Governing the country, enriching the people, an unparalleled imperial tutor

Outside Jizhou City, after the morning mist dissipated, the sky brightened. In the camp of the Northern Di allied forces, the stirring sound of war drums suddenly rang out early in the morning: not assembly drums, but siege drums. The rhythm was fast and rapid, each beat carrying the restless anticipation of three days' pent-up emotions.

Lin Yanzhou had just emerged from Zhao Lingxi's tent, his left shoulder dressing already changed. Hearing the drumbeats, he didn't stop, heading straight for the city wall. When he reached the top of the wall, Zhou Chongyuan was already standing by the crenellations, fully armored, his face tense, but his eyes showed no panic. Lin Yanzhou noticed that his breathing was steady; this confidence, born from "following the Imperial Preceptor for three days, I'm no longer afraid," had visibly grown stronger.

The battle formation outside the city was even more imposing than three days ago. The cavalry in the central region pushed their lines forward three hundred paces. Huyan Lie, leading the formation, was now clad in black iron armor, with three quivers of arrows hanging from his saddle, his posture even more fierce than three days ago. Yuwen Tuo had also arrived at the front, still riding that old spotted horse, but the saddlebags were bulging, as if he had prepared provisions.

Zhang Lin's demeanor today is completely different from what it was three days ago.

He changed into a brand-new purple satin robe, with a jade-inlaid leather belt around his waist. The robe was newly made, even the creases at the collar were still there, and the cuffs were embroidered with gold cloud patterns. The wide sleeves billowed like flags in the north wind. His chestnut horse also had a brand-new saddle and bridle, the silver ornaments were polished to a shine, and the horse's mane had been carefully combed and braided into three thin braids. The large banner behind him that read "By the Mandate of Heaven to Punish the Rebels" was newly replaced, the banner was three feet wider, the ink was completely dry, and it looked full and arrogant in the morning light.

As he rode forward at a leisurely pace, the wide sleeves of his purple robe brushed against the saddle, and the jade pendant at his waist clinked gently with each step, its crisp sound unlike that of someone attending a banquet in a garden, rather than someone on the battlefield. Behind him followed twelve flag bearers, each carrying a triangular flag embroidered with the character "Zhang," arranged in two rows in a wing-like formation.

He reined in his horse about three hundred paces from the city gate. The silver ornaments on the saddle glittered in the morning light. Then he raised his hand, and twelve flags tilted forward in unison, like a cloud pressing down.

"Lin Yanzhou!" Zhang Lin's voice was amplified by the six messengers, echoing long across the open fields outside the city. "The three-day period is over! You boasted that I, this immortal, would retreat within three days. Now that the three days have passed, your tricks and charades are utterly laughable and should be put to rest!"

A smile played on his lips, a smile that suggested he had finally turned the tables after three days of suppression. As he spoke, his chin lifted slightly, and the wind blew open a crack in the collar of his purple robe, revealing a spotless silk garment underneath. He must have been doing well lately; at least he hadn't suffered much in terms of food and lodging.

"Three hundred thousand troops are in position outside the city today! What will you use to retreat? Your light? We'll attack at night, what use is your light then? Or will you continue with your little tricks of talking?" He laughed loudly, the sound particularly jarring as it was carried by the wind to the city wall. "Still spouting nonsense about being an immortal? I'll see if you, this immortal, will fly away from the city wall in front of the entire army today!"

Below the city wall, soldiers from the central Northern Di region erupted in a low, mocking laugh. Someone tapped their saddle with a curved sword, creating a clanging sound that, combined with Zhang Lin's tone, sounded like a pre-rehearsed taunt.

Zhang Lin straightened his back even more. He turned his head, glancing at Huyan Lie, then at Yuwen Tuo, as if to confirm that his allies were still there. Huyan Lie remained silent, his expression somber, and Yuwen Tuo's gaze was also fixed on the city wall, not on him. But Zhang Lin seemed oblivious to these details. He turned back to the city wall, his voice rising another half-octave:

"Three days ago you declared here that you and the three Khans should think it over carefully. Now I'm telling you, you've made up your mind! Surrender today and I'll spare your life; if you dare to resist, when the city falls, I will publicly execute you, you traitor..."

Before he could finish his last word, a fast horse charged out from the rear of the northern military camp.

The horse was covered in sweat, its mane split into two strands by the wind and clinging to its neck. The rider wasn't even wearing armor, only an old gray-brown robe. When the saddle tumbled to the ground, the rider staggered and almost tumbled and crawled to Huyan Lie's horse.

"Khan! Urgent report! The Jurchen cavalry have crossed the Polu Volcano crater, and their left rear has been attacked. The Golden Rooster King's tent has been burned, and their horses have been captured—the Left Khan has already broken camp and returned to reinforce!"

The shout was urgent and loud, and could be heard clearly even from the city tower.

The boisterous laughter that had been pounding on saddles just moments before was abruptly cut off, as if sliced ​​by a sword. The soldiers who had been striking their swords froze in mid-air, their smiles frozen on their lips, staring at the dust-covered scout as if something had suddenly frozen them.

Zhang Lin's smile froze on his face.

His mouth was open, the latter half of the word "you" still hanging in mid-air, unable to be uttered, blocked by the air in his throat, turning into a muffled sound. The chestnut horse beneath him unconsciously took a step back, the silver ornaments making a soft clinking sound—which had sounded triumphant just moments before, but now seemed like some kind of ominous echo.

Huyan Lie looked down at the scout whose face was covered in dust, his expression unchanged, but the knuckles gripping the reins tightened suddenly. He didn't turn to look at Zhang Lin, but instead turned his head slightly, his gaze passing over Zhang Lin's shoulder and landing on something further away, as if he were recalculating something.

Yuwen Tuo's old dappled horse took a half step forward. The elderly Khan looked down at the side pocket of his saddle, which indeed contained dry rations. He had ordered the preparation of the land this morning, originally planning to march south after conquering the city, but now, those rations might have to be used in a different direction.

Zhang Lin finally found his voice: "So what if the Jurchens sent troops? They only disturbed the left rear, while our main force remained unmoved—"

"Khan!" A second scout rushed in from the north, even more urgently than the first, shouting before his horse had even come to a complete stop, "The main Jurchen force is advancing north! The vanguard has crossed the Abagai River Valley! The central and right wings are now undefended!"

Huyan Lie's black horse stamped its hoof once. He shifted his gaze from the scout to the black figure on the city wall of Jizhou, pausing for three breaths.

The purplish hue on Zhang Lin's face finally faded. He looked at Huyan Lie, his voice filled with barely suppressed urgency: "Khan Huyan! If we retreat today, all our previous efforts will be in vain—"

"Previous merits?" Huyan Lie's voice wasn't loud, but every word sounded like it was scraped from iron. "The previous merits you promised, are you asking me to hand over the entire rear of the Northern Barbarians to the Jurchens? What will you use to compensate me for my burned royal tent and stolen horses with the gold, silver, and silk you promised?"

Yuwen Tuo's old dappled horse had already started to move. As the aged Khan turned his horse around, his cloudy old eyes swept over Zhang Lin, carrying something colder than a blade—an indifference born of utter disappointment, a disdain that made him unwilling to say another word.

Zhang Lin's lips began to tremble. He reached out as if to grab Huyan Lie's reins, but Huyan Lie had already turned his horse around and headed towards his own camp without looking back.

"Khan Huyan! Khan Yuwen!" Zhang Lin's voice began to change, the arrogance that had just echoed below the city walls completely dissipated, replaced by a hoarse, almost pleading tone, the kind that comes from being driven to a dead end, "Our agreement to attack the city with all our might within three days..."

"Three days?" Huyan Lie turned his head on horseback, his hooked nose twitching slightly. Every word carried unyielding weight. "He said three days ago that we would definitely retreat. Now we have retreated. He was right. I retreated."

The moment the word "retreat" left his lips, Huyan Lie spurred his horse, and the black horse reared up, galloping north towards his central command tent. Yuwen Tuo had already walked several dozen steps, and his old dappled horse was taking unusually long strides, as if it had finally received the signal to leave.

Zhang Lin, reining in his horse, watched as the military orders of the three Khans were simultaneously relayed from his chestnut horse. He watched as the camps of the central and right wing of the Northern Di tribes transformed from orderly ranks into pack-and-pack formations in an instant. The Northern Di soldiers he had spent three months and countless sums of gold, silver, silk, and empty promises to win over were now packing their belongings at twice the speed they had arrived, not one of them turning back to look at him.

From beginning to end, Lin Yanzhou remained silent on the city wall, his right leg propped up on a gap in the wall, leisurely watching the spectacle unfold below. He was secretly delighted: "My back was sweating just now too. What if the Jurchen tribe had been a little slow? Where would I have put my face today? Haha, the ancients had three words to defend against the Japanese pirates, but I didn't utter a single word. What's that called? Silent defense against the barbarians? I guess I'm lucky to be alive!"