Duan Xinghui was aware that some soldiers among them harbored impure motives. However, he thought it was only natural for a group of men to behave lustfully when a woman was in their midst.
He had approached her out of concern, yet she had the audacity to accuse him of hoping something would happen to her.
Duan Xinghui was seething with frustration. He had only been worried about her—why did she regard him with such suspicion?
Princess Jiahui's attitude toward him had changed so abruptly. It made the time when she had admired him feel like nothing more than a fleeting dream.
Embarrassed by their exchange, Duan Xinghui turned his horse around and rode back to Grand Marshal Shen Feng's side. The army pressed on, advancing steadily.
After several days of marching, Ning Shu began to find the journey increasingly arduous. Nearly ten days in, her thighs had become raw from constant friction. Unable to endure the pain any longer, she crafted soft cushions, sewing them together and tying them to her legs for relief.
Meanwhile, some of the soldiers grew bolder, testing Ning Shu's boundaries. The more audacious among them even entertained the vile notion of treating Princess Jiahui as a comfort woman.
When Ning Shu discovered this, she responded with a cold, disdainful laugh. She then delivered merciless beatings to anyone who dared approach her tent, regardless of their identity.
Her violent reputation eventually deterred most of the soldiers. Few dared to wander near her tent, even if their presence was innocent. The area around her tent soon resembled a dead zone, which Ning Shu found entirely satisfactory. To her, these men were scum who only understood fear when it was beaten into them.
As the march continued, the scenery grew increasingly bleak. Vast fields lay untended, with crops trampled beyond recognition.
The Huns and Tartars viewed the citizens living on Great Yong's border as sheep to be shorn. They would raid the area whenever they felt the need to "harvest." Even in the harsh winter months, when there were no grains to steal, they still came to plunder.
Ning Shu seethed with rage. The Huns and Tartars were strong and capable, yet they chose robbery over honest labor.
Grand Marshal Shen Feng also appeared troubled. Stroking his graying beard as he surveyed the land, he sighed. "Life is truly harsh for the citizens at the border."
Yet even Shen Feng had not seen the full extent of the horrors. He had yet to witness the suffering of those captured by the Tartars, who were reduced to sickly, malnourished slaves. These unfortunate souls were forced to toil under brutal conditions while their captors drank and lashed them for amusement.
Fury burned in Ning Shu's heart, and she felt an overwhelming urge to charge straight into battle against the Huns.
As they neared the border, the soldiers' spirits grew heavier. The desolation of the villages was palpable, with most homes abandoned or sparsely inhabited. The closer they got, the more pronounced the desertification became.
Shen Feng chose a remote village as their campsite. The inhabitants were mostly the elderly, the sick, and impoverished children. Their scant clothing was no match for the bitter cold, leaving their lips tinged with purple.
When the villagers saw the approaching troops, their faces filled with fear and despair. Although these soldiers did not wear the attire of the Huns, the villagers still trembled.
It was common for armies to seize provisions as they passed through villages, so the villagers' distress was understandable.
Feeling sympathy for them, Ning Shu approached Shen Feng. "Marshal, I think it would be better if we didn't enter the village. Let's avoid disturbing the citizens."
Seeing the villagers' fear, Shen Feng nodded. He gave the order to set up camp near the village instead. Additionally...