"I Have a Mythical Tree"

Chapter 65: Heroes and Martyrs

The elderly Biwu stared at the scene as the clouds appeared following Ji Xia's words. The towering figure beside him, who also seemed to have gained something, caused the countless Taicang citizens kneeling around them to cheer loudly, shouting, “The great wind protects us!”

Biwu couldn't help but ponder Ji Xia's words.

Had Taicang really lost its ambition for progress?

Perhaps the Lord's words were right. Taicang had never truly had a spirit of advancement from the beginning. As mere humans, a race as insignificant as ants, how could they have aspired to anything more? To survive for over two hundred years, clumsily struggling along, had been a blessing. How could they even dare speak of "ambition"?

The human race was born weak, and to strive for more was no easy feat.

But when these thoughts echoed in his mind, he realized that when Ji Xia spoke, it didn’t sound like empty boasting—it felt like a future that was indeed achievable! This left the 105-year-old Biwu elder feeling uncertain.

“It's good to be confident,” the elder muttered, “but I don’t understand why the Lord is so sure of himself. How can a few plundered items from the Jiuquan country, gained at the cost of the lives of Taicang’s soldiers, make us stronger?”

Before Ji Xia could respond, the sound of organized military marches came from outside the city. Aside from the powerful footfalls, there was an unusual silence from the Taicang soldiers—their pride and strength evident, and perhaps even restrained joy. They slowly walked into the city.

The people lining the streets were silent for a moment, before suddenly erupting in loud cheers, full of joy and relief. Some even cried out in grief and fell to their knees before the silver-clad soldiers of Taicang. It was as though these soldiers had achieved something monumental, something worthy of such reverence.

Biwu, his eyesight not as sharp as before, was bewildered by this sight. It wasn't until the Taicang silver soldiers walked past him that he felt a tightening in his chest, a wave of emotion that left him stunned.

The front ranks of the soldiers were carrying wooden trays—rough, hastily crafted from felled trees—but Biwu didn’t find them crude. Each tray held the severed heads of dogs.

The dog heads were dark and shiny, clearly belonging to the nobles of the Jiuquan tribe!

“These heads belong to the leaders of the Jiuquan tribe! The royal bloodline of the Jiuquan king!”

A retired veteran’s eyes welled with tears.

"I can never forget these people. Back when we fought Jiuquan, they set up platforms behind their lines, toasting with the corpses of our soldiers. Some of our men were still alive when they were dragged to the top, their flesh torn off while they screamed in agony—louder than the sounds of battle."

"Countless wars, countless decisions made by these ruthless leaders. Each of their hands is stained with the blood of Taicang people!"

Today, the heads of these cruel nobles were casually placed on wooden trays. The blood at their necks hadn't even dried, and their faces were twisted in fear.

The silver-clad soldiers, their faces solemn, marched past the streets, and with each step, the citizens erupted into cheers that shook the sky.

Biwu mumbled to himself, “We’ve avenged ourselves…” Having lived a long life, the elder carried with him years of accumulated hatred. As a Taicang citizen, could he not long for such a moment? In his dreams, he had imagined consuming the flesh of Jiuquan's ruling class, and now it had become a reality.

The heads of over a hundred Jiuquan royal family members, many tribal leaders, were brought into Taicang by the young Lord Ji Xia as spoils of war.

The elder turned to thank Ji Xia, but before he could speak, a louder cheer filled the air. The Taicang citizens roared in anger, weeping, cursing, and many tried to rush into the silver-clad soldiers’ formation, only to be held back by the disciplined guards.

Turning, Biwu saw a thick tree trunk being carried by a few silver-clad soldiers, with a figure bound to it. As they drew near, Biwu realized it was another Jiuquan warrior—specifically, a corpse with a hole torn through its chest.

Blood continued to drip from the wound, and the head, which should have hung limp, was tied tightly to the wooden stake, for all to see. The body wore a silver crown, upon which two dogs were depicted snarling at each other.

Biwu was stunned and looked at Ji Xia in disbelief. Ji Xia smiled and nodded at the elder. Suddenly, Biwu felt a surge of hot blood rise to his head, and he almost collapsed.

Ji Xia quickly steadied the elder, sending a warm pulse of spiritual energy to stabilize him.

“The heavens of Taicang, countless ancestors, can you see? The corpse of the Jiuquan king is here now!”

Biwu mumbled, tears streaming down his face, his lips trembling with emotion. He hadn't even had a chance to pray to the wind spirits before the once-thundering cheers on the street suddenly fell silent. It was so quiet that even a needle could be heard falling.

Six silver-clad soldiers walked ahead, carrying a massive stone slab, surrounded by dozens of their comrades. The slab was unlike the previous wooden trays—this one was clearly well-crafted. It was smooth, with intricate carvings that appeared to be names and images. Upon closer inspection, the stone slab bore many important names and pictures.

General Ronglu, his face solemn, called out, “Let us welcome the ancestors of Taicang back to their homeland!”

The crowd went silent, and those standing on high ground saw the names engraved on the stone slab.

“Lu Yan, a Taicang general, fought Jiuquan 131 years ago, surviving 61 arrows. The then Jiuquan king was furious and personally decapitated him, hiding his head in the Jiuquan royal palace.”

“Gu Mao, a Taicang officer, 120 years ago, ambushed a Jiuquan tribal leader but was killed by five beasts. His body was torn apart.”

“Shan Zhuo, a Taicang genius, 62 years ago, after mastering divine techniques, went to Jiuquan’s royal palace to assassinate the king, killing 42 royal experts before succumbing to exhaustion.”

“Ji Fu, Taicang’s princess, 76 years ago, when Jiuquan threatened to force a marriage alliance, she volunteered at the age of 15 to save Taicang. She was killed in Jiuquan, her head hung as a warning in the palace.”

“Zhuang Bei, a Taicang envoy, four months ago, was sent to Jiuquan for peace talks. He was killed by Du Sang in a brutal feast.”

…

One by one, General Ronglu recited the names, and the people of Taicang moved from silent grief to low sobs, then to loud cries. Biwu’s tears seemed to have run dry as he heard so many familiar names.

Ronglu finally finished reading, and Ji Xia took a deep breath before speaking: “We welcome the ancestors of Taicang back to their homeland.”

“We welcome the ancestors of Taicang back to their homeland!”

The crowd cried out in unison.

“Taicang will build the Lingyun Pavilion, a memorial to the heroes who gave their lives for our nation!”

Ji Xia spoke with a heavy voice. Biwu silently knelt before him, and countless citizens turned to kneel, bowing toward Ji Xia.

Ji Xia had no sense of self-congratulation. He bowed to the citizens, saying: “Taicang is what it is not because of the Ji family, not because of the sea-sniffing rivers within the city, nor the vast farmlands.”

“It is because of the countless heroes who were willing to die for Taicang, and the countless ordinary citizens who remember their names, ready to follow their example and die for Taicang. Please, accept my bow.”

Ji Xia bowed, and as he did so, blue light emanated from the white bones of the fallen heroes. The light gathered and fell into Ji Xia's neck, forming a jade pendant.

The pendant hung quietly on Ji Xia's chest. When he held it, the sound of countless comforting voices filled his ears. He understood—this was the true essence of the heroes' spirits, transformed into this jade pendant, a lasting testament to their existence.