This night, the moon and stars were sparse.
Thirty-two days of bloody battles became unimportant on this night. Mongolian soldiers poured into the city like a tide, and the firelight flickered like a fire of celebration. The battle is still going on, the blood is still flowing, and the soldiers and the people have chosen to fight, because whether they fight or not, they will die. Of course they choose to fight, but they have thrown away any illusion of survival in their hearts.
Wang Xiang had no such idea. He started preparing ten days ago to make decisions when the city was broken. A person's life is the most precious. He joined the army with ideals. He hated the Mongols. He fought bravely, but he never felt fear. Death seemed to be far away from him, and he was not even injured.
