Lady Daxi had indeed been captured alive. Blind Bei was a fine opportunist. Zheng Fan had noticed this during a lunch at a tavern in Hutou City, where Blind Bei, like Zheng Fan himself, had delicately extracted the marrow from a lamb bone with his chopsticks and then slowly sipped it.
Their eyes t briefly at that mont, and each of them seed to blush for a fleeting instant.
From that mont on, Zheng Fan recognized that he and Blind Bei were cut from the sa cloth.
Of course, one would typically say a son resembles his father, not the other way around. In this instance, however, it was Blind Bei who was akin to him.
Given the chance, Blind Bei preferred to capture his targets alive. This was apparent from the mont they launched their assault on Lady Daxi; Blind Bei’s first target, surprisingly, had been Lady Daxi’s horse.
Zheng Fan didn’t dare to ask if horses were targeted because they were less intelligent and thus easier to control ntally.
In any case, by the ti Zheng Fan and Liang Cheng arrived, Lady Daxi was already bound on the ground. Siniang had bound her with her needle and thread, creating bonds stronger than any chain.
To break free, she would have to sever her own tendons—a form of torture so cruel that even if soone with imnse willpower managed it, they would be crippled, eliminating any concern of them escaping.
Behind Lady Daxi, over two hundred local soldiers had been captured after laying down their arms.
The worldview of these local soldiers was simple. They weren’t afraid to fight, possessing a ferocity rarely seen in the common folk of other nations.
However, if you could prove you were braver, fiercer, and could inflict more pain, their surrender was just as swift.
Initially, the cavalryn from Green Willow Fortress, in their bloodthirsty frenzy, would have slaughtered all two hundred if Blind Bei, after capturing Lady Daxi, hadn’t ordered so to be spared.
No one was particularly opposed or surprised by this order. The barbarian soldiers, brainwashed by Blind Bei, only knew to obey. The soldiers from noble houses, however, could think for themselves. Everyone understood that these surviving local soldiers would eventually beco bloody trophies, hung from their belts or saddles.
After all, they had infiltrated past the Qian State’s border this ti; how could they possibly take prisoners back with them?
Horses were available, but even if these local soldiers didn’t try to escape and were willing to follow them to Yan State as captives, the question remained: could they even ride?
After dispatching so sentry riders, everyone else began to tend to their wounds under Liang Cheng’s orders.
A Ming pulled out the arrows embedded in his body. To be honest, he’d beco quite accustod to it. After all, his lord had shot at him daily for a month. Sotis, to please his lord, if an arrow was off-target, he would deliberately move into its path to be hit.
This ’training’ had made him quite adept at shielding his comrades from arrows during the siege in the city.
As a vampire, a few arrows wouldn’t kill him as long as his head was unhard. Of course, the wounds would still affect his strength and hinder his subsequent actions.
But those weren’t concerns for the dire situation they had just faced in the city. Siniang’s needle and thread began to move rapidly, stitching up the holes in A Ming’s body.
"Don’t we have any of those threads that dissolve on their own?" A Ming complained.
His wounds healed much faster than an ordinary person’s, which ant the threads would easily beco embedded in his flesh. He’d have to cut himself open again later to remove them.
He was a vampire, yes, but no vampire he knew enjoyed the hobby of, ’Hello everyone, I’m a vampire, and I love stabbing myself for fun!’
Siniang replied, "We could try making so thread from intestines, but it might not be very strong."
"Forget it, forget I asked."
A Ming conceded.
Siniang moved on to Fanli, who was seated on the ground. Liang Cheng stood behind Fanli, gripping the arrows and pulling them out one by one.
He briefly inspected the arrowheads, confirming they weren’t poisoned or coated with filth, then signaled Siniang to begin suturing.
Siniang laughed as her fingers deftly manipulated the needle and thread, stitching Fanli’s wounds. "I truly never imagined I’d end up being a surgeon in this life."
Fanli rely grinned foolishly and nodded.
"I never thought I’d be leading an army in this lifeti either," Liang Cheng said.
Siniang said, "We’re still not strong enough. If we hadn’t gotten out of the city when we did, we might have all perished in there, don’t you think?"
A Ming took a swig from his waterskin and quipped, "This world is just like that. No matter how skilled a martial artist you are, you still fear a kitchen knife. If one isn’t enough, a sky full of them will still crush you to death."
He then deftly wiped the red from his lips with his tongue. So many people had died, their bodies still warm; it would be a waste not to drink. Drinking blood here didn’t cause him any psychological burden.
Liang Cheng remarked, "It’s actually quite good. Perhaps Qi cultivators or Daoist practitioners might have longer lifespans. As for martial artists, their lifespan is that of an ordinary person. When they get old, their qi and blood decline, and they still die of old age or sickness."
"What’s good about that?" Siniang asked.
"What I an is, the level of martial power in this world isn’t overly exaggerated. It can be considered a high-martial world, but it’s ultimately different from those cultivation-focused worlds."
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