Yu Jin Chang An – Chapter 6
After issuing her final orders and leaving Qin Lan in charge of the bandit suppression, Li Shuang returned to her tent. Changfeng Camp’s strength was more than enough to topple such a petty stronghold—she had no doubts of their success. What remained was routine paperwork and a letter to the capital, informing her father of Li Ting’s situation.
By the time she sealed the missive, night had fallen. Li Shuang dropped wearily onto her bed, kneading her stiff shoulders. Having gone an entire day without rest, her body demanded surrender. The moment her eyes closed, sleep claimed her.
She expected oblivion. Instead, dreams came—vivid and unrelenting.
A man stood on a snow-blanketed peak, bare chest gleaming beneath a black armored mask. He drew her into his heat, lips brushing across her brow, cheek, and mouth with dangerous intimacy.
She tried to resist. Yet within his embrace, she found herself rooted, powerless to pull away.
When his lips grazed her neck and his hands moved to loosen her clothing, Li Shuang startled awake.
Her tent was shrouded in silence. Midnight. The camp lay undisturbed; even her candles had burned out. The air was bitterly cold, making the memory of that dream’s warmth even sharper. She lay still for a long while, then raised a hand to cover her eyes.
A sigh escaped her lips. Such a dream.
…She must be lonely.
She pushed herself upright to pour water, only to notice her blanket half-slipped to the floor and her clothing slightly undone. For a moment, Li Shuang froze. Had she—undressed herself in her sleep?
Something wasn’t right. She strode to the tent flap and lifted it.
Outside, the young guard stationed there was dozing on his spear. At the sight of her, he jolted awake, straightening in panic. “General!”
Li Shuang studied him, voice calm. “Did anyone enter my tent?”
The recruit blinked, baffled. “Report, General—no one approached the command tent.”
It was impossible for anyone to pass unnoticed. Which meant… it had only been a dream.
She said nothing further, only turned back inside. Sitting at her bedside, she exhaled once more. Perhaps on her next return to the capital, she should let her father arrange a marriage. It seemed this endless northern winter could not quite suppress the spring stirring within her.
At dawn, Qin Lan reported the bandits had been eradicated. Li Shuang gave a nod, but her thoughts strayed to the masked man she had fought. His foreknowledge of her movements still troubled her.
Recalling the red mark scrawled from his chest to his eye corner, recognition suddenly stirred.
“Where is the boy Jin’an?” she asked Luo Teng abruptly.
Her adjutant blinked. “Training with the other recruits. Why does General ask?”
“Take me to him.”
The training yard rang with the sound of bare feet on packed earth. The children were running laps, sweat soaking their thin shirts. Yet Jin’an, trailing them, moved with eerie composure—barely sweating, clothes unwrinkled, face impassive.
Only one with deep internal strength could endure so effortlessly.
“Jin’an!” Luo Teng called.
The boy had already fixed his gaze on Li Shuang. At the summons, he ran straight to her, stopping short but never averting his eyes.
Li Shuang crouched to meet him. “Do I look like your mother?”
He shook his head.
“Then why do you stare at me so?”
A pause, then simply: “Because you are special.”
The same words as before. Li Shuang smiled faintly, assuming childish gratitude. She ruffled his hair, and the boy’s eyes half-closed with pleasure, like a cat in the sun.
But when she withdrew her hand, he bit back a longing look.
“Jin’an,” she asked, “do you still have the red mark on your chest? I saw it when we brought you back.”
“Yes. Do you want to see?”
Li Shuang hesitated. “Is it inappropriate?”
“You can see anything of mine.”
She choked on her words. Luo Teng barked angrily, but Li Shuang waved it aside, ushering the boy into a tent. Jin’an obediently removed his shirt, revealing a tender, unscarred body—yet on his chest burned a flame-shaped mark, vivid as fresh ink.
Li Shuang traced it lightly. At her touch, his body trembled.
“Does it hurt?”
He shook his head, though inside he felt her fingers like sunlight piercing the cold shadows of his heart.
“How did you get this mark? Do you remember?”
“I don’t remember.” His earliest memory was of a freezing night, blood dripping from his lips as he ran through a forest. Nothing more.
Li Shuang studied him. If he spoke truth, his memory truly was lost. And yet—the mark matched the masked man’s exactly.
She dismissed him back to training, but as she turned, he tugged her sleeve.
“Can I follow you?”
“You’re too young,” she said gently. “Train properly first.”
“I know everything already. I can protect you.” His eyes—usually empty—were filled with quiet desperation.
Li Shuang almost laughed. Yet something in her heart softened, and she nodded. “Very well. From today, you’ll join my guard.”
The boy’s face lit up for the first time.
Later, Li Shuang called Qin Lan to her side.
“Keep him under watch,” she ordered. “The man from the fortress knew my movements. The boy’s mark, his resistance to cold—they cannot be coincidence.”
Qin Lan frowned, then bowed stiffly.
Li Shuang gave further command: “This afternoon, three men will ride with me to the place we found him. There was a forest behind. I recall the ground was disturbed.”
They rode to the desolate wasteland. Only faint rust stains remained where Jin’an had collapsed. Before them loomed the forest, its barren branches interlocked like blackened ribs.
They tied the horses and pressed inward. Broken trees and overturned rocks scarred the undergrowth. Within a wide circle, trunks had been shattered, stones pulverized.
Luo Teng’s breath hissed through his teeth. “Heavens… no child could have caused this.”
Among the debris gleamed white bones, gnawed clean by beasts. A guard’s cry rang out: “General! An underground chamber!”
They cleared branches to reveal a stone stair descending into darkness. From below seeped the stench of old blood and rot.
The sight made even Li Shuang’s scalp prickle.