Yanmen Pass, early morning.
The rising sun burned like a blazing fire, dyeing the city walls in a coat of gold. Xia Huai'an walked up the city tower, stepping over shattered bricks and mortar. His boot soles ground against dried blood, making a faint, rustling sound. Along the ramparts, the defenders either leaned against the battlements to catch their breath or slumped in corners to bandage their wounds. Every face was etched with exhaustion and despair.
The north wind howled, carrying the smell of gunpowder and blood. Xia Huai'an narrowed his eyes and looked beyond the pass—there, the campfires of the Beidi grand army stretched across the plains like a sea of black clouds, burning together like the fires of hell.
Chapter 227