Having agreed with the Dingsheng Army, the Zhenxi Army marched as planned. Li Yi personally led the vanguard, forging ahead toward Jianzhou.
Master Cui, naturally, led the Dingsheng Army to see them off. The vanguard advanced with great fanfare—flags fluttering, drums beating—driving the Jianzhou defenders to despair.
Taozi watched as Li Yi rode a tall black horse, sunlight glinting off his armor. Behind him, banners rippled in the wind: the black-and-gold “Grand Marshal of the Rebellion Suppression,” the black flag with a red border marked “Jiedushi of Zhenxi,” and other titles—“Governor of Beiting” and “Governor of Chengzhou.”
Taozi scoffed. “Chengzhou isn’t even in his hands yet, and he’s already calling himself governor?”
Still, her gaze lingered. The sunlight caught the white jade hairpin tied in Li Yi’s crown. “Captain,” she muttered, “why is he wearing that again?”
Captain He remained silent, letting her chatter. Only when the dust from the departing army faded into the distance did she turn her horse back toward camp.
The two armies had agreed to cooperate. As the Dingsheng Army prepared for their breakout, Captain He returned to pack her things.
At the tent door, Taozi peeked in. Captain He looked up. “Come in, or stop lurking.”
Grinning, Taozi stepped inside, holding two golden tangerines—rare treasures in the north. She peeled one carefully, removed the white veins, and placed a segment into Captain He’s mouth.
“Sweet?” she asked.
Captain He nodded. The taste was cool and fragrant, the sweetness blooming on her tongue. “Where did you get these?”
Taozi smiled mysteriously. “That’s a long story. But I have you to thank.”
Captain He blinked. “Me?”
Taozi laughed. “If it weren’t for your letter, there wouldn’t be any tangerines. Do you remember Xie Chang’er, the one who delivered Li Huangsun’s message?”
Captain He nodded. She never forgot a face. Xie Chang’er often accompanied Li Yi—an honest man, earnest to a fault.
Taozi continued, “Last time he came with a message, I gave him a piece of sugarcane. He must’ve thought it proper to repay the favor. Then the Gu family, grateful that Li Yi saved their lives, sent grain to the Zhenxi Army. Gu Wanniang herself led the convoy and brought several baskets of southern tangerines—rare, golden ones like these.”
“The Zhenxi Army shared the food as usual,” Taozi said, “but Xie Chang’er begged Pei Yuan for two tangerines to thank me. That’s how these ended up here.”
Captain He smiled faintly. “I see.”
Taozi bit into another slice. “I asked Xie Chang’er what Miss Gu looked like. He thought for ages and said, ‘Like the Bodhisattva in the temple.’ I nearly choked laughing.”
Captain He recalled the girl on the riverboat—slender, graceful, her brows soft as willow leaves. “She really is beautiful,” she said softly.
Taozi’s head snapped up. “You’ve met her?”
Captain He didn’t answer. She only smiled, eating another slice. “We’re eating her oranges while gossiping about her looks. That doesn’t seem right.”
“She didn’t give them to us,” Taozi retorted. “If anyone, I’d rather thank Xie Chang’er.” Then she froze, realizing her slip.
Captain He chuckled. “So that’s who you’re thinking about.”
Flustered, Taozi’s ears turned red. “What did you say?”
“Nothing,” Captain He said innocently. “But he didn’t leave you a message?”
Taozi rolled her eyes. “What message? He just shoved the orange into my hand, stammered, ‘It’s for you,’ and bolted like a frightened rabbit. Said he had to catch up with Li Huangsun.”
Captain He couldn’t help but laugh. She pictured Li Yi, ever so composed before his men, suddenly flustered and tongue-tied—it was oddly endearing. She popped another slice into her mouth, the sweetness spreading, and smiled to herself.
Following Li Yi’s lead, the Zhenxi and Dingsheng Armies advanced toward Jianzhou, carrying Han Li and the tiger tally as proof of royal command. They cut off the city’s retreat as Li Yi had planned.
After days of siege, the Jianzhou governor finally surrendered. The city fell without bloodshed.
As agreed, the Zhenxi Army took the grain stores while the Dingsheng Army took command of the city.
Only then did Li Yi realize he’d been deceived. Jianzhou’s rations were nearly gone, stripped by Luoyang’s governor, Fu Yuan’er, two weeks earlier. Even with the remaining stores in Bingzhou, it was barely enough to feed his men.
He sighed deeply. “Even a skilled cook can’t prepare a meal without rice.”
After conferring with Pei Yuan, he decided to press on through Bingnan Pass toward Luoshui to contain Sun Jing’s army and relieve Pei Xian’s flank.
Pei Yuan frowned. “Luoxia Valley is treacherous. If the Dingsheng Army ambushes us there, we’ll be trapped.”
Li Yi shook his head. “Cui Lin isn’t that kind of man. He craves honor as much as victory. He won’t stain his family name with treachery.”
“Cunning,” Pei Yuan muttered.
Meanwhile, in the Dingsheng camp, officers whispered about the opportunity to strike.
Master Cui listened, then said coldly, “Li Yi has barely seven thousand men, many of them wounded. If we placed five thousand elites in ambush at Luoxia Valley, we could wipe them out.”
Captain He stood calmly beside him. “Master, you are not that kind of man.”
He glanced up. “Oh? Why do you say that?”
“Because since you left Youzhou to serve the king, even with your grievances, you’ve fought openly and with honor. You’d never stoop to such tactics.”
Cui Lin’s expression softened. He finished his bitter medicine in one gulp and smiled. “You’re right.”
“Besides,” she added, “you’d rather meet Fu Yuan’er head-on at the Luo River.”
His eyes gleamed. “Exactly. He’s a renowned general. I’d like to see his strength for myself.”
When the Zhenxi Army set out, the Dingsheng Army rode with them to the Bingnan Pass. The Zhenxi soldiers, though few and weary, marched in perfect order, their morale unshaken.
Master Cui stood at the pass, watching them fade into the distance—first as men, then as shadows, until only black dots remained. The mountain wind tore at his cloak. He coughed, and Taozi draped another over his shoulders.
Just then, Captain He approached swiftly. Her face was pale.
“What is it?” he asked.
She bowed slightly. “A secret pigeon arrived—Pei Xian has defeated Chengzhou’s defenders.”
He drew a sharp breath. “Then he’s already approaching Longyou.”
She nodded. Understanding passed between them in silence.
“Then we march too,” he said. “We’ll meet Li Yi at the Luo River.”
He spoke Li Yi’s name without title, but his tone carried respect. The Cui family had already joined the great game of the Central Plains, and for now, their path aligned with Li Yi’s.
Sun Jing, though wary, remained calm. Luoyang—the Eastern Capital—was strong and well-defended, guarded by his most trusted general, Fu Yuan’er.
Fu Yuan’er, though Hu by birth, had been bought as a blue-eyed slave when he was a boy. Raised by Sun Jing’s father, he grew into a fierce warrior, fearless and loyal. His strength and cunning earned him command of the Imperial Guards, a position that later enabled Sun Jing’s rebellion.
Now, with Luoyang in his hands, Sun Jing trusted him absolutely.
While Li Yi camped by the Luo River, the Dingsheng Army arrived soon after, their banners gleaming across the water. The two armies faced each other, each watching, each waiting.
Pei Yuan scowled. “They’re always chasing after easy spoils.”
Li Yi, mending his shoe beneath the morning sun, smiled faintly. “Luoyang is no easy prize. Fu Yuan’er won’t surrender. Even together, we’ll find it hard to take that city.”
As he spoke, a messenger arrived. “An envoy from Luoyang requests audience!”
Li Yi and Pei Yuan exchanged a look. “I’ll meet him,” Li Yi said.
When the envoy entered, Li Yi recognized him instantly—a tall man, sharp-featured, with piercing green eyes. He rose quickly. “Mr. Fu himself? Truly courageous to come alone.”
Fu Yuan’er’s gaze cut like a blade as he clasped his hands and smiled. “Your Highness flatters me. I am merely... brave.”
It turned out that this envoy was none other than Fu Yuan'er himself. He recognized Li Yi at a glance, then looked over Pei Yuan and said, "You must be Pei Xian's youngest son. You are like your father, with an honest face, but you have evil ideas in your mind. I was still breastfeeding when your father and I led the army to conquer Yiluo."
Pei Yuan forced a bitter smile. Only a general of Fu Yuan'er's reputation could toss such barbs so casually.
Li Yi returned the smile with measured courtesy. "More than ten years ago, Lord Fu conquered Yiluo and broke into the king's tent single-handedly, taking the head of King Yiluo. At that time, Li Yi was young and treated it as a story. Now that I have seen the real person, I know that Lord Fu is brave, just like the story."
Fu Yuan'er waved a hand as if brushing aside past glories. "I am old, so I don't want to talk about my past bravery. Now Shiqilang and the young master of the Cui family are both by the Luo River. There are really many young heroes."
Li Yi kept the reply measured, neither servile nor boastful. "How dare I talk about heroes in front of you, senior?"
Fu Yuan'er laughed, the sound like a blade unsheathed and returned to its scabbard. "When I left the city, the generals were shocked and said that my appearance is really eye-catching and people would know that I am Fu Yuaner by looking at me. If they arrested me, It's useless to sigh. I said that Li Shiqi is a generous young man, even though he is a child, he will never do such a thing. Today I see that it is true."
Li Yi sensed the maneuver beneath the compliments and answered with a tight smile. "Senior, you are too kind."
Fu Yuan'er leaned forward, dropping the cordial mask. "You also know that it is useless to detain me. You are a smart person and you will definitely not do such a stupid thing. But I have heard about the affairs of the Zhenxi Army and the Cui Family Army in Jianzhou. Why are you willing to suffer such a big loss?"
Li Yi glanced up. "Are you here to stand up for the younger generation?"
Fu Yuan'er cut to the chase. "Fu is a Hu child, and I will never beat around the bush in my life. Let me be frank. Han Li was captured by Your Highness, and Jianzhou surrendered because of Your Highness. Why didn't you take Jianzhou as well, instead letting the Cui family take such a huge advantage?"
Li Yi answered plainly. "My Zhenxi Army is not as wealthy as the Dingsheng Army. We can only exchange Jianzhou for food and fodder. We have no choice."
Fu Yuan'er nodded slowly. "So, Your Highness doesn't want to retaliate and take away all the food and supplies of the Cui family?"
Li Yi met his gaze. "Master Fu, you may have forgotten why I came to Luoshui?"
Fu Yuan'er narrowed his eyes. "Although the Cui family also claims to be a loyal army, doesn't Your Highness understand what the Cui family is planning? Looking at the current situation, the Cui family seems to be poised to challenge Your Highness. The Zhenxi Army is currently short of food and fodder, and their men and horses are exhausted. A forceful attack on Luoyang would only serve to bolster the Cui family's victory."
Li Yi offered a dry smile. "Everyone says Lord Fu is unparalleled in his bravery, but I didn't expect his strategy of sowing discord to be so brilliant."
Fu Yuan'er spoke without pretense. "Although it's meant to sow discord, it's also true. If Your Highness doesn't take action now, will you allow Cui Yi to gain power, allowing him to reap the benefits and ultimately become a threat? Is Cui Yi actually easier to deal with than Grand Commander Sun?"
Li Yi's face hardened. "What does Lord Fu want? Just tell me directly."
Fu Yuan'er spelled out his plan plainly: strike the Dingsheng Army in the field first. "Now the two armies are approaching. I, Fu, have received a personal favor from the Grand Commander. The Grand Commander ordered me to guard Luoyang, and I will do my best to defend Luoyang. With your Highness's current military strength, it is not easy to break through Luoyang. It would be better to take them by surprise and defeat the Dingsheng Army led by Cui Zi. Once this is done, I, Fu, will immediately offer ten thousand dan of food and grass to the city. Then, as long as the Zhenxi Army goes around the city, I will not stop them. In this way, both Fu and your Highness can survive."
Li Yi's expression remained unreadable. "Mr. Fu is still using the strategy of sowing discord."
Fu Yuan'er shrugged. "Your Highness might as well think about it carefully. Is it better to nip Cui Zi's wolfish ambition in the bud? Or is it better to fight hard in Luoyang and The Zhenxi Army is severely weakened, making Cui Zi's power unstoppable. It's not too late to give me an answer when you've made up your mind."
Li Yi inclined his head. "I have ordered a hundred carts of food and fodder to be prepared, and they will be delivered here tonight as a gift to Your Highness."
He had expected Fu's divisive hand; he could only play along for the moment. "In that case, thank you in advance."
Fu Yuan'er paused at the tent flap, then turned and appraised Pei Yuan like a man reading a scroll. "You are doing well. I am happy for your grandfather."
He left without another word.
Outside, Taozi was gathering herbs when Xie Chang'er rode up, sun on his shoulders. He handed her a small bag of washed water chestnuts—clean, plump, and bright as coins.
"Is this from Miss Gu again?" she asked.
Xie Chang'er waved a hand, embarrassed. "No, no, Miss Gu has returned to Beijing a long time ago. I picked these up by the waterside when I had some free time. I'm making snacks for you."
Taozi smiled as she bit into one. Xie Chang'er, who'd learned that girls liked little treats, had long since taken pleasure in bringing odd delicacies to her. He explained he had a letter for Captain He and a bundle of water chestnuts for Taozi. She handed the letter over after glancing at the contents.
"Who is it from?" Taozi asked as she munched.
"Shiqilang wants a personal meeting," Captain He said, folding the letter away.
Taozi sniffed. "I think the emperor's grandson is not a good person."
"Why not?"
"Xie Chang'er even thought of bringing me a bag of water chestnuts," Taozi said. "He only knows how to write you a letter, but he comes with nothing and doesn't give you anything."
Captain He chuckled. She remembered Li Yi standing beneath the willow tree empty-handed, awkward and sincere.
When they met later, Li Yi confessed in that quick, boyish way: he had tried to calculate what to bring and feared the wrong gift might be bartered for something larger. So he’d come empty-handed.
During their conversation, Li Yi told Captain He about Fu Yuan'er's proposal. She studied him, then asked bluntly, "Your Highness, do you mean to turn against my Dingsheng Army for food?"
"That's not necessarily true. I have to listen to your opinion. If the Dingsheng Army gives more food, we can still go to besiege Luoyang together," Li Yi replied.
She nodded. "Your Highness is still so frank, I feel relieved."
He weighed the options. "We can't beat it, and we can't besiege it. Luoyang is really a tough place. I might as well take a look at the prices offered by both sides. With the food and supplies, I can either return to rejoin General Pei or sail down the Luo River—both are advantageous."
Her eyes flicked to him. "My Dingsheng Army has tens of thousands of men here. Your Highness, aren't you afraid that I might strike a deal with Fu Yuan'er, attack from both inside and outside, and annihilate your Zhenxi Army, allowing our young master to establish himself as king?"
Li Yi frowned. "I've never fought your young master before. A battle is necessary to determine the outcome."
She answered without hesitation. "We must fight."
"Okay," he said, meeting her gaze. "I will do my best."
"Of course. My army will do its best too."
They spoke solemnly, both weighing the risk and honor of the choice. As she mounted to ride away, he stopped her. Puzzled, she turned back. He plucked a handful of willow branches, worked them with clumsy, careful fingers, and fashioned a small windmill. He handed it to her. "Here, to keep you from saying I'm empty-handed."
She took it with mock reproach but let the wind spin the little blades. She tied it to her bridle and rode off, the toy whirling beside her like a heartbeat. Taozi watched it later, eyes bright and envious. "It's a pity such a talent is a grandson of the emperor and not a carpenter," she sighed.
Li Yi sent word to Luoyang agreeing to Fu Yuan'er's proposal. In reply, Fu Yuan'er sent three hundred dan of provisions and several jars of wine, a cheerful preface to the bargain.
Li Yi convened his generals and ordered a surprise attack on the Dingsheng camp. The plan sounded reckless but, after debate, commanders conceded it was feasible.
Pei Yuan, with a grin that hid flinty intentions, invited Cui Li to drink. The conversation soured; tempers flared. Old grudges and quick fists turned theater into trap. In the chaos, Cui Li was dragged away and left tied in a stable, mouth stuffed with hemp seeds.
The next morning, Master Cui demanded his man. Li Yi, uncomfortable with the excess, ordered Cui Li returned. Pei Yuan escorted him back in chains, and fury followed. The Dingsheng men seized Pei Yuan and the Zhenxi ruffians in retaliation, tying them like zongzi and throwing them into the stable to freeze.
Taozi gossiped about the spectacle with glee and a trace of mischief. "Two hemp seeds," she giggled. "Xie Chang'er’s ears are big, but his mouth isn’t. If a horse kicks him—"
"Do you want him to be kicked, or not?" Captain He asked.
Taozi hesitated, then admitted she hadn’t decided.
At midnight, Li Yi struck. The surprise attack on the Dingsheng camp erupted into fire and fury—tents burned, men shouted, the night split by clashing steel. Captain He drew her sword and rushed into the chaos. She found Li Yi in the firelight, tall and mad with danger, and lunged. Their blades met in a storm; sparks rose with each parry.
"You're so cruel and want to kill me right away. I knew there was no one else but you," he laughed when he saw her face.
"You are here to attack the camp, so let's fight, don't talk nonsense!" she shot back, launching a flurry of strikes he blocked with unnerving calm.
The fight drew on until Chen Xing lunged with a spear to help. The tip grazed Li Yi’s leg; blood welled. For a moment, the sight stunned everyone. Li Yi smiled despite the wound. "What impressive spearmanship!" he called, and then pressed toward Master Cui's central tent. Captain He, torn, followed and tried to stop him.
"Is your injury serious? I have some excellent medicine in my tent. Let's go apply it first," she said, clasping his hand.
He didn’t know why his ears grew hot the moment she grasped his hand. The warmth of her touch scattered his thoughts, and though he wanted to pull away, he couldn’t bring himself to do it. Refusing her now would seem… improper.
Just as they stood frozen in that awkward stillness, laughter and shouting broke through the night. Huang Youyi and his men came stumbling over, torches in hand, dragging several captured Dingsheng soldiers behind them.
Before Li Yi could react, she released his hand as if scalded.
When the men noticed who stood before them, their faces lit up with wild delight.
“Shiqilang! Look—fire!” Huang Youyi shouted proudly, as if a child showing off his mischief.
Before anyone could stop him, he hurled the torch toward a nearby tent. Flames caught at once, crackling high into the night.
Captain He’s eyes flashed. She reached for her sword, ready to teach Huang Youyi a lesson, when Li Yi suddenly groaned and clutched his leg. “Ouch!”
The men rushed forward in alarm. Seeing the blood seeping through Li Yi’s bandage, their faces drained of color. “Your Highness!” they cried, crowding around him in panic.
Only Qian Youdao had the presence of mind to notice Captain He standing nearby. His eyes brightened with recognition.
“Sister-in-law!” he exclaimed. “It’s been too long! Don’t worry, I’ll protect you! These Dingsheng devils are fierce—why, even His Highness nearly fell to them!”
Captain He’s temper finally snapped. “Who are you calling sister-in-law?” she barked, striking at him with her sword.
Qian Youdao barely dodged, then froze as he saw her uniform. Realization dawned too late. “You—you’re with the Dingsheng Army?”
Before she could reply, he turned tail and fled into the darkness, tripping over himself in terror.
The uproar lasted all through the night.
By dawn, news had already reached Luoyang: Li Yi had launched a surprise night raid on the Dingsheng Army and won a decisive victory.
The Dingsheng troops suffered heavy losses, forced to retreat dozens of miles upstream along the Luo River before regrouping. Li Yi himself was said to be seriously injured in battle—but alive.
With that one strike, the alliance between the two armies was shattered.
That afternoon, Li Yi dispatched Pei Yuan to Luoyang with a sealed letter. “Tell Master Fu,” he said quietly, “I will not disappoint him.”
Fu Yuan’er, ever pragmatic, agreed to grant him three days to gather supplies for the Zhenxi Army. Pei Yuan bowed deeply and left without hesitation.
Li Yi’s leg wound, in truth, was little more than a surface cut. Yet he had it wrapped in layers upon layers of bloodstained bandages until it looked ghastly.
He even summoned local physicians to his tent—only to detain them afterward, forbidding their return. Then he ordered word of his “grave injury” to spread discreetly among the troops. Within hours, whispers filled the camps: The commander may not survive.
Li Yi smiled faintly when he heard them. “Good,” he murmured. “Let them think I’m dying.”
Meanwhile, in Luoyang, Fu Yuan’er was personally overseeing the allocation of provisions for the Zhenxi Army when the doors of the hall slammed open.
“Fu Yuan’er!” a man’s furious voice rang out. “As Governor of Luoyang, how dare you aid the enemy?”
Fu Yuan’er raised his head slowly, his cool emerald eyes glinting in the torchlight. The intruder was none other than Yuan Xian, the Duke of Zheng—Sun Jing’s brother-in-law and Lady Wei’s elder brother.
The Yuan family of Chen Commandery had long been one of the most powerful clans in the empire. Many of its sons held high military posts, and Sun Jing’s rise to power owed much to their backing. Yuan Xian’s own branch, however, had fallen out of favor.
Though Sun Jing had bestowed upon him the title of Duke and allowed him to live in comfort at Luoyang, he had given him no real authority. The appointment of Fu Yuan’er—a man of Hu descent and a former slave—as Governor of Luoyang was, in Yuan Xian’s eyes, a grave insult.
Ever since Fu Yuan’er’s arrival, Yuan Xian had mocked and obstructed him at every turn. To his frustration, Fu Yuan’er always met him with calm courtesy—or simply claimed illness to avoid him altogether. That quiet restraint only made Yuan Xian’s resentment fester deeper.
When word spread that Fu Yuan’er was sending ten thousand dan of grain to Li Yi, Yuan Xian’s fury erupted.
Now, storming into the hall, he pointed a trembling finger. “You traitor! Have you forgotten who rules this city? Or do you think your Hu blood makes you above us all?”
Fu Yuan’er merely gestured for a servant to bring tea. “Your Grace,” he said evenly, “please, sit. There’s no need for anger. This grain and fodder—it’s only bait to lure the enemy.”
Yuan Xian froze mid-rant. “Bait?”
Fu Yuan’er set down his teacup. “Of course. I went to meet Li Yi under the pretext of offering supplies. If he could be persuaded to strike Cui Lin’s Dingsheng Army, it would weaken both our enemies at once. If not, then we gain time to fortify our defenses. His men are weary; his provisions scarce. Even if he’s bold, he cannot endure for long.”
Yuan Xian frowned, uncertain. “Then why send real grain?”
Fu Yuan’er’s lips curved faintly. “Because a good trap must smell like food.”
He leaned back, his voice low and deliberate.
“Li Yi commands barely seven thousand men,” Fu Yuan’er said. “They are not elite. I have seen his camp myself—fine weapons, yes, but poorly trained soldiers. Even if he were a god descended to earth, he could not overcome what he lacks in strength. My elite soldiers are still better than his thousands of old and weak ones."
Duke Zheng’s eyes lit up as Fu Yuan’er spoke. Overjoyed, he forgot his earlier suspicion.
Fu Yuan’er smiled faintly and continued in his calm, courteous tone. “This matter, Duke, concerns the fate of the realm. It is both confidential and delicate. I should have reported it to your residence in person, but the enemy’s position was still unclear, so I dared not move rashly. Now that you have come in person, I can finally explain everything, so there is no misunderstanding.”
His words flowed smooth as spring water — respectful, precise, and perfectly measured. Yuan Xian’s vanity swelled. He chuckled, nodding approvingly. “You did right. In such matters, secrecy is only prudent.”
Fu Yuan’er himself escorted him out of the Governor’s residence, watching as Duke Zheng mounted his horse and left with pompous pride. Only when the sound of hooves faded did Fu Yuan’er turn back, his brow furrowing.
A trusted general beside him whispered, “General, secrets like these should never be shared with outsiders.”
Fu Yuan’er sighed quietly. “He’s not an outsider,” he said. “He’s the Grand Commander’s brother-in-law. If I keep him in the dark, he’ll cause more trouble than the enemy ever could.”
That night, under flickering lamplight, Fu Yuan’er continued mobilizing his elite troops — preparing the ruse of “delivering grain” that would become his hidden strike.
At that same hour, in the Zhenxi camp, Li Yi had barely rested half a day when Xie Chang’er entered, hesitant.
“Seventeenth Master… the Dingsheng Army has sent someone. Do you wish to receive them?”
Li Yi’s heart skipped. “Taozi?” he asked, eyes brightening. “Has Captain He sent her?”
When the visitor entered, dressed plainly as a commoner, it was indeed Captain He. A rare warmth flickered in Li Yi’s eyes. Xie Chang’er immediately withdrew, giving them privacy.
Though disguised, she carried her usual sharp grace — like a blade hidden beneath silk. Her gaze swept over the ridiculous mound of bandages on his leg, and she snorted. “The emperor’s grandson, pretending again. You’re quite dramatic.”
Li Yi gave her a look of mock offense. “I’m wounded this badly, and you still won’t bring me any golden medicine?”
She folded her arms. “Aren’t you afraid I’ll poison it? Besides—” she smirked, “—you burned down our camp last night and escaped with only that scratch. Honestly, you deserve worse.”
He could only laugh bitterly.
But when she sat down across from him, her expression turned businesslike. “In two days, if Fu Yuan’er keeps her word, she’ll send food and fodder out of the city,” she said.
Li Yi’s brows lifted. “And the Dingsheng Army wants half?”
Her smile was radiant, dazzling in the lamplight. “No need. The Zhenxi Army has been hungry long enough. We’ll let you have it all this time — consider it… goodwill.”
He raised a brow. “Goodwill? I’ve never seen much of that from you.”
She laughed softly but said nothing, only studying the sand table he unfolded. They spoke of troop movements and routes for a while, but then he looked up and asked, “Will your young master be leading the vanguard this time?”
“For something this minor? Hardly worth his attention,” she said, offhandedly. “He’ll send a general.”
Li Yi frowned. “And yet I, with an injured leg, must go myself?”
She chuckled, eyes glinting. “Well, whose fault is it that the Zhenxi Army has no food?”
As she rose to leave, her steps light as a whisper, Li Yi moved to stand — too hastily — and his crutch toppled to the ground with a sharp click. It was only a prop, but inspiration struck. He feigned unsteadiness, swaying deliberately.
Captain He, startled, turned and caught him by the arm. Her hand was small, soft, and warm. A faint trace of her fragrance brushed past him, dizzying. Their eyes met — hers sharp as steel, his full of mischief.
She realized instantly that he had done it on purpose. Without a word, she stooped to pick up the fallen crutch — then suddenly jabbed it at his leg like a sword.
Li Yi caught the crutch head with one hand, startled but amused. She let go, flicking a silver needle from her sleeve. He dodged just in time.
“Hey!” he exclaimed, scowling. “We have to pick up the grain tomorrow! Are you trying to cripple me for real?”
She glared. “A cunning man like you deserves to be knocked out.”
She pocketed her needles angrily and stormed off.
Li Yi could only sigh, helpless and secretly delighted. She still won’t yield to me…
Meanwhile, Duke Zheng Yuan Xian, flushed with self-importance, held a grand banquet that night.
He had gathered his close kin and fellow aristocrats — men from the old families of Luoyang, bound to him by generations of marriage and privilege. They toasted him, flattering him between drinks.
“Brother Xian,” one sneered, “you said you’d confront that Hu barbarian. Why did you come back so quietly?”
Yuan Xian puffed out his chest but hesitated. Fu Yuan’er’s repeated warnings echoed in his mind: ‘This must not be shared with anyone.’
At last, he grunted, “It’s confidential, that’s all. But rest assured — the Hu boy has a plan to crush the enemy. You’ll see.”
His tone swelled with pride. “In fact, he called me the acting Grand Commander of Luoyang — said such secrets could only be entrusted to me!”
The men exchanged knowing looks.
Among them sat Wei Xi, Yuan Xian’s younger brother-in-law, a notorious dandy and self-proclaimed genius. He couldn’t resist showing off. “If it’s confidential, surely a few brothers like us don’t count as outsiders,” he said with a grin. “Tell us, and we’ll help you think it through.”
Yuan Xian waved drunkenly. “Can’t. It’s secret.”
Wei Xi smirked. “Then Fu Yuan’er must be deceiving you. That Hu upstart has never respected us nobles.”
Yuan Xian’s pride ignited instantly. He slammed the table. “Lies? He wouldn’t dare lie to me!”
Flushed with wine, he blurted everything — Fu Yuan’er’s plan to send elite soldiers disguised as grain carriers for a surprise attack on Li Yi.
Wei Xi’s eyes gleamed. “So that’s his plan…”
He leaned closer. “Brother Xian, fortune favors the bold. You’re Duke Zheng — you have three thousand private troops. If we each gather one or two thousand from our estates, we can leave the city quietly and strike first! When the Hu’s troops are gone, we’ll ambush Li Yi ourselves and seize all the glory.”
The others roared approval. “Exactly! Why let that foreigner take all the credit? If he wins, we’ll lose all standing in the capital!”
Fired by liquor and flattery, Yuan Xian’s blood boiled. “Then it’s settled! We march tonight — capture Li Yi alive, and show that Hu dog what real nobility can do!”
Before dawn, their private armies slipped out of Luoyang’s gates.
At the same time, Fu Yuan’er had finished his own preparations. He summoned General Xun, his most trusted subordinate.
“Li Yi is cunning,” Fu Yuan’er warned. “Do not underestimate him. If anything seems amiss, fall back immediately. Leave the grain if you must — it’s bait, nothing more.”
General Xun clasped his fist. “Understood, General.”
By midday, the great convoy — thousands of wagons — wound its way toward the Zhenxi camp. From afar, Pei Yuan came galloping to meet them with a few hundred cavalry, dust swirling behind them like a storm.
General Xun narrowed his eyes. Only a few hundred? Yet the cloud of dust looked like ten thousand. Then he saw the trick — branches and brooms tied to their horses’ tails, raising false dust.
His face hardened. He raised his banner. “Retreat!”
But just as his men wheeled around, thunder erupted on both sides — the Dingsheng Army and Zhenxi Army, bursting from their ambush. Shouts, steel, and chaos filled the field.
General Xun barely escaped with his life, fleeing back toward Luoyang.
When he reached the city, disaster had already struck.
Yuan Xian and his drunken nobles had taken their private soldiers out earlier, hoping for glory — only to be crushed between Li Yi and Captain He’s combined forces. Within moments, their troops were routed. Yuan Xian and his companions were captured alive.
Li Yi, amused by their foolishness, sent word to Fu Yuan’er:
“The Duke of Zheng and his noble friends are now my guests.
If the Governor of Luoyang values their lives, he should open the gates and surrender.”
Fu Yuan’er’s face turned to stone. He slammed his fist against the table.
“That idiot! He’s ruined everything!” he snarled.
To the Zhenxi messenger, he said coldly, “Tell your master this — not to mention one Duke of Zheng, even if there were ten, I would not surrender. If Li Yi wants to kill that fool, then let him! One less troublemaker for me.”
Li Yi was a man of extraordinary cunning.
He dispatched a messenger to Luoyang City—but among the attendants, he secretly placed one of Yuan Xian’s most trusted retainers, captured earlier and disguised in the uniform of the Zhenxi Army. The man, trembling, was ordered to observe and listen.
When Fu Yuan’er’s cold words reached his ears, the retainer nearly collapsed from fear. Upon returning to camp, he saw Yuan Xian and the cluster of arrogant dandies imprisoned together. Bursting into tears, he fell to his knees and repeated Fu Yuan’er’s exact words.
Yuan Xian was struck dumb. He had still held out a sliver of hope—after all, everyone said Fu Yuan’er was both clever and brave. Perhaps this capture was merely a mistake, and once word reached Luoyang, the general would surely lead the tens of thousands of elite troops there to rescue him.
He never imagined his “trusted general” would bring back such a cruel message.
Wei Xi, who sat bound beside him, was equally stunned. Though he prided himself on his military insight, he had been routed in a single battle outside Luoyang—his private army scattering like leaves, while he himself was captured alive. Fortunately, the Zhenxi Army treated them with outward courtesy. There was no torture, no humiliation—only heavy shackles and guards posted day and night.
Today, when Li Yi sent his envoy to the city, Wei Xi’s hopes had soared. He was certain Fu Yuan’er would negotiate—offering silver, grain, or even Luoyang itself to ransom them back.
But the news shattered him. Fu Yuan’er had flatly refused, ordering Li Yi to execute Yuan Xian if he wished—utterly unconcerned that Yuan Xian was General Sun’s own brother-in-law.
Yuan Xian, the highest-ranked among the captives, was shaken to the core. Fu Yuan’er’s disregard was like an open slap.
Wei Xi, the Wei family’s pampered scion, could only cling to him in despair, tears streaming down his face. “Brother-in-law,” he sobbed, “that barbarian Fu Yuan’er has hated you for years. He’ll use Li Yi’s hand to destroy us both!”
Yuan Xian sat dazed, his head spinning. Ever since being captured alive, he had wavered between disbelief and terror. Now, hearing Fu Yuan’er’s words, he could no longer deceive himself.
War truly was an ominous fate. He should never have left Luoyang in search of glory. Fu Yuan’er was ruthless—even willing to abandon his own kin for power.
Sun Jing was far away in Xichangjing. Even if Lady Wei learned of his plight and begged her husband to intervene, it would be too late. By then, Li Yi would have executed them.
Panic and regret consumed him.
Wei Xi cried again, “Brother-in-law, what should we do? We’re finished!”
Yuan Xian’s own eyes were red. “Do? What can I do? Who could have guessed that Hu dog was so heartless!”
The two embraced, wailing in despair. Around them, the other young nobles—once so proud—now sobbed helplessly, their tears falling onto the dusty ground of their prison tent.
Meanwhile, the scene at the Dingsheng camp was entirely different.
The Dingsheng and Zhenxi Armies had worked together to stage the entire event. The Zhenxi forces feigned an attack, while the Dingsheng soldiers pretended defeat and retreat. When the “grain convoy” from Luoyang left the city, the two armies joined forces in ambush—trapping Yuan Xian and his followers.
Since Li Yi himself led the Zhenxi Army, the captured nobles were now his prisoners.
When Taozi heard the news, she slammed her fist against the table. “That Li Yi is truly cunning! We should never have trusted his offer of alliance. Now he’s claimed all the spoils for himself!”
In the command tent, Master Cui reclined on a couch, his complexion pale as paper. His old illness—one that flared each autumn—had returned, leaving him too weak to ride. Even as reports poured in from the front, his breathing remained labored.
“Master,” Taozi said, gently offering him a cup of hot water.
He drank a few sips, steadying himself, then sighed. “Yuan Xian’s capture is a stroke of fortune for the Zhenxi Army. But since we made an agreement with Li Yi, we must keep our word. Let us not begrudge him his victory.”
Captain He nodded. “No one expected Yuan Xian to leave the city so recklessly. I underestimated his foolishness.”
Master Cui gave a weary smile. “It isn’t your fault. The surrender of our captured grain was part of the plan from the beginning. We needed to build trust with the Zhenxi Army—to strengthen our position for the eventual siege of Luoyang. Once Luoyang falls, the rest will follow easily. Then General Sun can deal with the west at his leisure.”
He coughed again and added, “Li Yi is a man of rare brilliance. I hadn’t thought his luck would be so formidable as well.”
Captain He was silent.
Master Cui continued softly, “But luck has its limits. His army is small—barely seven thousand, and few among them true generals. Even with Yuan Xian in hand, he cannot take Luoyang alone. He’ll have to negotiate with us, and when he does… we must seize the advantage.”
She inclined her head. “Understood.”
Indeed, Li Yi had led his troops across the Luo River, a move designed to contain Sun Jing’s forces and buy time for Pei Xian’s offensive in Longyou. Bold to the point of recklessness, Li Yi thrived on risk. But this time, Sun Jing had outmaneuvered him—sending reinforcements that blocked Pei Xian’s advance.
Now Li Yi stood stranded: if he attacked, he lacked the numbers; if he retreated, he had no stronghold to fall back to. Only by joining forces with the Dingsheng Army could he hope to capture Luoyang.
Fortunately for them, he didn’t yet realize how crucial the city truly was.
Captain He thought it over carefully. After consulting with Master Cui, she made her decision. Exiting the central tent, she summoned Taozi.
“Go to Li Yi,” she said.
Taozi blinked. “You’re not writing to him this time?”
Captain He’s lips tightened. “Write? For what? He’s not worthy of my letter.”
Yet when Xie Chang’er brought word to Li Yi, he was overjoyed. He immediately mounted his horse and rode to meet her.
Taiqing Palace
Their meeting place was the famed Taiqing Palace, a Taoist sanctuary nestled on Cuiyun Peak outside Luoyang.
Li Yi arrived to find the autumn wind whispering through a sea of tall bamboo. The palace’s blue brick walls and ancient gates loomed serene beneath the fading light. Few priests remained—only two young Daoists sweeping fallen leaves in the deserted courtyards.
He passed silently through the Sutra Hall and made his way toward the rear mountain. There, by the Free Life Pond, he saw her.
Captain He sat alone on a mossy boulder, chin resting on one hand, gazing at the withered lotus leaves drifting on the water. The air was cool and still. Chrysanthemums bloomed nearby, their fragrance faint but lingering. She looked like a figure from an old scroll painting—a beauty in autumn solitude.
He watched her for a moment, then approached.
At the sound of his steps, she turned, composed as ever. “Your Highness has arrived,” she said.
He smiled. “You still call me that? I’d hoped you’d say ‘Seventeenth Brother.’”
She tilted her head slightly. “Then why don’t you call me Ah Ying?”
He hesitated, then laughed lightly. “Captain, why did you summon me today?”
Her eyes glimmered with amusement. “Nothing serious. The autumn air is rare and clear—Taiqing’s bamboo grove is beautiful this time of year. I simply came to enjoy it.”
The simplicity of her answer disarmed him. Since the rebellion, he had lived in constant battle, without rest or leisure. The thought of wandering through bamboo in peace felt almost unreal.
So, for once, they spoke of nothing—only walked side by side through the temple grounds.
From the main gate to the Sanqing Hall, from the scripture library to the mountain paths—they admired the tranquil scenery. Reaching the Free Life Pond again, Li Yi noticed a tall rock rising from its edge, carved with two characters: Lan Sheng.
He pointed. “I heard you can see Luoyang from up there. Shall we climb?”
She nodded. Agile as ever, they ascended together. From the summit, they gazed out toward the horizon. The city walls of Luoyang gleamed faintly in the distance, banners fluttering under a blood-red sky. The faint echo of battle drums carried through the wind.
Li Yi’s mind stirred with poetry:
“Looking down at the Luo River, Hu soldiers march across the vast plain.”
Before he could speak, she murmured softly,
“Blood stains the grass; jackals wear tassels of war.”
Their eyes met. No words were needed—they both thought of the same poem, the same sorrow of war. The bamboo rustled like sighs between them.
After a long silence, she smiled faintly. “If I had a zither, I’d play a tune today.”
He returned her smile. “I have no zither—but I have a sword. If the Captain doesn’t mind, I’ll dance instead.”
She remembered that day in Bingzhou, when he had disguised himself as Mr. Cui—playing the zither and dancing while the two of them cut down twelve golden-armored assassins. Her heart softened.
“Then dance,” she said.
He drew his sword. Its silver edge flashed as he moved—each step light as wind, each strike flowing like water. The autumn air trembled with his rhythm. Bamboo leaves swirled and fell like rain.
When he finally stopped, she clapped softly. “So that’s your true skill,” she said. “That night in Han Li’s house, you didn’t even use a third of your strength.”
He laughed. “That night, I only needed to kill. Why bother with art?”
She smiled, and for a moment, the air between them was easy—almost tender.
He sheathed his sword and sat beside her. “That day,” he said quietly, “you played the qin and sang. I’ve thought often since—how fine it would be to hear you sing again.”
She met his gaze, then nodded. “Since you danced for me today, I’ll sing for you.”
Her voice rose softly, clear as water under the bamboo shade:
“Apricot blossoms fill the sky,
Their shadows scatter across my window.
I pluck golden strings and break willow twigs
To send you away at dawn.
Who knows the sorrow of parting?”
Her tone deepened, carrying a mournful edge:
“My lord rides to Liaoxi,
His armor cold beneath the northern wind.
The Hu horses cry in the dark—
While in the golden chamber,
A girl weeps alone.”
After the song faded, silence lingered between them.
Captain He stared at the drifting lotus leaves upon the pond, lost in thought. After a long while, she forced a faint smile.
“My mother was born in the Central Plains,” she said softly. “But she married a soldier and followed my father to the border. I used to hear her hum this little song when I was a child.”
Li Yi knew that her mother had long since perished in battle at Yingzhou. Seeing her so wistful, he couldn’t help but reach out and gently hold her hand.
She didn’t pull away. Her gaze was distant, as though peering through years of memory. “Ever since I was young,” she continued quietly, “I’ve had one wish. Even if it means fighting to end war, I hope one day the world will know peace. That the people can live without fear. That the enemy will no longer dare to invade. And that women serving in the army will no longer shed tears.”
Li Yi said nothing at first. His mind drifted—to the thirty thousand soldiers of Yuliao swallowed by the marshlands; to Liangzhou’s flames and the refugees who fled for days without rest; to Jianzhou, spared only by a bloodless surrender; to Pei Xian’s desperate campaign in Chengzhou.
So many lives lost—all for Sun Jing’s hunger for power.
He exhaled slowly. “There will be such a day,” he murmured.
She pondered for a long time before suddenly saying, “Now that Yuan Xian has fallen into your hands, you must have a way to take Luoyang.”
Her directness startled him, but he nodded. “That’s right.”
Her lips curved slightly. “I want Luoyang.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Luoyang is the eastern capital. Do you intend to fight me beneath its walls?”
She met his gaze steadily. “We both serve the royal army. Does it matter who holds the city?”
He chuckled. “Indeed. Luoyang is the same, whether under my Zhenxi Army or yours.”
Instead of arguing, she spoke slowly and clearly, her voice calm as a yellow warbler in spring:
“Your Highness, let’s make a wager. If I win, the Dingsheng Army will fully aid you in the siege—but when Luoyang falls, it will belong to me. In return, we’ll cede Jianzhou to you. With Jianzhou, you can support General Pei.
If I lose, the Dingsheng Army will still help you take Luoyang—but the city will be yours, and Jianzhou will still return to you.”
Li Yi fell silent, weighing her words.
Jianzhou controlled Bingnan Pass. If the Dingsheng Army held it, even a victory in Longyou would leave Pei Xian trapped—unable to move south to Luoshui. Without that junction, Li Yi would be isolated and exposed.
But since Jianzhou would be surrendered no matter the outcome—why not take the gamble?
At last, he said, “How shall we bet?”
Her smile deepened. “Close your eyes. I’ll count to ten. If you open your eyes before I finish, you lose. If I reach ten and you still haven’t opened them, I lose.”
He studied her suspiciously. “No,” he said after a pause, “I’ll count.”
He thought wryly—if she were to cheat, delaying the count endlessly, what then? But she agreed without hesitation. “Very well,” she said.
Puzzled, he wondered what trick she was planning. Would she strike him while his eyes were shut? No, he decided. Even if she drew her sword, he wouldn’t flinch.
“Then let’s wager,” he said finally, and closed his eyes.
“One… two… three…”
He counted slowly, aware of the faint scent of orchid drifting closer. Before he reached “four,” a soft, warm touch brushed his cheek—light as a butterfly’s wing.
His heart lurched.
In an instant, he understood—and his eyes flew open.
Her lips were still pressed to his cheek. Her eyes were half-closed, lashes trembling like the wings of a moth. When she sensed his movement, she too opened her eyes.
For a heartbeat, time froze.
He could see his reflection in her gaze—startled, breathless. Her eyes shimmered like a lake at dawn, thinly veiled in mist. His chest tightened, filled with ripples—shock, wonder, and a joy so fierce it was almost pain.
One thought thundered in his mind:
She likes me.
She really likes me.
The realization struck him like an arrow to the heart. His pulse pounded so violently that it seemed to shake the air around them.
For the first time in his life, he liked someone—and she liked him back. The world blurred into color and light. All that remained was this trembling joy, vast as the heavens.
A faint blush rose to her cheeks. She looked startled, caught between shyness and pride—like a deer frozen in a hunter’s arrowlight. But the confusion lasted only a moment.
“You lost,” she whispered.
He didn’t hear it at first. Her voice was soft, the words sinking through the haze in his mind. Then, as she turned to leave, the meaning hit him.
She had won.
Yet he stood there, dazed, unable to move. She descended the mountain path swiftly, her sleeves fluttering through the bamboo, her figure dissolving into the green mist below.
At last he called out, voice trembling, “Ah Ying!”
It was the name he had held in his heart a thousand times—but she didn’t look back.
“Can we forget what happened just now?” he blurted.
The words escaped before he could stop them—and regret flooded him at once. How could he say that? Did he want to take back the one thing he’d longed for most?
But she didn’t answer. She disappeared into the bamboo, her silhouette lost among the swaying stalks—slender, resolute, and unyielding.
He stood gazing after her, the wind rustling like distant laughter. He didn’t know when he had first fallen in love with her. Perhaps in Huaquan Town, when she’d kicked him into the well. Or the first time she’d struck him unconscious with a needle.
But from the very first moment, he had already been lost.
And now, he was certain—she loved him too.
Even if it was all under the pretext of a wager, even if Luoyang was the prize—she had kissed him not to win, but to tell him she cared.
He pressed a hand to his cheek, where her warmth still lingered, and felt his heart surge. The late-autumn wind whispered through the bamboo, but to him, it was sweet as spring.
Meanwhile, Captain He galloped down the mountain, her face burning.
She replayed the look on his face—his stunned expression, the disbelief in his eyes. The ever-calm, ever-clever Shiqilang of the Zhenxi Army had been utterly speechless.
“What a fool,” she murmured, laughing to herself. “A brilliant man, but today—such a fool.”
She had never seen him look so lost, so human. And she alone in the world had seen it.
Her fingers brushed her lips, and she flushed again. She didn’t know what had driven her to such boldness—but she had wanted to kiss him. Just once.
Luoyang didn’t matter. There were countless ways she could have claimed it. But she had chosen this—to tell him, silently, that she liked him. To ease his restless uncertainty.
Leaning forward on her horse, she laughed again, feeling almost giddy. Though it was late autumn, the wind against her face was gentle and warm—like the first breath of spring.
She began to hum softly as she rode:
“A sky of apricot blossoms, sparse shadows on the window,
Bamboo whispers beyond the pavilion.
Tune golden strings, break willow branches to send farewell—
Who knows the pain of parting?”
Then came the verse she hadn’t sung earlier:
“People return to the pavilion, the yard fills with rose scent.
I mix ink, draw my brows, paint mandarin ducks by the spring.”
When she reached the words “mandarin ducks,” her face grew even hotter. Yet she smiled, for she knew—someday, he would stand beside her to watch the apricot blossoms bloom.
Li Yi didn’t know how he returned to camp.
Even when Old Bao asked if he’d like dinner, he only blinked in confusion. Later, under the pale lamplight, he chewed two hard cakes in silence—then suddenly began to laugh.
The memory of her lips on his cheek was so vivid that it hurt to breathe.
When Pei Yuan entered and saw him smiling like that, his heart clenched. “Shiqilang,” he said, “what happened? Are you all right?”
Li Yi quickly composed himself. “Nothing.”
Pei Yuan frowned. “You met Captain He today, didn’t you? What did she say?”
Li Yi hesitated. “She wanted Luoyang,” he said finally, “and I gave it to her.”
“What?” Pei Yuan exclaimed. “Didn’t we just receive word that Sun Jing’s troops are marching from Huazhou? We planned to use this moment to press the Dingsheng Army for greater commitment before granting Luoyang!”
“She offered Jianzhou in return,” Li Yi replied calmly. “I considered it—and agreed.”
Pei Yuan let out a long breath. “Ah… Jianzhou is far more important than Luoyang. With it, we can link with Pei Xian’s forces. Still—how did you persuade her?”
Li Yi’s mouth opened, then closed.
Pei Yuan studied him under the candlelight, astonished. “You look dazed. What did she do to you?”
Li Yi coughed lightly. “She didn’t need persuading. She simply… saw the larger picture.”
Pei Yuan gave a short laugh. “You looked so strange when I came in—I thought she’d drugged you.”
Li Yi looked at Pei Yuan, bewildered.
“You’ve been acting oddly since you returned,” Pei Yuan said. “During patrol, you were half lost, half dazed—as if you’d drunk too much. I started to think that woman might have slipped something into your drink. What if she drugged you and made you promise something outrageous to the Dingsheng Army?”
The word drugged struck Li Yi like a pebble dropped into still water. His heart skipped, ripples spreading. Indeed, he had been light-headed all afternoon—floating, as though the earth itself had softened beneath his feet. That kind of carelessness was dangerous. He was a commander of an isolated force, responsible for thousands. If the enemy attacked while he was in such a state, it would be unforgivable.
He drew a deep breath and straightened. “You’re right. I’ve been careless.”
He rose, fastened his armor, and reached for his sword.
Pei Yuan blinked. “What are you doing?”
“One more patrol,” Li Yi replied simply, and strode out of the tent.
Pei Yuan glanced at the half-eaten biscuit on the table, sighed, and shook his head. “He’s hopeless,” he muttered with a bitter smile.
That same night, Captain He sat alone in her tent, chin propped on one hand, lost in thought.
Taozi entered and froze. “Captain, what’s wrong? You look… strange.”
Captain He blinked, her expression smoothing. “Nothing at all. What’s the matter?”
Taozi crossed her arms, unconvinced. “Don’t tell me Li Yi tricked you again. That man is sly as a fox. I swear, if he’s taken advantage of you, I’ll poison him myself.”
Heat rose to Captain He’s cheeks. “Stop it,” she said quickly. “Don’t even think about poisoning him.”
“I think it’s a brilliant idea,” Taozi said, eyes gleaming. “Zhenxi’s camp is heavily guarded, but Chen Xing could sneak in easily. Once Li Yi is poisoned, he’ll beg for an antidote. Then we’ll make him hand over Luoyang.”
Captain He couldn’t help laughing despite herself. “You little troublemaker. If we did that, we’d be at war with the Zhenxi Army.”
“So what?” Taozi huffed. “The Dingsheng Army can beat them.”
“Enough nonsense,” Captain He said, her tone soft but firm. “There’s no need. Li Yi already agreed to cede Luoyang.”
Taozi’s jaw dropped. “He did? Then why did you come back looking so gloomy?”
“I’m not gloomy at all,” Captain He said, smiling faintly. She reached out and flicked Taozi’s nose. “Come. Let’s report to the Young Master and see how he plans to proceed.”
They hurried to the command tent. Even before entering, they heard a deep, rattling cough from within. Alarmed, they rushed inside.
Master Cui sat slumped on the couch, his body trembling with every cough. Ah Shu stood nearby, face drawn with worry.
“Quick, the cough medicine,” Taozi said, but Master Cui raised a trembling hand.
“I’ve… already taken it,” he rasped.
She bit her lip. The medicine was toxic if overused. Ah Shu brought a bowl of steaming broth instead. Master Cui took two sips, his breath easing slightly. He smiled faintly when he saw Captain He. “You’ve returned. I take it there’s good news?”
For reasons she couldn’t explain, Captain He felt a pang in her chest. His smile was warm, his eyes soft—too soft. A flicker of guilt passed through her. She took the bowl from Ah Shu, sat by the couch, and gently fed him the broth while speaking in a low voice about Li Yi’s agreement.
Master Cui nodded weakly. “My father’s condition is worsening. It’s a pity I can’t lead the troops myself. Otherwise, we wouldn’t need to cede Jianzhou. Li Yi’s army is small—driving him beyond the Luo River would be child’s play.”
Captain He blew gently on a spoonful of soup before offering it. “Young Master, we’ve achieved what we wanted—Luoyang. Giving Jianzhou to Li Yi is fair. Turning on him now would make us look disloyal to the king. Why stain our name?”
Master Cui nodded slowly, though a faint sneer tugged at his lips. “You’re right… yet the Lis are not easy men. Li Yi has ambition, and skill. Once he rises, he may see our Dingsheng Army as his greatest threat.”
Captain He smiled faintly. “That’s a matter for the future. For now, defeating Sun Jing is what matters. Let tomorrow’s worries wait for tomorrow.”
The candlelight flickered across Master Cui’s pale face. He was handsome—too refined for a battlefield, with the grace of a scholar rather than a general. Many who saw him said he seemed born not to the barracks but to the court, destined to write poems instead of commands.
Outside, the night deepened. The chirr of insects and the distant whinnies of horses drifted through the cool air. A sudden gust stirred the tent flaps, bringing a chill that set Master Cui coughing again—harder this time, until his face flushed crimson.
Ah Shu hurried to his side, and Captain He dropped the bowl, massaging the points along his hands to ease the spasm.
He cannot survive another winter like this, she thought. I must get him to Luoyang—before the frost sets in.
True to his word, Li Yi moved swiftly. Within days, he sent envoys to the Dingsheng Army to coordinate their advance. He had intended to meet Master Cui personally—but when the delegation arrived, it was Captain He who stepped from her horse.
It had been several days since their parting at Taiqing Palace. The sight of her now—light armor gleaming, posture proud yet composed—made something inside him stir.
He saluted her formally. “You’ve worked hard, Captain He.”
“Your Highness is too polite,” she replied, returning the salute.
They entered the main tent together. Li Yi laid out his plans in full detail. She listened carefully, then said, “Your plan is sound, but I have one adjustment. If you’ll lend me a few of your men…” She leaned over the map and explained.
When she finished, he nodded. “Excellent. We’ll proceed your way.”
Their business concluded, she rose to leave. He wanted—desperately—to ask her to stay, even for a moment. But the tent was full of officers, and the words died on his tongue.
As he escorted her out, she suddenly turned and asked, “Is your leg wound better?”
He blinked. The small cut had healed long ago. Had she not seen him sparring with his soldiers that day at Taiqing? Still, her voice was so gentle that he could only answer politely, “Much better, thank you, Captain.”
She nodded, then gestured to Taozi. “Here are some medicines for your wound. May Your Highness recover quickly.”
Taozi scowled, pulling a brocade box from her sleeve. When Xie Chang’er stepped forward to take it, Taozi tossed it into his arms with exaggerated disdain.
Captain He only smiled faintly, saluted again, and left with her attendants.
Li Yi watched her disappear beyond the gate before finally returning to his tent. He dismissed his aides, opened the box—and froze.
There was no medicine.
Inside lay a finely crafted cowhide wristband, plain yet elegant. He lifted it and turned it over. On the inner lining, in small, neat stitches, was embroidered one word: “Shiqi.”
The stitches were uneven in places, with faint puncture marks around the letters. She must have taken it apart and redone it—carefully, persistently.
He smiled. She made this for me.
For all her sharp tongue and steel blade, she still had the patience to sew.
He slid the wristband onto his arm—it fit perfectly. A warm pride swelled in his chest.
With nowhere to direct his happiness, he wandered to the kitchen tent, where Old Bao was grumbling over a pot.
“Come, Your Highness!” Old Bao waved him over. “We’re out of oil and flour. These cakes keep falling apart. Any bright ideas?”
Li Yi looked around, eyes landing on some wheat straw by the fire. “Try this,” he said. “Wash the straw, weave a cattail pouch, mix your corn with half millet flour, pack it tight, steam it, and slice it into cakes once it cools.”
Old Bao’s eyes widened. “Brilliant!”
They set to work. As they waited for the cakes to steam, Old Bao glanced sidelong at Li Yi. “Since when do you wear wristbands, eh?”
Li Yi coughed lightly. “A friend gave it to me.”
Old Bao snorted and grabbed his wrist. “Captain He, wasn’t it? Who else can stitch like this?”
Li Yi smiled faintly. “You’re observant.”
“Observant?” Old Bao scoffed. “She visits today, you’re grinning like a fool, and next thing you’re wearing this thing. You think I wouldn’t notice?”
Li Yi chuckled. “If only your insight matched your cooking.”
Old Bao rolled his eyes. “If I weren’t capable, you wouldn’t have dumped escort duty for Yuan Xian on me.”
Li Yi grinned. “A dirty job, but someone has to do it.”
Old Bao snorted. “That scheme reeks of her hand. Cunning woman, that one.”
“It’s cunning,” Li Yi said, “but it saves lives.”
Old Bao pointed his spatula at him. “You’ve changed. Used to be, you’d fight straight. Now you’re learning her tricks.”
Li Yi only smiled. “If the trick works, it’s worth learning.”
“Ha!” Old Bao barked. “She called me ‘Brother Bao with a face greedy for glory.’ You expect me to like her?”
Li Yi laughed aloud. “At least she called you Brother Bao. Tell you what—the first basket of cakes is yours.”
Li Yi laughed heartily and said, "Although it's a tough job, at least we still call you Big Brother Bao." Pointing to the steamer, he said, "At worst, I'll give you the first basket of cakes that come out."
Old Bao chuckled and said, "Okay, it's a deal. This first basket of cakes is mine."
Old Bao got what he wanted and ate the first basket of cakes. The cakes were incredibly sweet and delicious, though they were so large. Naturally, Old Bao didn't enjoy the first basket alone, but distributed it to Huang Youyi and the others. After everyone finished eating, they cut the cakes, wiped their mouths, grabbed their knives, and headed straight for the tent where Yuan Xian and his men were being held.
Yuan Xian and his men had been unable to eat or sleep for days, living in constant dread. Occasionally, they overheard guards whispering that Li Yi had sent messengers to Fu Yuan’er again and again to plead for mercy. But Fu Yuan’er had coldly replied that if Li Yi wished to kill Yuan Xian and his men, he could do so—surrender was impossible. On the last attempt, he didn’t even let Li Yi’s envoy into the city, ordering his archers to fire warning arrows from the walls until the poor man fled in panic.
When Yuan Xian and his companions heard this, they beat their chests and stamped their feet in despair. Their last hopes of survival vanished. How could they eat or sleep? Escape was unthinkable—the guards watched them closely. Each day passed like a nightmare; they were like chickens trapped in a cage, trembling with fear.
Several days later, they suddenly heard the sound of hurried footsteps outside the tent. Their faces went pale. The flap was thrown open, and a squad of soldiers stormed in, led by a burly man with a fierce expression. His face was round and stern, his eyes cold as steel.
“Bind them!” he barked.
His men rushed forward, tying the captives’ hands and feet with rough ropes before dragging them out.
Yuan Xian knew at once what this meant. He was going to die. Tears streamed down his face; his body went numb. They threw him over a horse like a sack of grain, and one by one, his fellow dandies were tied up the same way.
“Move out!” the fat man shouted.
The horses began to gallop. As they rode, Yuan Xian thought, If they’re taking us with them, maybe they won’t kill us yet. A flicker of hope rose—then quickly turned to fear. Or maybe they’ll kill us later, somewhere far from camp.
The cold wind stung his face, and tears rolled down his cheeks, soaking the horse’s mane. The beast ran so fast that its coarse hair whipped against his eyes, making them swell and burn. He had never endured such pain.
After galloping for four or five miles, the sky darkened. The leader glanced up and cursed.
“It’s going to rain! If it starts pouring, we’ll freeze to death!”
A fleshy-faced man beside him said, “Why don’t we find shelter? We can dismount, light a fire, and eat first.”
The leader nodded. After searching the edge of a forest, they found a dilapidated temple—half a hut, its thatched roof caved in, rafters showing through. Still, it offered a bit of space. They entered, gathered firewood, and started a fire.
Soon after, the sky opened up and a cold autumn rain poured down. Water leaked through the broken roof in steady streams. The fat man cursed and found a half-dry corner to sit. The soldiers huddled around the flames, pulling food from their packs.
Yuan Xian smelled the sweet aroma of golden cakes roasting by the fire. His stomach growled, his soaked clothes clinging to his skin. Though the Zhenxi soldiers hadn’t starved them before, hunger now gnawed bitterly.
The fat man finished his cake and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. A sly-looking soldier beside him leaned closer.
“Brother Bao, are we really going to escort these people to the Dingsheng Army?”
At that, Yuan Xian realized the fat man’s surname was Bao. He heard Old Bao sigh.
“The Royal Grandson doesn’t want to hand them over,” Bao muttered. “But the Dingsheng Army’s Cui family has too many troops in Luoshui. We have no choice.”
The sly soldier—whose name, Yuan Xian later learned, was Qian Youdao—squinted at him and sneered. Yuan Xian quickly lowered his head.
Qian Youdao turned back to Bao. “Brother Bao, I pity you. A veteran like you, left to escort prisoners through the rain—it’s a disgrace.”
Old Bao let out a bitter laugh. “Who told me to offend General Pei? I deserve this fate.”
The other soldiers chimed in, offering comfort. From their words, Yuan Xian pieced the story together. Bao was once a respected veteran of the Zhenxi Army, due for promotion, but his temper had led him to cross Pei Yuan during an execution. Now he was punished, sidelined, and sent to do thankless work.
Bao sighed again. “Even if I’ve earned no merit, I’ve served the Royal Grandson loyally to the Luo River. To be treated like this—it chills the heart.”
His comrades murmured in sympathy. Some complained of unpaid rations and hungry families. Bao admitted he had an old mother and several brothers at home—seven or eight mouths to feed. “The Zhenxi Army hasn’t had proper pay for months,” he said, voice weary.
“If I’d known this would happen,” he added, “I would’ve joined the Dingsheng Army. They say their men eat meat every three days.”
That sparked a chorus of envy. The soldiers spoke of Dingsheng’s fine armor, swift cavalry, and horses fed on beans.
As the talk went on, Bao glanced at the captives and sighed. “If these men are handed to the Dingsheng Army, Master Cui will see there’s no use persuading Fu Yuan’er—and he’ll surely kill them. Pitiful souls. Give them each a piece of cake.”
A few soldiers got up, divided their food, and handed some to Yuan Xian and the others. Yuan Xian and Wei Xi exchanged glances—was this a chance?
Wei Xi took a deep breath and called out, trembling, “General Bao—thank you for the cake.”
Bao waved him off. “Don’t mention it.”
Wei Xi hesitated, then said, “General, I have something to say.”
Bao raised an eyebrow. “Speak.”
Wei Xi swallowed. “My family lives in Luoyang. We’re wealthy—if you release us, we’ll reward you richly.”
Bao shook his head. “Impossible. The Zhenxi Army’s laws are strict. If we let you go, all our heads would roll.” He paused, then added, “And you have no money on you now. We can’t gamble our lives on your empty promises.”
Wei Xi thought quickly and said, “Then take us back to Luoyang! We’ll plead for you before the Grand Commander. He rewards those who show loyalty. Perhaps you could become a governor, General Bao.”
He pointed toward Yuan Xian. “This is the Grand Commander’s brother-in-law—you can trust his word!”
Yuan Xian nodded eagerly. “The Grand Commander values talent. Even Fu Yuan’er, once a mere groom, became the Provincial Governor of Luoyang. If he gains a warrior like you, he’ll be overjoyed!”
Bao fell silent. The firelight flickered across his uncertain face. Rain drummed against the broken roof. Yuan Xian’s heart pounded.
After a long moment, Bao exhaled. “Fu Yuan’er told us to kill you all in one stroke. He doesn’t care for your life or death.” His eyes narrowed. “If I take you to Luoyang, we’ll be filled with arrows before we even reach the gate.”
Yuan Xian understood his fear. He gritted his teeth. “General Bao, the guard at Anxi Gate is my family’s former retainer. He’ll open the gate for us. We’ll sneak to the city outskirts—you can follow. If Fu Yuan’er truly denies us, we’ll seize his seal and send a fast rider to the Grand Commander. We’ll make sure you get your due reward.”
Bao hesitated, frowning deeply. The fire crackled, casting his face in red and shadow. “How do I know this isn’t a trap?” he said. “Once inside Luoyang, you might turn on us.”
Wei Xi stepped forward. “Then tie us to your sides. If anything goes wrong, kill us on the spot.”
Bao stared for a long moment—then slapped his thigh. “Alright! I’ll believe you two!”
The soldiers began murmuring, tempted by the promise of gold and rank. “We have no pay here anyway,” one said. “Might as well take our chances in Luoyang.”
When the rain eased, Bao ordered everyone to mount. “I’m a gambler by nature,” he said with a grin. “Today, I’ll wager everything on you.”
He refused to tie them up again and even addressed Yuan Xian courteously. “Duke Yuan, please mount.”
Yuan Xian was deeply moved. What a man! he thought. Not like that heartless Fu Yuan’er. He silently vowed that once safe, he would ensure Bao received a great title.
As night fell, they neared Luoyang. The sky was ink-black; only the faint lamps on the city wall glimmered. Yuan Xian dared not call out. Bao quickly devised a plan.
“Write your plea,” he said.
Yuan Xian wrote a few urgent lines, rolled the paper tight, and handed it over. Bao tied it to an arrow, drew his bow, and shot.
The arrow hissed through the night air like a falling star and struck the city wall. Yuan Xian watched, awestruck.
After a long pause, he turned to Bao and said sincerely, “General, you are truly skilled.”
Old Bao smiled and said, “Since the Duke has appointed me as Governor, I must possess some ability. Otherwise, not only would I bring shame upon myself, but I would also tarnish the Duke’s good name.”
Yuan Xian was delighted by these words. Inwardly, he thought this man was not only competent but also tactful—a rare and valuable talent indeed.
On the city tower, Yao Ji, commander of the Luoyang garrison and a member of the Yuan clan, had just seen the letter shot onto the wall. His heart trembled with doubt. Unsure whether the message was genuine, he dared not open the gates. After much hesitation, he ordered his men to lower him from the wall in a basket. When he landed and saw Yuan Xian in person, relief washed over him—until his eyes caught the uniforms of Old Bao and the Zhenxi soldiers. His joy gave way to suspicion.
Yuan Xian hastily explained how he had persuaded Old Bao and his men to surrender. When he proposed to open the gates for them, Yao Ji hesitated again. Old Bao, sensing his mistrust, gave a cold laugh and said to Yuan Xian, “The Duke promised wealth and honor, and I, Old Bao, was ready to serve. But now the Duke himself stands outside Luoyang, and we are refused entry. It seems I’ve made a poor wager—so be it. I’ll accept my loss.”
Qian Youdao spat, “You call yourself a Duke? You’re nothing but a fraud!”
Old Bao’s expression hardened. Seizing Qian Youdao by the collar, he turned to leave. Yuan Xian grew desperate. These men were capable warriors—letting them slip away would mean losing both face and opportunity. He had already suffered humiliation at their hands; if he could bring back surrendered Zhenxi troops, he could at least redeem his honor. The thought of returning empty-handed made his skin crawl—especially knowing that Fu Yuan’er, with his icy pride, would seize any chance to ridicule him.
Seeing Old Bao preparing to depart, Wei Xi panicked. His own life hung on Yuan Xian’s success. If Yuan Xian failed, Fu Yuan’er might vent his fury on him instead. Better to earn merit than face execution. Gathering his fellow playboys, he blocked Old Bao’s horse, pleading for him to stay.
Yuan Xian, trembling, turned to Yao Ji and demanded, “Open the gate at once! My father treated your family with great kindness—would you betray him now?” His cries of desperation cut through the night. Yao Ji hesitated, torn between loyalty and fear. The Zhenxi men seemed ready to withdraw, and Yuan Xian’s sword was now drawn, its edge at Yao Ji’s throat.
“Open it!” Yuan Xian shouted, pressing the blade until blood trickled down Yao Ji’s neck. “If you refuse, I’ll die here before you!”
Yao Ji, terrified and unsure, finally gave the order. “Open the gates!”
The massive wooden doors groaned and slowly swung open. Tears streamed down Yuan Xian’s face as he turned to Old Bao with a smile. “Please, come in.”
Old Bao’s expression softened. “The Duke is a man of righteousness after all,” he said, dismounting to embrace him before leading his men inside.
The moment they crossed the threshold, everything changed. Old Bao suddenly grabbed Yao Ji and barked an order. The Zhenxi soldiers surged forward, jamming wooden wedges and spikes into the gates to keep them open. At that signal, a shrill whistle pierced the air—then, like a tide of iron, thousands of troops and horses thundered from the darkness. Within moments, the city walls were swarming with attackers.
Yao Ji’s face went pale as he realized the truth. Flames burst along the ramparts, alarms blared from nine directions, and the night sky blazed red. The Zhenxi and Dingsheng Armies had struck together, overwhelming the defenders in one swift storm.
Fu Yuan’er, though sleepless, had not yet risen. Years in the army had trained him to rest lightly, even under the weight of armor. But tonight he tossed and turned uneasily. Just as he reached for his sword to patrol the walls, the roar of battle exploded outside. He leapt up and donned his armor as General Xun burst into the hall.
“Governor! The Anxi Gate has fallen! The Zhenxi and Dingsheng Armies have stormed the city!”
Fu Yuan’er froze for a heartbeat, then exhaled. “The commander of Anxi Gate is a Yuan clansman,” he muttered grimly. “Li Yi must have captured Yuan Xian—and used him to open the gate.”
Then, in a steady voice, he ordered, “Prepare the horses. We ride.”
Though Luoyang held tens of thousands of defenders, the sudden assault threw the city into chaos. Many were still asleep when the enemy flooded the barracks. Panic spread like wildfire. Rumors roared through the streets—that Pei Xian himself was leading a force of one hundred thousand. The mere name struck terror into their hearts. Discipline broke; units surrendered in droves. Those who resisted were cut down. Old Bao’s men seized Yuan Xian and the city’s noble youths, holding blades to their throats and forcing their families’ soldiers to surrender. Within hours, the defense collapsed.
Fu Yuan’er fought to the end. Surrounded, his armor shattered and body bloodied, he and a few hundred loyal guards held the last wall until dawn. By then, the Dingsheng and Zhenxi Armies had claimed the city.
When Li Yi arrived to negotiate his surrender, word came that Master Cui was approaching with his rear cavalry. Li Yi waited, and soon Cui Lin appeared—pale, thinner, yet composed, bowing from horseback. “Your Highness,” he greeted.
Beside him rode Captain He, armored and fierce, her half-concealed face bright beneath her helm. Together, they advanced through streets littered with the fallen—Dingsheng and Zhenxi soldiers alike. Amid the wreckage sat Fu Yuan’er, slumped against a wall, his sword dripping crimson, the tassel turned brown with dried blood.
He was still alive—barely. His eyes, sharp as a hawk’s, tracked their every move. When he saw them dismount, he let out a low, broken laugh, spat blood, and coughed violently.
Master Cui stepped forward, kneeling beside him. The wound on Fu Yuan’er’s chest was deep; blood streamed freely, yet his gaze burned undimmed.
Li Yi said quietly, “Master Fu, this is Cui Lin, son of Cui Yi.”
Fu Yuan’er turned to Cui Lin. “How did you open the city gate?”
Cui Lin explained the deception—how Yuan Xian had been tricked into opening the gate, believing it a surrender. Fu Yuan’er listened, then smiled faintly. “That plan—was it yours?”
Cui Lin hesitated, but before he could reply, Fu Yuan’er pointed at Li Yi with his sword. “This man doesn’t fight like a hero. His blade strikes from the shadows. To trap and kill—that is his way. No, this scheme reeks of cunning. It must have been yours.”
Cui Lin answered calmly, “It was discussed by both our captains.”
Fu Yuan’er wiped the blood from his lips. “A man like that under your command… his ambition will not stop here.”
Cui Lin gave only a faint smile.
Then, suddenly, Fu Yuan’er laughed—a wild, echoing sound. “Excellent! The world will belong to young heroes like you. When you two fight for the throne someday, it will be a sight worth seeing… too bad I won’t be there.”
With that, he raised his sword and drove it across his own neck. Blood spurted forth, and he crumpled where he sat.
Li Yi and Cui Lin stood silently, bowing their heads. They ordered Fu Yuan’er buried with full honors before turning to secure the city.
The fall of Luoyang—the Empire’s eastern jewel—sent tremors across the realm. News galloped to Xichangjing, then to Longyou, where Sun Jing campaigned. When he learned of Fu Yuan’er’s death and Yuan Xian’s treachery, his rage was boundless.
Xin Fu, his trusted adviser, counseled, “Now that Luoyang is lost, executing Yuan Xian will only fracture the Yuan clan’s loyalty.”
Sun Jing drew a long breath, his expression unreadable.
Then, after a pause, he asked coldly, “Tell me… does the King of Liang have two sons left?”
Xin Fu nodded slowly. “The fiefs of these two people are all in Jiangnan Road,” he said. “On the day of Emperor Chengshun's birthday, all the kings and princes came to the capital to celebrate, but these two were not summoned and could not come to the capital. It can be seen that, like their father King Liang, they were not in the eyes of Emperor Chengshun. That’s why these two people were not executed at the birthday banquet.”
When he mentioned the late emperor, he spoke of him directly by his reign title — Chengshun — a manner that bordered on disrespect.
He went on, “The eldest son of Prince Liang is named Li Jun, and the second son is Li Lai. Since the Grand Commander-in-Chief started the rebellion, Li Yi trapped and killed Yu Liao’s army, which shocked the world. Although these two people were mediocre, they were also supported in Jiangnan Road. Those idiots in Jiangnan thought that these two people were also like Li Yi — capable of leading troops to fight. These two brought about ten thousand soldiers from various prefectures in Jiangnan, but were blocked by Tao Zan’s troops in the south of Jianghuai, and could not go north.”
Sun Jing leaned back slightly, thoughtful. “What are the temperaments of these two people?”
Xin Fu replied, “Li Jun is the eldest son of Prince Liang’s first wife, and he is raised to be arrogant; Li Lai is the son of Prince Liang’s favorite concubine, Pan. She is stingy and narrow-minded, and so is he. These two people know nothing about military affairs and have no outstanding qualities.”
Sun Jing nodded, eyes gleaming faintly. “Send someone to tell Tao Zan to let these two people lead the troops across the river.”
Xin Fu froze, startled.
Sun Jing sneered. “Since they both have the surname Li, his two elder brothers are nominally more qualified than him to be the so-called ‘Marshal of Suppressing Rebellion.’ Let them cross the river, lure them out and annihilate them, capture them alive, and then use them to exchange for Yuan Xian — and see whether Li Yi will make the exchange or not.”
Xin Fu’s expression brightened as he understood. Folding his arms, he said, “Great Commander, this is a great idea! If Li Yi refuses to hand over Yuan Xian, the Yuan family will have nothing to say. If the Commander kills Li Jun and Li Lai, Li Yi will kill Yuan Xian of his own accord. Even if Li Yi is willing to hand over Yuan Xian and let his two brothers go, I’m afraid it will be difficult for Li Yi.”
Sun Jing’s lips curved in a cold smile. “I’d like to see if Li Yi doesn’t care about his father and brother at all.”
Li Yi, however, did not kill Yuan Xian and the other idle sons immediately. After Luoyang fell, the Zhenxi Army imprisoned them but fed them well. Yuan Xian lived in terror — too afraid to die, too weak to live with dignity. He wept often, uncertain which day would be his last.
Outside the city, Li Yi remained encamped with his army, busy reclaiming the granaries, cataloging supplies, and restoring order. Once the work was done, Jianzhou and Bingnan Pass awaited in the north, while the Dingsheng Army was to march east to reinforce Cui Yi.
On a rare day of rest, Li Yi summoned Captain He to ride out with him.
Late autumn had gilded the plains. The grass and trees were turning yellow, and the air carried the scent of rain. At the foot of a mountain, Li Yi found a gentle slope carpeted in wild grass. He dismounted, loosened the reins of his black colt, and let it graze freely. For the first time in many days, he lay down upon the earth and closed his eyes.
But he had barely begun to drift into sleep when the black colt neighed sharply.
Opening his eyes, he saw her — Ah Ying — riding toward him on her white horse, Little White. The moment the black colt spotted her mount, it lunged forward, teeth flashing, trying to bite at the white horse’s mane.
“Xiao Hei!” Li Yi shouted, springing to his feet.
Ah Ying pulled hard on Little White’s reins, half laughing, half scolding, as the two horses tangled. Li Yi rushed forward, seized the black colt’s reins, and tied it firmly to a nearby tree.
She was both angry and amused. “What’s wrong with your horse? You always like to pick on Little White.”
Li Yi bowed slightly, helpless. “I apologize on its behalf.”
She chuckled, dismounted, and loosened Little White’s reins so it could graze.
He watched her a moment, then said, as though suddenly remembering something, “Your horse doesn’t really dislike mine. But your horse and your young master’s horse are very close.”
Every time he remembered that night they captured Han Li — how she and Cui Yi had ridden side by side — an irrational sourness rose in his chest.
She rolled her eyes. “My horse and your horse are two foals born to the same mare two years apart. Of course they’re close.”
He blinked, surprised, then laughed softly, relief breaking through his pride.
She smiled faintly. “I’ve never met someone as stingy as you. You even care about horses.”
He smiled in return. “You can see it too. I’m very generous with other people and other things, but for some reason, I always feel stingy when it comes to things related to you.”
She wanted to roll her eyes again, but the sweetness in her chest made it impossible.
He took courage from her silence and reached out to hold her hand. She shook him off, frowning. “Why did you ask me out today? What’s the matter?”
“Can’t I ask you out if there’s nothing wrong?” he said, smiling. Then his tone softened. “In a few days, I’ll go to Jianzhou, and you may go east with your young master to meet General Cui. I’m afraid we won’t see each other for a long time.”
Disappointment shadowed his face.
She reached out and took his hand this time. “It’s common to be busy with war. Although we can’t see each other for a while, you can write to me, and I can write to you. Besides, are you afraid that we won’t see each other again?”
He turned his hand to hold hers, his voice low. “But I will miss you very much.”
She held his hand silently, then whispered, “I will miss you too.”
A quiet sadness settled between them.
Nearby, the black colt strained against its reins, neighing furiously, while Little White — mischievous as ever — paced back and forth just out of reach. The black colt snorted, frustrated but helpless.
Ah Ying laughed. “Why don’t you untie the reins of your black horse? I think its nose is about to bleed.”
Li Yi said, “My horse has a name — Xiao Hei.”
She blinked. “This name…”
He smiled. “I just gave it. Your horse is called Xiao Bai, so of course mine should be called Xiao Hei. Don’t feel sorry for it. Once you untie it, it will definitely bully Xiao Bai.”
She gave him a playful glare. “Bah, the emperor’s grandson seems very steady and dignified on weekdays, but you have to say such frivolous words.”
He laughed lightly. “As the emperor’s grandson, I must be steady and dignified in front of others. In front of you, I’m not the emperor’s grandson — I’m just Seventeen.”
At that, she flushed and stammered, “That can’t be done. I’d better call you Your Highness.”
“That won’t do,” he said, smiling. “If you call me Your Highness, I’ll feel too distant. We haven’t seen each other for a long time. Shouldn’t you call me Seventeen?”
She thought of how everyone in the Zhenxi Army — from Pei Yuan to the newest soldier — called him Seventeen. It shouldn’t have mattered. And yet, the word burned on her lips, impossible to say.
She, who was usually so straightforward, suddenly found herself unable to speak. Seeing her hesitation, Li Yi’s heart softened. He decided not to press her. Whether she said it or not, he thought, I can still call her Ah Ying.
At that moment, a cold drop struck his cheek. He looked up. “It’s raining.”
She sighed. “You picked a perfect day, but it’s raining.”
He smiled. “I know there’s a house nearby. Let’s go take shelter.”
They mounted their horses, rain misting their hair and cloaks, and rode southeast. The drizzle thickened, cold against the late-autumn air. After several miles, they found a small house behind a low earthen wall.
They dismounted, knocked, and waited — no answer. Li Yi pushed the door open. The courtyard lay silent beneath a persimmon tree heavy with fruit, their orange skins glistening in the rain.
They tied their horses beneath the eaves and stepped inside. The house still held its furniture, though the bedding and clothes were gone. A thin film of dust covered the tables and chairs — a home abandoned in haste, perhaps when the battles reached its gates.
Li Yi spotted a stove, half-buried in ash. Firewood was stacked under the eaves. He brought some in, struck a flame, and warmth soon filled the air. Then, seeing the persimmons outside, he went out, picked a few, washed them, and offered them to her.
Ah Ying took one. It was no larger than half a fist, red and translucent. She peeled it gently and tasted. It was sweet, without a trace of bitterness. Smiling, she picked another.
Li Yi asked her to sit near the stove while she ate and dried her wet cloak. Then he went out again. When he returned, he carried two fish skewered on willow branches and a handful of vegetables — no one knew where he had found them.
She laughed. “A gentleman stays away from the kitchen. Is Your Highness going to cook for us yourself?”
He plucked a piece of persimmon from her bowl and ate it. It was cool and honey-sweet. “We’re trapped here in the rain,” he said. “Why not dry our clothes and eat our fill before returning?”
He fetched water from the well, washed the vegetables, and filleted the fish upon a stone slab. She sat quietly by the fire, watching him work — the simple motions of his hands, the calm focus on his face.
There was a salt jar by the stove, but it had long been scraped clean. He pried a few grains from its crusted rim and sprinkled them into the fish’s belly. Soon, the scent of roasting taro and fish filled the room.
She had wiped the tables and bowls clean. When the food was ready, they sat opposite each other, the firelight flickering between them.
Though the meal was plain and nearly without salt, it was the most peaceful they had shared.
Afterward, Li Yi sat by the fire, drying his cloak. Ah Ying washed the bowls beneath the eaves, the rain tracing silver lines around her.
For the first time in many years, his heart was utterly still.
When he was young, he was quite neglected at home. When he was a little older, he went to the western border, hiding his identity, and gradually accumulated military merits from a small soldier. He had suffered all kinds of hardships and had been on the verge of death and in extremely critical situations. Especially when he went to visit the Yingmin King's tent, he was in a life-or-death situation and almost died in the desert. However, he was never afraid of anything, because in this world, he was actually free of worries and was just living an open and honest life. What was the harm even if he lost his life?
Ever since Sun Jing’s rebellion, he had led the Zhenxi Army out of Laolan Pass, fighting battle after battle, large and small. He always rode at the vanguard, unflinching before blade or arrow. Perhaps it was that same disregard for his own life that gave him a strange kind of freedom.
Pei Yuan and even Pei Xian often urged him to take care of himself, to think of the greater picture. But he never truly listened. What was authority to him? What was achievement, or even the desire to conquer the world? As Fu Yuan’er once said before they parted — she thought he would vie for the throne with Master Cui — but he had never cared for such things.
No one knew his heart.
He had never planned to tell anyone. A Yuan was a good man; they had joined the Zhenxi Army together when they were thirteen. In A Yuan’s eyes, Shiqilang was His Highness — the brilliant commander of the Zhenxi Army, the imperial general leading the campaign to quell rebellion. A Yuan, like Pei Yuan and his father, saw him as a hero, a leader worth following. Their bond was brotherly, but for that very reason, there were things he could never say.
Among all his comrades, Lao Bao was the closest to him, but even then, some truths could not be spoken.
No one in this world knew that he never wished to be a prince. He only wanted to remain the Seventeenth Prince of Languan — nothing more.
He was weary. He was tired of ambushing and slaughtering tens of thousands of Yu Liao soldiers. What joy was there in war — in blood, in killing? Yet this great victory, the one that saved the dynasty, was his duty.
He always did what needed to be done, and did it well. But only he knew how deeply he loathed it. Still, before the eyes of others, he had to bear the weight — to turn the tide, to prop up the collapsing walls.
That afternoon, as he watched her washing dishes under the eaves, a thought came unbidden: If only such days could last longer. He imagined cooking for her, sharing a quiet meal, then sitting and watching her wash dishes beneath the soft rain — just two ordinary people in a world of millions.
When she turned and saw him watching, she laughed. “What are you looking at?”
He was startled, caught off guard, then said after a pause, “You look rather beautiful when you wash dishes.”
He had always been quick-witted, but in front of her, lately, he seemed almost foolish. She noticed, and smiled. Sitting beside him, she poured him a bowl of hot water. “If there’s a chance in the future,” she said gently, “I’ll wash dishes for you often.”
It was a silly thing to say, but even a clever woman could speak foolishly before the one she loved. He reached for her hand, and they both sat quietly before the flickering fire, watching the flames dance in silence.
After a long while, he murmured, “Aying, I’m very happy today.”
She smiled softly. “Me too.”
Outside, the rain fell harder. Thin sheets of water pooled in the courtyard, each raindrop bursting into a tiny, perfect ring.
He spoke again, voice low: “Since I was a child, I was never liked by my father. The palace always felt so empty, so dull. My brothers had their mothers to dote on them; I only had a wet nurse. When my brothers bullied me, Father never cared who was right or wrong — he always protected them and punished me.
So I decided early on to leave them all behind.”
He laughed faintly, his tone light, but there was something raw beneath it. “Before I turned thirteen, I found an excuse to beat up the son of the Minister of Rites. He was an arrogant boy — bullied girls in the neighborhood. I taught him a lesson, and the whole capital was in an uproar. His family made a scene, and my father had me whipped. But that night, while everyone slept, I slipped out and broke that boy’s leg. The late emperor heard of it and, in his fury, sent me to the Zhenxi Army.
On the day I left, the whole palace rejoiced. They thought the troublemaker was finally gone.”
He paused. “I was happy too. None of them knew — I wanted to leave. I had long wanted to escape that place, to go somewhere no one knew me.”
He said it with calm detachment, but she felt her heart ache. She reached out and stroked the back of his hand. That little boy — scorned, cast out, standing alone — must have been so lonely.
“I thought,” he said, his gaze distant, “that I could live out my life at Laolan Pass, quietly and freely.”
His eyes softened. “I love that place — the vast sky, the wild plains, the rivers born of melting snow. In summer, the river water is cold as jade; in winter, it freezes solid. Sometimes, we cut holes in the ice for water. Occasionally, a snow leopard would appear at night to drink — majestic, silent, with fur dappled in spots.
They’re unlike any leopard in the Central Plains. Too proud, too beautiful to hunt. On clear winter nights, the moon would paint the snow silver. From the pass, you could see a snow leopard come to the river, its ears twitching, listening for the faintest sound. The moment it sensed danger, it vanished like lightning — swift as the wind, leaving only pawprints in the snow by morning.”
As he spoke, she could see it — the snow, the river, the solemn grace of the leopard under the blue-black sky. And she thought: He is like that snow leopard — fierce, alert, untamed. But she only smiled and said, “Then, if there’s a chance, take me to see it one day.”
He nodded. “Alright.”
Before she realized it, her head had leaned onto his shoulder. His arm encircled her, pulling her closer. Though it was the first time, it felt as though they had embraced a thousand times before.
“Aying,” he whispered, “I don’t care for glory or titles.”
She hesitated. “But we’re both bound by who we are.”
He sighed. “Yes. Bound by our stations.”
Sun Jing’s rebellion had taken the lives of the emperor, the crown prince, and nearly all the princes. The Zhenxi Army had chosen him to lead the campaign to save what remained. He owed his life to the nation, to his clan, to his father — to restore the Dayu Dynasty.
“I’ve thought about it,” he said quietly. “There’s been no word from the Crown Prince, but perhaps that’s for the best. Han Chang is clever and loyal — if he’s with the prince, he’ll protect him. When the war settles, I’ll send men to find them.
If Xichangjing is recaptured, I’ll help the Crown Prince ascend the throne. If not, then he shall take the throne in exile, and I’ll escort him back when peace returns. Once the empire is restored… I’ll return to Laolan Pass.”
She smiled faintly, unwilling to disturb the rare peace of the moment. “Then I hope Shiqilang gets what he wishes for.”
He smiled, not noticing at first. “Thank you.” Then, realizing what she’d called him, his eyes brightened. “Aying — you called me Shiqilang.”
Her face warmed, and she quickly changed the subject. “You spoke of Laolan Pass. I haven’t yet told you about Yingzhou.”
“I like Yingzhou,” he said with a grin.
“You haven’t even been there,” she teased. “How can you like it?”
“Because you’re there,” he said simply. “So how could I not?”
Her heart fluttered.
She told him about her homeland — of the fertile black soil where anything planted grew tall and golden; of spring arriving late, when wild apricot blossoms covered the mountains in pale pink clouds.
“When I have the chance,” she said softly, “I’ll take you to see those apricot blossoms.”
He smiled. “They must be beautiful.”
She spoke then of Leyouyuan outside Xichangjing, where apricot, peach, and plum trees bloomed each spring. “From there, you can see the whole capital — a city of a hundred thousand households, its walls and palaces glimmering beneath clouds of blossoms. It feels almost like heaven itself.”
He laughed quietly. “When I was young, I used to sneak to Leyouyuan. No matter how troubled I was, the moment I stood there, everything felt light again. It’s true to its name — the Garden of Joyous Wandering.
There’s a lake hidden behind the forest. I used to hide my toys there, afraid my family would find them. When I was angry, I’d go there and shout at the water until I felt better.”
She took his hand. “If only I had known you then.”
He smiled, eyes soft. “It doesn’t matter. I’ve met you now. That’s enough.”
They sat hand in hand until she suddenly noticed the silence outside. “Strange… why don’t I hear the horses?”
When they looked, they saw Xiaobai standing smugly under the eaves while Xiaohei was out in the rain, drenched. Li Yi went out, laughing, and tried to pull Xiaohei under the eaves, but the colt resisted. Only then did he realize — the eaves were too narrow for both. One had to be left out in the rain.
He laughed until his shoulders shook. When he came back inside, Ah Ying scolded gently, amused. “Can’t Xiaobai share just a little? Shouldn’t we all share joys and sorrows?”
Xiaobai blinked innocently, long lashes trembling, as if to say: It’s not my fault I fit here first.
Soon, the taro in the kitchen finished roasting, its sweet scent filling the air. They peeled and ate together, faces smudged with ash. When she wasn’t looking, he mischievously dipped his fingers in soot and drew two small mustaches at the corners of her mouth.
She gasped and threw a peel at him. “Heartless! Even your horses know how to yield, yet you won’t yield to me!”
Laughing, he dodged. “I can’t. I’d rather you be angry at me. That way, when we’re apart, your anger will ease your sorrow.”
Her laughter faded. The words struck her heart like rain on still water — today’s happiness was brief; tomorrow, they would part.
She took a piece of taro outside and fed it to Xiaohei. The black colt flicked its ears and nuzzled her palm. Xiaobai neighed jealously but refused to step into the muddy ground.
Li Yi watched from the window. She turned and smiled at him, her eyes brighter than the rain — as though the whole world’s light had gathered in them.
The rain softened into mist. Dusk fell.
They had to part.
She would return to Luoyang; he, to the Zhenxi camp. He escorted her to the ferry by the Luo River. The ferry was small, the river vast. The ferryman crossed first with her horse.
He had so many words to say, but none that needed to be spoken — she already understood. She too had words left unsaid, and she knew he understood them all.
At the riverbank, the world was wrapped in twilight. The reeds bent in the cold wind, their tips glistening with the last drops of rain.
The ferryman’s oars creaked softly. It was time. Li Yi took her hand one last time. “Take care,” he said simply.
Before boarding, she pulled something from her bosom — a silk ribbon, white with a pearl dangling at its tip. She waved it before his eyes, smiling.
“You said you lost it,” he said quietly.
“I lied,” she said. “Tie it for me.”
He took it reverently and tied it around her belt. The pearl swayed at her waist, catching the dim light like a heartbeat.
She mounted her horse, waved to him, and the ferry drifted away.
Midway across the river, her figure became small and slender in the mist. When she reached the far shore, she turned once more and waved.
He mounted his horse and waved back.
Then, though both reluctant, they turned away — she riding downstream, he following her reflection along the opposite bank.
The mist thinned. The Luo River ran shallow, glinting faintly under the dying light. Their horses galloped side by side, divided by the current.
Across the water, she called, “Shiqilang, go back!”
He shouted, “Aying! In twenty years, I’ve never known peace and joy like today!”
Her heart lifted. She called back, “Shiqilang — me too!”
He laughed, his voice bright against the wind. “When the world is at peace, we’ll ride side by side across the plains!”
She smiled through the gathering dusk. “It’s a promise!”
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