The west wind rages, and wild geese cry in the frosty morning moonlight.
The frosty morning moonlight, the sound of hooves clattering, the trumpets wailing:
The mighty fortress walls are as iron, yet today we stride across them from the start.
Across from the start, the gray mountains like an ocean, the setting sun like blood!
It is no exaggeration to borrow the words of a great poet to describe the tragic scene at Wujue Mountain. Just two short days had passed. The Wei Army camp under Zhang Ren stood unshaken, while thousands of corpses of the Brave Champion Army soldiers lay scattered before its gates.
They had died gruesome deaths: some riddled with arrows like hedgehogs; some decapitated; others trampled into a pulp by their own fleeing comrades. Fitting the imagery of the setting sun like blood, the earth beneath their feet had been stained deep crimson.
Chapter 154