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

When Tuoba Yue's sword pierced the man's neck, the man didn't even have time to open his eyes.

The commander of three thousand elite troops, a staunch loyalist of Tuoba Ye, was a burly man named Wu Chi.

He slept in the very center of the tent, snoring loudly, with a sharpened scimitar beside him.

Tuoba Yue drew his sword very lightly, and blood flowed down the blade, dripping onto the animal skin blanket inside the tent, making almost no sound.

She stood in the darkness for two seconds.

It wasn't hesitation, it was listening.

The patrol footsteps outside the tent had just passed; the next patrol would take another quarter of an hour.

When she lifted the tent flap and went outside, the sentry outside was the first to notice that something was wrong.

"Who?!"

The torchlight shone down, illuminating her blood-stained face.

Then it shone on the head in her hand.

The black head was still half-open, the eyes were still half-closed, and the mouth was slightly open, as if it wanted to say something before it died but didn't have time to say it.

"Princess...?"

The sentry's scimitar, halfway raised, froze in mid-air.

Tuoba Yue threw the head on the ground, it rolled twice, and stopped next to the fire.

The firelight illuminated the face that lay dead with its eyes wide open, casting a long shadow.

The commotion in the camp woke up more people.

The tent flap was lifted, and one taxi driver after another emerged.

Some were carrying knives, while others rushed out shirtless, not even fully clothed.

When they saw the head on the ground and the woman standing next to the fire, everyone was stunned.

Tuoba Yue didn't give them time to react.

She pulled a gold medal from her bosom and held it high above her head.

The Western Qiang King's Decree, a gold plaque, has a gray wolf engraved on the front and the king's seal in ancient Qiang script on the back. There is only one of these, and it is held exclusively by the king.

"Wu Chi is dead."

Tuoba Yue's voice wasn't loud, but it carried far in the quiet night.

"Listen up, all of you—the front lines have been breached."

Her gaze swept over the taxi drivers who had gathered around.

The firelight flickered, casting shadows on the faces—some terrified, some bewildered, and some already gripping their sword hilts tightly.

"The Wei family army, numbering twenty-eight or thirty thousand, was stationed at Yumen Pass."

"The nearly 300,000 men led by the eldest prince were routed overnight by 50,000 cavalry."

She paused, letting the number crash into everyone's minds.

"With 50,000 against nearly 300,000, do you think we can still win this battle?"

No one answered.

A centurion with a full beard squeezed out of the crowd, his scimitar pointing at Tuoba Yue, his voice trembling.

"Princess—you killed General Wuchi!"

"This...this is betrayal—"

"Betray what?"

Tuoba Yue interrupted him, her tone as cold as a blade.

"The eldest prince is the one who betrayed the entire Western Qiang."

She handed Wang Ling forward a step, the gray wolf on the gold medal gleaming coldly in the firelight.

"My father is still alive, the royal decree is in my hands, I am the rightful heir of the Western Qiang."

She took a step forward.

The centurion instinctively took half a step back.

"What will you gain by following Tuoba Ye?"

Tuoba Yue's voice suddenly softened, not as a sign of weakness, but as a sign of genuine exhaustion.

"If he wins, you are his weapons; if he loses, you are his scapegoats."

"But what about your families?"

"Your tents, your cattle and sheep, your wives and children—are all on the grasslands behind the royal court."

She looked at those faces.

Some people's eyes began to waver.

"The people from the Great Wei have wiped out 500,000 Northern Rong."

Tuoba Yue spoke slowly and deliberately.

"Five hundred thousand? The entire Northern Rong are wiped out. Do you think the Western Qiang can withstand that?"

The night wind blew through the camp, and the firewood in the campfire popped with a loud crack.

The centurion's sword tip slowly lowered.

He didn't say anything, but his gesture said it all.

Tuoba Yue's tense nerves relaxed a little, but only a little.

The fact that these three thousand people have temporarily refrained from taking action does not mean they are truly loyal to her.

But she doesn't need sincerity.

All she needed was for them to stay out of the way.

"Come back to the palace with me."

Tuoba Yue put the Wang Ling back into her bosom and turned to leave.

She didn't look back.

Behind her were three thousand knives, any one of which could stab her in the back.

But she took the gamble.

I'm betting that these people, faced with news of defeat on the front lines, still have the brains to think about how to survive.

Footsteps sounded behind her—first a few scattered ones, then more and more, becoming denser and denser, until finally merging into a heavy chorus of footsteps.

Three thousand people followed.

Tuoba Yue's palms were covered in sweat.

She gripped the sword hilt so tightly her knuckles turned white, her heart pounding as if it would leap out of her throat.

She spoke those words lightly, but she knew perfectly well that half of them were fabricated.

She knew nothing about the details of the defeat at the front.

She had no definite answer what Wei Zhao's condition was, how many people he had killed, or whether he could win again.

All she had was the imperial decree and her life.

enough.

That's enough for now.

The camp of 100,000 slave soldiers was located outside the royal palace.

Those slave soldiers didn't even have decent weapons; most of them clutched sharpened wooden sticks and were wrapped in tattered animal skins.

Seeing the three thousand elite troops marching in a grand procession, they all huddled in their tents, not daring to utter a sound.

Tuoba Yue didn't waste any words with them.

She rode her horse to the center of the camp, raised the royal command high, her voice already hoarse from shouting.

"I am Tuoba Yue, daughter of the King of the Western Qiang!"

"From this day forward, all slave soldiers will be freed from slavery!"

"Those who come with me will be free from now on!"

The slave soldiers were initially in a deathly silence.

Then an old man, as thin as a stick, stepped out from the crowd and knelt down with a thud.

"Princess--"

The old man's voice was hoarse, and his lips were dry, cracked, and bleeding.

"Yes."

One word.

Then came the second person, the third, the tenth, and the hundredth.

More and more people knelt down, spreading like dominoes.

One hundred thousand people.

It wasn't out of loyalty, but because of a way to survive.

The slave soldiers had no choice; following the eldest prince meant certain death, and following the princess might also mean certain death.

But the princess at least said the words "relieve her of slavery".

Four words were enough to make them kneel down.

Tuoba Yue looked at the mass of people kneeling on the ground, but felt no pride whatsoever.

These people kneel before her, not because she is a princess.

It's because they've suffered so much, so much so that they'll desperately grasp at any straw offered to them.

If the fourth brother were still alive, he would definitely laugh at her.

"This isn't a retreat, it's a refugee takeover."

She could picture the fourth brother leaning against his horse, a blade of grass dangling from his mouth, lazily saying those words.

Her nose tingled, but she didn't let the tears fall.

Royal Palace.

When Tuoba Yue arrived with three thousand elite troops and one hundred thousand slave soldiers, the guards who had imprisoned the Western Qiang King had no time to react.

They only had five hundred people.

Five hundred men facing one hundred thousand men couldn't even muster the thought of resistance.

Several men who tried to draw their swords were cut down by a centurion who was at the forefront of the three thousand elite troops.

Blood splattered on the stone steps of the royal palace.

Tuoba Yue stepped into the royal tent, her feet stained with blood.

The old general Eji stood before the bed, leaning on his knife. The moment he saw her, his cloudy old eyes widened in shock.

"Princess—you…"

"Uncle, it's clean and tidy outside now."

Tuoba Yue's voice was so calm that it didn't sound like someone who had just experienced a mutiny.

Mother's knife fell to the ground with a "clang".

He opened his mouth, his lips trembling, and couldn't utter a complete sentence for a long time.

Two other old ministers also gathered around, one with tears streaming down his face, and the other biting his lip tightly to keep himself from crying out loud.

"Your Majesty—" Eji turned to the Western Qiang King on the couch, her voice trembling uncontrollably.

"Your jewel...your jewel has created a miracle!"

The King of Western Qiang lay on the couch, his emaciated body slightly turned to the side.

He looked at his daughter standing at the entrance of the tent.

Covered in blood, with half his hair disheveled, he still clutched the sword given to him by the fourth brother in his right hand. The blood on the sword had dried, turning black and hard.

But the eyes are bright.

The same brightness she had when she was a child, riding on her mother's shoulders and laughing.

"Moon".

The King of Western Qiang extended his hand.

That hand was so withered and thin, with bulging veins, it looked like an old tree root.

Tuoba Yue walked over, squatted down beside the bed, and took her father's hand.

Her fingers were icy cold, even colder than the last time she held them.

"Father."

The King of Western Qiang's lips moved; he wanted to laugh.

But the muscles at the corners of his mouth seemed to be out of his control, twitching twice and only managing to form a crooked arc.

"Lower your head."

Tuoba Yue paused for a moment, then lowered her head.

With his last strength, the King of Western Qiang placed a trembling, old, yellowed golden crown on her head.

The gold crown was too big, hanging crookedly in her hair, teetering on the verge of falling.

"Take good care of...they."

A tear slid down the cheek of the King of Western Qiang.

"Those who herd sheep, hunt, and live in the mountain valleys... are all our people."

His hand slid out of Tuoba Yue's palm.

My chest rose and fell one last time.

Then it stopped moving.

Inside the tent, the mother knelt on one knee, her white hair hanging down, obscuring her face full of tears.

The two old ministers also knelt down.