Killing Monks

At the beginning of the Northern Expedition, it was unstoppable.

The Tang army was like a red-hot knife, cutting into the territory of the Northern Zhou. With one stroke, the skin was torn and flesh was ripped open.

One after another, the border cities of the Northern Zhou fell. Some of the defending generals died in battle, some surrendered, and some abandoned their cities and fled, not daring to even look back.

The Tang cavalry chased after the routed Northern Zhou soldiers, killing them all the way until their swords were dulled and their horses broke their legs.

They fought their way from the border to the heartland, from the heartland to the capital region, all the way to the gates of the Northern Zhou capital. Standing outside the gates, they could see the palaces inside the city.

The palace roof was golden, shimmering in the sunlight like stacks of gold. The soldiers' eyes burned with greed as they gazed at those golden roofs. If they could conquer this city, all its gold, silver, silks, fine wines, and beautiful women would be theirs.

But they failed to break through.

The Northern Zhou Dynasty still possessed some historical and cultural foundation.

It's not the emperor's foundation, nor the court's foundation, but the foundation that this land itself has grown up over hundreds and thousands of years, a foundation that is not so easily broken.

The academicians of the Kowloon Martial Academy emerged from the mountains, swords at their waists and knives on their backs, standing on the city wall, facing the rain of arrows from the Tang Kingdom, without retreating an inch.

The martial arts sects in the countryside also stirred. Those old monsters who usually hid deep in the mountains and never cared about worldly affairs, those chivalrous heroes who were famous in the martial arts world and didn't even respect the emperor, and those who had practiced martial arts and Taoism all their lives and thought they had long seen through the world, suddenly found that they hadn't seen through it all when the Tang army pressed in.

The mortal world still exists, home exists within the mortal world, the country exists within the mortal world, and the ancestral graves exist within the mortal world. You may have seen through the mortal world, but you cannot uproot your own roots.

The Northern Zhou army also fought with great ferocity.

They weren't fighting for the emperor, but for themselves. For their parents, wives, children, brothers, and sisters after they passed away.

For those few acres of barren land, those few dilapidated houses, and those few jujube trees that have been planted for more than ten years.

When the Tang army reached the outskirts of the capital, the Tang soldiers had nowhere left to retreat. Further retreat meant home. They could not retreat to their homes.

The Twelve Earthly Fiends of the Tang Dynasty are not invincible.

Su Er personally took to the front lines, riding a horse, wielding a sword.

Nan San, with three thousand light cavalry, maneuvered around the flank of the Northern Zhou army, circled behind them, and set fire to their supplies.

The firelight illuminated half the sky, and billowing smoke stung people's eyes.

But the Northern Zhou army did not disperse. Hungry, carrying swords, they stood on the city walls, in the ruins, beside the charred grain, without retreating an inch.

The biggest problem is that the battle lines are too long.

From the heartland of the Tang Dynasty to the capital of the Northern Zhou Dynasty, the journey was long and arduous. Supplies and provisions had to traverse mountains and rivers, crossing vast, desolate wastelands scorched by war.

The grain transport convoys took a month to travel, consuming more grain than they actually delivered. Soldiers at the front fought on empty stomachs, while civilians at the rear transported grain on empty stomachs. Eventually, no one could continue fighting.

The two sides sat down beneath the capital city and signed a treaty of surrender.

The Tang state seized vast tracts of land from the Northern Zhou. That land was fertile, crisscrossed by rivers, and the crops grew well; whatever was planted yielded a bountiful harvest. Northern Zhou...

When Zhou's officials stamped the treaty, their hands trembled. Not out of fear, but out of heartache. Ceding territory was like cutting flesh—the flesh left by their ancestors, the flesh of their descendants.

If we don't sever ties, the country will perish. If the country perishes, there won't even be any flesh left. If we sever ties, at least we'll have half a life. Half a life is still life.

The Northern Zhou began to lick its wounds.

The licking was slow and painful, but I had to lick it. If I didn't, the wound would fester, rotting to the bone, and I would really die.

They dismissed incompetent officials, reorganized the disorganized army, and investigated embezzled rations. There wasn't much they could do, but it was better than doing nothing.

I heard that there was trouble in the palace of the capital, the emperor was deposed, and a new one was installed.

On the day the new emperor ascended the throne, he granted a general amnesty, reduced taxes, and distributed grain to relieve disasters. The people knelt in the streets, shouting "Long live the emperor!" They didn't know how long this new emperor would reign, or whether he would be better than the old one.

All they knew was that changing the person might make things a little better. Or maybe not. But what if they did get better? If they did get better, they could eat one more bite of food, wear one more piece of clothing, and live a few more years.

For this "what if," they were willing to kneel, to shout, and to place their hopes on someone they had never met.

The Tang state returned home with the ceded lands.

The soldiers walked along the road, wounded but smiling. To win and return alive was the greatest joy. Those who didn't return remained forever on the land of Northern Zhou.

Their names were written on the list of the dead and sent to their homes.

The family members took the paper; some cried, some didn't. Those who didn't cry weren't unsadulterated; they simply couldn't express their sorrow. The sorrow that can't be expressed through tears is deeper than the sorrow that can be shed.

After the Twelve Earthly Fiends of Southern Tang returned to the capital, they didn't rush to celebrate their victory. Wine was laid out, and meat was served, but no one touched their chopsticks.

Old Master Xu sat at the head of the table, looking at the long table and those familiar faces.

"Let's have a meeting," said Boss Xu.

He replaced the word "debriefing" with "meeting".

This word is more rustic, more clumsy, but more practical. There's no time to think during wartime, but you have to think about it afterward. If you don't think about it, more people will die in the next battle. Enough has already died.

The meeting lasted a full day. They recounted every battle of the Northern Expedition from beginning to end, from the border of Northern Zhou to the capital, from the first arrow shot to the signing of the final alliance treaty.

Straighten it out strand by strand, like combing hair, slowly untangling the knots.

As they combed through the sand, they discovered a chilling truth—if they had followed the same tactics as that person in the past, the capital of Northern Zhou could have been captured.

It's not "maybe," it's "it's possible."

It's not a possibility, it's a certainty.

They've calculated it. Supplies are sufficient. Troops are sufficient. Morale is sufficient.

The Northern Zhou army had scattered, most of the academicians of the Nine Dragons Martial Academy were dead, and the masters of the folk sects were either injured or crippled. The soldiers standing on the city wall were so hungry that they couldn't even draw their bows.

If they attacked just one more time, one last time, the gates of the capital would open. But they didn't attack. Not because they didn't want to, but because they didn't know how.

They wandered around the capital for three days, like a swarm of headless flies, bumping into things here and there, getting hurt and bleeding, but they just couldn't break down the door.

In the past, someone would tell them where the door was, how to open it, how to get in, and how to stand still once inside.

That person wasn't there. They tried it themselves, tried for three days, and the result was a humiliating surrender. It wasn't that Northern Zhou defeated them; it was that they couldn't defeat themselves.