There was a ripping sound.

The arrow had gone clean through Shanben Junjie's helmet.

The helmet Shanben Junjie wore was leather, not iron.

Qu Lang was aghast. If Shanben Junjie was dead, what account could he give the Yuan Emperor?

Shanben Junjie's body was rigid, his eyes fixed, no blood left in his face.

Then beads of sweat the size of beans came rolling down his cheeks. He shook like chaff in a sieve, his legs gave out under him, and he went down on the floor.

Everyone was taken aback. He isn't dead?

Ning Chen himself froze.

He raised his hand and looked at it, then shook his head and laughed in spite of himself.

He had overestimated Shanben Junjie's height.

"So there are advantages to being short after all."

Ning Chen threw the words over his shoulder, turned and left.

Ning Chen went back to the camp.

"General Ning, what is to be done with the prisoners?"

It was Yuan Long who asked.

Ning Chen thought about it. "Take them up before the city and behead them where the whole city can watch... Tell them that if they do not surrender, this is how it ends."

"Yes!"

Yuan Long took the order and went.

Lone Stride had been asleep on the cushion behind the low table. Hearing Ning Chen's voice, it opened its eyes, came hopping over and rubbed its head against Ning Chen's leg.

"Hungry again? You really can put it away."

Yuan Long took the Zhaohe soldiers out to the open ground in front of the city. Heads rolled, and the blood ran like a river.

The soldiers on the wall turned deathly pale.

Shanben Junjie stormed up and down, shouting that he would take Ning Chen's head in revenge — and none of it made the slightest difference.

Four thousand-odd Zhaohe soldiers were killed, every one of them, not one left, and the bodies were heaped up.

Qu Lang's face was white.

He told his deputy to keep a close watch and went with Shanben Junjie to see Prince Rui.

But they did not so…