Legend of Fu Yao Chapter 80 - Surrender

Chapter 80: Surrender

Translator: Atlas Studios Editor: Atlas Studios
No matter how long the path was, it was going to end…
“No!” a shout boomed from behind.
It was Tie Cheng.
He could no longer endure the suppressing energy and was unable to bear seeing the masses glare at her like that. He could no longer take in the sight of her stained clothes and dirty shoes, and her slowly departing, frail figure. He felt as though the world had overturned, and could feel the stones, mud and rotten vegetables smashing onto his heart, breaking it into pieces.
He howled, “No! She won’t! No! No!”
He repeatedly shouted, rushing up to resist the angry crowd. “She’s not that kind of person! She’s not, she’s not, she’s not!”
“You’ve been blinded by her beauty!” someone mocked aloud. “You’re blind. Didn’t you see the official stamp?”
Someone let out a cold laugh. “You wanted to marry her? You two have been in cahoots since the start, isn’t it? Evil man. Die together with her then!”
The man tossed a stone, accurately striking Tie Cheng’s forehead. Blood poured out as he looked at the young culprit. They were still playing soccer together a few days back. They had been the closest teammates.
Tie Cheng lowered his head to look at the blood on his hand, suddenly understanding how Meng Fuyao was feeling at that point.
At that moment he thought back to the days he had seen and interacted with Meng Fuyao. She had been so bright and courageous, determined and intelligent. Her pearl black eyes often wandered to the direction of Suishui, or else she would fall deep in thought and be caught mumbling to herself. “Put them on a field of death, and they will fight to live…”
She was faking a surrender! The citizens’ anger and attacks were the best display of her sincerity in losing reign. What was she going to do after that? One against 50,000… what could she possibly do?
Tie Cheng stood rooted to the ground and shuddered. He turned to chase Meng Fuyao, but having already provoked the rest of the people, standing up for her now would turn him into another enemy, destined to be shamed and swallowed up.
They pounced on him, attacking with their teeth and head. They couldn’t get close to Meng Fuyao, but Tie Cheng was another story. He quickly drowned in the crowd, struggling to get to Meng Fuyao while ignoring the objects flying toward him. “She’s not! She’s really not! Meng Fuyao, no, no, no! No–––”
He trailed off, his voice lingering amid the crowd in despair and helplessness. He had to witness someone he admired walking into a dead end without being able to help. He had to witness a savior sacrificing herself while enduring the hate and hostility displayed by the people. His mournful cry was one that represented the abandonment by his people and the loneliness of standing atop a high cliff alone.
His cry stretched across the crowd and reached Meng Fuyao’s ears, but she kept her eyes in front and continued on the path she had set out to complete. She stopped before the city gate and waved, signaling for the Rongsmen to open it.
The gates which had been shut tight for many days finally opened and arrows rained from above the tower as angry Han guardsmen aimed their weapon at their mayor.
Meng Fuyao raised a hand to receive all the arrows, easily snapping them into two and chiseling the ground with deep holes with them.
She lifted her head, and the sunlight shone through the gap between the gate and onto her face, illuminating half of it and leaving her standing at the boundary between this black and white world.
She raised a leg and took a step forward. It was a point of no return, and she was about to cross it. She might never get to return to Yaocheng ever again, and in fact, the places she had created memories in. Those who had promised to wait for her were perhaps destined to be disappointed.
Meng Fuyao pursed her lips tighter, with force enough to hurt herself and cause a burning sensation. However, compared to how she felt, the pain was negligible.
She lifted the other foot and stepped out without hesitation.
A shout erupted from behind.
“Fuyao–––”
It was an ear-splitting and penetrating howl that, like a bloodied weapon, whizzed toward Meng Fuyao, crashing into Meng Fuyao’s already tottering endurance and determination.
Tears flowed down her face.
A lonesome figure exited the lofty city gates, creating a stark contrast between the imposing green walls and the black-dressed, frail youth who appeared like a soft willow, acting according to the wind’s desire. No one knew that within her delicate frame was a strong, cold soul that could withstand all challenges in life.
Meng Fuyao looked up and narrowed her eyes.
She did not blink. Instead, she allowed the warm sun to dry her tears. She would be chopped up alive if she entered the Rongsmen’s camp with swollen eyes.
She had heard Tie Cheng’s last heart-wringing cry and knew that he had realized her intentions. It was comforting and heartwarming to know that in this bleak, unpopular journey she had embarked on, there was someone out there who understood her.
Meng Fuyao carried the bag of things and walked toward the Rong army camp.
It was a camp fit for 50,000 men, and the continuous rows of tents resembled dark gray waves that stretched across the sea. There was no end to them, and in comparison, Meng Fuyao was like a drop of water in the ocean that could drown in an instant.
She walked on fearlessly despite the soldiers’ raised weapons and their hostile gazes. She waved the bag in her hand.
“Yaocheng mayor, here to surrender the city.”
Swords and spears could be heard shifting as the Rong soldiers stared at her vacantly for some time before a representative proceeded to report the situation. A while later a high-ranking military officer walked out and looked sharply at Meng Fuyao and especially at her sorry figure. He asked in a hoarse voice, “Why have you come alone here if you’re surrendering the city?”
“If I had simply opened the gates, would any of you dare to enter? Not afraid of an ambush?” Meng Fuyao raised her brows. “What better than to show my sincerity than to enter your big camp alone?”
The officer held his breath. He had exchanged hands with this unconventional mayor and experienced her bizarre methods in leading 800 men to resist a big army. Not only had they crumbled before the first wave of attack had even started, but this mayor had also taken down three of their officers. She was right.
But now that she had come alone, what could she possibly do to deal with 50,000 soldiers? There was no way she could play any tricks.
“Follow me,” he half-shouted after some consideration.
When Meng Fuyao saw the Rong army’s commander-in-chief Tutie Muer, she had already gone through three interrogations.
During the final check, Tutie Muer’s personal guard felt Meng Fuyao all around once before retreating in silence. Meng Fuyao waited patiently throughout the process before asking politely, “Done?”
Startled, the man looked up to meet her gaze, feeling a sourness in his heart as Meng Fuyao simply walked forward without turning back.
From the fiercely illuminated exterior, Meng Fuyao stepped into the dark, gloomy tent. Unable to adapt to the change in brightness she narrowed her eyes. Following which she sensed a needle-sharp gaze pricking her.
She turned automatically, but the person in the corner looked away immediately.
She swept her gaze across the colorfully-dressed officers. Other than Tutie Muer, who was sitting upright and still, the rest were eating, drinking, shouting loudly and even digging their toenails. The tent was filled with a greasy combination of oil, tea, meat, fleece, and sweat.
Digging their nails in the main camp? No one in the world ran their army this way. Were they doing it on purpose to appear tough?
Before she could process it all, the man sitting face-front spoke lightly, “You’re the mayor of Yaocheng?”
Following his question, cold eyes fell upon her, and the whole tent was overtaken by a wave of murderousness. An invisible pressure stifled her.
Meng Fuyao turned around and without a word, slowly unwrapped her bundle.
A glistening yellow copper stamp caught everyone’s attention as they opened their eyes wide. A low but clear voice sounded, “I, Meng Fuyao, the mayor of Yaocheng, am here to offer the city. This stamp is an invitation for everyone here to enter the city and use it as a path to enter Wuji land.”
“What big words!” Tutie Muer shouted, his turmeric-colored eyes focused on her. With a dark tone and expression, he continued, “Yaocheng is a small city, and we can take over it easily. What do you mean ‘offer’?”
“What a tone,” Meng Fuyao mocked. “Yaocheng is a small city with 800 guards and provisions to last 10 days. No high walls, no cannons, no seasoned soldiers, yet able to hold out and keep your 50,000 tigers away for almost half a month. I see that you’ve been ‘taking over it easily’ for a little longer.”
“You!”
“Enough nonsense!” Meng Fuyao shouted, swaying the bundle in her hand and raising her brows. “I’m here to offer the city. You’ve been attacking for a long time without success, so how are you going to report it to the northern and southern Rong king? How are you to face the other marshals? How are you going to pick up your soldiers’ gradually routing morale? How are they going to continue battling for you? Yaocheng’s voluntary surrender is the best way to remodel the mental state of your men. I’m here to help you, do you understand?”
Her words shot them like a bolt of lightning, startling every officer in the tent. They stopped eating, drinking, shouting loudly and even digging their toenails, to look at her. In a quick motion, she slung her bag over her shoulder and turned around.
“I’m a hero and did not lose. If not for those who have caused mischief, it would be your corpses I’m talking to right now. I have come, discouraged, hoping to find a new leader to carve a way out for my people. You brainless, fat barbaric blobs dare disrespect me? I will not have it.”