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Finest Servant Chapter 593
🕑 Added 2023-10-26 07:21:35 +0000 UTCChapter 593 The Turkic Khan
The azure sky was as clear as if washed by water, while tufts of white clouds seemed like floating cotton scattered aimlessly across the vast expanse. Golden rays of sunlight broke through the endless sky like arrows, casting their glow on the verdant grasslands. Dewdrops still clung to the blades of grass, refracting dazzling light as if reluctant to disappear.
The Alxa grassland, with its green grass, white clouds, and blue sky, seemed like an innocent maiden, welcoming all with her beautiful embrace.
A cacophony of voices and the neighing of ten thousand horses filled the air. White felt tents, like blossoming flowers, appeared one after another. Uncountable multicolored flags fluttered in the late spring breeze. Thousands upon thousands of Turkic steeds galloped freely on the grassland, their manes—black, yellow, white—billowing in the wind as if they were the undulating hills of the plains. The riders, dressed in brand new robes, performed daring stunts on their horses—standing, leaping, sidestepping—each trick more difficult than the last, earning them the spirited applause of the onlooking tribespeople.
The most popular among them were the warriors wearing black masks. These were the elite who would participate in the sheep-snatching competition. They had the most imposing statures, the strongest builds, and the fastest horses. Though their faces were hidden, one could sense their deep self-confidence and a burning desire to prove their mettle.
The Turkic people cheered wholeheartedly, showering these mysterious warriors with their most fervent applause and praise.
Young Turkic women, sent by various tribes for marriage selection, gathered gradually toward the center of the grassland, led by the elders of their tribes. They were dressed in their most beautiful festival attire. At the center, a massive long shed had been erected, towering at a height of about six meters (~ twenty feet) and stretching more than one mile in length.
In front of the shed, dozens of platforms had been raised. From each platform, a long rope dangled, attached to which was a large iron hook. These were meant for suspending sheep. Once the ropes were cut, the sheep would fall, and the sheep-snatching competition would officially commence.
The number of Turkic girls gathered for marriage selection increased. They congregated at the center of the grassland, leaving their tribes behind to mount tall white horses, galloping freely. The combination of beautiful women and white horses instantly became the highlight of the grasslands. Warriors who were participating in the sheep-snatching competition, as well as those who weren't, had their gazes fixed on this spectacle.
It was as if a splendid cloud of beauty was moving slowly across the plains. The girls' melodious singing voices floated through the clear sky, eliciting countless whistles and cheers.
Some impatient Turkic warriors couldn't help but ride their horses closer, only to be drenched by buckets of water before they even approached. This was the warning from the tribes for those who crossed the line.
Observing the soaked, stupefied warriors, screams and whistles erupted from all around. The girls' laughter filled the air, intermingling and unending.
The greatest advantage of participating in this sheep-snatching competition was anonymity. By donning masks, no one could tell who you were, embodying the Turkic people's spirit of fair competition. Whether you were from a strong or weak tribe, or whether you were royalty or a commoner, as long as you had the skill, you could perform to your fullest without fearing reprisals afterward. Under such circumstances, the sheep-snatching competition became even more intense and exciting, and was a true test for selecting genuine warriors.
The distinctions among the various tribes were signified by their banners. Just as he had observed earlier—there were Skylark banners, Eagle banners, Tiger banners, and so on. Each was a symbol of a different tribe. There were well over a hundred large and small tribes scattered across the plains, each flaunting a variety of unique banners, as if they were participating in a world's fair.
In the most secluded corner of the grassland, a group of several dozen figures gathered sporadically. They wore black masks that left only their eyes visible, signifying that they were warriors participating in the sheep snatching competition. On their banner was drawn a ferocious, fire-breathing beast with bared fangs and claws.
"Old Hu, what exactly is this creature you've picked for our banner? I've been looking at it for a while now and still can't figure it out," a burly man wearing a mask muttered softly, glancing around furtively to make sure no one was paying attention.
Among all the tribes coming to compete, theirs was perhaps the smallest—a mere handful of a dozen or so people. The place they'd chosen to gather was also the most remote, more than a mile away from the center of the plains. It was obvious at a glance that they were a weak and insignificant tribe.
Old Hu explained, "The people of the Turkic tribes call it a 'Rhinoceros'. It's a fierce animal that lives where the southern part of the grassland meets the desert. It preys on wild horses and camels; even lions and leopards somewhat fear them. General Lin said it resembles the fire qilin of our Great Hua Empire. The small tribe we are impersonating is one of the Nine Tiele Tribes, called the 'Yuezhi,' who happen to live near where these beasts are found. Hence, we chose it for our banner."
Understanding dawned on Old Gao. He looked back and saw a man deep in thought and exceptionally calm sitting atop a steed in the middle of their group.
Lin Wanrong was quite satisfied with the current situation. They were in the middle of the grassland where Turkic people were aplenty; no one would notice such a small tribe. Although there were many tribes on the plains and the situation was complicated, the tens of thousands of cavalry stationed outside the city and the Turkic people guarding it had been eerily quiet. This inactivity was worrisome. How could they wage a war if the enemy remained so still?
Lost in thought, Lin Wanrong noticed that the high platform at the center of the plains was gradually getting busier. Yet, he saw none of the faces he had hoped to encounter—no Right Prince Tursun, and certainly no Turkic Khan.
Lin Wanrong pointed at the high platform and frowned, "Old Hu, are these all the nobles the Turks have? They're not even enough for Old Gao to handle with one swipe."
Hu Bugui chuckled and shook his head, "No, no, it hasn't started yet. The annual sheep snatching Festival is the most bustling event for the Turks. Not only will all the nobles definitely attend, but the Turkic Khan often graces the occasion as well. Given this year's situation, even if the Khan doesn't show, Tursun surely will."
Just as he was speaking, the distant rumbling of hooves could be heard. Thousands of elite Turkic cavalry approached; they were the ones stationed outside the city.
"The Right Prince has arrived!" Nearby Turkic people let out excited cheers. The warriors spurred their horses to greet him, and the eyes of Turkic young women sparkled with adoration and infatuation as they looked into the distance.
Tursun led the way, followed by twenty or thirty nobles dressed in opulent garb. Judging by their attire and demeanor, these were likely the royal ministers who had stayed in Kyzil. Further back, there was an impressive formation of Turkic cavalry. With their numbers exceeding two thousand, they seemed to have been dispatched to protect the Right Prince and his ministers.
Clad in military gear and with a curved blade slung at his waist, Tursun waved with a smile. Cheers erupted instantly across the plains. The crowd surged forward, leaders of the various tribes greeting the Right Prince and his ministers, offering them strong wine. Tursun and his royal entourage drank as if they were drinking water, further fueling the spirited cheers.
"Do you think Tursun will participate in today's sheep snatching competition?" Lin Wanrong, who had been observing for a while, suddenly asked Hu Bugui, who was standing beside him.
Given the current situation, the Turkic Khan was absent. This could only mean the sheep snatching event lacked the allure to attract such high-profile figures. And that high-profile figure was none other than the Right Prince, Tursun himself.
If Tursun merely observed from the sidelines, the Turkic cavalry outside the city would not have the opportunity to mobilize. It was only if the Right Prince himself participated that the Turkic forces would intensify their security around the event, providing Lin Wanrong's cavalry an opportunity to act.
Old Hu hesitated for a moment, "It's hard to say. Looking at him in his military attire, it seems like he isn't planning to participate. However, it ultimately depends on whether any of the women here catch his interest."
Lin Wanrong merely hummed in response, his face as calm as water, not offering any more words.
Everyone knew who might capture Tursun's interest. In fact, ever since Yujia had suddenly disappeared, this had been the question on everyone's mind. However, General Lin did not comment on this, nor did anyone dare to inquire further.
Amid the throng of people, Tursun and the Turkic nobles slowly rode along, eventually arriving under a long canopy. The sight of the young and handsome Right Prince triggered a wave of excited screams from the Turkic girls.
Stepping onto the elevated platform under the canopy, Tursun's eyes scanned the crowd, causing the young girls to become even more frenzied. They chanted his name in unison, pushing their way toward the platform. Finding no one of interest, a look of disappointment crossed Tursun's face. He raised his hand to gesture at the crowd, a confident smile resurfacing on his face.
A Turkic priest slowly ascended the platform, holding a piece of silk cloth and began to recite loudly. Lin Wanrong had little understanding of the Turkic language, but luckily Old Hu was proficient enough to translate for him.
The status of a Turkic priest in the Turkic royal court was akin to that of a Minister of Rites. For all significant events, like sacrifices or going into battle, the Turkic people would have a ritual for praying to the heavens—much like the customs in Great Hua.
The elderly priest mumbled what seemed to be blessings from heaven. All the Turks listened solemnly, their faces filled with reverence. In front of the elevated platform under the long canopy, the sun glinted off the water-soaked mutton, already hung up and shining with specks of oil.
A roar of cheers from the crowd abruptly pulled Lin Wanrong from the brink of sleep. Looking up, he realized the priest had already finished his recitations, and the tribes were slowly dispersing. The grand sheep snatching competition was about to commence.
Tursun slowly ascended one of the high platforms, waving at his tribesmen as a gesture of acknowledgment. It appeared he was the one to cut the first rope. If such a significant event were to take place in the Great Hua Empire, the Emperor would certainly be present. But the Turkic Khan was rather unique; he was mysteriously absent from the scene.
"Brother Lin, shall we participate in this event?" asked Gao Qiu, rubbing his palms together in excitement. The general consensus was clear: to gain entry into Kyzil, one had to win at least three rounds in the sheep snatching competition.
Lin Wanrong shook his head, "Let's wait and observe the situation first."
In the nomadic sheep snatching competition, the initial phase had three tribes competing simultaneously. The first to reach the destination was declared the winner. Any tribe could join at any time, but a single defeat meant disqualification.
As the sheep snatching competition was about to commence, warriors from the three tribes took their triangular formation, equally distanced from the center of the plains. The unmarried Turkic girls watched intently, not wanting to miss their chance to choose the most formidable warrior.
A short horn sounded. Tursun swung his silver blade, and the water-soaked body of the sheep plummeted onto the grass. A roar erupted from the crowd, and masked warriors from the three tribes spurred their horses madly, all rushing toward the fallen sheep. A haze of dust filled the plains.
Within a blink, the distance was covered. A Turkic warrior at the front stooped from his galloping horse to pick up the blood-soaked sheep and triumphantly raised it high. Before his tribesmen could even cheer, a dull thud resounded. The warrior who had seized the sheep was struck on the head, tumbling off his horse in a spray of blood.
The sight of blood instantly whipped the Turkic people into a frenzy. They roared and leaped, eyes gleaming with excitement. Wildly swinging their arms, they chanted strange war cries.
The blood-stained sheep had already changed hands, now in possession of another tribe. They left five or six men frantically wielding their blades, obstructing the pursuing enemy, while a dozen others raced towards the finish line.
The two lagging tribes became savage. Over twenty riders charged crazily, chopping down their opponents without hesitation, trampling over their bodies to give chase.
Blood sprayed across the green grass, an afterthought to everyone present. The screams of young women, the cheers of men, the atmosphere was so electrifying it could turn the sky upside down.
In this unending madness, warriors from the three tribes became entangled. Their horses were unable to advance any further. All predetermined strategies—pulling, blocking, diverting—were rendered useless. They could only continue by trampling over the bodies of their opponents.
The bloodied sheep had changed hands multiple times. Warriors unleashed their full strength, eyes bloodshot as they hacked at each other. Flesh and blood flew, bodies toppled. Amidst agonizing screams, the spectating Turkic wildly roared their support, utterly disregarding that those who had fallen were their own kin. The nomadic young women danced excitedly, eagerly waving at the masked warriors charging at the front. On these plains, appearance was secondary; strength decided everything.
Even a blunt knife is still a knife. The ferocity of the nomads' attack was no less intense than that of a fight to the death. Those Turks who had fallen off their horses, with broken legs and shattered waists, would probably never mount a horse again. At that moment, even if their opponents had been their own kin, these warriors would not have hesitated to strike. Such was the way the nomads' fervor was cultivated. Lin Wanrong shook his head in silence, while Gao Qiu secretly sneered.
For Tursun, this cruel game of "sheep snatching" was nothing new. His expression remained calm, and he even occasionally smiled, offering words of encouragement to the warriors.
By the end of the round, out of the more than forty warriors, only three remained on horseback. They held the snatched sheep high above their heads and excitedly crossed the finish line. The crowd of nomads swarmed towards them. A young Turkic woman bravely approached and hung a handwoven flower basket around the neck of one of the warriors, then shyly turned and walked away.
Cheers erupted from the crowd, signaling that a young woman had found her heart's desire—even though she had never seen his face. It was a testament to the Turkic reverence for martial prowess.
The masked warriors left in high spirits. According to the rules, their tribe had earned the right to compete in another round. Winning three consecutive rounds would grant them an audience with the Khan, a great honor for their entire tribe.
Having observed the contest, Lin Wanrong nodded, "Let's seize the opportunity before Tursun enters the competition. Brother Hu, we're up next!"
Regardless of how the nomads' defenses changed, someone had to infiltrate the Turkic royal court to coordinate their efforts. Winning three rounds of sheep snatching was undoubtedly the best way. But facing Tursun would make things difficult. That's why he chose to act first.
"Exactly. Let's go!" Old Gao exclaimed with eyes wide open, "As long as we mask our faces, we'll be hacking at the Turks, and they'll still cheer for us. Opportunities like this are rare in a lifetime—no holding back, everyone!"
Everyone burst into laughter. Although the Great Hua people and the Turks looked different, as long as their faces were covered, it was impossible to tell who was who. And since the Turks were out in the open while they operated in the shadows, they had a significant advantage.
Hu Bugui swaggered over and drew a lot number for their team. The nomads' method was simple, using animal shapes drawn on sheepskin. Gao Qiu glanced at it a few times, "Ah, looks like a wild duck. I've seen them by the Uvs Lake."
Hu Bugui grinned and nodded, "Good memory, Brother Gao. You're right; we've been assigned to the 'Duck Group.'"
"What the..." Lin Wanrong, who was gulping down water, spat out a mouthful in surprise, almost choking. What's with these chicken and duck groups? The Turks' numbering system was surprisingly unacademic.
Old Hu found it understandable. The Turkic language didn't have the numbers and zodiac signs the Chinese used. Animal shapes were simple and easy to remember, which fit their nature.
The twenty or so brothers participating in sheep snatching had been carefully selected by Old Hu. They not only had to be skilled but also had to speak some Turkic. Strictly speaking, Lin Wanrong was the least proficient in Turkic among them, even less so than Old Gao.
In the trio of duck teams, besides the banner of the Leopard clan, one could also spot the figure of the Skylark tribe. An offhand joke from days past had unexpectedly come true. Old Gao burst into hearty laughter.
After confirming that their blades were not yet sharpened, they were left to their own devices. The starting point for the sheep-snatching contest was roughly two hundred paces from the center of the grassland. Tursun, who was on the observation stand, was absentmindedly surveying the area, obviously distracted. Naturally, he paid no attention to this small Yuezhi tribe from the edge of the great desert.
"Hoo—," the horn sounded, and Lin Wanrong spurred his horse into a swift gallop. His form was impeccable, as if floating on clouds, even Old Hu had a hard time keeping up with him. Cheers erupted from the crowd, praising his horsemanship. The Turkic people could never have guessed that behind the dark face mask was a yellow face.
The wind howled past his ears. Accompanied by the frenzied howls of the spectators, he caught glimpses of his opponent's deep blue eyes. Kyzil was now within reach, but Lin Wanrong was as calm as still water. Besides the sound of hooves, it seemed as if he heard nothing else.
The agility of the Skylark tribe was indeed as renowned as people said. Leading the charge was the very horseman he had met the other day. The man raced ahead, leaned slightly, and lifted the soaked sheep into his arms. A thunderous cheer erupted from the Skylark tribe.
But the Leopard clan's warriors were no pushovers either. Before the Skylark tribe had time to react, five splendid horses burst from behind them, encircling the sheep-snatching horseman. Wielding their curved blades, they charged.
The Skylark horseman was evidently prepared. With a loud shout, he grabbed the sheep and hurled it forward.
"Hu you (Great)—," several excited shouts rang out simultaneously. The leading Skylark riders skillfully caught the sheep and sped toward the finish line like the wind.
The five Leopard banner warriors were still puzzled by the situation when the skilled Turkic rider suddenly turned around. With a heavy curved blade, he immediately unhorsed two men.
Old Gao seized this golden opportunity. He rode on, trampling heavily on the stomachs of the two fallen warriors, and with two swift cuts, silenced them forever.
"Hu you (Great)—," Seeing such exquisite blade work, the onlooking Turkic people let out crazed shouts of amazement, cheering and looking at Gao Qiu with eyes full of admiration and reverence. Old Gao laughed heartily, "Hu you. You’re hu you (TL: In trouble). Haha!"
Hu Bugui swung his blade twice, and the remaining three warriors from the Leopard banner collapsed, causing the Skylarks to flee in shock. These horsemen were indeed skilled; even Old Hu, chasing after them, couldn't catch up.
The sheep was in the hands of the Skylark tribe, and warriors from both clans were already locked in fierce combat. Hooves and blades clashed relentlessly, showing even less mercy than on a battlefield. The riders from Great Hua seemed unable to catch up, but they were intentionally picking off the fallen. Whenever they spotted a fallen rider, they would trample and slash, reveling in the activity.
"Charge!" Seeing that the enemy was nearly spent, Lin Wanrong yelled, and the men behind him surged forward, swords slashing. They had been accumulating energy for a long time, now released like wolves among sheep. They cut down the horsemen amidst the cheers of the Turkic people, feeling an indescribable thrill.
Old Gao led the charge, and although armed with a dull blade, he fought with great zeal. Seeing that only a few Turkic men remained, Hu Bugui signaled with his eyes. A few soldiers from the Great Hua immediately pretended to cry out in pain and fell to the ground. The excitement among the spectators reached a fever pitch; cheers and screams filled the air.
The pressure eased for the beleaguered Skylark, and it let out a cry of relief as it hurled the body of the sheep forward. A Turkic man known for his extraordinary horsemanship was already waiting. He caught the sheep's body in midair and was about to make a dash for it when a gust of wind swept past him. Crouching low against the horse's back and kicking with his feet, he leaped forward.
"Cunning lad!" Lin Wanrong grumbled, having already maneuvered his horse to block the Turkic man's path. With a sideways swipe of his blade, he aimed for the man's waist.
Unable to counterattack while holding the sheep, the Turkic man relied on his superior horsemanship. Clinging to his horse’s belly, he spun in a circle, just waiting for the blade to come near so he could duck beneath his horse.
For a few strides, they rode side by side. The Turkic man ducked and dodged like a monkey, and Lin Wanrong was almost dazzled by his moves. Finally having had enough, Lin Wanrong let out a grunt, raised his blade, and viciously struck down on the Turkic horse’s back.
The Turkic horse collapsed, and the man from Skylark, losing its anchor, bolted in terror. However, it was quickly caught and downed by a sword strike from the approaching Hu Bugui.
"Roar—" Old Gao, holding the sheep's body, triumphantly crossed the finish line. The surrounding crowd of Turkic spectators surged forward, cheering and jumping in excitement.
Lin Wanrong intentionally lagged behind, looking into the distance. He noticed the Turkic lords whispering excitedly amongst themselves but saw no sign of Tursun.
"General, what’s wrong?" Hu Bugui, who was closest to him, hurriedly approached, seeing him scanning the area.
Lin Wanrong shook his head solemnly, "Tursun is missing."
Hu Bugui was taken aback, hastily scanning the area and indeed, the tent where Tursun had been was now empty; the Right Prince of the Turks had disappeared.
"Could he have gone to the restroom?" Old Hu whispered.
"Do you really expect me to answer that?" Lin Wanrong rolled his eyes in exasperation. Old Hu chuckled and scratched his head in embarrassment.
"Darn it, why is nobody giving me flowers? Are Turkic women blind?" Old Gao angrily walked over, his blade swinging through the air.
"Right, where are the flowers?" Lin Wanrong was jolted by Old Gao's complaint. Given Old Gao's performance today, it was odd that the Turkic women, who usually valued prowess above all, were not showing their appreciation. He quickly turned back to look, and that glance made him realize something was wrong.
The Turkic young women, who were initially enjoying the sheep-snatching competition, were now all looking toward the south, their eyes wide as if searching for something. Not one of them was paying attention to the victorious Old Gao.
Everyone's gaze followed suit, looking to the south. The once bustling Alxa Prairie had, in an instant, become as quiet as a still lake.
Tursun was missing, the women were silent, and the prairie had turned eerily quiet. What on earth had happened? Old Gao and the others exchanged puzzled glances, unsure of whom to ask for answers.
From a great distance, a tiny black dot appeared on the horizon of the grassland. The clear sound of hooves, 'clip-clop, clip-clop,' reverberated in everyone's hearts. As the shape came into clearer view, it turned out to be a vibrant young horse, its head shaking in an elegant dance, an epitome of extraordinary grace.
Astride the horse was a young woman. Her hair, dark as a cascading waterfall, flowed down her back. Her skin gleamed like fine jade, and her face was veiled in a transparent, light-colored gauze. Her enchanting eyes, deep yet crystal clear, had a touch of barely perceptible blue, reminiscent of the tranquil waters of a hidden lake deep within the grasslands. A light breeze lifted her veil, revealing the corners of her rosy lips curling into a captivating smile, like a crescent moon rising in the sky.
‘It's as if we're meeting for the first time,’ Lin Wanrong silently sighed at the thought that suddenly arose in his mind.
"It's Yujia!" Hu Bugui and Old Gao were so astonished that their mouths hung open. The young Turkic women screamed, mounted their white horses, and frantically charged towards the spot where Yujia stood.
A series of three deep horn calls resonated across the grasslands, causing the ground to tremble. Thunderous hoofbeats approached, and from beneath the walls of Kyzil, clouds of dust rolled. It was as if an army of thousands had arrived. Numerous golden wolf banners fluttered in the wind.
Gao Qiu squinted into the distance and exclaimed, "Turkic cavalry, along with Kyzil's guards—they are all heading this way! What is going on?"
As the dust settled, tens of thousands of Turkic elite cavalry, arranged in a single line, slowly advanced. Emerging from distant Kyzil, a line of city guards followed them. These were the most elite Turkic cavalrymen—disciplined and ferocious. Even before they approached, a chilling murderous aura filled the air.
Amidst the two great armies, sixteen horses, their coats a vivid red, pulled a massive chariot. A towering yellow canopy rose above the chariot, embroidered with golden wolf heads. The breeze fluttered the veil of the chariot, yet it remained eerily silent, leaving everyone to wonder who was inside.
The Turkic cavalry slowly encircled Yujia and the other young women. They turned around to form a large expanding circle, gradually pushing outward and isolating everyone else. The golden veil fluttered in the gentle wind, and the figure of Yueya’er—that of Yujia—gradually blurred, finally vanishing within the crowd. Eventually, even the Turkic young women disappeared from sight.
"The Turkic Khan has arrived!" Hu Bugui whispered excitedly, unable to contain his enthusiasm.
