If I made you cannon fodder, how did you manage to achieve your goal of conquering the wolf's l

A fierce wind howled across the dilapidated bluestone walls of Jubei Fortress, carrying frozen ice shards that lashed against the cracks in the stones, producing a harsh and piercing sound.

The entire fortress was shrouded in a deathly silence.

There was no neighing of warhorses, no shouts of patrolling soldiers, and even the most ordinary smoke from firewood and cooking fires in a typical border fortress had been gone for several days.

Looking around, the rows of barracks that once lined the inner side of the city wall were now completely unrecognizable. In order to survive in this blizzard that could freeze a living person's bones, all the wooden doors, window frames, beams, and even bed boards had been completely dismantled and chopped up over the past two months to serve as the meager amount of firewood needed to sustain life.

The remaining two hundred or so soldiers and civilians were almost all huddled together in a few low cellars built of thick stone blocks in a sheltered spot.

Deep within the dimly lit tunnel, a half-broken cast iron pot rested on a dilapidated earthen stove. At the bottom of the pot burned several pieces of grass roots and wood chips covered in mud. The pot churned with murky, black foam, emitting a nauseating stench of burnt fur and bitterness.

What was cooking in the pot was not grain, or even grass seeds, but fragments of old leather armor, rotten leather boot soles, and a few raw cowhide reins that had been scraped clean and turned black and moldy, salvaged from the warehouse's waste pile.

Several sallow-faced, thin women with sunken eyes gathered around the stove, carefully using a chipped, rough porcelain bowl to scoop a small spoonful of soup, glistening with oil, from the bubbling, murky broth.

A thin young woman, her ribs clearly visible, tremblingly offered a half-bowl of warm, bitter soup to the lips of the baby wrapped in a tattered blanket in her arms. The child was already too hungry to cry out; its dry, bluish lips weakly sipped the bitter soup, its throat moved with difficulty, and then it slumped its head down again.

Throughout the entire cellar, only the heavy, faint breathing and suppressed sobbing echoed in the shadows.

This is no longer the human world, but a tomb of the living dead perched on a sheer cliff.

……

At the windy pass on the city wall, half of the dilapidated city tower had already collapsed due to the erosion of wind and snow.

An old general, over fifty years old, wearing a well-worn, old-style armor of the Qianlong era with exposed iron wires, stood upright at the edge of the arrow slit, one hand on the chipped sword at his waist.

Lu Zhen, a seasoned swindler.

This old border soldier, who had been stationed at the eastern section of this northern wall fortress for twenty years, now had graying temples, and his deeply lined face was cracked and bluish-black from the severe cold. His cheeks were deeply sunken, his bloodshot eye sockets were sunken like a pair of dry wells, and his lips were cracked with black blood.

He hadn't properly swallowed a single bite of dry, hard flesh for four whole days.

Behind Lu Zhen, there were more than thirty soldiers in tattered armor lying haphazardly.

These are the only remaining combat-ready soldiers in the entire Jubei Fortress—a total of thirty-seven men.

The remaining 160-odd comrades had either perished in the initial siege and ambush by the barbarians, or had silently died on the cold kang mats during the past sixty days and nights of hunger and cold. The thirty-seven men now were all emaciated beyond recognition, their fingers gripping the knife hilts were wrapped in frostbite and were as thick as carrots, some even missing half a finger, and they were only holding on by the stubbornness in their hearts.

"call out--!"

Suddenly, a sharp, piercing whistling sound tore through the wind and snow outside the city.

A heavy wolf-tooth arrow, three feet long with black fletching, shot from the barbarian camp at the bottom of the valley and pierced deeply into the solid log of the city wall next to Lu Zhen with a thud!

The arrow shaft continued to tremble violently.

Beneath the arrow's fletching was tightly bound a rough sheepskin smeared with blood and charcoal ash.

A young guard walked forward unsteadily, gritted his teeth, pulled out the wolf-tooth arrow, and handed the sheepskin to Lu Zhen.

That was a letter of surrender left by the Blackwater tribe leader who surrounded the mountain.

The writing on the sheepskin was crude and arrogant, clearly written in a language mixed with the script of the Great Qian Dynasty:

[Listen, remnants of Jubei Fort: The city has been without food for half a month, and our only hope is to die. If you do not open the gates and surrender, on the day the city falls, all the men will be beheaded to build a mound of heads, the able-bodied will be forced into hard labor as shepherds, and the women will be given to the various tribes as rewards! If you see white banners raised on the city walls and the water gates opened within three days, you will be spared; if you continue to resist, once the snow stops and our army ascends the city, we will ensure that not a single chicken or dog is left in Jubei Fort, and you will all be cooked for food!]

Every word and phrase exudes the brutality and bloodshed unique to the grasslands.

Lu Zhen looked down at the letter urging him to surrender. On his withered, rock-like face, there was neither fear nor anger, only an indifference and mockery that seemed to have seen through life and death.

"Take it and use it as firewood."

Lu Zhen casually tossed the sheepskin and arrow shaft into a nearby earthenware basin that was barely glowing.

When the sheepskin is exposed to fire, it curls up and chars, emitting a burnt smell, and turns into a pile of ashes in the blink of an eye.

"Lord Commander...are we...really not going to surrender?"

The young guard beside him leaned against the stone wall, his chapped lips trembling, tears welling in his eyes: "The hides in the fortress... were all cooked yesterday. And in the tunnels behind, Old Zhou's little granddaughter, her body was already cold this morning... We've been enduring this icy cold for two months, and the Yunzhou camp... nobody cares about us at all..."

"drop?"

Lu Zhen turned around, his cloudy yet sharp eagle eyes coldly landing on the young soldier's face:

"If you surrender, will you live, or will your mother and sister behind you live?"

Lu Zhen pointed to the vast, desolate mountains and snowfields outside the city, his voice hoarse as if iron were grinding against stone:

"Didn't you hear the commotion in the wind last night about the eight military households captured at the valley entrance a few days ago? The barbarian army has also run out of food; they're using us as lambs to the slaughter! Opening the city gates is like handing a knife to wolf cubs, letting them comfortably devour the old, weak, women, and children in the city alive!"

The young soldier trembled, lowered his head in pain, and said nothing more.

Lu Zhen turned his head and his gaze fell on the tall cowhide war drum in the center of the city gate tower.

The war drum was more than half a person tall. The tanned cowhide on the drumhead was stained a deep bluish-black by the wind and frost of the northern frontier. Several small wind cracks appeared on the edges, but they were carefully stitched and repaired with fine hemp thread.

Beside the drum stand, two hardwood drumsticks, wrapped tightly in coarse cloth, lay horizontally.

"go."

Lu Zhen raised his arm, covered in calluses and scabs, and pointed it at the war drum: "Beat the drum."

Two old soldiers, leaning against the wall, struggled to lift their aching legs and staggered to the drum stand. They stretched out their trembling hands and each gripped a heavy drumstick.

"Lord Commander..."

One of the older soldiers, with a deep scar on his face, was panting heavily, his arms trembling uncontrollably, and his eyes reddening as he looked at Lu Zhen:

"We've been knocking every half hour for two whole months... Commander Lu led his men out to seek reinforcements, but we haven't seen a trace of them yet... In this freezing, snowy, eighty-mile mountain road, do those cowardly old men of Yunzhou really... really think anyone will come?"

More than thirty surviving veterans on the city wall raised their heads in unison, their eyes vacant and sorrowful as they looked at their old commander who had shared life and death with them for decades.

It's been two months.

They watched as the food ran out, as their brothers froze into ice sculptures, and as their warhorses fell one by one to the butcher's knife.

Whom are they beating the war drums on this snow-covered, isolated cliff island?

Facing those thirty-odd pairs of eyes on the verge of despair, a barely perceptible trace of pain flashed in Lu Zhen's cloudy eyes.

But in an instant, that pain was erased by the deepest stubbornness of the old soldiers on the frontier.

Lu Zhen took heavy steps and walked to the front of the drum platform. He stretched out his rough, calloused hand and took the heavy hardwood drumstick from the old soldier.

"Is anyone really coming?"

Lu Zhen looked at the vast white expanse outside the city, his voice low and desolate:

"I don't know."

He slowly raised the drumsticks, and the last of his strength surged forth through the meridians in his arms:

"But I know one thing—"

"As long as this drumbeat continues, every living person in the world knows that Jubei Fortress is not completely wiped out, and the northern wall has not yet collapsed!"

"What if even this drumming stops..."

Lu Zhen's gaze swept over the remaining soldiers before him, his words sharp and resolute:

"Then nobody will come!"

As soon as he finished speaking, Lu Zhen's hardwood drumstick, carrying the last dignity and blood of an old soldier, landed heavily on the cold, dark blue drumhead!

"Thump—!!"

The deep, desolate, and majestic drumbeats tore through the barrier of wind and snow, echoing thunderously among the frozen cliffs and stone forests!

"Thump—!!"

The second hammer blow followed immediately!

The sound of the drumsticks vibrating against the cowhide was not hurried, but rather slow and weary. However, the regular and deep resonance was like the old heart of this isolated city on the cliff that had been beating stubbornly for decades, striking the chest of everyone with a dull and firm sound!

The soldiers leaning against the stone stacks straightened their hunched backs, the women holding their children deep in the cellar stopped sobbing, and the old soldiers holding their broken long knives stood up straight again.

As long as the drumbeats continue, Jubei Fort will remain.

……

Outside the city, in a low, gently sloping ice valley about two miles away.

The Blackwater Tribe and the Snow Wolf Tribe set up their camp of 500 barbarian cavalry in a sheltered spot in the wind.

Inside a tall, black tent shaped like a wolf's head, Hei Kui, the chief general of the Blackwater tribe, sat on a low, rough wooden couch covered with a whole bear skin, holding a sharp meat-cutting knife in his hand, chewing on a piece of greasy cooked meat.

The dull, slow drumbeats drifted intermittently into the tent on the mountain breeze, causing the silver wine bowls on the table to tremble slightly.

Hei Kui stopped chewing, his thick eyebrows furrowed, and a hint of irritation and annoyance flashed in his eyes.

"Those damned Han dogs, they're really tough as nails."

Hei Kui slammed the butcher's cleaver into the table, spitting out a mouthful of oily saliva: "We've besieged them for two whole months, even eaten all their warhorse leather armor, and they still have the energy to beat drums on the city walls?!"

At the lower end, a leader of the Snow Wolf tribe took a large gulp of mare's milk wine and sneered, "Why is Lord Black Kui in such a hurry? The scouts just reported that the demolition of houses in the fortress has stopped; clearly, they've burned out all the firewood. Without fire and without food, at most three to five more days of freezing, and those living dead on the city walls will turn into frozen corpses. When the water gate breaks down, two hundred or so fresh two-legged sheep carcasses will be enough for us to survive this White Disaster!"

Upon hearing this, Hei Kui's lips curled into a cruel smile, and he was about to speak in agreement.

In that very instant—

"Report! Commander-in-Chief!"

The heavy double-layered cowhide curtain of the main tent was thrown open with a stumbling motion, and a biting gust of wind, carrying snow, rushed in.

A Blackwater cavalryman, his face covered in blood and his fur coat charred and torn in several places, tumbled and crawled into the main tent, lying face down in the mud and water, his voice filled with undisguised terror and shrillness:

"Something's happened on the outskirts...something's happened on the outskirts!"

Hei Kui abruptly stood up from the bearskin couch, his fierce, bell-like eyes fixed on the scout: "What's the panic?! What happened?!"

"The first wooden sentry post below Langya Road... its signal fire was cut off! The second mountain pass... its log frame was set on fire, the pass collapsed, and more than a dozen brothers were all shot dead by a hail of arrows from the Han soldiers in the stone path!"

The scout shouted, trembling, "Someone has sneaked into the mountains! Han troops are attacking uphill! Their numbers are unknown, but they're all armed with crossbows and sharp blades!"

"fart!"

Within the camp, horns suddenly sounded, warhorses neighed, and the entire barbarian army camp was thrown into chaos and commotion.

……

And atop the towering walls of the fortress.

The tattered cowhide war drum had just been struck nineteen times by Lu Zhen.

The old commander's forehead was covered in cold sweat, and his arms were trembling violently as he prepared to hand the drumsticks to the old soldier beside him.

Just now.

A soldier lying on the highest watchtower of the city wall convulsed violently as if struck by lightning.

He rubbed his eyes, which were nearly blinded by the gale, and stared intently at the vast mountain pass below Wolf Fang Ridge, swallowed by wind, snow and darkness.

"Lord Chiju...stop...stop! Stop now!"

The young guard, with a hoarse and distorted voice, began to shout frantically, his voice trembling with sobs.

Lu Zhen's drumstick hovered in mid-air, his brow furrowing: "What's wrong?!"

"Fire...fire! There's fire at the mountain pass!"

The veterans rushed to the edge of the icy arrow emplacements, their bloodshot eyes wide as they gazed into the distance.

In the far distance, at the bend of a narrow canyon, in the darkness that was once only filled with barbarian campfires and white snow, a single crimson spark, as red as blood, silently pierced through the swirling snow and wind.

That wasn't the rough and chaotic campfire of a barbarian camp.

It was not the same as the three rises and falls of the Blackwater Tribe, nor the smoke carrying the scent of artemisia that heralded peace.

Under the watchful eyes of countless trembling figures, that tiny spark leaped and flickered three times rapidly in the darkness.

Immediately afterwards, the flames suddenly lengthened, like a crimson sword slicing through the long night, drawing a stable and powerful horizontal line of fire in mid-air!

Three short, one long!

Flash three times, then fire a horizontal shot!

This ancient and unique signal flare instantly illuminated the long-dried and numb faces of the old soldiers on the city wall.

That was the highest emergency response order issued by the Daqian Border Army thirty years ago when they opened up the northern frontier defense line!

It was a code long since abandoned by the decadent officials of the Yunzhou General's Mansion and relegated to the dustbin of history, but still etched into the bones of the old border soldiers—

Reinforcements have arrived; hold the line and await further developments!

"Clang..."

The hardwood drumstick slipped from Lu Zhen's hand and hit the cold bluestone bricks with a crisp, light sound.

This old border guard commander, who had endured two months of hardship in the isolated city on the cliff, eating leather boots and gnawing on tree bark without shedding a single tear, froze on the spot at this moment. Two streams of hot, turbid tears flowed out like a burst dam, running down his deep, knife-carved wrinkles.

Beside him, more than thirty ragged, emaciated Han soldiers clung tightly to the stone piles frozen by the wind and snow, emitting intermittent sobs that sounded like cries of blood.

It's unclear who first uttered a trembling sound, but that sound quickly escalated from a weak sob into a wailing that engulfed the entire fortress:

"Someone's coming... Sir! Someone's coming...!"

"The North Wall... the North Wall didn't abandon us! The reinforcements have really broken in...!"