Murong Wushuang saw her serious expression and immediately brought her to the North City Gate.

Rong Yunfei and the others followed along.

Beichen Yuan was already injured, and after this battle, his face was pale as a sheet.

His back was soaked with blood, but luckily, he wore armor, so the bloodstains weren’t visible.

Even injured, Beichen Yuan was like a ruthless killing machine, fighting with overwhelming strength. Xuantian fought alongside him, protecting him at every moment.

“General!”

“Father!”

Beichen Yuan turned toward the sound and saw General Zhenyuan staggering, having been slashed by a blade and on the verge of collapse.

Beichen Yuan rushed over immediately, driving his spear through the soldier who tried to stab General Zhenyuan again.

Meng Xingzhou saw from a distance that his father had been slashed and shouted in fear.

He tried to rush over to help, but there were too many people in the way.

Putting away his crossbow, Meng Xingzhou drew the sword at his waist and charged toward his father.

Meng Qi thought he was hearing things—how could he possibly have heard his rascal son’s voice?

It wasn’t until Beichen Yuan shielded him that he finally saw Meng Xingzhou fighting desperately toward him.

“Xingzhou?” It was really his son.

Why… why was he here?

Meng Qi didn’t know whether to feel happy or sad.

Of course he was glad to see his son before he died, but his son appearing here likely meant he’d die here too.

“Father, hold on! I’m here to help you!” Meng Xingzhou shouted as he fought his way through.

Rong Yunfei and the others cleared a path for him.

As Murong Wushuang drew his sword and joined the battle, Gu Qingwan was stunned.

Murong Wushuang could actually fight? And was very skilled at it?

She had always thought Murong Wushuang was a frail scholar, never expecting him to be both literate and martial.

Murong Wushuang leapt directly to Beichen Yuan’s side. Just as Beichen Yuan was about to speak, he saw Gu Qingwan fighting.

“Why is she here?” Beichen Yuan was truly alarmed.

Yanzhou City was on the brink of falling—what was this woman doing here now?

“She has something urgent to tell you. I’ll hold the line here—you go.”

Murong Wushuang’s white robes were soon stained with spots of blood.

He couldn’t even remember how many years it had been since he last killed anyone.

Beichen Yuan once said his hands were better suited for playing the zither than holding a sword.

And truly, he had always hoped never to draw his sword again.

Beichen Yuan’s face was as pale as paper, but he still forced himself to stand.

Gu Qingwan, seeing him approach, quickly pulled him back and whispered, “I brought weapons. I need a place to deploy them.”

Beichen Yuan understood at once.

After a glance at Murong Wushuang still fighting, he took Gu Qingwan back into the city camp.

The camp had few people now.

Beichen Yuan dismissed the remaining ones.

Without hesitation, Gu Qingwan brought out the weapons from her spatial storage.

Seeing the weapons, including rapid-fire crossbows and war chariots, Beichen Yuan let out a breath of relief.

They still had a chance.

“What are those black iron balls?” he asked, pointing at the pile of Thunder Bombs.

“Did you hear that explosion earlier? That was a grenade like this. These iron bombs are ten times more powerful. You light the fuse and throw them with a catapult. The fuse length determines when it explodes. They’re powerful, but we don’t have many. Best to use them to intimidate Beirong.”

As she spoke, she saw the blood on Beichen Yuan’s arm and thought of the wound on his back—it must have reopened.

She could imagine how much it hurt, but this man hadn’t made a single sound.

“I’ll have the weapons distributed,” Beichen Yuan said and prepared to leave.

Gu Qingwan grabbed him and gave him two strong painkillers. “Take these.”

She held them to his lips, and he swallowed them with her help, then smiled and said, “Thank you.”

Beichen Yuan ordered the weapons distributed.

He taught his men how to use the Thunder Bombs and sent them to the city walls.

To see their power firsthand, he climbed up the wall.

When the fuse was lit and the bomb launched, a deafening boom followed—at least a hundred to two hundred enemies were taken out in that one blast due to their tight formation.

After witnessing the bomb’s power, Beichen Yuan finally felt hope.

The city defenders’ eyes lit up.

“My god, it’s that powerful!”

“We’re saved! Hahaha! Blow those bastards to bits!”

“Quick! Use another one!”

Boom! Boom boom!

Explosions erupted one after another, and the battle reached a new climax.

The enemy siege towers were destroyed.

Now they could only climb the walls, concentrating their attack on the North Gate.

Meng Xingzhou withdrew with his father Meng Qi.

Rong Yunfei and the others stayed to fight with Murong Wushuang.

Meng Qi was severely wounded—not just a slash on the back, but also one to the chest.

Meng Xingzhou wanted to take him to a medic, but Meng Qi knew he wouldn’t make it.

“You fool, you shouldn’t have come,” Meng Qi said, holding his son’s hand.

Tears welled in Meng Xingzhou’s eyes. “Father, I’ll get a medic. You’ll be fine, I promise.”

“I’m not going to make it. But I saw my son looking so heroic on the battlefield before I died—I’m content. You must live well. Listen to your mother.”

Meng Qi smiled as he spoke.

Meng Xingzhou trembled, clutching his hand.

“Father, I haven’t even introduced you to my master. She’s amazing—she made all these weapons. You haven’t even seen me become a general yet. Please, don’t go. I’m begging you…”

But as he spoke, he saw Meng Qi slowly close his eyes.

His hand slipped from his grip.

Meng Xingzhou sobbed, his entire body shaking.

His father would never open his eyes again.

When Gu Qingwan arrived, she saw Meng Xingzhou clutching his father’s body, crying uncontrollably.

“Xingzhou…”

She put a hand on his shoulder, trying to comfort him, but she didn’t know what to say.

The pain of losing someone close couldn’t be soothed with mere words.

“Sob… Master, I… I don’t have a father anymore…” Meng Xingzhou leaned into her, devastated.

She patted his back, then handed him a sword.

“Go. Avenge your father first.”

Some grief could only be eased through blood and battle.

Gu Qingwan believed that perhaps only revenge could soothe his pain and fury.

Meng Xingzhou slowly raised his head and looked at the sword.

“Right. Revenge. I have to avenge my father. I’ll kill every last Northern Rong soldier.”

He gripped the sword, stood up, and charged back into the fray.