Guo Cheng became a blood-drinking demon. He followed no rules and stopped at nothing, all so he could take up the banner.
Thirty thousand Shuye soldiers were recalled by imperial decree to put down a rebellion, and the entire army was wiped out.
The Turks have rebelled.
The Tibetans are watching hungrily.
All that remains of the Guo family are its widowed women, and one bookish man who can’t even draw a bow.
His sisters-in-law pinned him to the bed. “You have to leave an heir.”
He smashed a stool and picked up a Mo Dao.
He would trample the Western Regions beneath his feet.
He would take everyone back to Chang’an and demand justice.
If he could fight, he fought. If he could set a trap, he did. If he could strike from the shadows, he struck.
He was just a bare-knuckle fighter.
Not some perfect, noble hero.
The female emperor might be a pain, but he still had to kneel before her.
