The night had passed its midpoint, the darkness thick, the moonlight dim, the stars sparse, and a cold wind blowing from the west. At last, the battlefield cleanup was complete.
Under the stars and moon, the group returned to Suzhou City.
Their haul was bountiful.
Carts draped with tarps carried pirate heads, others bore their weapons and armor, and one was laden with gold, silver, and jewels.
Thanks to messengers relaying updates, Suzhou knew the cleanup had gone smoothly. The city gates swung open early to welcome them back.
Prefect Shang had ventured a li beyond the walls, leading his officials to greet them with warm smiles and clasped hands.
“Zihou, you’ve worked hard. Soldiers, folks, Deputy General Zhang—you’ve all worked hard. I’ve had a late-night meal prepared. Come into the city, eat, then rest.”
Shang’s gentle words washed over the exhausted group like a spring breeze, easing their fatigue.
“Thank you, Lord Shang.” Zhu Ping’an dismounted early, bowing in gratitude, the others following suit with clasped fists.
“What are you all standing around for? Hurry and help pull these carts inside—let everyone lighten up and enjoy the meal!” Shang directed the attendants and guards behind him to assist.
Inside the city, near the gate, a large plaza glowed with bonfires. Tables lined the space.
Pots simmered with fragrant late-night dishes on makeshift stoves, and baskets of steaming meat pies stacked high in steamers.
“Lord Zhu, soldiers, folks—please, take your seats and enjoy!” Shang warmly pulled Zhu Ping’an to sit, then rose to invite the rest.
In the depths of winter, Suzhou’s damp chill bit deep. After laboring half the night—cold, hungry, and weary—this hot meal was like a fifty-year bachelor finding a seasoned widow slipping into his bed.
“Thank you, sir!” The crowd eagerly took their seats.
“Tonight’s meal is simple—some side dishes, meat pies, hot soup, and warm rice wine. Haha, Zihou, don’t mind me. I know you run a tight ship and ban drinking in the ranks, but this rice wine’s low-proof—won’t get you drunk, won’t cause trouble, and it’ll help you sleep. Relax, even three big bowls won’t hurt!”
Shang enthusiastically ushered everyone in, explaining the rice wine to Zhu Ping’an.
“You’re too thoughtful, Lord Shang. Zhejiang brothers, tonight’s an exception—you can have rice wine, up to three bowls.”
Zhu Ping’an smiled, bowing to Shang, then addressing his troops.
“Thank you, sir! Thank you, Lord Shang!” The Zhejiang soldiers cheered, thrilled. They rarely got to drink; though it was just low-proof rice wine, it still counted as booze—practically a New Year’s treat.
As thanks rang out, kitchen helpers brought out dishes, meat pies, soup, and rice wine.
“Thank you, Lord Shang!” The local recruits echoed, grabbing chopsticks and lifting bowls.
The night’s cleanup had worn them out—fishing out pirate corpses, beheading them, burning and burying them; chopping trees, clearing brush, digging firebreaks.
Exhausted, tense, and a bit spooked.
They’d been eager to help, and decapitating pirates felt cathartic, but corpses were bad luck in their minds—thousands of them? That was a mountain of misfortune.
Now, they craved a drink to numb their nerves and chase away the jinx.
After thanking Shang, they lifted their bowls and gulped down the rice wine in one go.
A hint of sweetness, a touch of sourness, a whiff of alcohol—one big bowl halved their fatigue.
With the wine down, they craved food to settle their stomachs—drinking on empty wasn’t wise.
They grabbed meat pies from the steamers and bit in—*crunch, crunch*.
A bite slid down, bursting with savory meat and a smoky, grilled edge.
*Grilled meat?!*
They froze mid-chew,嘴角 twitching like they’d been struck by lightning.
“Haha, I knew you’d worked hard today, so I had the chefs grill pork and lamb, diced it up, and stuffed it in the pies. Fresh out of the oven, the smell wafts for miles—irresistible!” Shang said, seeing them pause, assuming they were stunned by the flavor.
He figured their reaction had two roots: one, the pies were undeniably delicious—crafted by Suzhou’s top grill master and his team. Even Shang, used to gourmet fare, found them exceptional; how much more for common folk? Two, after a grueling night of cleanup, hunger amplified the taste tenfold. No wonder they were floored after one bite.
“Haha, this is from our famous Suzhou grill master, Zhang—naturally, it’s amazing!” an official chimed in.
*Grilled meat?!*
The words yanked their minds back to the forest ashes—those twisted, charred pirate corpses, some clutching trees, others writhing, some fused in heaps, black as coal, grotesque beyond words. And that inescapable meaty stench drilling into their noses.
Now, staring at the golden-brown, fragrant meat chunks in the pies, it was as if those ashen corpses had been diced and stuffed inside. The color, the smell—identical.
Their stomachs churned. A primal, uncontrollable surge roared up from below, racing to their throats and flooding their mouths.
They knew this wasn’t the place to lose it—vomiting here would be a disaster. They clamped hands over mouths, desperate to hold it in.
But after chugging a bowl of rice wine, it all came rushing back—how could they stop it?
Mouths bulged, hands pressed tight, yet it seeped through.
*Urgh, urgh, urgh.*
Muffled gags escaped. Liquid squirted from between fingers.
Knowing they couldn’t spray the table, they twisted their heads aside, spewing through their hands—once it started, it wouldn’t stop.
Like a dam bursting, it poured out uncontrollably.
Bellies heaving, they gripped the tables, bent over, and retched wildly.
In moments, over a thousand people were vomiting—a scene beyond description. Shang and his officials stood dumbfounded, caught in the chaos.
