Chapter Thirty-Nine: The Grand Memorial Ceremony
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The summer of the Great Xia Kingdom belonged to the subtropical rainforest climate. Mornings were the most stifling. Ye Feng wore heavy armor beneath and mourning clothes over it, standing atop the review platform in the military parade ground, his mood weighed down with sorrow. Behind him stood a spirit hall, rows upon rows filled with memorial tablets.
His undergarments were already soaked in sweat, clinging to his skin with an unbearable itch. Above, the blazing sun cast searing rays, so bright he could barely open his eyes. Raising a hand to shield himself, he gazed at the center of the field, where a bamboo pole’s shadow grew longer, inching slowly toward the marker for sunrise.
Without further delay, he drew a command arrow from the case held by a nearby soldier and tossed it out. At the same time, he shouted with stern authority, “Roll call!”
The soldiers present, all dressed in mourning attire, stood in neat ranks. Hearing his command, they hurried to report their names.
“Zhang San!”
“Li Si!”
“Wang Wu!”
…
Each voice rang out louder than the last, and soon the roll call was complete.
“Report! First roll call concluded. All soldiers present except Xu Zhihui!”
Ye Feng’s thick brows tightened as he thought: Brother Xu, yesterday you openly challenged me, and I let it pass. Today, you’ve missed three roll calls—don’t blame me if military law shows no mercy!
He replied, “Roll call again. If you’re absent at sunrise, you’ll be dealt with according to regulations!”
The second roll call finished quickly, but Xu Zhihui still did not appear.
The third roll call passed, and still no sign of Xu Zhihui!
Ye Feng’s brows knit ever tighter. He thought: So, Brother Xu, you’re giving me a warning, are you? Today is my first day as Deputy Commander—if I don’t take action against you, none will respect me henceforth!
With that, he calmed himself and announced loudly, “The memorial ceremony begins now!”
Immediately, mournful music filled the air. Murong Yan stepped forward to a spirit hall, knelt on the ground. Her face was flushed, beads of sweat dotting her forehead and nose, making her appear even more delicate and charming.
Behind her, officers of all ranks formed lines and knelt as well.
An officiant recited the memorial text: “Alas! Our brave soldiers who went to their deaths for righteousness, moved heaven and earth, their deeds shining as bright as sun and moon, worthy of honor…”
The memorial text was written by Ye Feng himself—every word was blood, every line tears, every sentence vengeance, every paragraph hate.
The air was filled with sobs, their cries shaking the heavens.
Following the ceremony, representatives took the stage—comrades, family members, parents, wives, and children of the fallen.
Their words stirred tears, soldiers wiping their eyes, blowing their noses, clenching fists, gritting teeth.
In the midst of this grief and outrage,
A figure staggered through the gate of the parade ground.
Ye Feng looked up—it was Xu Zhihui!
Fury surged within him.
“Seize him and bring him here!” he commanded.
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At Ye Feng’s command, the guards rushed forward, grabbed Xu Zhihui by the shoulders, bound his arms behind his back, and dragged him before Ye Feng.
“Who goes there?!”
Xu Zhihui was dead drunk. He raised his head, struggled to focus his bleary eyes on Ye Feng, and cursed, “L-l-little brat, y-y-you don’t even recognize your Uncle Xu?!”
He promptly closed his eyes and began snoring.
Ye Feng was infuriated and resentful. He bellowed, “Xu Zhihui, how dare you! Absent from three roll calls, drunk and disorderly at my memorial ceremony—this is a capital offense! Take him out and behead him!”
The soldiers dragged him out like a dead dog.
“Wait!” came a loud shout.
Ye Feng turned to look—it was Murong Yan!
She now wore a gleaming iron helmet adorned with pheasant feathers, commander’s armor, tiger-head boots, and a mourning robe over all, her commanding presence tinged with a delicate beauty.
As the saying goes: mourning attire suits the beautiful.
With this ensemble, countless hearts would be lost.
Xu Zhihui heard the shout, looked up, and saw her approaching in a hazy blur, her beauty heightened by the drunken mist. He exclaimed, “S-s-sister Yan, y-y-you’re so beautiful!”
But the liquor overwhelmed him, and he dropped his head, falling back into a drunken sleep.
“Deputy Commander Ye, you see, General Xu was momentarily confused—he drank too much and violated military discipline. Since it’s his first offense, spare his life!” Murong Yan bowed, pleading with Ye Feng.
Ye Feng’s face was dark, shaking his head repeatedly. “Commander, as the saying goes: without rules, nothing can be accomplished. Today, Xu Zhihui broke the rules—if the law isn’t enforced, more soldiers will break discipline. Surely, as a commander, you understand this?”
Murong Yan continued to plead, “Deputy Commander Ye, I know this principle. But General Xu is my senior disciple—I can’t bear to see you execute him. Please, for my sake, show him mercy!”
Ye Feng’s expression grew darker. He took the commander’s seal from the hands of a nearby soldier and said coldly, “Very well. In that case, Commander, please reclaim the deputy commander’s seal and take sole charge of the matter.”
Murong Yan thought, Brother Feng, you’re putting me in a difficult spot! Once the seal is given, there’s no taking it back! Ah, I’ll have to humble myself and plead again.
Her eyes reddened, tears streaming down her face. She pleaded softly, “Brother Feng, Xu Zhihui and I grew up together—I’ve always regarded him as family. Since Brother Leopard died, only he and our master are left to me. Please, spare him—let him live!”
Ye Feng hesitated at her words.
In truth, after Murong Leopard’s death, Ye Feng had blamed himself, thinking that had he patrolled the camp a bit later or chased after them sooner, Murong Leopard and Wang Erbao might not have died so easily. He regretted the rash attack that followed, leading to defeat.
Now, with Murong Yan mentioning Leopard again and tears streaming down her face, Ye Feng’s heart softened further.
Seeing his hesitation, Murong Yan pleaded, “If not, punish Xu Zhihui severely—teach him a lesson!”
Ye Feng finally nodded. “Take Xu Zhihui out and flog him with a hundred strokes!”
The soldiers dragged Xu Zhihui out and gave him a severe beating.
He sobered up, his backside torn, his voice hoarse from shouting.
Murong Yan thought: This won’t do—such a beating will cripple my brother. I’ll have to humble myself and plead again.
She approached Ye Feng once more and pleaded softly, “Brother Feng, my brother has been punished enough—any more and he’ll die. Please, spare his life and let him redeem himself with merit!”
Ye Feng looked at Xu Zhihui, then at Murong Yan. Seeing Xu Zhihui weakly begging for mercy, his anger faded. Murong Yan’s tear-stained face moved him. He waved his hand: “Fine, fine—spare him!”
The soldiers carried Xu Zhihui away.
He was badly injured, needing more than a month to recover.
Xu Zhihui had always thought Ye Feng was gentle and accommodating, easy to bully. Today, he deliberately got drunk and missed roll call to embarrass him.
He never expected Ye Feng, despite his modest demeanor, to be decisive and fair, and today, having crossed Ye Feng’s line, he suffered a bitter loss.
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From that day on, Xu Zhihui bore a deep grudge against Ye Feng, scheming for revenge.
But that is a story for another time. For now, back to the memorial ceremony after Xu Zhihui’s departure.
Murong Yan watched as Xu Zhihui was carried away, then stepped onto the platform.
“Soldiers!” she called loudly, “Today, I have gathered you in batches for one purpose: to honor the souls of our fallen comrades!”
She continued, “Recently, our army suffered defeat—five thousand dead, more than ten thousand wounded. It was my fault. I am prepared to resign and let Ye Feng take command. Yet he has repeatedly refused!”
Ye Feng hurried forward, cupping his hands. “Commander, victory and defeat are common in war. Your words humble me—I dare not accept such honor!”
Murong Yan offered a sad smile. “At last, Ye Feng agreed to be deputy commander, assisting me in leading the army.”
Ye Feng interjected, “Commander, now is not the time for such words.”
He addressed the soldiers below: “Today’s memorial ceremony was my suggestion—to pay tribute to our fallen heroes. I want every one of you to know: our heroes did not die in vain. Blood will be repaid with blood!”
Murong Yan raised her fist and shouted, “Blood will be repaid with blood!”
Among the soldiers below, some had lost comrades and loved ones in that battle. Hearing her words, their eyes reddened, fists clenched, teeth gritted as they cried out, “Blood will be repaid with blood!”
Ye Feng felt his blood surge and raised his arm to shout, “Turn grief into strength—avenge our heroes!”
The crowd echoed as one: “Turn grief into strength—avenge our heroes!”
“Slay the demon soldiers!”
“Slay the demon soldiers!”
“Justice will prevail!”
“Justice will prevail!”
…
Each slogan rang louder than the last, echoing over the parade ground.
For several days, the city’s defenders took turns participating in the memorial ceremony. The soldiers were deeply moved, filled with love for the people and hatred for the demon soldiers. Whenever they went into battle, they fought fearlessly, courageously leading the charge, their combat strength vastly increased, forming a true iron army.
The demon soldiers found no advantage—each attack on the city ended in disaster. Those far from the walls were felled by arrows, those close by crushed by stones, their losses devastating.
Even their Flying Eagle Corps and Earth Burrow Troops suffered heavy casualties, achieving nothing.
The ferocious Meng Ke Beast raged daily beneath the city walls, cursing loudly, but dared not approach. For when he drew near, a hail of arrows rained down—no matter how many hands or how swift, he could not ward them off.
Yet this was not a long-term solution. Supplies within the city would eventually run out, and a decisive battle outside the walls would be unavoidable.
But in such a battle, the enemy was strong and they were weak—the outcome uncertain.
Thus, Ye Feng wore a constant frown, pondering strategies to defeat the foe.
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