Fire Tribe is powerful and developing rapidly. If our Valley Tribe joins the Fire Tribe Fire Tribe, given their tradition of treating those who seek refuge well, our people won't be mistreated. Land and houses will be provided, and we'll definitely be able to take revenge on the Tiger Tribe in the future. Moreover, by joining them, we can also protect the remaining members of our tribe. The Wolf Tribe has already fled, and although the Tiger Tribe has retreated, their foundations remain, and they'll come knocking again sooner or later."

Quyong nodded, switching the wooden tablet from his arms to his other hand. His voice was even lower than Fengren's, as if he wanted to firmly plant each word on the ground before handing it over. "The scale of the reinforcements the Fire Tribe sent this time shows that they truly consider us allies. Joining them is the best option. We have no other choice right now; our headquarters only held out this time. If there's a next time, we won't be able to hold out."

After listening, Daiyue remained silent for a while, as if weighing each of their answers in his mind, adding another layer of long-standing hesitation to his own scales. He picked up the bowl of water in front of him, pausing slightly as he brought the rim to his lips, as if using that fleeting touch of the water's warmth to briefly detach himself from the conversation. Then he took a sip, not immediately putting it down, but holding the bowl in his hand for a moment, as if letting the warmth and weight of the water linger in his palm. He slowly placed the bowl back on the table, the bottom making a soft sound as it hit the wooden board, the remaining liquid inside... The water's edge was still rippled slightly, and a thin Shuihen remained along its side. "I used to think that the Valley Tribe should remain independent and interact with them on an equal footing. Back then, we still had soldiers, food, and land, and we felt we could hold on. We thought that if we accumulated enough resources for a few more years, we could stand on equal footing with them. Now, our strength has been greatly diminished, and we are no longer able to protect ourselves. Joining the Fire Tribe is the best option, and we can also use the Fire Tribe to take revenge on the Tiger Tribe. Send someone to summon the seven elders to discuss this together. After all, this is a major matter for the tribe, and I cannot decide it alone."

Fengren didn't ask any further questions and turned to walk towards the door. When he reached the threshold, he turned to the side as if he wanted to say something more, but seeing that Daiyue had already leaned back in his chair, his gaze fixed on the night outside the window, as if waiting for something that hadn't yet arrived, he didn't speak again, crossed the threshold, and walked into the night. Quyong followed him out, paused at the door, stuffed the wooden tablet back into his pocket, then turned and walked quickly in a different direction from Fengren. The two footsteps separated outside the door, one heading east and the other west, each walking quickly towards the camp, as if the night wasn't deep enough, and there was still enough time to spread the message throughout every inch of darkness.

The council chamber fell silent, leaving only Daiyue seated in the main seat. The oil lamp's flame flickered slightly in the night breeze before settling back down, casting long and then narrow shadows of the weapon racks and animal hide ornaments on the wall, as if repeatedly measuring the same outline. His gaze fell on the half-bowl of water, as if looking at something else through the surface of the water—something that was no longer there.