Chapter 11: Testing
The aftermath of battle painted Shuozhou Prefecture City in shades of chaos and renewal. Soldiers methodically cleared debris while civilians swept bloodstained cobblestones. Outside the military encampment, Duan Xu stood motionless in his battle-worn armor, the crimson stains wiped clean but the weight of command still heavy on his shoulders. Meng Wan remained at his side, a silent sentinel.
Duan Xu's hands rose in his characteristic gesture—fingers interlaced, pressed against his lips, then separated, then joined again. The rhythmic motion betrayed the storm of thoughts beneath his composed exterior.
Though Meng Wan recognized this habitual display of deep contemplation, his true thoughts remained an enigma. She ventured carefully, "Shunxi, are you concerned about Commandant Han and He Xiaoxiao?"
The news had arrived like a knife through silk—Han Ling Qiu had been ambushed by Danzhi forces while escorting He Xiaoxiao to Shuozhou. Since then, silence had swallowed them whole.
Dawn had broken on the second day, yet no word had come from either Commandant Han or their precious wind diviner.
Duan Xu's vacant gaze sharpened as it found her face, a smile ghosting across his lips. He shook his head with surprising certainty.
"He Xiaoxiao isn't someone who requires my worry."
"Then what troubles you—"
"Report!" A scout's urgent call cut through the morning air as he dropped to one knee before Duan Xu. "General, Commandant Han and Miss He's carriage approaches. They'll reach the Prefecture City within half an incense stick's time."
Duan Xu's smile deepened, carrying a note of triumph. "You see? I told you she needed no concern. Send a welcoming party."
When the carriage finally limped into view, Meng Wan's breath caught. What had once been a magnificent conveyance—voluntarily offered by a grateful Han merchant—now bore the brutal testimony of battle. Blood painted abstract patterns across its surface, dark and light patches telling stories of violence. Half the window curtain hung in charred tatters, and two enemy arrows jutted from the carriage wall like accusatory fingers.
Han Ling Qiu sat rigid in the driver's seat, his left arm hanging useless, blood seeping steadily through makeshift bandages. The battle had clearly been savage.
"Commandant Han, your condition?" Meng Wan leaped from her horse, genuine concern coloring her voice.
Han Ling Qiu's response came clipped, professional. "Danzhi ambush en route. Minor wound only."
"We received word of the attack. Their numbers? How did you manage to repel them?" Anxiety sharpened Meng Wan's questions.
"Perhaps a hundred men... we were severely outnumbered. Near the mountain pass, blue ghost fire suddenly descended from above—it consumed flesh but left trees and beasts untouched. The enemy suffered heavy losses and withdrew."
"And your party?"
"Strange... the fire never touched us."
From within the carriage came a long, weary sigh, followed by He Simu's melodious voice: "That mountain holds many graves. Perhaps the ancestors grew angry."
Ghosts in broad daylight?
Meng Wan couldn't suppress another suspicious glance toward the carriage. Why did supernatural phenomena seem to follow He Xiaoxiao like shadows? Her unease deepened—the woman might not only harbor hidden intentions but could be a harbinger of misfortune itself.
As the carriage drew to a halt before Duan Xu, He Simu finally emerged from behind the curtain. While Han Ling Qiu and his soldiers bore the grimy badges of hard fighting, she remained pristine. Her sweetly lovely face wore its familiar smile, though pallor touched her features like frost on morning flowers.
Her composure, however, proved fleeting.
The moment her feet touched the ground, her legs betrayed her. Arms flailing for balance, she staggered forward several steps before colliding solidly with Duan Xu's chest. The impact was genuine—fortunately, his stability prevented them both from tumbling to the earth.
Silence descended like a heavy curtain.
Meng Wan's complexion turned ashen with barely concealed fury.
Duan Xu's eyes widened in genuine surprise before his brows lifted with subtle amusement. He created a respectful distance between them, raising one hand to touch her forehead with clinical precision.
"Miss Xiaoxiao, you're burning with fever," he observed with calm authority.
After a calculated pause, his smile turned almost playful. "Did you truly not notice?"
Not notice?
This cunning little fox is testing her limits again.
He Simu's eyes flickered with barely perceptible calculation. She held Duan Xu's gaze for a heartbeat before tears welled in her eyes, her expression crumpling with practiced vulnerability.
"The journey filled me with such terror that I only found peace upon seeing you. Now I realize how unwell I truly feel..."
As if to punctuate her words, her head tilted gracefully to one side, and she collapsed into Duan Xu's arms with theatrical precision.
Such a consummate actress! Meng Wan's jaw clenched with suppressed rage.
In truth, He Simu walked the razor's edge between performance and genuine distress. This mortal shell proved increasingly difficult to control—what she'd initially attributed to prolonged separation from the body now revealed itself as actual illness when Duan Xu's observation pierced her facade.
Sickness remained one of possession's greatest challenges.
He Simu found herself installed in a warm chamber specially prepared by a wealthy Han merchant in Shuozhou Prefecture City. Thick blankets cocooned her on a comfortable bed while a roaring fire painted dancing shadows on the walls. The military physician examined her with professional thoroughness.
"Have you experienced recent fatigue, weakness in your limbs, lower abdominal pain?" he inquired with methodical precision.
"...Perhaps a little," He Simu replied with her unchanging gentle smile.
"Sensitivity to wind and cold, loss of appetite?"
"A little."
"Chest tightness, difficulty breathing..."
"A little."
No matter the physician's questions, He Simu's response remained constant—that same serene agreement. The truth was complex: while the mortal body might suffer various discomforts, the evil spirit possessing it remained immune to such mundane sensations. Heat, cold, pain, breathlessness—these were sophistications far beyond a ghost's perception.
Experience had taught He Simu that when a possessed body fell ill, the wisest course was allowing the original soul to surface and describe the symptoms. Otherwise, minor ailments could spiral into life-threatening conditions.
Fortunately, this military physician had encountered countless patients unable to articulate their suffering. Recognizing the futility of detailed inquiry, he abandoned the traditional diagnostic conversation and prescribed medicine based solely on physical examination.
While waiting for the medicine's preparation, He Simu entertained herself by regaling Chen Ying with ghost stories, watching with amusement as the boy's face drained of color.
Three light taps interrupted her tale.
"Enter," she called without looking up.
Chen Ying's terror evaporated instantly. He sprang to his feet, shouting with pure joy, "General Brother!" Only then did He Simu raise her gaze.
Duan Xu stood in the doorway holding a bowl of steaming medicinal brew. Gone was his intimidating armor, replaced by a simple round-collared robe that softened his martial bearing. When their eyes met, his face bloomed with genuine warmth.
"Young lady, time for your medicine." Duan Xu settled gracefully beside her bed.
He Simu dismissed Chen Ying with a gentle gesture before accepting the bitter concoction. Her attention caught on Duan Xu's fingers—scabbed wounds of varying depth marked his pale skin like a map of recent battles. One could only imagine what scars might be hidden beneath his clothing.
Though perhaps that too was calculated misdirection. With his renowned martial prowess, he could likely carve through enemy ranks thrice over without sustaining serious injury. How many warriors possessed the skill to wound him?
She pondered these mysteries while maintaining her flattered exterior. "How could I trouble the General with such a trivial matter?"
"You serve as our army's wind diviner and contributed greatly to our Tabai victory. How could your illness be trivial?"
"Is this a Tabai custom? When Lang General Xia suffers wounds, do you personally deliver his medicine as well?"
"Hardly. Meng Wan mentioned that you harbor feelings for me, so I thought my presence might lift your spirits."
At the words "harbor feelings for me," He Simu sprayed a mouthful of medicinal soup directly across Duan Xu's face.
The dark liquid dripped down his refined features like ink cascading over jade, transforming his noble countenance into something almost comical.
He blinked once, then burst into delighted laughter—like a child whose prank had exceeded all expectations.
Faced with Duan Xu's inexplicable joy, He Simu found herself speechless. She quickly produced a handkerchief, cupping his face with one hand while dabbing away the medicine with the other, offering repeated apologies. Duan Xu offered no resistance, allowing her ministrations while his bright eyes danced with amusement.
As her hand traveled from his jawline to his cheekbone, He Simu applied subtle pressure, testing the bone structure beneath. The young general truly possesses fine skull architecture.
Duan Xu noticed her clinical examination of his profile. He tilted his head slightly upward, his smile taking on a languid quality.
"Ah, I see. The young lady admires not me but my skull structure. Could it be you collect such things?"
The conversation had seamlessly transitioned to territory that would complement the ghost stories she'd been telling Chen Ying.
In the legends surrounding her—this very ghost—she did indeed collect skulls. Hundreds filled her macabre gallery.
He Simu's smile turned enigmatic. "Years of wandering the jianghu have given me unusual interests. But how does that compare to your own story—escaping bandits and brigands at fourteen, traveling hundreds of li to reach the Southern Capital?"
A flicker passed through Duan Xu's eyes before his smile returned. "You've investigated my background."
"As have you investigated mine."
"And what conclusions have you drawn?"
"What conclusions have you drawn about me?"
He Simu cupped Duan Xu's face in both hands, shedding her timid, docile mask. She gazed directly into his eyes while drawing his face closer to hers.
At a distance where breath mingled with breath, she whispered with dangerous intensity, "We're shadow puppets performing on stage—let's not tear through this paper screen."
She paused deliberately before releasing his face, creating careful distance between them.
But barely two feet separated them when Duan Xu suddenly seized He Simu's shoulders, pulling her close once more. His whisper caressed her ear like silk, "Perhaps a thousand layers of paper separate us. Tear through one, and countless others remain beneath, Miss He."
He drew away with fluid grace, his expression transforming back into brilliant innocence as if the pointed exchange had never occurred.
"To me, you represent an extraordinary person who lacks conventional perception. Though your true purposes remain mysterious, I choose to extend my trust. Since you've aided our cause, I shall treat you as an honored guest and ensure your comfort. Nothing more complex than that."
He Simu crossed her arms, studying Duan Xu with renewed assessment. "Young General, what assurance do you have that this extraordinary person will continue assisting you? Perhaps I'll defect and serve Danzhi instead."
"From my observations, their skull structures lack aesthetic appeal—they probably wouldn't capture your discerning attention as mine has."
This young general possesses a truly silver tongue.
"Such certainty?" He Simu challenged.
"No certainty whatsoever," Duan Xu tilted his head with disarming honesty. "I simply possess a gambling nature, and fortune has rarely abandoned me. I usually manage to transform misfortune into triumph and claim victory."
"You believe you can win this particular wager?"
"One cannot win without playing."
Duan Xu rose with fluid elegance, the medicine bowl cradled in his right hand, left hand poised behind his back. He offered a courteous bow and promised to fetch fresh medicine before departing with light, confident steps.
He Simu watched his graceful retreat and murmured appreciatively, "Truly a thousand layers of paper."
People say a gentleman resembles jade, but his temperament transcended even that precious stone—he was like water jade, transparent and luminous.
The effect likely stemmed from his eyes, which held an inner radiance like captured starlight.
Yet beneath that luminous surface lay something far more complex—a cold pond a thousand feet deep, its bottom lost to darkness.
Those deceptively beautiful eyes served as his greatest weapon.