Chapter 1691 – Capturing Nan Sheng, Killing An Huan (Part Ninety-Nine)
Well, it’s true what they say, but after returning home, not many could still find the mood to hit the snooze button.
Tomorrow’s battle was crucial—a fantastic opportunity for everyone to snatch the glory and beef up their credentials; nobody wanted to miss out on that!
Just imagining it filled me with excitement—there was no way anyone could sleep now.
Not just them; the captured An Huan and his companions also tossed and turned all night, anxious about their uncertain future.
Looking dismal and downcast, they resembled lost puppies.
“How does Liu Xi plan to deal with us tomorrow?”
Everyone had that thought gnawing at their minds.
Nobody wanted to die, but the executioner’s blade was in the enemy’s hands, and they were helpless.
“What’s there to be afraid of? Worst case, we just die once! What does a true man fear from life and death?” A more hot-tempered big man puffed up his chest and declared, “I’ve heard of Liu Xi’s bloody reputation. If we don’t surrender, we’re practically signing our own death warrants. If we do surrender, we’ll spend the rest of our lives groveling and flattering that person. This kind of humiliation isn’t worth living for! You lot are just scared of death; go ahead and submit if you want!”
Hearing this, the faces of the crowd turned ashen.
Were they frightened by the big man’s words, or angered by them?
One person spoke up, “Is Liu Xi truly that tyrannical? If we don’t submit, can’t we just return home? Does she really want to kill us in a fit of rage?”
While it was common to execute captives, not every captive was a target; scholars enjoyed certain privileges in this regard.
At most, they’d retreat into seclusion—not worth a life!
Of course, that said, these once-powerful figures, who used to play with the winds of fate, couldn’t possibly settle for peace.
The choices laid before them were pitifully limited, and they had to worry for their own necks.
In truth, many were beginning to consider surrendering—after all, working for someone was still work, right?
Whoever offered them money, power, and status was their benefactor.
If An Huan were to be defeated, switching over to the enemy would be the norm.
But, admitting that was embarrassing; the first one to say it would look fickle and untrustworthy, a man without loyalty.
Especially with how glorious the big man sounded, anyone who brought up surrendering to Jiang Pengji would become the scapegoat!
To keep things from getting too awkward, someone cleverly changed the subject.
“Our lives might be a trivial matter, but the Lord’s situation is truly grim.”
If they surrendered, there might still be room to climb the ranks.
Didn’t they see how well Huang Song and Yang Tao’s former subordinates were living under Jiang Pengji’s banner?
If An Huan surrendered, the outcome would be different; he might be bestowed the title of Marquis for appeasement, ruling over a land devoid of substantial power, with only a handful of followers. He’d end up like a pet kept by Jiang Pengji, constantly worrying for his life. What kind of dignified individual would want that?
An Huan used to be a mighty lord; he was even less likely to tolerate such a massive drop in status.
“Lord—oh, we can only blame ourselves for not being able to protect the Lord!”
They all sighed heavily, incessantly taking the blame on themselves, as if An Huan’s fall was their fault.
Their heartfelt words amounted to nothing in reality.
All this talk wouldn’t bring them any real harm; rather, it deepened the image of their loyalty—so why not enjoy it?
They weren’t foolish; they had a vague sense of what awaited An Huan.
It seemed An Huan couldn’t escape this calamity.
Nevertheless, they didn’t anticipate that Jiang Pengji’s method for dealing with An Huan would be to kill him for the sacrificial flag!
What was a sacrificial flag?
Before the army marched, they would sacrifice a living creature to honor the deities, seeking divine protection for a victorious campaign.
Jiang Pengji had always disliked superstitions and, after a decade of battles, she had hardly ever performed sacrifices, mostly using it as a way to kill enemies and boost morale instead. The living creatures she sacrificed included but weren’t limited to chickens, ducks, fish, geese, pigs, dogs, cattle, sheep, and traitorous foes. Just like during the Battle of Changye, when she captured that backstabber between her and Huang Song, she used them as sacrificial offerings. However, this was the first time she’d used such a significant figure as An Huan for the flag.
The next day, the troops gathered in formation, dragging the barely alive An Huan to the altar.
Upon seeing the setup, An Huan understood his fate, his face twisted with fury.
“Liu Xi, how dare you humiliate me like this?”
Killing a feudal lord for a sacrifice—didn’t she fear that this spectacle would spark dissatisfaction among the scholars of the realm?
Jiang Pengji placed her left hand firmly on the hilt of her sword and coldly stated, “How can this be called humiliation? You didn’t wish to surrender, but I certainly can’t let you go like an ordinary person. This outcome is not determined by me, but by the choices you made. How can you blame me for it?”
Jiang Pengji’s retaliation last night had been merciless; while the arrow hadn’t struck An Huan’s femoral artery, it had left him in agony.
Later, the medics pulled out the arrow to stop the bleeding, which made him faint from the pain.
After all that trouble, he was as good as dead.
Now, he was captured and used as a ritual offering; his spirit dwindled further, and his earlier angry retorts appeared like a transient flicker of light.
No matter how furious An Huan was, he couldn’t escape the fate of a loser.
He had his mouth stuffed with a filthy napkin, forced to kneel on the ground in a position of a criminal, presenting his pitiful self to the countless soldiers below. Meanwhile, his opponent, Jiang Pengji, stood like a queen, receiving all the admiration and loyalty bestowed upon her.
An Huan’s hands were bound behind him with hemp rope, held down by two burly men on either shoulder, forcing him to lower his typically proud head.
No matter how much he struggled, he was as immovable as a mountain.
Only the reopened wound on his thigh gushed blood—nothing more.
Time dragged on; perhaps it was half an hour, or just the time it takes to drink a cup of tea—when a blinding white light flashed before him.
On instinct, An Huan ducked his head. The white light hit his left eyelid, causing him to close it while trying to see the source of the brightness with his right eye.
It turned out to be Jiang Pengji’s dagger hanging at her waist, as the sun slowly rose in the east.
<噗——>
With a swift movement, the blade came down, and in an instant, An Huan’s head was separated from his body.
Blood gushed like a fountain, splattering across the altar and staining it a vivid crimson.
Witnessing this scene, the soldiers erupted in roars of cheers, “Liu” flags fluttering in the wind, transforming into a sea of red.
“The army is setting out; may you all return victorious!”
The officers replied, “This humble soldier vows to die rather than dishonor the mission.”
Dozens shouted in unison, the sound echoing across the training grounds, stirring a wave of bloodlust that set hearts racing. Sending this ramped-up pack of wolves against a bunch of demoralized, starving, loyal subjects was certainly not going to yield a surprising outcome.
After this battle, Jiang Pengji decisively crushed An Huan’s remaining troops of over two hundred thousand with her army of one hundred thousand, achieving a resounding victory.
The three armies continued south along the river, heading straight for An Huan’s old lair.
Two-thirds of Nan Sheng had already fallen into Jiang Pengji’s hands, with little resistance from the enemy along the route.
Word of An Huan being slain for the sacrificial flag quickly spread to his stronghold.
