Flames roared into the sky, their glow staining the night while the acrid stench of charred grass mingled with black smoke that the northern wind carried toward Deer City.
Li Shuang fixed her gaze on the horizon. Through the rising fire, she could just make out figures darting about, their shouts and clamor faintly carried on the wind. On the city wall, the commanders had all gathered. Luo Teng wiped the sweat from his brow, though the night was bitterly cold. “Damn it! With a fire that size… is this the Western Rong’s ploy? Or did that Black Armored warrior blunder into it? Or… could their camp be in turmoil?”
Another commander frowned deeply. “The fire seems too chaotic to be deliberate. And no matter how fearsome that Black Armored warrior is, he alone couldn’t have sparked a blaze on such a scale.”
“Speculation is useless,” Qin Lan cut in. “Wait for the scouts’ report.”
While the others debated, Li Shuang’s eyes narrowed with sudden clarity. “Beat the war drums. Sound the horns.”
The men turned to her in shock.
“General… are we attacking?”
“No.” Her eyes stayed locked on the sea of flames. “Whether this fire was planned or not, it’s beyond their control now. The Western Rong have already lost two generals. Leaderless and demoralized, tonight’s blaze has thrown their forces into disarray. If we thunder with drums now, even if we don’t drive them away, it will shake their spirit.”
Qin Lan’s lips curved faintly. “A clever move.”
“But…” Deer City’s original defender, a small man with a goatee, hesitated, pale. “What if the Western Rong answer our drums with an attack?”
“Then let them.” Li Shuang’s tone was steel. “With their camp in chaos, without leaders, they’d only stumble blindly. Let them try to assault Deer City.”
The goateed man shrank beneath her cold gaze and said no more. Silence fell briefly until Li Shuang’s sharp voice cracked across the wall: “Well? Why are you still standing there?”
The commanders bowed hastily and hurried off to execute her order.
Only Qin Lan remained by her side. He stood a step behind, eyes lingering on her with a quiet intensity as the night wind howled.
“General…” he said softly.
“Mm?” Her voice, in that moment, was gentle, the way she had always spoken with him back at the manor.
“Are you worried… about that Black Armored warrior?”
Li Shuang stiffened. Her fingers curled against the rough stone. “Ah?” She turned toward him, caught off guard, either by his question or by how neatly he had laid bare her thoughts.
Qin Lan’s eyes darkened.
Li Shuang gave a small “oh” as if to brush it off, then said slowly, “He has saved me twice. Mysterious, reckless… sometimes infuriating. But…” Her voice faltered. “I don’t wish for him to die in that chaos.”
Qin Lan lowered his gaze, hiding the shadow in his expression, and said nothing more.
The drums of Deer City thundered. Horns wailed, their echoes reverberating like the roar of a dragon roused from slumber, splitting the night and carrying on the northern wind to the blood-streaked sky.
As Li Shuang predicted, the Western Rong formations shuddered. In the firelit distance, their lines faltered, scattered, and began to pull back.
“They’re retreating!” a soldier shouted.
“They’re retreating!” Voices rose with relief and joy.
Li Shuang permitted herself a faint smile. The first clash with the Western Rong had ended in victory—without a single blade drawn.
It was a fortunate win, yes, but also a resounding show of Great Jin’s strength. The Longfeng Camp had secured Deer City, and for now, no other northern tribe could match Western Rong’s might. Their retreat would echo as a warning across the frontier: Great Jin’s Deer City was no easy prey.
Li Shuang turned to descend from the wall, silver armor chiming faintly with her steps. Cheers still resounded when she suddenly halted. A faint “plop” had reached her ears.
Her eyes shifted. A dark stain glistened on the stone floor, reflecting firelight and moonlight alike.
She crouched. Blood. Still warm.
Her gaze lifted to the eaves above. Only the cold moonlight stared back. Whoever it was, they had vanished. And with such lightness of skill, Li Shuang needed no confirmation of who it might have been.
She vaulted upward with her qinggong, scanning the rooftops, but found no trace. Frowning, she rubbed the blood between her fingers before dropping lightly back down.
Qin Lan was waiting. “Did the General find anything?”
Li Shuang shook her head. If it truly was him, he would never be caught so easily.
Back at camp, the commanders stood awkwardly outside the main tent, exchanging uneasy glances.
Li Shuang raised a brow. “Why aren’t you inside?” She brushed past, lifted the flap—then froze.
Qin Lan nearly collided with her but stopped, peering in. For once, even he faltered.
Inside, a Western Rong military banner stood planted. From it hung a blood-soaked head, eyes closed, blood dripping steadily onto the ground.
Behind it, scrawled across the banner in blood-red strokes:
The head of the Western Rong general is my gift to you. Hope you’re pleased.
Li Shuang’s temple twitched. Pleased, my foot.
Below, another line read: As for the rest—move, and die.
No wonder her officers hadn’t dared to enter.
Her hand clenched so tightly on the tent flap she tore it from its seam. “Where were the guards?!” she barked. “Are you all dead on your feet? How does something this blatant get delivered without a trace?!”
The commanders bowed their heads in shameful silence.
Li Shuang turned back toward the gruesome “gift.” She had seen death, commanded men to kill, but never before had someone presented her with an enemy’s head… as a token.
She wasn’t afraid. No—she was furious.
Furious, because whoever had left it was clearly unhinged. Completely, utterly deranged.
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