Chapter Seven: The Army of Yingzhou

Du Huaishan nodded and bowed to Fat Zhang.

“All right, the task Old Chang gave me is done. This child is yours now!”

“Don’t worry, Squad Leader Zhang!”

The duty soldier straightened up, waiting until Fat Zhang had left, then led Du Huaishan into the camp.

“The new settlement has been completely destroyed by the demon ghosts. Many survivors escaped here, but Fenghou City can't hold them all, so for now they're being arranged near the cavalry camp.”

The soldier pointed to several places: “This is the residential area, that’s the latrine, you fetch water over here, and meals are distributed by appointed staff three times a day. Remember to collect them on time—if you miss it, there’s nothing left.”

“There’s none left for tonight, but I still have a portion, you can come with me to get it!”

“Oh, right…”

Mumbling as he finished his explanation, the soldier suddenly halted and turned to scrutinize Du Huaishan’s cloth armor.

“You’ll need to surrender this military gear for public use. Please cooperate.”

Du Huaishan nodded, though he was reluctant to part with the scavenged equipment.

He had witnessed clearly during the encounter with the giant-clawed demon ghost: the horse’s legs were torn off, but the man merely fainted—thanks to the armor.

He would have to find another way later.

He handed over the military knife and gun, stripped off the armor.

The swirling night wind hit him, and he shivered, goosebumps rising.

Soon, the duty soldier brought him a wooden basin containing a sweet potato and a coarse grain bun.

“Thank you!”

Du Huaishan bowed his head in gratitude, then carried the basin to the bonfire nearby.

Judging by the yellow-green weeds in the woods, it was deep autumn; a dusting of snow had just fallen, making the night bitterly cold.

Many people gathered around the fire, warming their hands, rubbing their backs, covering their ears to ward off the chill.

The firelight cast their faces in sharp relief, each bearing expressions of despair and devastation. Some women huddled together in a dark corner, quietly sobbing.

Du Huaishan had crawled out from a pile of corpses; he understood their feelings.

He took a bite of the bun.

The cold, coarse flour was hard and tough, but he wasn’t one to complain, and after the rough journey, his stomach genuinely ached with hunger.

After a few bites, Du Huaishan noticed a man across the fire, reading a book by night. The man wore a long blue cloth robe and round black-rimmed glasses, giving him the scholarly air of an academic.

Beside him lay several periodicals, the top one titled in traditional script: “A Vernacular History.”

A valuable thing!

To understand a new world, history is the fastest path.

Du Huaishan stuffed the bun into his mouth, swallowed it dry, and quickly walked over to the bespectacled man. “Hello, sir. May I trade this sweet potato for a chance to borrow your book?”

“No need to be so formal, young man. Take whichever you like, the sweet potato—”

The bespectacled man glanced at the sweet potato, nudged it aside with a smile, and picked up the book to hand it over. But upon seeing Du Huaishan’s appearance, his expression changed abruptly. He snorted, didn’t finish his sentence, grabbed the book, and turned away.

What on earth?

Du Huaishan raised an eyebrow, carefully recalling if he’d said anything improper.

A blue-skirted girl with braids nearby caught sight of him, likewise glared in anger, and left.

Somehow, he felt like an outcast—a plague-ridden wretch.

Those around him avoided him, some even glaring and gossiping behind his back.

“Don’t take it to heart. Some of them saw demon ghosts devour their parents alive, some lost husbands. You’ve completed the Spirit Rite, so you have that thing living inside you. They hate that, but I know you’re human, not a demon ghost, hey!”

A lanky youth in coarse cloth walked over.

Tall and thin, with a cropped haircut and small, sharp eyes, his features were neat, and his words carried a sly, cheerful wit.

What kind of nonsense is that?

Du Huaishan nearly laughed out loud at the first part.

Looking up, he saw the youth holding something—sure enough, it was “A Vernacular History.”

“I’m Tan Hai. Used to be the tea boy at Qingyuan Pavilion. Always liked making friends. That Four-Eyes Qiao is a regular here, I know him well. If you want to read anything, just ask me!”

While speaking, Du Huaishan noticed Tan Hai’s beady eyes fixed on the sweet potato.

“I’m Du Huaishan.”

He handed the sweet potato over.

He didn’t know where Qingyuan Pavilion was, but “tea boy” meant a servant in a pleasure house, fetching water and tending to guests. No wonder the lad was so slick and shrewd.

“Thank you, Brother Huaishan! Then I won’t stand on ceremony!”

Tan Hai took the sweet potato and bit into it, skin and all, chewing voraciously with closed eyes and a look of deep satisfaction.

At last, he turned curiously, “By the way, Brother Huaishan, why do you want this book? It’s full of musty old stories.”

“It’s history.”

Tan Hai clearly had little interest in history. He simply sat beside him, engrossed in his sweet potato.

Du Huaishan opened the cover. Besides the title, the author and publisher were listed: Zhili Press—unfamiliar to him.

He ignored Tan Hai and focused on reading.

Thankfully, his professional training required frequent study of traditional martial arts classics. He wasn’t skilled at reading traditional script, but recognized most characters. The vernacular language suited him, so it posed no difficulty.

He read for a long time, then closed the book and rubbed his eyelids.

He could now confirm that he had crossed into a world akin to Earth’s civilization, but with entirely different history and geography.

The current era was called the Chiyu Empire, a dynasty that had lasted several centuries in the East.

But disasters were constant—floods, drought, earth-dragon tornadoes.

And for nearly two hundred years, evil spirits had spread worldwide; monsters roamed unchecked, and all manner of bizarre events were commonplace.

Demon ghosts ate people and grew, possessed undying strength, and ordinary weapons couldn’t harm them. Corpses piled everywhere, lands lay barren, and the people cowered behind high city walls, clinging to life.

Until someone discovered Red Marrow.

It was a solid-liquid mixture resembling petroleum, red and gelatinous, seemingly appearing alongside demon ghosts. By chance, people found that metal infused with Red Marrow became not only extraordinarily tough but could also effectively curb the undying power of demon ghosts.

In the 467th year of the Chiyu calendar,

The first human to slay a demon ghost within the Chiyu Empire emerged.

They discovered that the heart of the corpse released the ghost’s soul, which could merge with humans, bestowing divine strength!

News spread across the world.

Governments everywhere plunged into a frenzy of Red Marrow extraction, sparking endless wars.

The Chiyu Empire, beset by disasters, fragmented as local warlords seized power. The An Kingdom government had long since collapsed.

The appearance of Red Marrow only intensified the frequency of warfare.

Du Huaishan now resided in Fenghou City, capital of Pingyou Province—one of the three provinces of Yingzhou, along with Jiu and Ruoshui.

From his chat with Tan Hai, he learned that, officially, the three provinces of Yingzhou were governed by the imperial Inspector of Yingzhou appointed by the An Kingdom. But the true ruler was the commander of the Yingzhou military: Zhang Shichang.

They called him—the Wolf of Yingzhou!