I will make Qin Shi Huang immortal in the Great Qin Dynasty.

In the past two weeks, Commander Yang has destroyed three or four Xiongnu tribes.

Commander Yang led his light cavalry squad of a thousand men northward into the grasslands.

Like a gleaming iron blade, it slashed open one gash after another in the heart of the Xiongnu territory.

Every two or three days, they would find, surround, conquer, and annihilate a tribe.

Those Xiongnu camps scattered throughout the grasslands.

They had almost no chance to fight back against the iron hooves and arrows of the Qin light cavalry.

Tribes vary in size.

Large tribes with more than a thousand members need to fight a serious battle.

Small tribes of a few hundred people often resolve battles within half an hour.

Arrows rained down, the enemy charged through enemy lines, prisoners were gathered, and supplies were inventoried.

The process becomes more and more familiar and smoother.

That day, the scouts discovered a new camp in the afternoon.

It was of medium size, with fifty or sixty tents and cattle and sheep scattered on the nearby pastures.

Groups of two or three shepherds were resting on a large rock in the distance.

After Commander Yang confirmed the location and the guard situation.

He led his cavalry in a decisive attack.

It's still the same fighting style that they've practiced countless times.

The rain of arrows forced back the opponent's first counterattack.

The cavalry then stormed into the camp.

Subdue all those who dare to resist with weapons.

In less than half an hour, the battle was over.

The captured Huns squatted in a row, their hands covering their heads.

Qin cavalrymen stood guard nearby, wielding halberds.

From the larger tents, the imprisoned slaves began to emerge one after another.

Most of those slaves were people from the Qin Dynasty.

They were all so thin they were skin and bones.

His clothes were so tattered they couldn't cover his body, and his eyes were dull and empty, like a hollow shell whose soul had been ripped out.

After being captured by the Xiongnu, they were driven, sold, and exchanged like livestock.

No one can fully remember how many days and nights they spent on this grassland.

Suddenly, they saw the banners of the Qin Dynasty and cavalrymen in iron armor.

Many people stood there, stunned, as if still trying to confirm the reality of what they were seeing, unsure of how to react.

Someone stood there blankly, their lips trembling.

His gaze slowly swept across the faces of those people before he finally realized that he had been rescued.

Commander Yang would remain silent for a moment every time he saw this scene.

He never stopped to look around, nor did he deliberately ask the people about their origins or names.

He simply instructed his men to prepare hot soup and dry biscuits.

Let the military medics give the wounded and sick some simple treatment.

Then he turned around to count the spoils and arrange the next sentry posts.

Leave those scenes of weeping and lamenting behind, and don't disturb them.

This time, as usual, he dismounted and handed his halberd to the attendant beside him.

He strode towards the tents where the people were being held.

The guard at the gate stepped aside as he approached.

He lowered his voice and said, "There are a lot of people in this group, about thirty or forty. Many of them have been locked up for several years, and a few look like they're about to collapse."

Commander Yang nodded, lifted the curtain, and went inside.

The tent was dimly lit and filled with a pungent smell of dampness, sweat, and decaying grass.

Thirty or forty people were huddled together in the corner.

Someone looked up at him, glanced at him, and then looked down again.

It seemed that after confirming that the visitor was not a Xiongnu, there was no further reaction.

Some people still had their heads down, their shoulders trembling slightly, as if they had not yet recovered from some kind of persistent fear.

Commander Yang's gaze swept across the faces of those people one by one.

His gaze swept over the gaunt faces, searching for the shadows of people he knew.

He would do this subconsciously every time he rescued civilians.

That thought lingered in my mind, but I never took it seriously.

He told himself he was just glancing at it casually.

He had passed through several tents and rescued women who were about the same age as his sister.

But each time he saw the face clearly, he swallowed back the silent call in his heart.

This time, his gaze fell on one person and stopped.

The person was leaning against the wall of the tent in the far corner.

He curled up into a tiny ball.

With his knees against his chin and his hands wrapped around his calves, he was practically embedding himself into the edge of the tent.

Her hair hung messily down the side of her face, obscuring half of it.

The half of his face that was exposed was so thin that his cheekbones were high, his eyes were sunken, and his lips were chapped.

His skin was sallow and bloodless.

She was wearing a tattered animal skin garment that was clearly not her own.

He had a piece of coarse cloth draped over his shoulder, its original color indistinguishable, and his whole body was trembling slightly.

Commander Yang's gaze lingered on the huddled figure.

His breathing seemed to skip a beat, and his movements froze for a moment before returning to normal.

He walked over slowly and squatted down in front of the person, his movements very gentle.

He reached out a hand and gently brushed aside the tangled mess of hair on the side of her face with the back of his fingers.

The face that appeared was completely different from the little girl with pigtails who chased chickens at the village entrance in his memory.

There are six years between being thirteen and almost twenty.

What does six years mean?

It was a child who jumped down from the treetop and laughed, but turned into an empty shell, curled up in the corner of the tent, emaciated, with eyes so hollow that they seemed to have been worn away.

But he recognized those eyes.

Those memories were suddenly stirred up by an unseen force at this moment.

He didn't speak.

He simply reached out and, just as he had done countless times as a child, gently pulled the person into his arms.

She paused for a moment.

The thin body was stiff as a piece of dead wood in his arms.

Then, she felt the cold iron armor.

I smelled her familiar scent.

She slowly raised her head, her gaze moving upwards sluggishly.

She moved from the lower edge of the armor to the breastplate, and then to the face whose outline she remembered.

She recognized him.

She opened her mouth, her lips moved for a long time, before finally squeezing out a hoarse syllable from her dry, cracking throat.

"...Brother."

Commander Yang's tears rolled down his cheeks at that moment.

He didn't say anything, he just held her tightly in his arms.

Six years.

She was imprisoned in the Xiongnu camp for six years.

What did six years leave on him?

He developed an iron will and crossed the threshold of becoming a disciple.

He became an officer commanding a thousand cavalrymen.

It can crush the resistance of an entire Xiongnu tribe within the time it takes for an incense stick to burn.

But what those six years left on her was a body so thin that it was just a skeleton.

They were eyes that were so empty, as if everything had been emptied out.

It is a shell whose edges have been worn away, whose dignity has been crushed, and which is now just huddled in a corner, trembling with fear.

That person was his younger sister, whom he would bring home a few sour dates to coax whenever he was on leave.

The last time he saw her, she was squatting in the yard whittling a stick with a knife. She looked up at him, grinned, and then ran away.

She didn't cry or make a fuss when he held her in his arms.

She simply leaned on his shoulder, slowly, little by little, loosening her grip on the tattered animal skin coat.

The light in his eyes is gradually brightening.

After a long while, Commander Yang slowly released her, helped her sit up again with his hands on her shoulders, and then looked at her face.

His eyes were still red, but he no longer shed tears.

She sat there, looking up at him, and a glimmer of life finally appeared in her eyes.

She looked at the sword at his waist.

Her lips moved, as if she were saying something.

But the voice was too soft, and Commander Yang couldn't hear it clearly, so he leaned down slightly to get closer.

Then she suddenly reached out and grabbed the sword at his waist.