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Finest Servant Chapter 589
🕑 Added 2023-10-24 11:38:11 +0000 UTCChapter 589 Moved to Tears
"A surprise attack?" Lin Wanrong touched his cheek and shook his head with a stern expression. "That's really low. Don't let it happen again. Otherwise, I'll make sure to get even."
Yujia glanced at him briefly, sighing. "Given our positions—do you really think there will be a next time?" Her expression was calm, a slight smile on her face, and her eyes as tranquil as a still lake. She seemed like a completely different person compared to the passionate Yueya'er. Perhaps the person standing in front of him now was the real Yujia.
"No next time? That's even better!" Lin Wanrong chuckled and nodded. "You know I'm easily moved. I was afraid I might accidentally fall into one of your traps. Now that you've said this, I feel much more at ease."
Yujia hummed softly. "I feel even more relieved, because you will never deceive me again!"
‘What's she implying—that I'm such a terrible person?’ He chuckled awkwardly, waved at Yujia, and walked away.
From a distance, Hu Bugui peeked out from a bush, squinting cautiously in their direction. "Why did General Lin leave so abruptly? Did he manage to persuade her?"
"When has Brother Lin ever failed?" Old Gao retorted, glaring at him. "Didn't you see? His personal consolation moved Yueya'er to tears."
Moved to tears? Hu Bugui's eyes widened in surprise.
From afar, Yujia sat on the ground, serene and elegant. Her face bore a touching smile, and the mist rising occasionally in her eyes resembled colorful soap bubbles under the setting sun—both poignant and beautiful.
"Sister, why do you think humans have hearts?" Lin Wanrong suddenly sighed as they sat side by side on the hillside, looking at the setting sun casting its golden rays over the prairie.
The thief's questions were always strange, sometimes unanswerable, sometimes not. Even the Fairy, sharp as she was, didn't know how to respond. She brushed her hair, which danced in the wind, and smiled, saying, "Trees have roots, people have hearts. It's a gift from Heaven, something to be grateful for. Why question it?"
"No, that's not it," Lin Wanrong shook his head. "If you ask me, Heaven gave us hearts to make us endure suffering."
The Fairy frowned. "Suffering? Do elaborate."
Lin Wanrong sighed deeply. "With hearts come both joy and sorrow. A person's life is spent oscillating between these emotions—crying, laughing, a mix of sadness and happiness. Isn't that suffering? Adding up all the hearts in the world, it's hard to say whether joy outweighs sorrow or vice versa."
His words were so profound! Ning Yuxi looked stunned for a moment but then burst into laughter. "How can hearts be added together? You're just making things complicated, talking about joy and sorrow. Isn't it all about Yujia?"
"Absolutely not. I swear on my lofty character," Lin Wanrong hurriedly waved his hands, swearing solemnly.
The Fairy sighed in resignation, gently unsheathed her treasured sword, and let its gleaming blade dance briefly before him. "First, wipe that mess off your face," she chided. "This isn't something you can just bring out with a bit of sadness or joy."
Reflected clearly on the blade was his face, where a faint lipstick mark stood out like a crescent moon at the edge of the sky—distinct, beautiful, and alluring.
"Eh!" Lin Wanrong hurriedly covered his face, letting out a startled cry. "Where did this come from? How did I not notice? Old Hu and the others are so disloyal. I was ambushed, and they didn't even come to my rescue. Ah, ah, Sister, don't stab me—I get it, it must have been Yujia's doing. I curse my own carelessness for not noticing!"
"Whoosh!" Ning Yuxi swiftly launched a silver needle from her hand, embedding it into a tree trunk before them. The Fairy smiled, "Why would I stab you? Junior Sister An once said that silver needles stored in a pouch will become moldy. They need to be aired out to keep their sharpness. I don’t know if she’s right or not."
"Yes, yes, that makes sense." Lin Wanrong hastily wiped the sweat off his forehead.
"You," the Fairy poked him irritably on his forehead, "are such a dishonest man! If Junior Sister An were here, you'd have suffered a lot. She does exactly what she says."
Mention of An Biru brought a smile to Lin Wanrong’s face as the thought of her sly and teasing expression danced before his eyes. "Sister, don't worry about me. I can fight back, too. I recently learned a new skill called the Dragon Claw Technique, which is specialized for grabbing lingerie—oh, I mean breaking internal martial arts. It can overcome any defense and break any attack. When we have some free time, I can spar with you so that we both can improve."
Knowing what he meant by "grabbing lingerie," Ning Yuxi blushed and spat out a soft "tsk." Distracted by his antics, she couldn't bring herself to scold him. After a moment of silence, she sighed, "I was listening while you were talking earlier. That Yujia probably does have feelings for you."
"Maybe not," Lin Wanrong cautiously responded. "That young lady isn't easy to deal with. Her actions are a mix of truth and deception; suddenly being so open, who knows if she’s just putting on a show? To be honest, Sister, I'm actually a bit afraid of her."
"That's what's called 'once bitten by a snake, one is scared all his life of even a rope,'" Ning Yuxi said with a smile. "Don't worry, in a couple of days when the Sheep-Snatching Competition begins and we overthrow the Khan of the Turks, you won't have to see her anymore."
"That's what I was thinking—never seeing her again," Lin Wanrong agreed solemnly. He stared at the setting sun, his feelings beyond words.
‘As if I'd believe you!’ The Fairy scoffed silently in her mind. However, seeing the exhaustion on his face, her heart softened, and she didn't want to talk about anything else. The two clung to each other, their shadows blending into the enormous setting sun, forever inseparable.
...
"Charge!"
"Charge!"
On the vast grasslands, hoofbeats echoed in waves, now near, now far. Groups of horsemen galloped across the open field, an impressive force to behold. Judging by their numbers, there were thousands.
What was odd, however, was that these thousands of nomads had divided themselves into horsemen units of varying sizes. The largest groups comprised seventy to eighty riders, while the smallest contained a mere dozen or so. These units kept a considerable distance from one another—no less than two miles—and operated independently, rushing and charging in formation. At times, they would gather; at others, disperse, as if practicing some kind of tactical arrangement. Countless white tents, like an endless layer of clouds, gradually spread across the dark green plains.
Another wave of hoofbeats sounded. Dozens of black dots swept across the ground like a gust of wind.
Despite the distance and the falling night, none of the nomads even bothered to lift their heads for a glance. They were engrossed in their own drills.
In the twilight, a dozen or so strong Turkic horses galloped swiftly toward them. The riders wore broad nomadic attire, their bodies hugging their horse's backs as they raced through the winds, like arrows ready to be released from their bows. The occasional glimpses of their bearded faces carried a faint yet intense murderous aura.
As the night settled, the plains were full of such fast horses. Each tribe minded its own business, paying no heed to this group of a dozen riders.
"Whoa—" The leader of the pack expertly reined in his horse, and the Turkic steed slowed its pace. He turned to address the man behind him, "General, we must proceed cautiously. We're only six miles away from Kyzil."
"Six miles?" Lin Wanrong pulled down his Turkic robe, revealing his covered face. His eyes rolled vigilantly as he surveyed the surroundings. "Who are these nomads, all clustered in groups? There are hundreds of them! They're only six miles from Kyzil, why don't they go into the city?"
Ever since receiving the first report from Xu Zhen yesterday, and the second one earlier this afternoon, Lu Dongzan's army of a hundred thousand had already marched over ninety miles. Lin Wanrong, the general filled with pent-up energy, had ordered a rapid advance. The cavalry of the Great Hua had already reached the outskirts of Kyzil, as close as forty miles to the Turkic Royal Court. They could even feel the breath of the nomads.
At this critical moment, when even a spark could ignite a major conflict, Lin Wanrong was no longer content to rely solely on scout reports. Without personally assessing the situation in Kyzil, he was ill at ease. That's why he and Hu Bugui had ventured out under the cover of dusk to scout.
"So there are hundreds of groups!" Hu Bugui stifled a laugh. "General, these are the elite warriors from various tribes who've come to participate in the Sheep Snatching Competition. The grand event on this plain takes place the day after tomorrow. Why would they go into the city now, when they can use this last opportunity to practice?"
"These are all here for the Sheep Snatching Competition?" Lin Wanrong exclaimed, amazed. Among the galloping troops on the grassland, spirited horses sprinted like lightning, and the riders performed incredible acrobatics, twisting and turning, leaping and bounding with such skill that they appeared to be one with their horses.
Hu Bugui nodded, "Yes. Each of these horse units represents the elite from a Turkic tribe. Look, they even have their own flags."
As expected, among the vast array of tents and encampments, various flags fluttered in the wind—eagle flags, fox flags, rabbit flags. Each tribe had its own unique emblem. Lin Wanrong chuckled and pointed to a tent in the distance. "Ah, even a sparrow flag? These nomads are really imaginative!"
Hu Bugui glanced over and saw a small bird painted on the flag, proudly soaring with its head held high. He couldn't help himself, "General, that, um, that's not a sparrow."
"Not a sparrow?" Lin Wanrong furrowed his brows. "Could it be a dove? Have we come to the plains only to find that even the doves have undergone some sort of genetic mutation? A sparrow would be better!"
Hu Bugui's face flushed red. "General, it's neither a sparrow nor a dove. That bird is called a skylark—the one known for its song. The skylark flag symbolizes that the tribe is nimble and good at singing and dancing."
"Ah, a skylark," Lin Wanrong groaned, disgruntled. "The nomads' drawing skills are so poor, I'm being generous just by not mistaking it for a fly!"
Before he could finish speaking, a wave of excited shouts emanated from the "fly" tribe. Everyone hurriedly turned their gaze. In the tribe's cavalry, ten magnificent horses galloped like the wind. A nomad clung to a horse's back, half-suspended under its belly. The gallant steed had neither saddle nor stirrups and sped along like the wind. The rider effortlessly spun under the horse's belly and reappeared on the other side. He executed three 360-degree rotations, moving in and out from under the horse's belly three times without a hitch. His movements were clean and graceful. The onlooking nomads erupted in applause, filled with envy.
Lin Wanrong blinked in disbelief. ‘Damn, he turned three full circles while clutching the mare. Isn't he dizzy? What a waste if he doesn't go and dance the tango!’
As far as horsemanship was concerned, Lin Wanrong, who had experienced countless life-or-death situations on horseback, was skilled. However, compared to these nomads, he felt lacking. Even though they were enemies, no one could deny the admirable horsemanship of these people.
"Let's avoid this skylark tribe when we're doing our sheep-snatching," Lin Wanrong muttered after some thought.
Hu Bugui nodded in agreement. Before he could speak further, rapid horn blasts and angry shouts rang out from another direction. Turning their heads, they saw hundreds of horses, like furious whirlwinds, sweep across the plains.
A blood-soaked sheep's head was occasionally tossed into the air, landing far in the distance. Hundreds of nomads recklessly charged forward, brandishing their scimitars without mercy at their fellow tribesmen. Both sides were divided into two factions, fighting fiercely over the sheep's head. Whoever managed to seize it was in for the worst.
Lin Wanrong stared, astonished. "You use blades for sheep-snatching? What on Earth is this, sheep-snatching or sheep-slaughtering?"
"Of course we use blades," Hu Bugui chuckled. "General, you haven't seen this sort of sheep-snatching competition, so it's natural you don't understand. Allow me to explain. In these events, they don't actually snatch the sheep's head. Before the competition, the nomads slaughter several fat sheep, remove their heads and hooves, and soak the bodies in water. They also fill the sheep's stomachs with water to make the carcass more robust, so it won't tear during the competition."
Lin Wanrong nodded, trying to comprehend. "Then what's the blade for? To cut sheep?"
Old Hu shook his head. "Not to cut sheep, but to fight people. When the Sheep Snatching Competition begins, the Turks select a person to issue commands. He places a sheep at the center of the prairie. Each participating team consists of anywhere from a few dozen to hundreds of men, each man astride a tall horse. They all start at an equal distance from the sheep. Upon a single command, the teams sprint toward the sheep. There are roles within each team: those who charge, those who cover, and those who block. Whether you use a blade or a spear, as long as you can grab the sheep from the opponent and reach the destination first, you are the victor."
A shiver ran down Lin Wanrong's spine. This wasn't a Sheep Snatching Competition; it was more like a Battle Royale. The Turks were certainly a unique breed—brutish, yet the game they devised was more thrilling than rugby, tinged with a brutal edge.
"However," Old Hu continued, "the Turks aren't foolish enough to injure themselves. Fighters wear masks to prevent personal grievances. The weapons they bring are blunt—what we'd call dull blades. They're checked beforehand to make sure they won't kill anyone; at most, you'll lose an arm or a leg. And what we're witnessing here is just a practice round. The real festival is far more intense."
‘A dull blade is still a blade,’ Lin Wanrong thought, feeling his stomach drop. This festival was not a game. Losing his life in a Turkic game of sheep snatching would make him the laughingstock of the Empire.
"Old Hu, after giving it some thought," Lin Wanrong said gravely, "if we have to participate in this Sheep Snatching Festival, we should choose that skylark team. Comparing them to these guys with large blades, they're all style and no substance."
His words drew a hearty laugh from everyone present. They all knew if anyone was weak, it was themselves.
"Old Hu, how do we register?"
Old Hu shook his head slightly. "No need to register. This festival is all about being ready for battle at any time. Any victor must be prepared to fight challengers unconditionally, no matter how many rounds they've already fought. Of course, defeated tribes lose the right to challenge, and those challenging must fight at least three rounds to qualify. This is why the winners of the Sheep Snatching Competition are the true warriors of the plains. That's why all the tribes send their elite here."
The Turks were indeed ferocious. The warriors selected this way truly deserved people's respect. Lin Wanrong hummed in agreement. "Since we have to go to this Sheep Snatching Competition anyway, let's not worry about it for now. Old Hu, let's continue our reconnaissance and head towards Kyzil."
"We can't, it's too dangerous ahead!" No sooner had Hu Bugui spoken, when the earth began to tremble intensely. Dust clouds billowed in the distance as a dense formation of Turkic cavalry, like a raging flood, charged toward them.
