He stood there for a long time, but she had already ridden away.
Still dazed, he felt the faint warmth lingering on the back of his hand. Turning around, he realized it was his black colt—finally free from its reins—nudging and licking his hand affectionately.
He led the horse back toward the Zhenxi Army camp, never once mounting it, the reins dragging through the dust.
When he arrived, Pei Yuan was pacing restlessly. The moment he saw Li Yi, his relief was so great that he looked ready to fall from the sky.
“Where have you been? Why didn’t you bring anyone with you?” he cried. “I thought you’d been kidnapped by the Dingsheng Army!”
Li Yi gave a weary smile. If only that were true.
But if she had really taken him, she would’ve delivered him to her young master for credit—and the thought of it gnawed at his heart like a thousand tiny ants.
Pei Yuan noticed his expression and frowned. “What’s wrong? What happened?”
“The Tiger Tally…” Li Yi muttered. “It’s in the hands of the Dingsheng Army.”
He sank into his chair, lost in thought.
Pei Yuan paused, confused. Even if the Dingsheng Army had the Tiger Tally, it wasn’t disastrous. At worst, they could surrender Jianzhou as agreed. And with Han Li already captured, there was room to negotiate. So why did Li Yi look so defeated? They hadn’t lost a single battle since Laolan Pass.
Pei Yuan began analyzing strategies—how to bargain, how to dispatch troops, how to use the situation to their advantage. He spoke endlessly until he realized Li Yi had gone silent, reclining in his chair, eyes closed, breathing steady—as if asleep.
Pei Yuan sighed in frustration. Truly, I must have sinned in my past life to serve such a willful master.
Before he could complain further, a soldier entered the tent. “General Pei, a messenger from Cui Li has invited you to a banquet.”
Annoyed, Pei Yuan waved him off. “Make an excuse. Decline.”
“Don’t…” Li Yi’s voice cut through the quiet. He didn’t move, eyes still closed. “Go. See what he’s planning.”
Pei Yuan blinked. Li Yi continued in a cold tone, “I’ve met Cui Li once—he’s cunning. If the Dingsheng Army holds any grudges, they’ll use him.”
Pei Yuan didn’t know whether to laugh or cry but obeyed.
That night, he returned from the banquet tipsy, bursting into Li Yi’s tent. “Shiqilang! Why do you think Cui Li invited me to drink?”
Li Yi wrinkled his nose. “How much did you drink?”
“Seven or eight jars…” Pei Yuan burped, oblivious to Li Yi’s disdain. He sat down heavily, stealing Li Yi’s pillow for comfort. “Cui Li says he can get the Tiger Tally from Han Li. If we capture Jianzhou, he wants a generous reward.”
Li Yi slipped on his shoes, frowned at the grit inside one, knocked it out, and asked evenly, “What kind of reward?”
“He wants to earn credit before Cui Yi. Cui Yi’s only son, Cui Lin, is frail but revered. The Dingsheng Army already sees him as their heir. Cui Li’s jealous—he wants to outshine him.”
Li Yi thought of Cui Lin—graceful and untouchable, like water reflecting moonlight. Frail or not, neither he nor his father were easy men to face. But Cui Li’s scheming heart… that was poison.
“Why shake your head?” Pei Yuan asked. “Let the Cui brothers fight it out. We’ll reap the benefits later.”
Li Yi’s expression hardened. “He’s Cui Yi’s son, and you’re Pei Xian’s. Don’t be naïve. This Cui Li’s no ally—he’s setting a trap. If we fall for it, we’ll win Jianzhou for them instead.”
The warning sobered Pei Yuan instantly. Li Yi regretted his bluntness, sighing. “Forgive me—I was rash.”
Pei Yuan straightened. “No—you were right. I’d nearly been fooled.”
They conferred long into the night and decided to invite Master Cui for a direct discussion.
The meeting took place in a wooded clearing between both camps. Each side brought no more than a hundred guards. Simple felts were spread on the grass; there were no feasts, no courtesies—only cold strategy.
Li Yi arrived first. Soon after, Master Cui rode in with his light cavalry—sleek as wind, gleaming in silver armor, their horses strong and disciplined.
Old Bao muttered under his breath, “That pretty boy sure loves a grand entrance.”
Li Yi couldn’t disagree, though a pang struck him as he noticed Captain He among them. She, too, wore silver armor and a red-tasseled helm that caught the wind—striking, untouchable. He turned his gaze away.
“These cavalry truly live up to the Dingsheng name,” Pei Yuan murmured in awe.
Master Cui approached with practiced courtesy. “Forgive the delay, Your Highness.” His silver-clad soldiers gleamed behind him like a living wall of steel, making the Zhenxi Army appear dust-stained in comparison.
Li Yi steadied himself. Though frail in appearance, Master Cui was a dangerous man.
The talks began. Cui Li’s treachery from the night before was never mentioned. Master Cui played the dutiful ally, pushing the assault on Jianzhou toward Li Yi’s command.
Li Yi hid his irritation. Pei Yuan, still wary, pressed the matter: “As agreed—Han Li is ours, so Bingzhou belongs to the Zhenxi Army. The Tiger Tally is yours, so Jianzhou is the Dingsheng Army’s. In return, you’ll allow us passage through Jianzhou once it’s taken.”
Before Master Cui could reply, one of his men blurted out, “So Bingzhou belongs to you, and we take Jianzhou alone? You’ll advance south using our conquest?”
“Enough!” Master Cui barked. “Mind your manners.” The man retreated, glaring.
Li Yi stepped in calmly. “Since both armies serve the same king, let us take Jianzhou together.”
Master Cui smiled thinly. “Then I shall rely on Your Highness’s wisdom.”
Li Yi laid out his strategy—swift strikes, cutting off retreat lines, forcing surrender. Master Cui listened, impressed despite himself.
When Li Yi proposed the Dingsheng Army garrison Jianzhou but yield its grain stores for Zhenxi’s use, Master Cui saw the trap—a retreat that advanced. Still, he had no choice but to agree.
He bowed. “Your Highness’s plan is flawless. The Dingsheng Army will follow your lead.”
Li Yi nodded. The meeting ended. Both sides mounted and departed.
He didn’t look back, though he sensed her presence—Captain He, reins in Taozi’s hands. When he finally turned, the Dingsheng cavalry were already distant, fading into a cloud of dust.
Behind them, Taozi slowed her horse, glancing back too. “Captain,” she asked softly, “why did the imperial grandson look so… lifeless today?”
Captain He only smiled.
“Last time he was here, he strutted like a rooster,” Taozi continued. “Now he’s wilted like a steamed daylily!”
Captain He laughed lightly. Taozi frowned. “Don’t think I didn’t notice—the hairpin you gave him. You lied to the young master about it, didn’t you?”
Captain He chuckled. “I told him I was the young master’s concubine—so he’d behave himself.”
Taozi nearly dropped her whip. “You—what? What if he believes you? What if he repeats it?”
Captain He shrugged. “If he believes it, then let him. He won’t tell the young master.”
Taozi could only sigh. Words are like spilled water—no way to gather them back now.
Captain He caught Taozi’s glare but only smiled faintly.
“Why are you so angry?” she asked.
Taozi’s heart ached. She managed half a sentence, “You’re a girl…” before stopping short. Ever since she was little, Captain He had never been like other girls — she had long since stepped beyond those boundaries. Taozi bit her lip and muttered, “If I’d known he was shouting that nonsense outside, I’d have poisoned him mute!”
Her voice trembled with frustration.
Far away, Li Yi, riding down the dusty road, sneezed abruptly — as if struck by invisible scorn.
Pei Yuan, riding beside him, gazed admiringly into the distance. “The Dingsheng Army’s light cavalry is truly impressive,” he said.
Li Yi gave a faint smile. “Their heavy cavalry is even better. Cui Yi himself leads a division — men and horses clad in full iron armor, impervious to arrows. When they charge, it’s like the mountains themselves are moving. Even the Jieshuo tribes, known for their light cavalry and archery, scatter at the sight of them.”
Pei Yuan’s eyes shone with admiration. “The late emperor once said the northern border’s fortune lies in the Dingsheng Army. I believe it now. I hope I’ll live to see their heavy cavalry in battle.”
Li Yi didn’t reply.
Ever since Sun Jing’s rebellion, Cui Yi’s loyalties had been clouded in ambiguity. Though they now served the same king, who could tell whether they would one day stand as allies—or enemies?
A shadow of fatigue crossed Li Yi’s heart. The memory of that bloody victory over Yu Liao still haunted him. Tens of thousands of soldiers dead, a battle won at a cost too heavy to name. History would call it brilliant, but at what price? Every general’s glory was paved over the bones of the fallen.
By nightfall, he spoke to no one. Quietly changing into darker clothes, he slipped out of camp and disappeared into the vast night.
He rode alone, the moon hidden behind clouds, until the Dingsheng Army’s camp rose before him like a silent fortress. Knowing their patrols were tight, he waited patiently in the shadows until the hour was deep and most soldiers had fallen asleep. Then, unseen, he made his way toward Captain He’s tent.
Inside, Captain He had washed and changed, hair still damp. Though it was her usual time to rest, she sat by the lamplight, a book in hand.
“Captain, you should sleep,” Taozi murmured with a yawn.
“I’ll finish this chapter,” she replied softly.
Taozi, half asleep, sighed and left her with the lamp still burning.
Moments later, the flame flickered — a breeze, or perhaps something more. Captain He’s instincts sharpened. She set her book down soundlessly.
From the shadows, Li Yi emerged. His steps were light, his expression unreadable. Between his fingers gleamed the white jade hairpin. Under the lamplight, it looked almost alive.
“I’m returning this,” he said flatly. His tone carried a hint of anger — but also something unspoken.
For the first time, Captain He felt a pang of guilt. She had lied, yes — but who told him to be so infuriating? She stayed silent, making no move to take it.
He had come intending to leave the hairpin behind and disappear. Yet when he saw her, he hesitated. Part of him wanted her to speak, even just one word.
The tent was still, save for the faint thud of distant patrol drums. Then came footsteps — several, steady, approaching fast.
Li Yi stiffened. Normally alert, tonight he was distracted, and the danger caught him off guard.
Captain He heard it too. Without hesitation, she reached out and took his hand — her palm warm, her grip firm. He froze. Before he could pull away, she guided him behind the screen, pressing a finger to her lips in warning.
The touch of her hand lingered long after she released him.
He crouched behind the screen, tense. The inner chamber was sparse — a bed, a few shelves, a faint scent of sandalwood. Then his eyes fell upon a silk garment hanging on the rack. It was finely embroidered, delicate, and… strangely familiar.
Two thin gold chains hung from its collarless neckline, each ending with a small jade bead.
A memory flashed — their first meeting, his sword thrust, the crisp sound of metal snapping.
So that was it. Not jewelry, but the gold chain of her undergarment. The realization struck him like lightning. Heat flooded his face. No wonder she’d been furious that day.
Just then, he heard voices.
Master Cui had entered.
Captain He’s calm voice greeted him. “Why are you here at this hour, Young Master?”
“I couldn’t sleep,” Master Cui said lightly. “I was thinking about today’s discussions with the Zhenxi Army.”
Captain He smiled faintly, masking her tension. “The imperial grandson keeps his word. Since he promised to lead the vanguard, he won’t retreat.”
Master Cui nodded. “Li Yi is truly a man of talent—decisive, yet measured. A rare general indeed.”
Her heart skipped a beat. If only he knew how close Li Yi was at that very moment.
Quickly, she changed the subject, steering the conversation to strategy. Using books and scrolls as a makeshift sand table, she explained the terrain outside Jianzhou and the day’s joint plans.
The candlelight trembled. Outside, the night wind howled.
When Master Cui began coughing, she rose and said gently, “It’s late. You should rest, Young Master. The air is cold.”
He glanced at the water clock—it was nearly dawn. Smiling apologetically, he said, “I’ve kept you up all night. Rest well, Aying.”
She saw him to the door and returned to the tent—heart pounding. Behind the screen, it was empty. Li Yi was gone.
Relief and disappointment mingled in her chest. He must have heard something, she thought.
Li Yi slipped away from the Dingsheng camp. When he found his horse tied beneath the trees, he mounted, lit a torch, and rode into the night. The autumn wind roared in his ears.
As the torchlight crackled and the horizon paled, a golden star rose above the dark river. The world was vast and silent, the reeds along the banks rippling like silver snow.
He reined in his horse and laughed softly, a weight lifting from his heart. The river reminded him of Laolan Pass — and without thinking, he began to hum:
“The Laolan River has eighteen bends,
The first at Silver Pine Beach.
The fish there are fat and bright,
But not as fair as the maiden’s eyes…”
His voice drifted with the wind. He laughed at himself for the foolishness, yet it filled him with strange joy.
When he finally returned to camp, the sky had turned pale. Smoke from the cookfires curled lazily upward.
Old Bao, grooming his horse, spotted him and grinned. “Where’ve you been so early, Your Highness?”
Li Yi replied casually, “By the river.”
Old Bao smirked. “Ah, saw her again, didn’t you?”
“What girl?”
“That Captain He from Dingsheng,” Old Bao chuckled. “Don’t bother denying it. You’ve got that spring smile all over your face.”
Li Yi snorted. “Nonsense.”
But when Old Bao broke into a loud, off-key tune—
“The fish at Silver Pine Beach are fat, but not as fair as the girl’s eyes!”—
Li Yi didn’t even turn his head.
Later, after roll call, he quietly took the white jade hairpin from his sleeve and tucked it back into his hair.
That night, Captain He once again sat beneath the lamplight reading.
Taozi peeked in. “Still the same book?”
“Mm. It’s just… interesting,” Captain He said, eyes on the page.
Taozi shrugged and left her to it.
When the camp had fallen silent, a soft cough broke the stillness. She looked up.
Li Yi stood there again, smiling.
“Why are you here again?” she asked.
He grinned. “Because I wanted to.”
Her eyes flicked to the white jade hairpin gleaming in his hair. “Didn’t you say you’d return it? Hand it over.”
He touched it awkwardly, hesitated. “I… shouldn’t have spoken that way before.”
She said nothing.
“And you,” he added, “shouldn’t have lied to me either.”
She lifted her chin. “What did I lie about?”
He faltered. “You’re a woman. You can’t just—say such things. What if others heard—” He stopped mid-sentence, remembering her bold declaration at the stronghold: ‘I’m his concubine.’
Back then, it had startled him. Now, the memory made his heart twist with something strangely sweet.
Her expression softened. “Give it back,” she said quietly. “It was my mother’s.”
He froze. “That pearl you took from me in Zhilu Hall—it was my mother’s too.”
The lamplight flickered between them. For a moment, neither spoke. The air seemed to hum with unspoken words.
Finally, she broke the silence. “You must have guessed the truth last night.”
He smiled. “When you told me to hide behind the screen, I knew you weren’t your young master’s concubine. If you were, you’d have sent me away immediately.”
She sighed, half exasperated, half admiring. “You’re far too clever.”
Then, turning serious, she said, “You should leave. It’s late — and a soldier shouldn’t linger where rumors grow.”
He smiled faintly. “You’re already driving me away?”
“The emperor’s grandson should go,” she said coldly.
But her tone couldn’t mask the flicker in her eyes.
He bowed slightly. “Then I’ll go. Keep the pearl safe.”
“I threw it away,” she said.
He only smiled, not believing her, and left without another word.
When the flap of the tent fell closed behind him, she slammed her book shut and sighed, her heart restless and full.
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