Chapter 111

Edited By: Mim

The Thirteen Tribes of the Grasslands had surrendered with their people and pledged loyalty. To honor this occasion, Xie Lanxu hosted a grand banquet in the military camp.

The camp was brightly lit, filled with the clinking of cups and boisterous laughter.

The people of the grasslands, known for their exceptional skills in horseback riding and archery, were equally skilled in drinking. Even the young noble boy adorned with wolf fang ornaments—who looked no older than fourteen or fifteen—had a whole jug of wine placed before him, which he effortlessly lifted with one hand and drank from without pause.

When Li Cien introduced him in the common tongue, she explained that the noble boy’s name was Ashaqi, and he came from the second most powerful tribe on the grasslands, the Jila, second only to the Yaxiu tribe. His father had been the previous chief of the Jila tribe.

“Ashaqi’s father oppressed his people, seized women by force, and was deeply resented by the tribe,” Li Cien said. “Even Ashaqi’s mother was beaten to death by him. When I visited the Jila tribe, Ashaqi’s father not only refused to swear loyalty but even tried to hang me and burn me alive—”

As Li Cien recounted her perilous adventures in the grasslands, Li Zhi couldn’t help but feel a rollercoaster of emotions.

“And then what happened?” she asked, unable to hold back her curiosity.

“Ashaqi led a revolt and overthrew his father’s rule,” Li Cien said with a smile. “Although he originally had no claim to leadership, the people of the tribe chose him as the new chief. As for me, I managed to escape unscathed and even convinced Ashaqi to ally with the Yan Empire.”

“Your journey was truly harrowing,” Li Zhi remarked.

“All’s well that ends well,” Li Cien replied.

No sooner had she finished speaking than the boy named Ashaqi walked to the center of the tent with a wine jug in hand. He bowed toward Li Zhi on the platform with a mix of awkwardness and sincerity, clearly unfamiliar with the formalities.

Ashaqi began to speak, and Li Cien translated for him:

“I hear that you are Sister Cien’s elder sister. Cien is the smartest and strongest woman I’ve ever met. She told me that women of the Central Plains treat their eldest sisters like mothers. Since her mother is no longer here, you raised her all by yourself—”

Before Ashaqi could finish, Li Cien seemed to realize he was mentioning her name far too often. She cut him off with a few sharp words in the Jila tongue. Ashaqi wasn’t offended. Instead, he flashed a wide, toothy grin at her, revealing gleaming white teeth. He then raised his wine jug and drained it in one go before Li Zhi and Xie Lanxu, earning thunderous applause from the other tribal members, who clapped enthusiastically.

“He said, ‘Thank you, elder sister, for raising her so well,'” Li Cien translated to Li Zhi.

Li Zhi noticed her younger sister’s ears turning red but chose to ignore the hint of girlish affection, simply smiling without comment.

Although the Yan soldiers and the tribespeople spoke different languages and couldn’t communicate, soldiers by nature were straightforward. Not understanding each other didn’t matter—as long as they could drink together, they could become friends.

Li Zhi was just about to raise her wine cup to return Ashaqi’s toast when Xie Lanxu beat her to it.

He pushed away the wine cup in front of her and picked up an unopened jug of fine wine. Speaking to Ashaqi below the platform, he said, “I am Li Zhi’s fiancé, as well as Li Cien’s brother-in-law. I will return your toast with the grasslands’ customs and thank you all for your invaluable support.”

With that, he removed the red cloth covering the wine jug, raised it high, and drank deeply.

Li Cien translated Xie Lanxu’s words for Ashaqi, who stared intently at him, as though weighing his worth.

The wine flowed down Xie Lanxu’s sharp jawline, trickling along his neck and chest. His Adam’s apple bobbed with each gulp, and the veins on his arms and hands bulged from the effort. The jug was quickly emptied, and when Xie Lanxu tipped it upside down to show there was no wine left, the entire tent erupted in cheers. The tribal members were ecstatic.

Ashaqi also cheered loudly and gave Xie Lanxu another of his awkward but earnest bows.

The grasslands people didn’t adhere to the notion of male superiority. Whatever men could did, women could do as well. As a result, Ashaqi repeatedly toasted Li Cien, which irritated Li Xiangsheng, who was fiercely protective of his younger sister. He even challenged Ashaqi to a physical duel.

Xie Lanxu stepped in to stop the two hot-blooded youths, but then Hei Huo stood up and challenged Ashaqi to a drinking contest instead.

Li Zhi had always been curious about Hei Huo’s origins. She only knew that, like her biological mother, Concubine Qin, he had been abducted by a seafaring merchant fleet.

Until now, Hei Huo had never had the opportunity to showcase his drinking prowess.

It wasn’t until Li Zhi witnessed him grab a wine jug in each hand and down eight consecutive jugs without so much as a change in his expression that she realized there was a veritable drinking champion in her midst.

Ashaqi and the other tribespeople were dumbfounded by the display.

This feat earned Hei Huo the respect of the tribespeople. In the latter half of the banquet, he became the center of attention in the grand tent, with countless tribespeople flocking to talk to him with admiration. Some who were drunk and couldn’t control their curiosity even tried to touch Hei Huo’s bronze skin to see if it was smeared with something magical.

The banquet ended in a lively, chaotic fashion, with many people needing help to stumble out of the tent.

Li Zhi and Xie Lanxu returned to their sleeping quarters.

Xie Lanxu reeked of alcohol but was still mostly sober.

His body was warm, while Li Zhi’s was cool to the touch. Taking advantage of this, he pressed himself against her, grabbing her hand to cool his flushed cheeks. Occasionally, he let out low, suggestive groans that made her heart race.

Afraid that someone outside might overhear and get the wrong idea, Li Zhi flicked his forehead with her finger.

“Why do you keep making such strange noises?” she asked.

Xie Lanxu rubbed his forehead against her fingers, his eyes shimmering like water as they roamed over her face.

“Because I want to,” he murmured. “If you don’t like it, why don’t you come up with a way to stop me?”

“And what exactly should I do about it?”

Xie Lanxu frowned slightly, looking at her with a “Why don’t you get it?” expression.

“Then find a way to shut my mouth,” Xie Lanxu murmured, his voice low and teasing.

Before Li Zhi could react, he cupped the back of her head and pressed his lips to hers.

Outside the tent, the wind howled like a distant wail, but inside, it was as warm and tender as spring.

Without realizing it, their positions were reversed.

Xie Lanxu braced himself with both hands on either side of her. A hairpin slipped from her bun and landed on the bed, her ink-black hair cascading like a waterfall. It fell around her like a cage, trapping her within. His lips traced hers with deliberate care, as if savoring the finest wine.

Li Zhi blushed furiously under his kiss, her heart pounding wildly. Her breaths came in short gasps. Several times, she thought Xie Lanxu might break his own promise, but he didn’t.

Eventually, he seemed to tire. He collapsed beside her, resting his head near her neck, much like a satisfied puppy or kitten, and closed his eyes with a contented smile.

Li Zhi sat up, relit the lantern, and tidied herself before extinguishing it for the night.

News of the Thirteen Tribes of the Grasslands surrendering spread like wildfire to Baisha City.

The morale of the Yaxiu royal forces within the city collapsed. No one remained willing to continue a desperate last stand.

That very night, Yaxiu nobles secretly opened the gates and fled like stray dogs.

Xie Lanxu’s army, lying in wait, swept into the valley and annihilated the fleeing Yaxiu forces. Over 30,000 were beheaded, with countless others taken as prisoners.

Xie Lanxu returned triumphant. He appointed Li Xiangsheng as the new commander of the surrendered Thirteen Tribes and ordered him to pursue and eliminate the remaining Yaxiu forces.

With the tribes’ support, Li Xiangsheng achieved rapid success, marching straight to the Yaxiu royal court. In the final battle, Ashaqi displayed courage rivaling Li Xiangsheng’s, personally beheading the Yaxiu King.

The Battle of Baisha was decisive.

As the army began its return, news of the great victory spread swiftly to the capital, reaching the emperor’s palace.

The people were jubilant. Songs of celebration filled the streets as citizens danced and rejoiced.

But not everyone was pleased by the outcome.

The results of the Battle of Baisha far exceeded Xie Shencong’s expectations. What he had thought would be a simple operation to reclaim a fallen city turned into a historic campaign that unified the Fourteen Tribes of the Grasslands and secured Xie Lanxu’s name in the annals of history.

The scale of this victory even surpassed the Battle of Mingyue Tower, which had once shocked the empire.

Xie Lanxu’s reputation surged like spring bamboo after rain. Each passing day saw his prestige grow, to the point where it began to overshadow the emperor himself.

Xie Shencong could neither remain seated in calm nor summon joy.

Had he known this would happen, he might as well have sent the aging General Fu Cheng to the battlefield instead!

But Xie Shencong wasn’t the only one troubled by this.

The faction supporting the Prince Feng as the heir was also thrown into disarray.

With the glow of victories at Mingyue Tower and Baisha City, Xie Lanxu’s public support had soared to heights Prince Feng could only dream of. To the common people, Prince Langya was a war hero who could defend the country, while Prince Feng was still just an unmarried boy.

Prince Feng’s faction knew that their only chance to turn the tide was to arrange a politically advantageous marriage for him, pairing him with a noblewoman of great virtue and reputation. They had already identified an ideal candidate, but their efforts were thwarted by Prince Feng himself.

Rather than cooperating, Prince Feng had locked himself away in his mansion, refusing to see anyone.

This stubborn act chilled the hearts of many of his supporters. Some began quietly packing their belongings, ready to defect to Prince Langya’s camp at the first opportunity.

Meanwhile, Prince Feng, Xie Fengshao, paid no attention to the political turmoil outside.

He confined himself to his bedroom, losing track of days and nights. Awake, he drowned himself in alcohol, drinking until he passed out. Even in sleep, he couldn’t escape his nightmares.

When he woke, he feared the clarity of consciousness and would immediately resume drinking, spiraling further into intoxication. He drank until he vomited violently, his bloodshot eyes bulging, veins protruding, retching bile and stomach acid—yet even this self-destructive numbness couldn’t dull the pain he carried.

His descent into ruin hadn’t begun with alcohol.

It had started the day he walked out of the Imperial Study.

That day, he hadn’t had a single drop of wine, but the mere sight of the paintings in the study had almost made him vomit.

Those scrolls, one after another, filled with erotic depictions, featured girls with expressions ranging from coy to despairing. Many of them looked so young they could have been his sisters, yet his father had painted them with postures no better than brothel courtesans.

He had resisted the nausea churning in his stomach and forced his trembling hands to open every scroll.

And then he saw it—the one scroll, its edges frayed from frequent viewing, that seemed to be his father’s favorite.

He froze, staring at the girl depicted in the painting. Her eyes, brimming with a blend of joy and sorrow, pierced straight into his heart.

It was as though she were crying out, mourning something, begging for something.

The gold anklet on her slender foot, adorned with delicate bells, seemed to mockingly embellish the cruel captivity depicted in the painting.

No matter how ornate the cage, it was still a cage.

The bird within had been bloodied and broken, its feathers torn and wings shattered.

Xie Fengshao couldn’t hold it in any longer. He turned his head and vomited violently.

He collapsed on the floor of the Imperial Study, his vision spinning and his ears ringing. The scrolls lay scattered around him, but he didn’t dare cast another glance at them.

The dragons coiled around the golden pillars of the study remained as vivid as ever, yet in his heart, this gilded palace had already crumbled to ruins.

He vaguely remembered Gao Shan appearing behind him at some point.

“Your Highness, it’s time to leave,” Gao Shan said, his tone indifferent, as though blind to the chaos in the study.

Xie Fengshao stumbled out of the Imperial Study, barely aware of how he managed to return to Prince Feng’s Mansion.

From that day on, he had never been sober again.