Chapter Sixty-Six: A Baffling Victory

A flurry of frenzied blows rained down, and Wang Xiugu’s consciousness began to blur.

“Wretch, wretch…” Pang Qidi roared beside her. “Have I not treated you well? I let you live in luxury and splendor, showered you with affection, and yet you are still not content. You dared to betray me.”

If one were to set aside the blood feud, and look at things solely from the perspective of a man, Pang Qidi had indeed treated Wang Xiugu rather well—though only just reasonably so.

He shared his spoils with her, treated her as his own forbidden treasure, and never allowed any other rebel to lay a hand on her.

Pang Qidi was furious. He believed himself to have treated Wang Xiugu with utter sincerity, and yet she had betrayed him without hesitation. His rage made him merciless; as he beat her, not a trace of pity could be found.

At this moment, Wang Xiugu could not even hope to kill Pang Qidi—she couldn’t even hope to die cleanly. Death itself felt like a luxury out of reach.

It was then that a heavily painted woman sauntered up to Pang Qidi, her voice syrupy sweet: “Your Majesty, calm yourself. She’s not worth your anger!”

Wang Xiugu shot the woman, He Qiushi, a look so venomous it could have killed, had glances the power to slay.

Wang Xiugu had never shown He Qiushi any kindness; she despised the woman’s character. Though both had been seized by Pang Qidi as playthings, Wang Xiugu clung to a shred of dignity. He Qiushi, however, was as shameless as a brothel madam, currying favor with Pang Qidi and his officers, stooping to any humiliating act for their pleasure.

Pang Qidi shoved He Qiushi aside, roaring, “I’ll kill you, you wretch!”

Strangely, Wang Xiugu grew calm. Living in such humiliation, she’d rather die than go on. What a pity, she thought, that she could not kill Pang Qidi herself.

Her heart seethed with unwillingness.

But then, an astonishing scene unfolded. Just as Wang Xiugu believed she was about to be beaten to death, He Qiushi, as if possessed, lunged at Pang Qidi, stabbing a hairpin deeply into his back.

Wang Xiugu could never have imagined He Qiushi would dare such a thing. At that instant, her hand brushed against something hard—a shard of broken porcelain. She grasped it tightly.

Pang Qidi’s face twisted in agony. He spun and smashed his fist into He Qiushi’s face.

He Qiushi didn’t even have time to scream; she fell like a felled log, lifeless.

Wang Xiugu struggled to her feet, staggering toward Pang Qidi.

A sharp sound—she sliced his throat with the porcelain shard. Pang Qidi clutched his neck, trying to staunch the blood, but it was in vain.

His eyes widened as he felt his strength ebbing rapidly. In that moment, Wang Xiugu drew his belt-dagger and, before his stunned guards, she raised the blade and severed Pang Qidi’s head.

He had been a warlord of his age, but never had he imagined he’d die at the hands of a woman who had seemed so delicate.

Wang Xiugu stood expressionless, one hand gripping the bloodied blade, the other holding Pang Qidi’s head, a vision of vengeance incarnate.

A savage, inhuman gleam flashed in her eyes.

Yet none of Pang Qidi’s personal guards moved to avenge him. With his death, the camp’s rebels scattered in panic like startled birds and beasts.

…

“It seems the boy Chen Ying will not come after all,” sighed Mo Dake, reclining against a massive boulder in White Dragon Valley, as dawn broke.

Though an enemy, Mo Dake greatly respected Chen Ying.

Restraint and patience—such qualities were rare in a young general like Chen Ying.

Despite a recent victory, Chen Ying had remained cautious and alert, never growing complacent. Such cool-headedness was not merely rare—it was formidable.

Little did Mo Dake know that Chen Ying did not pursue because his troops were utterly exhausted, not out of prudence. Had he known, he would have been astounded.

“Withdraw,” Mo Dake ordered. He was now certain Chen Ying would not come. Waiting here was pointless.

“At your command—”

Over two thousand elite Qiang wolf-soldiers emerged from their hiding places, dejectedly following Mo Dake back to camp.

When Mo Dake and his rebels returned, he immediately sensed something was wrong. The air was thick with the stench of blood. The camp was deserted; weapons and treasures were strewn everywhere, not a soul in sight. Alarmed, Mo Dake dashed toward Pang Qidi’s royal tent.

Inside, the tent was a chaotic mess, blood spattered everywhere, and a mangled corpse lay on the ground. Mo Dake was stunned.

What had happened here?

There was no time to wonder; shouts and the clash of arms echoed from outside the camp.

Chen Ying had never imagined that Pang Qidi’s rebellion would end in such a farcical manner. Pang Qidi was dead, and his tens of thousands of followers had scattered into the hills within half an hour. The rebel force, once formidable, was now a terrified rabble fleeing for their lives. Chen Ying divided the five regiments of Xun II Prefecture into several detachments, each leading groups of civilians to hunt down the remnants of Pang Qidi’s rebels.

Though there was some regret, Chen Ying had “perfectly” quelled Pang Qidi’s insurrection.

Yet the cost to the Tang Dynasty was steep—nearly twenty thousand households displaced, and more than forty thousand innocent civilians killed.

On October 21st, the first year of Wude, Chen Ying led the weary soldiers of Xun II Prefecture home to Chang’an, having campaigned for over a month.

This time, Chen Ying did not hasten the march. He advanced at a steady forty li per day, plodding toward Chang’an like a snail, taking over twenty days to arrive. Not until November 13th did they reach the capital.

As Chen Ying approached the city with his troops, he saw crowds massed along the imperial road, a sea of people stretching as far as the eye could see.

Zhang Huaiwei remarked, “General Chen, I never expected so many would turn out to welcome our victorious return!”

Though not versed in court politics, Chen Ying knew well enough that his campaign against Pang Qidi had yielded no particularly glorious feats. If judged by the number of enemy heads taken, Pang Yu had fared better; at the siege of Shizhou City alone, Pang Yu had collected nearly twenty thousand, and in the pursuit of rebel remnants, another eight or nine thousand—close to thirty thousand in all, while Chen Ying had fewer than ten thousand.

Such internal pacification campaigns were commonplace in the Tang court.

Chen Ying replied, “I doubt it. Could it be that Prince Qin has won a great victory over Xue Renguo of Western Qin?”