Chapter Forty-Four: The Boundless Sea of Suffering, Salvation Lies in Turning Back

The best way to subdue others is not to destroy their bodies, but to make their souls yield completely. The current Chanyu of the Xiongnu is like a wild beast; if he can be tamed, he will become a sharp and deadly sword. Killing them is not a lasting solution either—the Xiongnu tribes will only choose a new Chanyu, and thus the borders of the Han Empire will never know peace. The Xiongnu will always regard the Han as mortal enemies. Although Zifan cared little for the fate of the Han, he could not simply abandon the common people to their suffering.

Rain washed away the blood from the Xiongnu Chanyu’s body. Though his wounds were many, he still tried to stand tall, his right hand’s sword supporting him against the earth, refusing to let him fall.

This was a refusal to submit to fate, an homage to the wolf-like spirit in his heart. The Xiongnu would not easily kneel beneath another’s heel.

There had never been a Chanyu who surrendered—only men who died with their heads held high. To die in battle was their greatest honor.

To live like a warrior was the belief that guided them always.

The Chanyu struggled to straighten his chest, gazing at Zifan with proud eyes. The Xiongnu soldiers behind him supported one another, refusing to fall.

“General, your talent commands my deep admiration. This defeat has earned my sincere respect. As a Xiongnu, I acknowledge your prowess.” When he spoke of the Xiongnu, the Chanyu held his head even higher—a silent act of resistance.

Zifan sat astride his horse, silent. The sharpness in his eyes spoke for him; within their depths, a bloodthirsty dragon bared its cold, gleaming fangs.

As Zifan’s murderous intent grew, his army responded in kind. A wave of killing intent surged forward. The Black Armored Army gripped their spears tightly, awaiting a single command from Zifan to wipe out the Xiongnu soldiers.

Zifan exuded the confidence of one who holds the universe in his grasp, shaping legend with his will, forging all things with his blood—life and breath flowing ceaselessly, the vast world bowing to him. Three thousand traditions submit beneath his feet; sun, moon, and stars exist for him. His will, unyielding, is eternal.

It was an inborn air of command, a kingly presence that looked down on gods and demons alike, his sword pointing at the heavens.

Seated on his horse, Zifan pondered quietly. This Chanyu had brought untold suffering to the people—yet killing him now would serve no purpose. The Han Empire was already in turmoil, riven by internal strife. The court ministers cared nothing for the lives of the common folk.

Zifan’s hand brushed the sword at his waist—his resolve to kill was firm. But after a moment’s thought, he let it go. Killing would never end; better to have this man yield completely, guarding every inch of the homeland as a form of penance for all that had befallen the people.

He then ordered the soldiers to take them all into custody...

...

“Chanyu of the Xiongnu, you must eat and drink well...” In the grand tent, Zifan laid out a lavish banquet. On either side stood fierce generals, ready to strike the Chanyu down at a word. Though they were puzzled by Zifan’s actions, they knew his character well and suppressed their anger. Dian Wei quietly gripped his axe, stroking his beard. Zifan’s generous hospitality was not meant to curry favor, but to conquer the man completely.

No banquet would be complete without the finest chilled liquor. Chilled wine now swept the land; merchants scrambled to buy it, and demand had spread even north of the Yellow River and the Yangtze. Zifan could almost hear the clinking of countless gold coins filling his coffers.

The Xiongnu Chanyu showed no restraint, feasting openly before all, oblivious to the hostile eyes of his enemies—as if those who wished to devour him alive did not exist.

The freshly roasted lamb was brought to the table and, in a blink, a leg was already in the Chanyu’s mouth. He launched a second attack, drinking wine and eating meat with the greatest pleasure.

Watching this man act as if the enemy camp were his own home, Zifan could not help but be speechless. To be so fearless in the midst of one’s enemies—truly, a heart as vast as the sky! The barefoot man fears nothing from those in boots. When the last morsel of lamb was gone, the Chanyu finally patted his stomach and clapped his hands.

“Kill me, torture me—do as you wish. If I so much as blink, I’ll take your name as my own...” With that, the Chanyu raised his head defiantly before Zifan, then picked up a small knife for cutting meat and handed it to him.

The officers on both sides, though their faces betrayed nothing, could not help but admire the Chanyu in their hearts. He was a ruthless marauder, but there was no denying his iron spirit.

“I will not kill you. I require your complete submission,” Zifan rose to his feet, his gaze sharp upon the Chanyu.

“I hear the supreme ruler of the Xiongnu is the Great Chanyu. From this day forth, you will yield to me. You will not trouble the Han lands again. You will defend Han territory for generations, and I shall forever be the Great Chanyu of the Xiongnu. Do you accept?” Zifan wiped his curved blade.

It is easy to kill one's enemy, but to make an enemy submit, to inspire them to abandon evil and pursue virtue—few in the world can achieve such a thing.

“Of course, if you refuse, I swear that in my lifetime, I will not rest until the Xiongnu tribes are utterly destroyed. I hope you will not test my resolve.”

“This...” Though he was the Chanyu, there were still many chiefs under him. Even if he himself submitted, his subordinates might yet rebel.

“Of course, I will not treat you unfairly. I will teach you the techniques of agriculture and provide you with some grain each year so you may settle your people. What do you say?” Zifan’s eyes slanted toward the Chanyu as his blade pressed to the man’s neck, opening a cut that bled freely.

If the Chanyu still refused, Zifan’s curved blade would fall without hesitation, erasing the Xiongnu from the land. No one doubted Zifan’s ability to do so.

“Yufu Luo, Chanyu of the Xiongnu, pays homage to the Great Chanyu—long life, great Chanyu, may you live ten thousand years!” After a moment’s thought, Yufu Luo finally chose to submit. He believed this man could lead his people out of poverty.

No one wished for a life of hardship. Who did not long for peace and stability?

In later generations, the Records of the Three Kingdoms—Biography of the Great Chanyu of the Xiongnu—recorded in detail that from the end of the Eastern Han, the Xiongnu tribes came under the rule of a Han Great Chanyu, were lifted from poverty, and henceforth submitted forever.

Decades later, when Yufu Luo, Chanyu of the Xiongnu, lay dying, his descendants would often ask him what the most worthy deed of his life had been. A smile would break upon his stern face—it was leading his tribe to submit to their lord, for that was why the Xiongnu people now enjoyed such good days. The old Chanyu would laugh heartily three times.

His final words were a charge to his people: to always guard the Han borders. Should Lord Zifan be suffering in hell, he would follow him to the battlefield; should his lord ascend to heaven, he would serve at his side. With these words, he died, a smile upon his lips.