"A thousand, two thousand of us will all be killed."
"The people at the top are not like us."
Li Guanyi looked at the irascible Western Regions samurai, knowing that Batur’s rage and painful anger were not actually directed at him. Batur wanted to persuade this young merchant from the Central Plains, but the merchant simply polished the simple spear in his hand and said:
"We Central Plains people have an old saying."
"It’s called, ’Are generals and ministers born destined?’"
"Were emperors and generals only passed down through bloodlines?"
Those words pierced Batur’s heart like a sword. The rules of the Western Regions, like an invisible shackle, had bound every person for centuries. He roared angrily: "What do you know?! Don’t we want to go?"
"But, what about the old and weak?"
"I’ve seen people who wanted to resist, watched them beaten to death, their bodies hung as desiccated corpses in the desert sun. Their tribes were slaughtered, old men beheaded, young girls taken away. We can only conform to this rule."
A sharp sound resounded as the rough spear was placed at Batur’s neck.
The cold touch of the weapon clashed with the heat of furious blood, sending a shiver through Batur’s body. Along the weapon, he saw the calm, starry eyes of the Central Plains man.
"Then, start resisting now."
The person said, as if his words held an indescribable charm, making hearts race for a moment. Then he released the weapon from his hand.
"As for you, do as you wish."
In Batur’s eyes, that young man from the Central Plains said:
"Saatanati called me Tian Ge’er."
"I know that legend is of a hero bestowed by heaven, but you seem too familiar with the story, forgetting that Tian Ge’er was a man from your lands who climbed the Holy Mountain alone and only became a hero after descending."
"You yourselves are your own Tian Ge’er."
The young man from the Central Plains released the weapon.
"Our people will set out after a while."
"You may stick to the existing rules or settle your people and come with us."
"I’ll lead you to victory."
He walked past Batur, the Western Regions warrior like an angry gray wolf breathing heavily, watching the crude, ancient spear as thoughts rose, struggled, and changed in his mind.
About a quarter of an hour later, Li Guanyi had 113 horse-mounted warriors behind him, dressed in the tribe’s attire, with sabers at their waists, and holding tightly to bows used for hunting to feed their tribesmen.
Li Guanyi looked upon these struggling faces at the bottom of the Western Regions, saying no inspiring words, just:
"I will be with you, to rescue Saatanati and the others." ʀᴇᴀᴅ ʟᴀᴛᴇsᴛ ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀs ᴀᴛ NoveI-Fire.ɴet
Lei Laomeng had found the way ahead, saying: "Don’t worry, their horses are far better than those of Saatanati and his group, plus they have cars, they won’t move fast, I’ve basically pinpointed the direction."
"The old Gongsun and others will stay here, protecting the people with the Mechanical Car."
Batur still asked: "Why are you doing this for us?"
Li Guanyi, with a playful tone, replied:
"Because I came from the sky."
"You once cheered calling me—"
While on the road, they encountered a tribe of over 500 people, their expressions sorrowful, carrying a sense of despair and helplessness. Upon inquiry, they said they too were plundered by roaming nobles.
Such people are many along this road.
This is no coincidence; every spring, when God’s Flying Eagle hovers over the land once more, and the snow on the snowy mountains melts, rivers begin to flow, these tribes without fixed dwellings start following the rivers, chasing the water, heading towards the city.
Exchanging that year’s harvest for the resources necessary for the tribe’s survival.
Just like the melting of spring rivers in the Central Plains, among the Western Regions people, every spring, tribes follow the rivers, similar to the swallows of the Central Plains migrating in spring and autumn, a common knowledge even children taller than a cart wheel know.
Lei Laomeng distributed some hemostatic medicine to them.
Batur, gripping his weapon, asked: "Brothers of the desert, in your sorrow, where are you headed?"
The people of the tribe replied: "Brothers under the sky, we have lost our sisters, wandering here, unsure of whom to sell our harvest of game, or to whom to gift bought needles and thread. But you wielding swords and spears, riding horses, where are you going?"
Batur remained silent for a moment, then answered: "To revenge."
"To rescue our sisters."
The warriors of that tribe were stunned, looking at the Central Plains man leading ahead, asking: "Are you following this man? Who is he?"
Batur was silent for a moment, realizing only then that he did not know the name of the young man riding in front, wanting to casually say he didn’t know. But looking around at the brothers pressing their lips,
he could only adjust his sand-concealing headscarf, answering:
The clan leader of the opposite tribe was astonished: "Tian Ge’er, is it that Tian Ge’er?"
As the horses’ hooves struck the earth, the sound was crisp, the wind blowing sand, weapons clashing with scabbards, producing sounds like the clearest camel bells in the Western desert, like the beginning of a legend, like the prologue of an epic tale.