Morning mist, thick as ink, shrouded Eagle Beak Cliff. The cold air, carrying grit, seeped into the gaps of the armor. Shen Mingyue stood before the main tent, her black cloak whipped by the gale. Tiny ice crystals formed on her eyelashes as she gazed at the banners flickering in the distance. The biting wind carried fine sand that sliced thin, bloody lines across her face, yet she felt nothing. Her gaze remained locked on the winding path through the valley—the "death trap" the enemy was about to enter. From inside the tent came the sounds of Gu Jinghong organizing his armor; the crisp, heavy clatter of metal struck her heart like a hammer. The Coiled Dragon Waist Token at her waist, still marked with the dark red blood from her oath of alliance with Khan Wusu, rose and fell slightly with her breathing, a reminder of the weight of that covenant.
"This battle concerns thousands of lives," Shen Mingyue murmured to herself, her nails digging deep into her palms. "There can be no mistakes." She recalled the last half-month spent traveling between the tribes: the pungent smell of blood in Khan Wusu’s tent, the scorching sun on the Tangut Tribe plateau, the spicy highland barley wine in the Uyghur Tribe... Every scene was vivid. Those grueling negotiations, those efforts made for the sake of the alliance—they now transformed into a resolute light in her eyes.
"Princess, scouts report the enemy vanguard has passed the Bluestone Pass." A personal guard, covered in frost and snow, …
Chapter 115