Chapter 1139: Distant Hoofbeats, a Melancholy Song
Tang Thirty-Six had gone to the front lines.
Of course, he wasn't serving as a vanguard; he lacked the ability, and no one would have agreed to it. In this war, his role was that of a grain supply officer—more precisely, the deputy to Jin Yulu.
Chen Changsheng's journey to White Emperor City, though it hadn't fully realized the human race's ambitions, had at least freed Jin Yulu from his vegetable patch. This legendary demon general would once again take up the crucial role he had held centuries ago. All the court's supplies, grain, and weapons sent to the front, along with support from various prefectures and donations from noble houses and merchant guilds, were under his control. His deputy's position was equally vital.
In principle, Tang Thirty-Six's experience was insufficient, and it would have been hard to command respect. Yet no one dared oppose this appointment. It wasn't because of Tang Thirty-Six's status or his willingness to abandon the privileges of a noble scion to risk his life at the front—it was because the Tang family had donated a sum of money.
Liang Wangsun had donated half his family fortune as military funds, and the Wenshui Tang family had done the same. Both were half their fortunes, but only when people saw it with their own eyes did they realize how staggering the Tang family's contribution truly was. Half of the Tang family's wealth was an astronomically terrifying number. Even the seasoned officials of the Ministry of Revenue were left speechless with shock when they saw the account books hauled in by over a dozen carriages.
The entire continent knew the Tang family was the wealthiest in the world, with deep roots and immense accumulation. But it was only now that the world realized just how rich the Tang family was. The saying "wealth enough to rival a nation" was no empty boast. Old Master Tang was truly extraordinary.
Wealth that rivals a nation often makes one an enemy of the entire nation. This was a hard-to-escape pattern and the source of many tragedies. After the details of this matter spread, many speculated that the Tang family was trying to avoid provoking the court's jealousy, using this method to reduce hostility. Half their fortune was indeed a painful loss, like severing an arm, but if the Tang family could survive, it would be worth it.
This reasoning seemed plausible, but Chen Changsheng knew it wasn't the truth. Storming Snow Old City and conquering the demon race was Old Master Tang's lifelong wish—the only thing he had wanted to do for centuries. In this regard, he was a natural ally and the staunchest comrade of Shang Xingzhou; nothing could change his mind. One could even say he lived only to see this day. If the human race could utterly defeat the demon race, why would he care about boundless wealth? If not for considering his descendants and the family's survival, he would have thrown the entire Wenshui Tang family into this war.
What was it like to be the grandson of such an old man?
Chen Changsheng looked at the dust plume on the plain outside the city, the corners of his mouth lifting into a smile.
Tang Thirty-Six rode a white horse, clad in white robes, with the Wenshui Sword at his waist, looking elegant and carefree. He said nothing to Chen Changsheng, nor did he bid him farewell, because this war was destined to be won. As the man from Yanzhi Mountain had said, the tide had turned. The demon race's momentum was spent. Just as Old Master Tang and Liang Wangsun had done, the human race was willing to pay any price and set aside hatred to secure victory in this war.
The human world had been waiting for this day. They had prepared for this war for a long time. In terms of material and troop deployment, it had been ten years. In terms of strategic planning, it had been centuries. In terms of spiritual will, it had been millennia. Countless sages and martyrs, every emperor and every Pope—everything they had done was for today. The undercurrents had been stirring for countless days, and with the changing times, they had finally turned into a spring tide.
The demon race, once the overlords of the continent, had been barely surviving in the north, drifting along without realizing this. Even if some clear-headed figures, like the young Demon Lord or the man from Yanzhi Mountain, recognized it, they had too little time, and the demon race's internal chaos was too great. Whenever Chen Changsheng thought of the demon race's current predicament, he felt both relief and confusion, then recalled Shang Xingzhou's words in Luoyang. Perhaps that man had finally realized he was, after all, human?
Feeling the faint tremors from the dust dragons on the plain, Chen Changsheng set aside that question. Were the tremors from the distant hoofbeats, or his own heartbeat? He felt his heart racing, for no reason. Was it because this magnificent war was about to begin? The demon race was doomed to lose, the human race was sure to win—the outcome was set. But they still had to strive for it, with true effort, to achieve true victory. Thinking of the young men and women leaving Xunyang City at this moment, and how much blood and sacrifice lay ahead in the coming years... even someone as calm as him felt his cheeks grow warm.
(Thinking of The Heaven Sword and Dragon Saber.)
...
...
In the deep spring valley, blood was everywhere.
Low-level demon soldiers became even uglier after death, and the corpses among the wild grass emitted a foul stench. The grassland wasn't too hot yet, but left out for too long, they inevitably began to rot. At first, the human army would use formation masters to clear the battlefield; after each battle, the grassland was dotted with the clear light of formations and the ensuing flames. Later, as more demon soldiers died and the fighting grew more intense, to conserve the formation masters' energy, this requirement was dropped.
Temporary tents were set up on high ground, but the so-called valley was actually a rolling meadow, hardly defensible. The twilight painted the distant plains and nearby carts; cooking fires had died down, campfires flickered to life, and faint, melancholy songs arose, only to draw more curses.
Liang Hongzhuang leaned against a cart wheel, squinting at the sun sinking toward the earth, the grass stem in his mouth trembling slightly. He wasn't wearing his red dance robes or heavy makeup, but he was naturally beautiful, especially with his deep, hook-like eyebrows—charming yet spirited, exuding an innate elegance. When he first arrived on the battlefield, he had drawn countless stares, but now no one dared gossip about him.
In the unit, he had the highest cultivation level, killed the most demon soldiers, and suffered the most wounds. Beneath his ribs was a deep gash; through the gaps in the bandages, one could see white bone and smell the stench of rot.
Someone squeezed in beside him and sat down, looking at the low-level demon corpses on the meadow with a mocking expression.
"After all these days, I haven't seen a single high-level demon. Did the old Demon Lord kill them all?" said the speaker, Lord Fenggui. Not long ago, he had been the city guard of Xunyang for decades, and now he was a general at the front. That night under the stage, when he heard Liang Hongzhuang speak to the Pope, he had vaguely guessed his fate. But he hadn't expected to end up with Liang Hongzhuang at the front, unsure if it was the Pope's will or the Saintess's arrangement.
Liang Hongzhuang ignored him.
Lord Fenggui sneered, "The court sent me here to die as repayment for half the Liang family fortune. What about you? Why didn't your elder brother come, but sent you instead?"
Yes, coming to this grassland was, in a sense, a death sentence. Though the human race held an absolute advantage, and in the many battles so far, demon soldier deaths had outnumbered human soldiers two to one... people still died, especially now that many had noticed something strange.
Lord Fenggui's mockery stemmed more from unease. After the human army entered the grassland, they had encountered many demon forces and fought fierce battles. Soon, they noticed a very strange phenomenon. Except for a very few officers, no high-level demons were seen in these battles. Even the demon race's most powerful wolf cavalry had vanished without a trace, as if they had disappeared. Like a tide, only the lowest-level demon soldiers surged toward the human army.
These low-level demon soldiers developed slowly in intellect and could be called stupid. Even with their immense strength beyond ordinary humans, they were mere prey before the human army's crossbows, machinery, and formation masters. In theory, they should have been easy to deal with. The problem was that the low-level demon soldiers the human army now faced were different from before. They had become braver, more violent, more ruthless, and seemed to have no fear of death. If before they were just mentally deficient, now they seemed to have lost all consciousness, becoming pure killing tools. Countless low-level demon soldiers, fearless and relentless, surged forward, putting immense pressure on the human army—both in battle and mentally.
The army led by Lord Fenggui had suffered severe attrition, and it was unclear how much longer they could hold out. The same situation likely occurred across the grassland.
"It must be some drug that's made these ugly creatures lose their minds, just coming to die," Liang Hongzhuang said.
This was a common guess, though no one understood why the demon race had resorted to such extreme measures so early in the war. Those drugs must have had severe side effects; from the moment they took them, those low-level demon soldiers were as good as dead.
Lord Fenggui watched the deepening twilight, his eyes growing more troubled, and murmured, "What exactly does the demon race want?"
In a sense, he had indeed been sent by the court to die, to appease the old grievances of the Liang family. But he had been the city guard of Xunyang for decades, and now he was a general at the front.
Liang Hongzhuang said, "The demon race wants to scare us back."
Lord Fenggui paused, understood his meaning, and gave a bitter smile. They were the vanguard. If the demon race's strategy was truly this, they would face relentless attacks until the central command ordered a retreat, or until one side was wiped out.
"You said we were all sent here to die, so why be afraid?" Liang Hongzhuang said. "And even if we die now, we've already come out ahead."
Since the war began, he had killed over thirty demon soldiers, and Lord Fenggui and his men had killed three times their number in enemies—truly a profit.
Lord Fenggui said nothing more.
Liang Hongzhuang spat out the grass stem and began to sing a melancholy song. Curses rose around him again, but this time he didn't stop. His singing was strange, deep and distant, like a slow river flowing across the grassland.
"After listening to your opera for so many years in Xunyang, I always thought your singing style was odd, but I never asked you," Lord Fenggui said. "What school of tradition is this? Luling Jin family or Jushui Zhang?"
Liang Hongzhuang said, "They say it's the opera style from Snow Old City."
Lord Fenggui was startled, pointing at the demon corpses in the grass. "Can these things even understand it?"
Liang Hongzhuang shook his head. "I don't know."
Suddenly, a red hawk's cry pierced the night sky, a warning and an urgent military order. Several nearby human units had been attacked. The enemy's main thrust was aimed at this meadow.
The grass trembled slightly.
The twilight deepened into night.
In the darkness, no one knew how many demon soldiers were surging toward them.
Lord Fenggui knew this battle would last all night, and his face turned pale. "Will we live to see tomorrow's dawn?"
Liang Hongzhuang stood up, looked at the night sky, and said, "The stars are beautiful tonight."
(Thirty-Seven Chinese)