Chapter 65 Making a Promise

Wulan dismounted with a swift leap and walked slowly toward Zhao Ang, raising her head to look directly into his eyes. A trace of unyielding defiance still lingered in her gaze.

"Zhao Ang, I have brought the Iron Flame Army to surrender, but there are a few conditions. If you do not agree, even if it comes down to our last man, we will never bow!"

Zhao Ang raised an eyebrow, asking with keen interest, "Oh? Let's hear them."

Wulan gritted her teeth and said, "First, after our surrender, you must guarantee that my people will not be massacred, nor reduced to slavery."

"Agreed." Zhao Ang answered without a moment's hesitation.

Wulan was momentarily stunned, not expecting him to agree so readily. A complex emotion flashed through her eyes, but she quickly regained her composure and continued, "Second, my soldiers must retain the right to survive, and they shall not be arbitrarily driven out or humiliated."

Zhao Ang smiled and nodded. "Naturally. Although the Iron Flame Army has been defeated, managing to hold out in the Northern Frontier for all these years proves you have iron bones. I, Zhao Ang, respect such opponents."

Wulan bit her lip, and a hint of softening finally appeared in her gaze.

She spoke in a lower voice, "The last condition... I hope you will allow the survivors of the Iron Flame Army to return to their homeland, and that their past actions will no longer be pursued."

Zhao Ang fell silent for a fleeting moment, then stood up, walked directly in front of Wulan, and extended his hand.

"Wulan, from this day forward, the Iron Flame Army are no longer my enemies, but the guardians of the Northern Frontier. If you are willing, I, Zhao Ang, can personally guarantee that the survivors of the barbarian tribes will find a peaceful piece of land here in the North."

Wulan froze, looking up at Zhao Ang with eyes full of complexity.

Instead of immediately taking his hand, she clenched her teeth and asked in a low voice, "Zhao Ang, is everything you said true?"

"Absolute truth." Zhao Ang smiled faintly, his tone carrying an unshakable certainty. "Wulan, I, Zhao Ang, have never disdained to lie."

At that moment, Wulan finally loosened her grip on her long spear, slowly extended her hand, and clasped it firmly with Zhao Ang's.

Inside the main tent of the Black Tiger Army, a crude wooden table had been temporarily placed in the center. A simple map was unfurled across it, with several wolf-hair brushes resting quietly to the side.

Seated on either side of the table were Zhao Ang and Wulan, accompanied by their respective generals.

***

Wulan wore plain civilian attire, her hair simply tied back. Though she had lost the heroic aura of her red armor, her eyes still carried her signature defiance.

She raised her head slightly to look at Zhao Ang across the table.

Zhao Ang, draped in brocade robes, showed not the slightest trace of scholarly weakness. He leaned back in his chair, holding a cup of warm tea, and stared at Wulan with a half-smile, as if appraising her while waiting for her move.

"Zhao Ang," Wulan finally spoke, her tone cold and rigid. "Since we have chosen to sit here, let's dispense with the beating around the bush. What I want is a clear-cut promise—no clever tricks."

Zhao Ang raised an eyebrow slightly, set down his tea cup, and a frivolous smile curved the corners of his mouth. "Wulan, that's hardly fair of you. The one sitting at this table is me, Zhao Ang, representing the Black Tiger Army. As for your barbarian tribe, it was only after we pushed you to the brink with nowhere left to run that this peace talk became possible."

"So, are you the one setting conditions, or am I the one making the rules?"

Hearing this, a flash of anger crossed Wulan's eyes, and her fists clenched tightly. Yet, she ultimately suppressed her emotions and said coldly, "You may set the rules if you wish, but remember—if these rules are too excessive, we would rather continue fighting than ever agree to them."

Zhao Ang chuckled softly and waved a hand at her. "Don't get emotional, listen to me—"

He pointed at the map on the table, his voice gradually deepening, losing its playful edge and gaining a solemn gravity.

"Starting today, all your barbarian troops must withdraw behind the original demarcation line. The Northern Frontier will take this as the boundary, never to be crossed. As long as you do not commit acts of aggression, I, Zhao Ang, guarantee that the Black Tiger Army will never initiate hostilities."

Wulan stared at the map for a moment, frowning as she asked, "What makes you think you can guarantee that?"

Zhao Ang smiled faintly, his gaze turning profound. "By the blade of Zhao Ang, by the reputation of the Zhao family in the Northern Frontier, and most of all, by your defeat today."

"Wulan, the sword of the North was never meant for slaughter; it is meant to protect this land. If you understand this truth, you should know that peace talks are your best option."

Hearing this, Wulan's gaze wavered slightly, but she quickly recovered and said coldly, "What about my people? How can you guarantee they won't be massacred or carried off as slaves?"

Zhao Ang looked at her quietly, his playful demeanor replaced by deep earnestness. "I can swear an oath to you here and now: as long as I, Zhao Ang, draw breath, the common folk of the North will never suffer the slightest humiliation because of your surrender. On this land, whether North or South, everyone has the right to survive."

Silence descended upon the tent.

***

Wulan raised her head, locking her eyes directly onto Zhao Ang's, searching for even a shred of falsehood. Yet, all she found was absolute certainty and unswerving candor.

"Very well," she finally nodded slowly, gritting her teeth. "I agree to withdraw the troops and lead the remaining forces of the Iron Flame Army back beyond the demarcation line. But I have a condition of my own—"

She pointed a finger at the map, her tone tinged with stubbornness. "From this day forth, as long as Zhao Ang lives, our tribe will never advance a single step. But if one day you, Zhao Ang, should die, I cannot guarantee that the next generation will abide by this pact."

Hearing this, Zhao Ang suddenly laughed, a laugh filled with amusement.

"Wulan, are you drafting a life-or-death pact for me?" He shook his head, a cold smile playing at the corners of his lips. "You needn't worry; my life is not so easily cut short. What your next generation chooses to do is a matter for another day, but as long as it is in my hands, this land will bear no more war."

Wulan looked up at him with a complex expression, but offered no further rebuttal.

***

In the camp of the Black Tiger Army, the howling wind and snow gradually subsided. Wulan and her entourage had already retreated with the remnants of the Iron Flame Army, leaving behind a silent frontier wilderness.

Zhao Ang stood in the center of the camp, clad in silver armor, the long saber at his waist gently swaying. A lazy smile hung on his lips as he gazed leisurely in the direction where Wulan had vanished, as though savoring a modest theatrical performance.

Yang Mu walked up to his side and spoke in a low voice, "Your Lordship, the barbarian remnants have fully withdrawn beyond the demarcation line, and the peace talks can be considered a complete success. What is our next move... when shall we return to the capital to report for duty?"

Hearing this, Zhao Ang raised a hand and patted Yang Mu's shoulder, his tone carrying its usual teasing banter. "Uncle Yang, why are you in such a rush? The fighting has just ended; wouldn't it be wonderful to rest for a few days?"

Yang Mu shook his head helplessly, unable to refrain from a reminder. "Your Lordship, though the war in the North is over, those people back in the capital may not let things rest so easily. Our supply lines were cut off once before; I fear this matter is not as simple as it seems."

At these words, the smile vanished from the corners of Zhao Ang's eyes, replaced by a profound depth. "Uncle Yang, you are right... those bigwigs in the capital are likely watching us closely right now."

As he spoke, he looked down at the scattered footprints in the snow, lost in thought. Suddenly, the urgent pounding of hooves echoed from afar.

Zhang Shan galloped up on horseback, dismounted in a flurry, and hurried forward holding a rolled bamboo slip, his face grim. "Your Lordship, there is something... sent by someone under Wulan's orders!"

Zhao Ang took the scroll, raised an eyebrow, and spoke with playful amusement, "What game is that girl Wulan trying to play now? Sending a message to me? This is getting interesting."