The Warrior of Ten Thousand and the Divine General, Clamor and Nursery Rhymes

Li Mo: "!"

Watching the girl raise a skewer of grilled meat to his lips, her lowered gaze serene as moonlight tinged with mortal warmth, he couldn’t help but wonder—

Was it possible?

Just maybe.

Back in the day, when that legendary figure "Dà Láng" was handed poisoned wine, did he knowingly drink it anyway? Because right now, this ice-cold beauty was far more lethal than any fictional femme fatale.

"Mmm..."

Under such overwhelming pressure, Li Mo—affectionately dubbed "Little Li" by her—had no room to hesitate. He opened his mouth and took a bite.

Ying Bing pondered for a moment before parting her lips slightly:

"Good boy."

"......"

Li Mo shrank his neck. Was this lamb from some magical flock? Because despite the tingling numbness crawling over his scalp and the shivers down his spine, his lips curled upward harder than a certain hammer-wielding hero could suppress.

Zhong Ling: "!"

Right now, even the fiery liquor in her mouth tasted sweet.

This... this was...!

Had Li Mo secretly hired the "Frost Immortal" to give her a masterclass in romance!?

Li Mo wasn’t just insanely powerful—he was downright considerate. Remembering how she’d acted when they first met that morning, she wanted to slap herself twice.

Later, she’d have to toast him a couple rounds. But for now...

"Little brother, eat." Zhong Ling mimicked Ying Bing’s gesture, brandishing a whole lamb leg.

"......"

Zhong Zhenyue hesitated for exactly three and a third seconds before letting the lamb leg silence the swarm of questions in his gut.

And so, an absurd scene unfolded.

The ice queen, taking Zhong Ling as her reference, fed Li Mo whenever Zhong Ling fed Zhenyue.

Meanwhile, Zhong Ling, treating Ying Bing as her textbook, copied her moves on Zhenyue—though her execution was more "discount knockoff" than "premium original."

They were trapped in a bizarre, self-reinforcing loop.

Utterly baffling.

Their table was the liveliest in the tavern.

A kid at the next table piped up, "Mom, what are they doing?"

Only to have his mother cover his eyes.

"Hold up!"

Zhong Zhenyue clutched his stomach and raised a hand.

"Hmm?" Zhong Ling’s expression darkened.

"Brother Li’s ingredients are too potent—I can’t digest this much. I’m full."

With a pained face, he loosened his belt, his round belly puffing out his undershirt.

Ying Bing fed Li Mo one bite at a time, taking one herself between servings.

Zhong Ling, meanwhile, seemed intent on shoving the entire lamb leg down his throat.

"Sis, you try it too. It’s really good."

"Oh? Learning manners now?"

Zhong Ling took a delighted bite from the dish Zhenyue offered, then sneakily flashed Li Mo a thumbs-up.

No wonder they called him the "Wife-Blessing Brawler"—his advice worked like magic. Zhenyue had never fed her before.

"......"

Mentor Li massaged his forehead, hiding his exasperation.

Had his "romance tactics" failed? Well, Zhong Ling was eating.

But if this counted as success... why did it feel so off?

As he chewed thoughtfully on his chopsticks, he met Ying Bing’s gaze.

Her eyes flicked from the dishes to his utensils, practically spelling out:

‘You’re really going to eat alone?’

"Here, eat."

Li Mo picked up a strand of potato-and-pepper stir-fry and held it to her lips.

Ying Bing’s brows furrowed slightly. She turned her face away, lips sealed.

Rejected.

"???"

A tiny question mark popped over Li Mo’s head. Didn’t she like potato-pepper stir-fry?

Thankfully, he was a genius.

This time, his brilliance struck true. In that instant, he caught the critical detail.

He blurted out:

"Jiejie, eat?"

"Mn."

Her brows smoothed, and she opened her mouth—like a aloof cat finally acknowledging its human.

"..."

That was the trick?

Li Mo had acted on pure instinct. After all, Zhenyue had always called Zhong Ling "sis," but Ying Bing was only two months older than him...

The tavern buzzed with soldiers swapping stories.

"This here’s the legendary Wife-Blessing—ahem, the Lone Odd Sword!"

"And next to him, the Frost Immortal."

Zhong Zhenyue introduced them to the troops, and the mood soared. Across the vast Nine Heavens and Ten Earths, countless heroes arose, yet only a hundred earned the title "Hidden Dragons." And at this humble table sat three—two of them ranking high among the most celebrated.

"Li, if you’ll indulge me, let’s share a drink."

"I knew at a glance—this one’s no ordinary man."

"Li, are you betrothed—hiss, damn strong liquor. Two cups and I’m dizzy."

At first, the soldiers toasted out of respect for the young marquis. But soon, they found the "Wife-Blessing Brawler" surprisingly down-to-earth, and the atmosphere warmed.

Zhong Zhenyue wasn’t entirely surprised. Li Mo got along with everyone—unless they were outright villains.

Grinning, he added:

"Li’s joining our drills tomorrow. Lads, better bring your A-game. Don’t embarrass the border army."

"How’s he drilling us? He’s no soldier," asked the one-armed tavern owner.

"You’ll see tomorrow."

Zhong Zhenyue took a swig.

"Even Uncle Qu said it—if Li enlisted, he’d be a godlike general. And that’s high praise—he’s never spoken of me that way."

The soldiers exchanged glances, their respect deepening.

Their commander, Uncle Qu, was a man of few words—each one weighed and unshakable. If he vouched for someone, it meant something.

"So... how many units can young Li bear? More than the young marquis?" ventured the one-armed man.

"Units?" Li Mo glanced at Zhenyue.

"One unit is a hundred soldiers in formation," Zhenyue explained. "The formation’s power channels through its core. The stronger one’s body and soul, the more units they can withstand."

"With Ling-jie’s support, I max out at four units."

That matched the number of elites he’d brought to Southgate City.

Li Mo grasped the concept.

A military formation’s energy was torrential—far beyond any ordinary person’s control. To channel such collective might, the core’s resilience was paramount.

Those bearing ten units were already vanguard material.

A hundred units? That was a one-man army, a battlefield dominator.

As for true godlike generals? The Great Yu Dynasty had one:

The Southern Suppressing King.

(Though besides the core’s strength, the troops’ quality and the commander’s skill also mattered.)

"If I study formations... wonder how many units I could handle..."

"You’ll find out tomorrow," Zhenyue chuckled.

The rowdy banter of rough men shook the tavern’s rafters.

"Think he’ll sleep well tonight?"

Ying Bing watched the young man not far away, who moved effortlessly among the group of soldiers, and couldn't help but think to himself.

Practitioners of the Observation Divine Realm could replace sleep with meditation.

However, unless circumstances were urgent, they would still take a short rest each day to relax their minds.

But Li Mo hadn’t slept properly in a long time.

At that moment,

a child at the neighboring table grew drowsy, rubbing his eyes, unable to sleep amid the noise.

His mother, a local woman from the southern border, gently patted his back and softly sang:

"Dark, dark the sky, rain is coming."

"Dark, dark, so dark..."

The local lullaby, in its rustic dialect, brought a touch of serene and gentle tranquility to the clamor—neither abrupt nor out of place—soothing the child into a deep slumber.

The young maiden’s eyes were soft and peaceful under the glow of the night’s fireworks.

She hadn’t made any effort to memorize it,

yet the lullaby lingered in her heart...