Tang Dynasty: Starting with 3,000 elite cavalry, a bloody battle to retake the city.

But now, the author of the book is buried in the yellow sand.

As night fell, the streets of Chang'an were brightly lit, just like daytime.

Thousands of people spontaneously took to the streets, holding white candles, their flames hanging like an inverted Milky Way.

Facing north, with tears in their eyes, they shouted in unison:

"Respectfully bidding farewell to General Ghost Face!"

"Respectfully bidding farewell to General Ghost Face!"

"Respectfully bidding farewell to General Ghost Face!"

The sound shattered the silence and soared into the sky.

No one knows where their remains are buried, but they still use these cries to guide the spirits of the fallen back home.

On the city tower, Li Shimin stood alone in the cold wind, his armor still on.

He gazed at the surging sea of ​​people below, his eyes bloodshot, tears silently streaming down his face.

"Han Ye..." he murmured softly, then suddenly raised his head, his eyes surging with murderous intent, "Don't worry—"

"I will definitely bring you back."

"If I do not cut off Jieli's head and offer it as a sacrifice at your grave, I will never return to Chang'an!"

"I swear I will not rest until I avenge this!"

He gritted his teeth, oblivious to the blood trickling from the corner of his lips.

In that instant, the emperor was no longer an emperor, but a commander who swore to avenge his soldiers.

But deep in the wilderness, thousands of miles away, in a quiet meadow.

"Huff... huff..."

A figure lay prone on Red Hare, galloping swiftly like lightning until finally exhausted.

The warhorse let out a mournful neigh, then collapsed to its knees, violently throwing the man off its back and slamming him into the mud.

Han Ye lay on the ground, his chest heaving violently, his body soaked in rain and blood.

Red Hare was panting heavily, white mist spewing from its nostrils, its hooves twitching, and it could no longer stand up.

But just as he was lying there, he suddenly laughed.

"Haha...hahaha..."

Laughter, sometimes wild and sometimes choked with sobs, echoed across the empty field.

He slowly raised his hand and removed his mask.

That blood-stained face was finally exposed under the blood-red rain curtain—delicate features, youthful face, barely in his early twenties, hardly resembling the Ghost-Faced General who struck fear into the hearts of the enemy.

He looked up at the crimson rain falling from the sky, a smile playing on his lips, his voice hoarse: "Xiahou Dun... can you see this? This is blood rain..."

"Even God is crying... Hahaha... They're all dead... Gone... But I'm still alive..."

Rainwater mingled with tears streamed down his face. He closed his eyes and whispered, "So... I have to live to see the day they get their revenge."

"Hahaha—a cenotaph? You're not worthy!"

Han Ye threw his head back and laughed wildly, his voice tearing through the night wind, like sand being forcibly pulled from the depths of his throat, mixed with blood and foam.

But before the laughter had faded, two streams of hot tears welled up in her eyes and slid down her bloodied cheeks.

By the side.

No one could answer him anymore.

All dead!

Not a single one was left!

Those armored and fierce cavalrymen who had followed him into battle all fell amidst the yellow sand and tattered flags.

Even a tough man like Xiahou Dun lay face up in a pool of blood, his hand still tightly gripping the broken blade.

The surroundings were eerily quiet.

Only his heavy breathing and Red Hare's low snorting echoed and reverberated in the deathly still night, as if only this man and his horse remained in the world, barely clinging to life.

My heart suddenly clenched, as if gripped tightly by an invisible hand, and I felt like I was about to collapse.

"So... in the end, the one who survives is the one who suffers the most..."

Han Ye's voice was hoarse like a rusty knife scraping stone, and his eyes were bloodshot as if burning with hellfire.

As soon as the words left her lips, her consciousness plummeted into darkness like a kite with a broken string.

He couldn't hold on any longer.

My body had long since reached its limit; every bone and tendon was groaning, and every wound was bleeding.

Forget about moving, even breathing felt like swallowing knives.

The night was as dark as ink, completely engulfing his curled-up figure.

A lone man and a horse lay sprawled on the desolate plain, like the last speck of dust abandoned by the world.

He didn't know where he had fled to, nor did he care whether the Khan's army would pursue him.

It doesn't matter anymore.

The moment he collapsed, he closed his eyes and lost consciousness.

And in that boundless darkness, his wounds began to heal quietly.

The torn flesh slowly closed, the severed blood vessels reconnected, and the blood stopped flowing out, instead being drawn back into the meridians by some mysterious force.

The system is automatically repairing itself.

Silently and without warning, it saved him from the brink of death.

At this moment, Han Ye's consciousness drifted into a dream.

In his dream, Xiahou Dun and his men returned on warhorses, removed their blood-stained ghost masks, and wore long-lost smiles as they stepped into the gates of Dingzhou.

On the city tower, Zhong Fang, dressed in a brand-new long gown, Master Jiang, leaning on a cane, and Old Lu, holding a wine bowl, were all clean and tidy, with smiles on their faces, welcoming the returning soldiers.

Laughter and cheerful conversation filled the air, and wisps of smoke rose from the chimneys, as if the war had never happened.

Han Ye stood at a distance, watching, a smile involuntarily spreading across his face, but tears kept streaming down his face.

He tried to step forward, but was stopped by an invisible force.

Xiahou Dun turned around and whispered, "General, you can't... you can't come yet."

Zhong Fang's eyes were slightly red, and he shook his head with a smile: "Han family boy, wake up, you're still alive. This is not where you belong."

Master Jiang looked at him kindly and sighed softly, "Go back, General."

We're just going ahead... let's go back...

The dream shattered like glass.

The screen collapsed, the figures vanished, leaving only emptiness.

boom--!

Han Ye suddenly sat up in shock, his whole body drenched in cold sweat, his chest heaving violently as if he had just escaped from drowning.

I opened my eyes, and it was still a long, dark night.

But he sensed something was wrong.

The wounds on my body... are healing!

The torn flesh was closing at a visible speed, the scabs on the deep wounds that exposed bone were falling off, and strength was slowly returning to the limbs.

"I... I'm not dead? This isn't an illusion?" He looked down at the rapidly healing wound on his arm, utterly shocked.

He instantly realized—the system had saved him.

Otherwise, he would have bled to death long ago, his body cold and lifeless.

Han Ye let out a long breath. Although his body was recovering, the crack in his heart could never be mended.

Especially that dream.

He gazed in the direction of Dingzhou, a melancholy smile tugging at the corners of his lips, and murmured softly, "Wait for me..."

You are all reunited.

Xiahou Dun, Master Jiang, Zhong Fang, and those brothers wearing ghost masks...

He silently told himself: Don't worry, I'll go.

But now—he's still alive.

As long as there's breath left, this game of chess isn't over.

He slowly stood up, brushed off the dust, and carefully put the blood-stained ghost mask into his pocket.

He mounted Red Hare.

The horse's hooves rose, shattering the silence.

Youzhou was already an empty city.

When Li Yingge withdrew to Chang'an, he had already dispersed the last remaining civilians.

Han Ye only returned to the Han residence once, changed out of his blood-stained body, and put on a plain white robe, looking like a person going to his death in mourning.

Then, he spurred his horse out and headed straight for Chang'an.

because--

As Li Yingge said, everyone in the mansion has been taken to Chang'an.

He, however, was determined to personally collect the debts, one by one.

The frontier had long since fallen into a deathly silence, with only the cold wind howling across the wasteland, whipping up sand and gravel.

At this moment, Khan Jieli is probably retreating along the banks of the Wei River—a great battle is imminent, and the arrow is on the bowstring!

Where else could Han Ye go besides heading to Chang'an?!

……

Red Hare, like a streak of blood-red lightning, tore through the sky, galloping a thousand miles in a single day, and finally approached the outskirts of Chang'an City.

But he no longer wears that ghost mask.

From that moment on, he resolved to completely sever ties with the title "Ghost-Faced General".

That memory was too heavy, making it hard for him to breathe.

It's not glory, it's excruciating pain.

So he put Red Hare into his system inventory, put away the Azure Dragon Spear, and sealed away the Soul-Severing Arrow—all the marks belonging to the Ghost-Faced General were sealed away.

When he reappeared, he was dressed in a plain white robe, with a handsome face and a youthful innocence in his eyes, like a noble young master who had just stepped out of a grand mansion, slowly walking towards the gates of Chang'an.

"Chang'an...we've finally arrived."

He murmured softly, but his eyes were unfathomable, revealing a vicissitude and serenity far beyond his years.

Gazing at the majestic city wall before him, amidst the bustling marketplace and surging crowds, a slow smile crept onto his lips.

This journey, paved with blood and fire, is filled with fallen figures—Xiahou Dun, the people of Dingzhou, and three thousand masked soldiers…

It was all worth it.

Their lives were not lost in vain.

But at that moment, Han Ye's pupils contracted slightly.

He suddenly noticed that almost every person on the street had a white cloth tied around their head!

Solemn and heavy, like a silent memorial service.

He frowned, stopped a passerby at random, and asked in a low voice, "Why is everyone wearing mourning clothes?"

The man turned sharply, looked him up and down, a flicker of shock and grief flashing in his eyes. His voice trembled: "You don't know?! The Ghost-Faced General led his soldiers to defend the border to the death, and the entire army was wiped out... They fought to the last man, and not a single one survived!"

"We voluntarily wear white cloths to commemorate their heroic souls!"

In the end, the man glared at Han Ye with disdain—this pampered young master doesn't even deserve to mention the name of a hero!

But Han Ye didn't get angry.

Instead, her eyes subtly reddened.

He gazed at the pieces of white cloth fluttering gently in the wind, his throat tightened, and he murmured softly:

"Xiahou Dun...did you see that? They remember you..."

"We...didn't risk our lives in vain!"

He stood at the city gate, quietly watching the crowds come and go. No one knew that this seemingly ordinary boy was the one they spoke of as "dead"—

Ghost-faced General.

He was neither angry nor did he argue.

He just gave a slight, bitter smile.

These people are mourning a "dead person".

And that "dead man" is standing here, watching his own funeral.

Does this feel absurd?

Is it ridiculous?

No, it just felt scalding hot.

"Xiahou Dun...you should come and see."

"Look at this city covered in white, for you, for them, for the three thousand loyal souls..."

"We really became heroes."

He whispered, as if talking to himself, or as if speaking to his brother far away across life and death.

Nobody understood what he was saying.

But he knew that these words were never meant for the living.

It was said to those three thousand pairs of eyes that were still shouting "Kill" even with their eyes closed!

It was said to Xiahou Dun, the man who held onto his spear until his death!

Tell them—

Your blood was not shed in vain.

Your names have been sung by thousands.

You are the true backbone of the Tang Dynasty!