Chapter 158 Exchange of Insults

Chapter 158: Trading Insults

Cui Ji ignored his deputy's over-the-top facial expressions, turned around and walked toward the sand table to reassess the enemy and friendly positions.

His straight back, under the flickering candlelight, seemed less isolated, now touched by worldly warmth and attachment.

Outside the tent, the bitter north wind still howled; inside, the aroma of mutton soup mingled with the oil-stained letter that had traveled a great distance, blending into a quiet, cozy warmth.

The warmth from the letter and the deputy's gossip hadn't faded yet.

Suddenly, harsh horn calls and hurried footsteps sounded outside the tent, instantly tearing apart the brief tranquility.

A scout, covered in dust, burst into the main tent, dropped to one knee, and reported breathlessly.

"Report—! General! The Hunye tribe of the Northern Di launched a surprise attack on the Northern Sentry Camp! Leading the charge is the fourth son of the Hunye King, Wuwei!"

The lingering softness in Cui Ji's eyes instantly froze, like ice covering a deep pool, as a chilling murderous aura spread once more.

He stepped to the sand table in one stride, his gaze sharp as a hawk's, locked on the position of the Northern Sentry Camp.

"How many men? What's their plan?" His voice was cold and hard as iron.

"About a thousand light cavalry on fast horses. It doesn't look like a full-scale attack—more like a provocation!" The scout reported quickly.

"They hit the weak flanks, then pulled back. Wuwei is out front cursing and taunting!"

"Provocation?" The scar on Zhao Cheng's forehead twitched in the candlelight, his anger flaring.

"They must've heard the Canglang tribe got beaten and want to reclaim some face! General, I request permission to lead five hundred cavalry to teach this insolent Di pup a lesson!"

Cui Ji's eyes swept swiftly over the sand table. The terrain near the camp was open, good for cavalry, and the enemy numbers were small—clearly a probe and a way to vent anger.

"Approved!" Cui Ji ordered decisively. "Remember, just blunt their edge. Don't pursue too deep.

Wuwei is arrogant by nature; best to lure him into an ambush. The crossbowmen at Black Rock Cliff will cover your flank."

"Understood!" Zhao Cheng clasped his fists, his eyes gleaming with determination. He turned and strode out with long strides, his armor clanking, his spirit high.

On the northern frontier, the cold wind whipped sand and gravel against faces like knives.

Around the Northern Sentry Camp, firelight and dust intermingled.

Over a thousand Northern Di cavalry circled like wolves around the camp stockade, arrows flying viciously toward the palisade walls.

At their head was a lean, fierce rider, clad in leather armor studded with copper nails, with ferocious blue wolf tattoos on his face—the fourth son of the Hunye King, Wuwei.

He wielded a curved, sharp saber, galloping back and forth in front of the formation.

Now, Wuwei was shouting in harsh, venomous Great Zhou court speech:

"Cui Ji! You turtle! Your army is nothing but a bunch of useless, ball-less trash! Hiding behind walls to shoot sneak attacks?

Come out! Taste your Grandpa Wuwei's saber!

The whole Cui family is dead, no descendants! Cui Ji is a eunuch with no heirs!

The weeds on your Cui family's graves are taller than you! Hahaha! You don't even have a son to carry your coffin and break the mourning pot!"

These filthy insults, mixed with the Di soldiers' jeers and weird cries, like snake tongues, grated on the nerves of the Great Zhou soldiers on the stockade walls.

Many young soldiers turned pale with anger, veins bulging on the backs of their hands as they gripped their weapons.

At that moment, the camp gate burst open!

Zhao Cheng, leading the charge, shot out like an arrow, followed by three hundred elite cavalry surging like a wave of anger.

His long saber traced a bright arc, pointing straight at Wuwei, his voice like a bell, instantly drowning out the Di clamor:

"Hey! Wuwei! You blood-drinking, morally bankrupt mongrel! How dare you bark?!

Father and son sharing wives, brothers sharing women—you probably don't even know who your own mother is, do you?!"

Wuwei, hit in his weak spot, turned livid, the wolf tattoos on his face twisting.

"Nonsense! You weak-legged shrimp of the Great Zhou! You only used numbers to hurt Alutai! All of you are as spineless and sterile as Cui Ji!"

Hearing this, Zhao Cheng laughed angrily. He abruptly reined in his warhorse.

Pointing his long saber at Wuwei, his voice rang out with near-proud mockery across the battlefield:

"Sterile? No kids? Wuwei! Open your dog eyes and look properly!

Our general is wise and mighty, and he's already married a beautiful wife!

The General's Wife is virtuous and refined, deeply devoted to our general!

When the young heir is born, carrying on the Cui family's martial legacy, he'll lead us to crush your Northern Di court!

Then we'll slaughter all you mongrels to avenge our fallen!

Then let's see if your Hunye King can spawn a lowly mongrel like you to bark and yelp!"

Cui Ji, standing at the camp gate, was speechless.

The Cui army and the Northern Di had an old tradition: before any battle, both sides had to trade insults for a solid three hundred rounds.

This ritual was even more rousing than drumming; whichever side lost the verbal battle would have to go back and replay every insult they messed up.

The Great Zhou valued literary refinement; even military officers were great talkers.

It was said that back in the day, Cui Shu once cursed a fierce Northern Di general until he cried on the battlefield.

From then on, the Northern Di, ashamed and determined to improve, worked hard to "study" Great Zhou poetry and books.

But unfortunately, the Northern Di were not naturally gifted at reading. After so many years, their vocabulary remained pathetically small, stuck repeating the same few lines.

Generally, when cursing with the Great Zhou soldiers, they could at best achieve a 70-30 split; if they had a bad day, they'd easily crack on the spot.

Later, however, they found a trick: they specifically targeted Cui Ji.

Cui Ji was the lifeblood of the Cui army; cursing him was like stabbing a dagger into their hearts.

But Cui Ji himself didn't have any major flaws, aside from family tragedy... and being single.

The Northern Di would usually seize on these two points and keep harping on them.

Now, with Zhao Cheng's words, the two armies fell dead silent.

After a long while, a young Northern Di soldier slowly rode forward and asked Wuwei: "So... do we still curse?"

"Please support me with love! Power up! Ao ao—"