Chapter 50

(Listened to the sound of the morning, went to get some medicinal wine, it's quite cold when writing at eleven or twelve at night in winter, drinking a bit to warm the body, hoping for everyone's recommendation votes to warm the heart.)

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Dust settled.

Perhaps the brutal and domineering manner in which Zhao Futu killed the county captain was too intense, the Yellow Turban soldiers and the local militia who were fighting also stopped. Some of the Yellow Turban soldiers stared blankly at Zhao Futu, who stood firm on the battlefield, their eyes filled with a fanatical, reverent, and deeply respectful look. They abandoned their opponents and rushed to the center of the battlefield, tightly protecting the heavily wounded Zhao Futu.

"Central Yellow Taiyi!"

The Yellow Turban warrior was the first to rush to Zhao Futu's side. He supported the swaying Zhao Futu, then took out a special yellow talisman from his body. Holding it between two fingers, he unfolded it and whispered a few words as it burned without a flame. He poured the talisman into a water skin and then fed it to Zhao Futu mouthful by mouthful.

At this moment, the Yellow Turban warrior's eyes finally showed a hint of respect for Zhao Futu.

………………

"Contractor No. 1013 drinks the talisman water—Celestial Master's Talisman (Healing), restores 30 points of health, heals minor injuries, and treats some diseases..."

The talisman water seemed to inject a bit of strength into Zhao Futu. His eyes brightened, and he sat up straight. From somewhere on his body, he pulled out a steaming bun and quickly ate it. Then he sat cross-legged and began to meditate on the blood-soaked battlefield. The surrounding Yellow Turban soldiers did not dare to disturb him and only guarded from a distance.

He meditated until noon before waking up. The wounds on his body had already scabbed over, the fresh blood congealed into a dark red mass. Although he still looked quite terrible, Zhao Futu moved his body and knew that his injuries had recovered to about seventy or eighty percent. The talisman water and the steaming bun had restored nearly a hundred points of health, and the two effects of healing minor injuries had significantly healed his lung injury.

Tearing a piece of cloth from his clothes, Zhao Futu wrapped it around his chest to bandage the wound.

At this moment, he had the chance to sort through his spoils. The bodies of the other soldiers had already been searched, but no one dared to touch the county captain's body. According to the rules, the jade pendants, swords, and other items on the county captain's body belonged to Zhao Futu. He waved his hand, indicating that he did not need help, and walked over. First, he closed the county captain's wide-open eyes, then picked up the deep blue key that no one else could see on the ground.

This was a skilled warrior, worthy of a bit of respect.

Zhao Futu took the jade pendant from the county captain's body and picked up the ring-headed sword. Then he waved his hand and said, "You deal with the other things, but give him some dignity, dig a pit and bury him!"

The items on the county captain's body were all gray, not very valuable, worth at most a few dozen survival points. Zhao Futu did not want to strip the dead completely.

Hearing Zhao Futu's instructions, the Yellow Turban squad leaders exchanged glances. One of them took the county captain's clothes, jade belt, brocade robe, and official boots, but left him some clothes to cover his body. Then they followed the instructions and dragged his body to the side to bury it. At this moment, they truly submitted to Zhao Futu and did not hesitate to follow his orders.

"Screech!"

A sound came from the village, and the gate opened automatically.

An elderly man with a weathered face walked out of the gate, followed by several trembling villagers, each carrying a pole with steamed buns, rice, noodles, roasted chicken, and a processed pig. A few others carried two jars of wine. It was already noon, and many of the Yellow Turban soldiers were extremely hungry after the battle, but they did not attack. They all looked at Zhao Futu with puzzled eyes, unsure of the other side's intentions.

Zhao Futu, having sorted through his spoils, glanced at the village elder and sighed inwardly, "Indeed, a man who knows the times!"

The elder ordered the others to put down the food and then quickly walked towards Zhao Futu, bowing from a distance and sighing, "My Sun clan are all good people. During the great famine, we have also helped the poor. I hope the general will show mercy and spare the old, young, and women in the village."

The elder had seen Zhao Futu's might and knew that the village could not resist such a strong warrior. He had already instructed others to prepare food and wine. If Zhao Futu was still alive despite his severe injuries, he would beg for mercy, asking the Yellow Turban soldiers to spare the villagers. If Zhao Futu had died, the Yellow Turban soldiers might not have the will to take the village, and they could fight to the death.

"Please rise, elder!" Zhao Futu sighed, lifting the elder.

As a modern person, it was quite uncomfortable for him to have a man in his sixties or seventies bow to him. But this was a chaotic era, and the elder was doing it for the sake of the villagers.

Zhao Futu waved his hand, indicating that the Yellow Turban soldiers should accept the food and wine, and then said, "We will only take some military rations and will not harm a single person in the village."

Hearing Zhao Futu's promise, the elder was deeply moved and tried to bow again, but Zhao Futu held him up.

People in this era valued their word very much, unlike modern people who often break their promises and value empty talk. So when Zhao Futu made this promise, he would definitely keep it. Otherwise, the Yellow Turban soldiers would look down on him. Soon, a few more villagers came out with bags of rice.

"You can have the wine and meat, and the rest can be shared," Zhao Futu pointed to a pole and said to the Yellow Turban squad leader.

The squad leaders took a share of the wine and meat, and the rest was distributed among the other Yellow Turban soldiers. Their status was different, so their treatment was also different. This was an era that valued hierarchy, and the other Yellow Turban soldiers had no objections, happily waiting around a jar of wine. In ancient times, wine was a luxury, often used for sacrifices and ancestral worship, and the common people rarely tasted it.

Since he had promised not to disturb the villagers, Zhao Futu immediately ordered the others to carry the rice and leave. The villagers, seeing the Yellow Turban soldiers depart, felt a sense of relief, as if they had survived a disaster. If the Yellow Turban soldiers had really broken into the village, it would not just be a matter of food and wine; the elderly, women, and children would also be in grave danger, especially the women, who would suffer unimaginable humiliation!

………………

The army retreated five miles, and Zhao Futu ordered everyone to stop and rest. There were many injured who needed simple bandaging.

The hungry Yellow Turban soldiers had already gathered around the poles, waiting for the food to be distributed. Each person got two steamed buns, a small piece of meat, a bowl of rice, and a sip of wine. This was the best meal they had had in a long time. Even in the Yellow Turban camp, they rarely had wine and meat. These people might have killed countless others, but they were easily satisfied. The pigs in this era were generally lean, weighing at most a hundred or two hundred pounds, so half of the pork was left as military rations. The roasted chicken was sent to Zhao Futu, along with half a jar of wine, a salted fish, and a small basket of eggs.

The Yellow Turban soldiers had already started eating, but the squad leaders still hesitated, even though they were very hungry. The rare and abundant meat and wine tempted them, but they understood discipline and hierarchy better than the ordinary Yellow Turban soldiers.

Zhao Futu understood with a glance. He took a big sip from the wine jar and then passed it to the Yellow Turban warrior, saying, "I don't like wine, you can share it."

After he took the first bite, the squad leaders had no more reservations and each ate and drank heartily.

These were the elite of the army, with large appetites. They ate the rice in large bites, but each only took a piece of meat and a sip of wine, passing the jar around. The roasted chicken remained untouched, always placed in front of Zhao Futu. No one took an extra piece of meat or an extra sip of wine, showing a deep sense of camaraderie and trust in life and death!

This kind of bond was far beyond the casual brotherhood of modern people, who often call each other brothers over a meal.

In this era, being a brother was a lifelong commitment, a matter of life and death. If you called someone a brother casually, you would only get a response: "What are you, to call me your brother?"

This was the ancient battlefield of cold weapons.

{Piaotian Literature}