This northern campaign has made us victors, so we have reclaimed the dominant position. As a hegemon, one must act like a hegemon; as long as we remain strong, Emperor Hui of Liao will be forced to beg for our mercy. This is not about whether he has any backbone but about power.

If they want to enter Bianjing, first, they need to offer us their most precious gifts!"

Cloudzheng laughed: "Bloodsucking?"

Wen Yanbo roared with laughter: "General Cloud, don’t make this sound too gruesome; our wealth is so abundant that we don’t need to bleed."

Cloudzheng shook his head and said, "Bleeding is a habit, not something you choose. When Song becomes the only stable and prosperous nation, wealth will flow like water. Thus, the rich get richer while the poor remain poorer.

When they have nothing left to lose, life becomes cheap. Those with nothing to lose are the scariest. If they don’t fear losing anything, they won’t hesitate to take risks.

I prefer fighting a rational general rather than an irrational mob; their determination can create miracles.

I even know that a group of destitute young people, relying solely on dreams, built an empire."

Wen Yanbo, puzzled, asked, "Do you mean the story about the soldiers who fought so valiantly that they made many famous generals fall?"

Cloudzheng smiled and said, "Believe me, it really happened. I know very well!"

Confused, Wen Yanbo shouted after Cloudzheng’s retreating figure: "Don’t go! Explain clearly; didn't you make this up?"

Cloudzheng laughed heartily, waved goodbye, and walked away, humming a strange tune.

"Before my familiar eyes

Strangers invade bit by bit

But his story I remember

They left behind a group of simple youths...

Who strolled on with ease."

Wen Yanbo stopped abruptly. Cloudzheng’s odd accent was unheard of; it reminded him of the spy reports mentioning that Cloudzheng had an unusual dialect when he first came into this world.

The experienced Wen Yanbo, who lived in Song for fifty years and heard countless regional accents, found Cloudzheng's speech peculiar once it wasn't his native Sichuanese. Each word was clearly pronounced with a rising and falling tone, giving it its own flavor. This wasn’t the dialect of a small place but that of a great clan!

He paused, listening intently to every sound as he committed them to memory. For someone with photographic memory like Wen Yanbo, this was not difficult.

(To be continued.)