Chapter 118: Your Life Is as Cheap as Grass

The faces of the generals present shifted dramatically, and they bowed their heads even lower, not daring to utter another word.

It was no laughing matter—who would dare to challenge the will of the Marquis of Wei? What the Marquis decreed was iron law within the Wei army; anyone who dared to cross that line would soon find their head no longer attached to their shoulders.

Yet, what Xu Anhong had just said left the officers and officials astonished. The Marquis’s deep concern for this young nobleman seemed laden with profound significance. Some frowned in contemplation, others fell into deep thought, while some—like the man who had just disparaged Wei Wuji—wore expressions of uncertainty and malice.

"We would never dare!" the generals cried out in unison, prostrating themselves. Regardless of their private thoughts, maintaining the proper facade was the only path to survival. If one could not demonstrate absolute loyalty to the Marquis, they might as well prepare to pack their bags and leave.

Observing the generals bowing once more, Xu Anhong nodded with satisfaction. "Chen Dao, see that you keep a record of this," he said, addressing the man at the head of the table.

"As you command, sir," Chen Dao replied.

"Good," Xu Anhong responded. He then turned and began to walk slowly out of the hall.

Just like that, he was leaving? Watching Xu Anhong’s retreating figure, the generals were bewildered. Had the old general come all this way merely to preside over "justice" for him?

At the mention of "him," the generals’ gazes involuntarily turned back toward Wei Wuji. Seeing that familiar face again, they perceived something more. They kept telling themselves that he was merely an ordinary nobleman, a youth who had previously been obscure. But no matter how they tried to rationalize it, they could not help but superimpose the image of the man before them with the figure of the one who sat on high, wielding supreme power. Nobleman? Marquis? It was becoming hard to tell them apart.

Just then, the "Marquis of Wei" in their eyes stirred. Seeing Xu Anhong exit, Wei Wuji began to walk toward the man who had challenged him.

What was he doing? Questions arose in the minds of the generals. They had an inkling of the answer, but they chose not to believe it. As he walked, Wei Wuji raised his sword slightly, his gaze chilling. The hearts of the generals tightened; they inwardly prayed that he would not actually draw blood.

Wei Wuji’s gaze grew increasingly frigid as he closed the distance. For some reason, the general who had planned to slip away the moment things went wrong now found his feet rooted to the spot, as if filled with lead. First, he still did not believe that Wei Wuji would dare to strike him; second, if he fled, having been scared off by a mere stripling, he would never be able to hold his head high in the Wei army again.

Yet, the closer Wei Wuji came, the more his confidence evaporated, leaving him feeling utterly hollow. *The boy is young and reckless, prone to violence—what if he really cuts me down with a single stroke?* the general asked himself. He smiled bitterly at the thought: what could he do? The result would be his own death, while the man before him would at most lose his freedom.

The White Tiger Hall was vast, but it only took a dozen steps to cross. Soon, Wei Wuji stood directly before the general.

"You dare say I abandoned the defense of Dashiyi? Was that truly me?" The more Wei Wuji thought about it, the more unsettled he became. If he didn't show these people their place today, they would surely continue to think him an easy target.

Wei Wuji raised his sword higher, holding it almost level with his chest. With every step he took, the blade drew closer to the general. Facing Wei Wuji’s cold, piercing glare, the general broke out in a cold sweat, his body stiffening. The closer he got, the more the short, agonizingly long pressure made the general’s heart tremble violently. If he had walked away earlier, people might have called him prudent, but now, he had no retreat left. To back down now would not only make him a coward, but a fool who lacked the measure of his own strength.

At that moment, the general suddenly saw a smile on Wei Wuji’s face. It was an eerie expression, like… a child looking at a toy.

*Is my life truly as worthless as a blade of grass?* The thought struck the general. In Wei Wuji’s eyes, he saw himself as nothing more than chaff. *Yes,* he realized, *before this nobleman… we are ultimately lord and subject. If he chooses to kill me… what does it matter?*

Furthermore, the general had heard from reliable sources that Wei Wuji had personally taken up his sword to fight the Qin forces on the city walls. This revelation shook him to his core; it was rare for a high-ranking officer to fight on the front lines, let alone a nobleman of such status. The general seemed to foresee his own fate: a sword thrust into his chest, dying amidst the mockery of his peers. *Why did I get involved in this? Why did I listen to that man?* The general felt a bitter, deep-seated regret.

Wei Wuji’s smile faded; he tightened his grip on the hilt, the tip of his blade pointing directly at the general’s heart.

"I beg your mercy, young master…" Finally, unable to bear it any longer, the general lowered his spine and bowed his head for the first time. He had broken; he realized there was no point in being a sacrificial lamb in the power struggles of the Wei clan. Besides… Wei Wuji’s aura was simply too cold, a chill that seemed to emanate from his very soul, which the general could no longer endure.

He treated the generals as nothing, the rules of the White Tiger Hall as nothing, life itself as nothing… perhaps even his own life as nothing.

It wasn't just the targeted general who felt this; all the men present saw the image of Wei Wuji shifting into exactly that. A man who holds everything in contempt is not to be feared, but if that man possesses immense power and status, it is a different matter entirely. Wei Wuji was undoubtedly such a person. With his status as a nobleman, no one present could restrain him, and the only man who could—Xu Anhong—had already left. Some even felt a sense of relief, thankful they hadn't confronted him directly.

"You were wrong?" Wei Wuji asked, surprised to find the man yielding.

"This subordinate should not have spoken so recklessly. The young master’s military strategies have their own unique merits." Having already conceded, the general went all in, resorting to flattery.

"I fear I am not worthy of such praise," Wei Wuji said, his expression grave, the blade remaining unmoved. *If I let him off this easily, I’ve wasted my performance,* he thought.

"I spoke nonsense earlier. I beg for your forgiveness," the man said, skipping the debate and getting straight to the point.

"Heh," Wei Wuji let out a cold laugh. Suddenly, he raised his sword and swung it down toward the general.

The crowd was shocked, many shouting, "Young master, stop!" If Wei Wuji truly killed someone here, the situation would spiral out of control, costing many their titles and positions. The victim himself was paralyzed with terror; he could not fathom why, even after apologizing, he was still facing the edge of the blade.

Wei Wuji’s hand rose and fell. The general’s hair bun was sheared off, his hair spilling down in disarray. Seeing no blood spilled, the crowd let out a collective sigh of relief; as long as no one died, it was manageable.

As they marveled at the general’s narrow escape, Wei Wuji spoke, his voice chillingly sharp.

"I am not just targeting him. I want everyone here to know: this young master… is not someone to be trifled with." His voice was iron-clad and soul-piercing.

With that, Wei Wuji sheathed his sword and turned to leave with resolute steps, leaving behind the disheveled, hollowed-out general and a hall full of men who could only stare at one another in silence.

By now, everyone could feel it: this nobleman was truly as cold as iron, viewing human life as nothing more than dust. And to him, everyone's life was the same.