Deposed? I couldn't be happier! I wouldn't even be a dog to the crown prince.

Turn the clock back a little half an hour.

While Huo Qubing was having a "buffet" with his eight hundred warriors in the Turkic central army camp, the western side of Longmen Valley was eerily quiet.

This was the residence of the Western Turkic leader, Yabghu Khan.

The army of 50,000, with its banners fluttering, remained stationary.

Tong Ye, mounted on his horse atop a small hill, held a monocular telescope (a low-end version captured from the last battlefield) and was watching with great interest the towering flames of Jieli's camp in the distance.

"Wow, this fire is burning really hard."

Tong Yehu put down his binoculars, a sneer of schadenfreude curling at the corner of his mouth.

"Great Khan, shouldn't we...go to their rescue?"

The Yehu (official rank) beside him asked cautiously, "After all, we are allies. If Jieli is finished, what will happen to us...?"

"Save them? Why save them?"

Tong Yehu glanced at him sideways, as if he were looking at an idiot.

There is a saying among the Han people: "When the crane and the clam fight, the fisherman benefits."

"That idiot Jieli, so stubborn and headstrong, insisted on going head-to-head with the Tang army. Now look what happened, their stronghold was raided, serves them right!"

"Let him fight Tang Jun to the death. Once they're both exhausted, we'll rush in and clean up the mess."

"At that time, the treasures of the Tang Dynasty will be mine, the cattle and sheep of Jieli will be mine, and the sole overlord of this grassland... will still be mine!"

Tong Yehu thought about it more and more, and couldn't help but hum a little tune from the grassland.

He thought he was a genius.

However, he did not know.

Just as he was dreaming of becoming the "King of the Grasslands," death was already quietly standing behind him.

In a dense forest less than three miles from the Western Turkic camp.

A thousand cavalrymen, clad in white robes and silver armor, stood silently like ghosts.

They were different from Huo Qubing's Great Snow Dragon Cavalry.

Huo Qubing's soldiers were flamboyant and wild, like a raging fire.

This army was cold and still, like a bottomless, icy pool.

The warhorses beneath them all wore specially made bridles, their hooves wrapped in thick cotton cloth, and even their breathing seemed to be deliberately suppressed.

The leader was dressed in white, his face so handsome it was almost otherworldly.

Chen Zhibao.

The trump card that Li Chengqian kept hidden until the very end, the terrifying man known as the "White-Clad Soldier Immortal".

He held the long spear called "Plum Wine" in his hand, and his purple eyes, peering through the gaps in the leaves, were fixed on the Tongye Protector who was humming a tune in the distance.

"His Highness said this is called 'stealing the tower'."

Chen Zhibao murmured softly, his voice so beautiful it could make your ears pregnant, yet so cold it could freeze your bones.

"I don't like that word."

"Too disgusting."

He gently stroked the gun, as if caressing a lover's skin.

"I prefer to call it—art."

"The art of reaping life."

"General, shall we make our move?" the lieutenant asked in a low voice.

"No rush."

Chen Zhibao shook his head, his gaze deep and unfathomable. "Wait until that idiot is laughing the happiest."

"That way, his expression will be more interesting when he dies."

After a while.

When Tong Yabghu saw Jieli's central command tent collapse, he let out a wild laugh.

Chen Zhibao made a move.

"Walk."

There is only one word.

A thousand ghost cavalrymen were instantly activated.

There were no shouts, no bugle calls to charge.

They were like a white mist, skimming the ground, taking advantage of the darkness and the terrain to drift towards the central command tent of the Western Turks at an incredible speed.

Surprising.

That's so weird.

When the Turkic sentries on the outskirts spotted the army, they had already rushed within a hundred paces.

"Who goes there?!"

The sentry was about to blow the horn.

"puff--"

A cold arrow pierced his throat silently.

Chen Zhibao put away his longbow, picked up the plum wine again, and increased his speed instead of decreasing it.

"Don't get entangled in the fight."

"We have only one goal."

"Beheading."

This thousand-strong team, like a sharp scalpel, bypassed all the heavily guarded areas and, along an extremely treacherous route, went straight to the small hill where Tongyehu was located.

Wherever he went, any Turkic soldiers who blocked his way were beheaded before they could even see who he was.

Their efficiency in killing was like mowing grass.

fast.

too fast.

The guards who were almost beside Tong Yehu didn't even have time to react.

On the hill.

Tong Yehu was still boasting to his men about his "fisherman's plan".

"Just watch, once the fire gets a little bigger, we'll..."

Before he could finish speaking...

A gust of cold wind suddenly swept past him from behind.

The wind was cold, carrying a strong smell of blood and rust.

The surrounding noise seemed to vanish in that instant.

His subordinates, who had been flattering him, suddenly looked like chickens with their necks being choked, their mouths agape as they stared in horror at what was behind him.

Tong Yehu was stunned for a moment.

He sensed it.

An extremely dangerous aura is approaching.

Like prey being targeted by an ancient ferocious beast, every hair on its body stood on end at that moment.

"Who?!"

Tong Yehu instinctively wanted to draw his sword and turn around.

But his hand froze as soon as it touched the hilt of the knife.

A chilling, bone-deep cold had silently crept into his back.

That was the tip of a gun.

If he moves even an inch further, the spear tip will pierce his heart without hesitation and pin him to the horse.

An elegant, indifferent, yet slightly mocking voice whispered in his ear.

"If I were you, I wouldn't move."

"After all, plum wine comes out quickly."

"Your hands are too slow."