A family of loyal martyrs, starting with nine wives to continue the family line.

Late at night.

The north wind at Yanmen Pass howled like a funeral procession, whipping up snowflakes that pelted against the windowpanes with a muffled rustling sound.

The old lady sat by the bed, without lighting a lamp.

In the darkness, her withered hands gripped the iron cane tightly, her knuckles white from the excessive force.

Can't sleep.

Normally, she would have already gone to bed by this time.

But tonight, every time I close my eyes, my mind is filled with bloody images.

This is what it looked like when the old Duke Wei Zhenyuan was carried back.

The eldest brother fought, the second brother broke through... all the way to the ninth brother.

Nine sons.

Nine lives lost.

In this short period of time, she didn't shed a single tear.

Even at the funeral, he managed to stabilize the situation, forcing his daughters-in-law to choose their own path and compelling Wei Zhao to shoulder the burden of the Wei family.

But she was still a mother after all.

"Zhenyuan..."

The old lady's withered lips moved, her voice hoarse as if it were being ground on gravel:

"When you left, you told me to protect the family."

"I couldn't protect her."

"Nine sons, all perished in the North."

She slowly lowered her head, her forehead resting on the cold tip of her cane.

The coldness of the cane's metal seeped into her skin, but it couldn't extinguish the burning rage in her chest that had been raging for over half a month.

When grief reaches its extreme, all that remains is pure murderous intent.

tomorrow.

The old lady suddenly raised her head, and a terrifying glint flashed in her cloudy eyes.

The first battle of revenge begins tomorrow.

The 500,000 hungry Northern Rong soldiers of Quanya Mao were the sacrifices she prepared for her nine sons.

But this is not enough.

Far from enough.

"The beasts of the Northern Rong must be killed, and the old dogs in the capital must be killed even more."

The old lady muttered to herself, her cane striking heavily on the blue bricks with a dull thud.

That prime minister who embezzled military pay and secretly colluded with foreign tribes.

Once the situation at Yanmen Pass stabilizes, she will return to the capital with the remarkable achievements Wei Zhao has made in the past half month.

She wanted Lu Song to know that although nine men in the Wei family had died, the remaining orphans and widows could still skin him alive and tear him apart!

This burden is too heavy for Zhao'er.

The old lady ran her fingers along the patterns on her cane, recalling Wei Zhao's appearance over the past few days.

From a sickly man who couldn't even stand up, to a commander-in-chief who can give orders to the entire army.

He took it on.

Since her son is capable of carrying the burden, she, as his mother, has to pave the way for him.

The heads of 500,000 Northern Rong people were the stepping stones she used to pave the way for Wei Zhao.

"Heaven, let it dawn soon."

At the same time, in Gourd Valley.

Thirty miles from Yanmen Pass, fifty thousand heavily armored soldiers lay silently in the valley like a black steel forest.

Huo Qingluan stood outside the tent, letting the cold wind mixed with snowflakes hit her face.

She wore only a thin inner armor, and held a battle flag with a Bagua diagram in her hand, her fingers stroking the flagpole over and over again.

This flagpole was used by Third Brother Weijun before his death.

"My lord, it's late, go and rest."

The captain beside him whispered a word of advice.

"I can't sleep."

Huo Qingluan didn't turn her head, her voice cold and flat.

How could I possibly fall asleep?

The mere thought of three red whistleblowers rising from the direction of Yanmen Pass tomorrow morning made her blood boil like water.

The sound of the arrow signaling an attack is the signal for the entire army to launch a counterattack.

Her 50,000 heavily armored troops have been stationed here like nails for three days.

The soldiers, having eaten their fill and replenished their strength, were seething with rage and eagerly awaited that moment.

"tomorrow."

Huo Qingluan glanced down at the array flag in her hand, a cold and cruel smile curving her lips:

"The Eight Trigrams Formation, the Strangulation Formation."

"I want all 200,000 of Moro's cavalry, men and horses, to be shattered in my ranks."

She's obsessed with battle formations; she's usually so quiet you can't get a word out of her, her mind is always on troop deployments.

How to start with the Heavenly Cover Formation, how to encircle with the Earthly Bearing Formation, and how to block the cavalry's charge route with the Shield Wall.

These thoughts have been running through my mind hundreds and thousands of times.

But she is also a woman.

She was a woman whose husband had died.

When Wei Jun died in the chaos of battle, he didn't even leave behind a complete body.

"My husband."

Huo Qingluan closed her eyes and took a deep breath of the cold air:

"Just you wait, Qingluan will avenge you tomorrow."

Time is passing too slowly.

She now wished she could break camp immediately, rush to Yanmen Pass, and tear those Northern Rong dogs to pieces.

But she held back.

You can't fight a war based on impulse; you have to use your brain.

The old matriarch had already set up her scheme, and her 50,000 heavily armored troops were the final rope to pull the net shut.

If the rope isn't tight enough, it can't hold 500,000 big fish.

"Pass down the order."

Huo Qingluan suddenly opened her eyes, her gaze sharp:

"The entire army was always fully armored, with swords drawn and crossbows nocked."

"Upon seeing the red arrow, you must block the Northern Rong people's retreat within half an hour!"

"yes!"

Three miles outside the city lies the Northern Rong camp.

Compared to the grim atmosphere inside Yanmen Pass, the Northern Rong camp was filled with a stench of despair and madness.

The smells of horse manure, blood, and the sour stench of people who hadn't eaten for days mingled together, making one want to vomit.

In a dilapidated tent at the very edge of the camp, there wasn't even a brazier.

This place is right next to the stables.

The Wei scholar, dressed in a drab Confucian robe, was huddled on a tattered straw mat, shivering from the cold.

His name is Chen Yuan.

He was a second-class Jinshi (successful candidate in the highest imperial examination) in the first year of the Jingyuan era of the Great Wei Dynasty.

He should have been compiling books and calligraphy in the Hanlin Academy, or being sent to a county magistrate to lord it over others.

But now he lies beside the Northern Rong's stables, like a dog.

No, they're not even as good as dogs.

The Northern Rong people started killing horses for food yesterday. Even the slaves responsible for feeding the horses got a bite of raw horse meat with blood still on it, but he got nothing.

That young prince named Quanya Mao looked down on Wei Gou, who had "betrayed his ancestors," from the bottom of his heart.

He was kept alive only because he could provide intelligence on the Wei family army.

To gain the trust of Quan Ya Mao, he even lay down on the ground and barked like a dog at a banquet hosted by the Northern Rong generals.

He memorized every single word of those crude laughs and the riding boots that slammed into his body.

Now that 500,000 troops are trapped outside Yanmen Pass, starving and desperate, who would care about the life or death of a Wei dog?

Chen Yuan tucked his frozen fingers into his armpits, trying to regain some feeling.

He was cold and hungry.

But now a fire was burning inside him, making him tremble uncontrollably.