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

In the last battle at Yumen Pass, 50,000 cavalry charged into a 300,000-strong Western Qiang army, killing nearly 50,000 in one night while losing only 7,000 of their own.

A casualty ratio of one to seven—that was field battle, cavalry charging into infantry formations, the most brutal head-on clash.

What about this time?

One hundred thousand against seven thousand, a fourteen-fold numerical advantage, and it was a surprise attack.

Seven thousand men who were destined to die actually managed to exchange for more than a thousand of his cavalry.

The casualty ratio is close to 1 to 7—the same as last time.

These Southern Barbarian soldiers are no ordinary men. What kind of agent is mixed in with these seven thousand men that could make his elite cavalry pay such a price?

Before he could think it through, people on the city wall were already shouting.

"Open the door!"

"Reinforcements have arrived!"

The broken door of Mojiabao, which had been smashed by the elephant soldiers and was now only half a door, creaked open, and a group of dusty-looking craftsmen and guards poured out.

Some people were laughing, some were crying, and an old man sat on the doorstep, trembling, clutching a dull kitchen knife, unable to stand up for a long time.

Wei Zhao led three thousand personal guards into the fortress to rest, while the rest of the cavalry camped on the outskirts.

Hua Jieyu followed behind him, the hem of her red dress trailing on the ground, stained with dust and blood, but she didn't care, stepping on the broken bricks and tiles as she walked inside.

The fortress was not large, with a few narrow alleys, two rows of low stone houses, and a dozen or so simple sheds set up in an open space in the middle.

The shed was filled with anvils, bellows, and quenching tanks—this place was less a fortress and more an enlarged blacksmith shop.

There were traces of forging everywhere, with iron filings and slag scattered all over the ground, making a crunching sound when stepped on.

A person was standing in the center of the open space.

Shang Wanqing.

She came down from the city wall, her face still covered in soot, her hairpin askew behind her head, and half of her hair loose.

The leather apron was covered in burn holes, and the sleeves were rolled up to the elbows, revealing two fair forearms—dotted with old scars from molten iron splattering.

Only then did Wei Zhao get a clear look at Fifth Sister-in-law's face.

She has excellent bone structure, a high and straight nose, delicate eyebrows and eyes, and a sharp jawline. Her beauty is not like Su Qingyun's gentle and graceful kind, but rather a cold and hard kind of sharpness, like a quenched blade.

His skin was unnaturally pale—the kind of paleness you get from spending all year in a workshop without seeing the sun.

But his eyes were dark and bright, and when he stared at someone, his focus was so intense it was unsettling.

Wei Zhao saw her once at the funeral hall; at that time, her face was covered by heavy makeup, so his impression of her was vague.

Now, standing in front of me with plain noodles, she actually looks much better than she did back then.

"Let's talk as we walk."

She didn't turn her head, her voice crisp and clear.

"I know the situation in Jiangnan City. Sister Hua's men reported yesterday that the city wall has been breached in three places, the garrison commander is dead, and the people have climbed onto the city walls."

Her footsteps echoed crisply on the stone steps.

How many people did you bring?

"One hundred thousand cavalry."

Shang Wanqing stopped and looked back at him.

Something flickered in those bright black eyes, it was hard to tell whether it was disappointment or "I knew it."

"Cavalry cannot defeat elephants."

"I know."

Wei Zhao said.

"You just shot one of them dead because it was ramming against the door and wasn't on guard."

Shang Wanqing continued walking down, speaking faster than usual.

"When dozens of elephants are lined up and pushing forward on the battlefield, can you kill them all by shooting them one by one?"

Wei Zhao didn't reply, because she was right.

Shang Wanqing seemed to have expected that he wouldn't refute her, and she kept talking.

"The soldiers of the Southern Barbarians are not easy to fight, not just because of their elephants."

Her footsteps landed on the last stone step, and she reached out to push open the basement door.

"They have two special troops. One is the elephant corps. You've seen them. Those things have thick skin and tough flesh. Ordinary arrows are like tickling them."

"A single war elephant can smash a hole in the city wall when it charges; you saw it just now."

"The second type—poison soldiers."

Wei Zhao's fingers tightened on the gun barrel.

Poison soldiers.

"The southern barbarians have lived in this poisonous land for generations. That forest is full of poisonous insects: snakes, scorpions, centipedes, spiders, and toads—the five poisons."

Shang Wanqing's voice turned cold.

"Poison soldiers are people who can control these things. Some coat arrows with poison, while others scatter poisonous insects directly on the battlefield. If they get on the arrows, they will fester, and if you inhale them, you will feel dizzy."

She paused for a moment, then turned to look at Wei Zhao.

"How many of the seven thousand people you just killed were casualties?"

"More than a thousand."

Shang Wanqing nodded, her face showing no surprise.

"There were poison soldiers mixed in with those seven thousand men."

Wei Zhao clenched his teeth.

He remembered that during the charge, several of the southern barbarian soldiers hadn't carried swords; instead, they had been clutching earthenware jars, which they had smashed on the ground.

At the time, he thought it was something like an incendiary bomb.

Later, cavalrymen reported that the horses suddenly went mad, foaming at the mouth, and some riders developed red rashes all over their bodies and fell off their horses.

He didn't understand it at the time, but now it all makes sense.

Poison—those earthenware jars contained poisonous insects or poisonous powder. The cavalry charged so fast that they couldn't dodge in time, and both men and horses were poisoned.

No wonder there were over a thousand casualties.

"The elephants lead the way, and the poison soldiers follow behind to finish off the enemies."

Shang Wanqing lit the oil lamp in the basement, and the dim yellow light illuminated the entire space.

"Even if we win a direct confrontation, the casualties will be considerable."

The corners of her mouth curved slightly, not in a smile, but with the confidence of a craftsman preparing to showcase his work.

"So I'm waiting for you here."

When the light of the oil lamp spread out, Wei Zhao could see what was in the basement.

Two different things.

The first item on the left is a set of rattan armor.

Dark green, tightly woven, with uniformly thick rattan, and its surface is soaked in tung oil, giving it a dull sheen.

The armor plates are not made of metal, but are woven from rattan, one plate on top of another, like fish scales.

Wei Zhao walked over and reached out to touch it.

It was light, much lighter than he had imagined—less than a third the weight of the armor.

However, it feels very hard when you press it with your fingers, and it has excellent elasticity; it will bounce back when you press it down.

"It was soaked in tung oil three times and in a medicinal solution for seven days."

Shang Wanqing walked to the rattan armor and flicked the armor plates twice with her fingers.

"It cannot be cut by a knife, nor pierced by an arrow."

She paused for a moment, then added a sentence.

"Immune to poison."

Wei Zhao's fingers stopped.

"Rattan itself is a natural barrier against poison. With the addition of tung oil for sealing and soaking in chemicals, poisonous insects that crawl on it will slide off on their own, and the poison powder cannot stick to it."

Shang Wanqing's voice quickened, her obsessive focus returned, and her eyes shone with an alarming intensity.

"Wearing this will cripple the poison soldier by half."

Wei Zhao's mind was racing.

The nemesis of poison soldiers.

"How many of these did you make?"

"Fifty thousand sets."

Wei Zhao was stunned for a moment, 50,000?

She single-handedly created 50,000 sets of rattan armor in this tiny Mo Family Fortress.

"I'm not alone."

Shang Wanqing seemed to see right through his thoughts.

"There were more than 300 craftsmen in Mojiabao, plus bamboo weavers and rattan weavers recruited from the surrounding areas. It took a total of four months."

Four months.

The old lady's plan began four months ago.

Wei Zhao shifted his gaze to the right side of the basement.

The second thing—

A crossbow.

But the word "crossbow" seems too small to describe it.

That thing was dozens of times larger than a regular military crossbow, with a crossbow arm that was two zhang long and as thick as a roof beam.

The crossbow body was cast from refined iron and was jet black. The crossbow string was not ordinary tendon, but a metal rope made of dozens of strands of steel wire twisted together.