As befitted his noble rank, the Crown Prince could not possibly stay in a humble military camp.
The former City Defender, Li Zhangyi’s grand mansion, had been hastily transformed into Sima Yang’s temporary palace. Arrangements were made with great care, and the newly appointed City Defender, nervous and sweating through his armor, received the prince with trembling hands.
By the time Li Shuang and her contingent arrived, Sima Yang was already seated in the main hall, listening to a cascade of reports. The City Defender’s voice droned on—his words full of praise for the valor of the Changfeng Camp warriors and the city garrison troops, yet when it came to the mysterious black-armored figure who had turned the tide of battle, he barely dared to speak.
Unexpectedly, Sima Yang’s first question cut straight to that very topic.
“Tell me,” he asked, “who was the warrior in black armor?”
The City Defender faltered. Li Shuang had gone back to the camp to change and prepare for contingencies, and her delay had spared him for a while. But now, with her arrival, he found an escape route. He dropped to his knees and blurted out, “Your Highness, General Li understands the battlefield far better than I. Perhaps she could report in my stead.”
Sima Yang took a measured sip of tea. His tone was calm, yet carried a blade’s edge.
“You are the City Defender of Lu City,” he said. “Even if your appointment came during wartime, you must shoulder your duties. If you cannot even explain what transpired in your own city—what use are you?”
The City Defender blanched, falling to the floor in terror, knocking his forehead against the tiles again and again, begging for mercy.
Li Shuang stood quietly, saying nothing. Only when Sima Yang, irritated by the man’s pitiful groveling, ordered him dismissed did the hall finally fall silent.
The chamber was not large. Only a few deputy commanders had followed Li Shuang inside; the rest, along with the royal guards, stood watch beyond the doors. The scene was far smaller and more subdued than the grand reception outside the city gates.
Sima Yang set down his teacup and gestured lightly toward a seat.
“I left the capital just as the Western Rong army was pressing our borders,” he began. “I rode without rest, arriving in less than half a month, only to find the enemy already withdrawn. It seems my concern for you on the road was… unnecessary.”
His tone softened on the last words, a faint smile playing at his lips.
The ambiguous warmth in his voice made Qin Lan, standing silently behind Li Shuang, clench his hands at his sides. His eyes lowered, expression unreadable.
Li Shuang quickly rose and saluted with clasped hands. “Thank you for your concern, Your Highness. We were blessed by heaven’s protection and suffered no harm.”
Her formality drew a faint crease between Sima Yang’s brows. After a pause, he sighed softly and bade her sit again. Their conversation shifted to practical matters—the city’s defenses, the Western Rong’s retreat, and, inevitably, the black-armored warrior.
Despite Li Shuang’s detailed account, there were no clues as to the figure’s identity or whereabouts. The warrior had appeared like a phantom and vanished just as swiftly. Sima Yang’s brows furrowed.
“Investigate further,” he ordered. “A person with such skill could strengthen the Great Jin beyond measure. If they can be persuaded to join the Changfeng Camp, it would be like giving wings to a tiger.”
Once official discussions ended, preparations for the Crown Prince’s welcoming feast began at the City Defender’s mansion.
Li Shuang, however, excused herself early. On the way back to camp, Qin Lan leaned closer and murmured, “Will the General attend tonight’s feast?”
Li Shuang’s gaze flickered toward him. Qin Lan had always been perceptive; he must have already noticed her reluctance to linger around Sima Yang. She exhaled softly.
“With the Crown Prince personally arriving in Lu City, I must attend. Otherwise, tongues will wag, claiming discord between ruler and subject.”
Her voice was calm, but her heart weighed heavy. She had no desire to see Sima Yang, yet she had no choice.
Politics did not end at the border.
The late City Defender, Li Zhangyi, had been aligned with the Prime Minister—uncle to the Third Prince and leader of his faction. Though Zhangyi was gone, the Prime Minister’s influence lingered like a shadow over Lu City.
Li Shuang’s own father had long been connected with the Empress’s clan and had helped raise Sima Yang from boyhood. Now that the Emperor was aging and the battle for succession growing fierce, every alliance and misstep could shift the empire’s balance.
Sima Yang’s journey to the frontier could bring glory—or ruin. If he triumphed, his name would shine; if he faltered, his rivals in court would use it to destroy him.
Even if she did not care for Sima Yang personally, Li Shuang understood that the General’s Manor’s fate was tied to his. She had to protect him here in Lu City, ensure his safe return, and help him earn military merit. Only then could her family remain unshaken.
“Prepare my formal attire,” she instructed. “And inform all commanders to do the same. We’ll attend tonight’s banquet in full dress.”
Qin Lan bowed and hurried off to obey.
When she returned to camp, a sharp pain coiled in her lower abdomen. She tried hot water, but the cramps only worsened. By afternoon, she could bear it no longer and dismissed her attendants, claiming exhaustion.
Lying curled on her side, clutching her stomach, she heard shouting outside.
“The General said she’s not to be disturbed, you little brat!” a guard scolded. “How dare you push in here?”
“Don’t think I won’t hit you just because you’re a child!” another snapped.
Li Shuang winced, half-rising, when the tent flap was suddenly yanked open.
A small figure darted inside—little Jin’an—followed by two flustered guards. Seeing her in bed, they immediately softened their tone.
“You little rascal! Out, now!”
“Shh! Don’t disturb the General!”
Li Shuang’s voice came weak but steady from beneath her blanket.
“It’s fine. Let him in.”
The guards, hearing Li Shuang’s faint, hoarse voice, assumed they had disturbed her rest. Not daring to linger, they quickly withdrew from the tent.
Jin’an hurried to her bedside, his small limbs moving with the urgency of someone far older than his years. He tugged the blanket down slightly, revealing Li Shuang’s pale face glistening with cold sweat. His voice trembled as he asked, “Are you sick?”
“Just a little stomach pain,” Li Shuang murmured weakly. “It’s nothing.”
But Jin’an’s eyes widened with worry. “I can smell blood on you. Are you hurt? Where are you bleeding?”
His childish voice quivered on the edge of tears. Li Shuang felt a pang of both amusement and tenderness. For all his youth, the boy’s senses were far sharper than ordinary people’s—and his concern far deeper. Yet this particular “blood scent” was not something she could easily explain.
“It’s nothing serious,” she said again.
“Don’t lie to me.” Jin’an’s small face tightened, trying to look stern but managing only to appear heartbreakingly serious. “The smell of blood on you is very strong. I could smell it from far away.”
A dull headache pulsed at Li Shuang’s temples. How could she explain this to a child? After a brief pause, she sighed. “Yes, I’m a little unwell. But don’t tell anyone, alright? Go find Ji Ran and ask him to take you to the market. Look for an herb shop run by someone named Lu. There’s a Miss Lu there—only tell her about my symptoms, quietly, and bring her here to see me.”
Li Shuang still had to attend the Crown Prince’s welcoming feast that night. But in her condition, even standing upright was a challenge. Sima Yang would surely notice if she faltered, and she wanted to avoid his scrutiny at all costs. If she could just take some medicine, perhaps she could endure the evening without incident.
“Alright,” Jin’an said softly, raising his sleeve to wipe the sweat from her forehead with a tenderness that startled her.
For a brief moment, Li Shuang stared at him, dazed by the gesture.
“I’ll be right back,” the boy promised, then darted out like a gust of wind.
Li Shuang sighed and pressed a hand to her forehead. The pain must have made her delirious—for a fleeting second, when she looked at the boy’s eyes, she had thought they resembled the man who had kissed her the night before.
Jin’an quickly found Ji Ran and delivered the General’s instructions word for word. Ji Ran, realizing the urgency, immediately led him toward the herb shop.
Inside, Lu Xin was grinding medicine when they arrived. The moment she looked up and saw Ji Ran, her cheeks flushed pink—but before she could stammer out a greeting, a small boy tugged insistently at her sleeve.
Lu Xin bent down, and Jin’an whispered Li Shuang’s symptoms into her ear. Her eyes widened slightly in understanding. “Ah.” She coughed lightly, still blushing. “Wait here. I’ll fetch what’s needed.”
She worked quickly, gathering her tools and remedies. But on their way back, she struggled to keep pace—Ji Ran walked briskly, and Jin’an was practically running. Even so, Ji Ran turned to her mid-stride and asked, “What did the General ask you to do?”
Lu Xin’s eyes flicked nervously. “The General said she’s been feeling fatigued,” she replied with a strained smile. “She just wants me to press some acupuncture points.”
That explanation satisfied him. They hurried on in silence.
By the time they reached the camp, sweat dampened their foreheads despite the winter chill.
Ji Ran stood guard outside the tent as Lu Xin and Jin’an entered. The air inside was thick with the scent of cold medicine and anxiety. Li Shuang lay half-conscious, her face ghostly pale.
Lu Xin’s expression tightened. “How did it get this bad?”
Jin’an’s heart clenched. “How bad is it?” he asked, his voice almost breaking.
Lu Xin hesitated, then said gently, “I need to remove the General’s outer garments to apply acupuncture.”
Jin’an gave her a look that seemed to say, Then hurry and do it.
“You may be young,” Lu Xin said firmly, “but even so, you need to wait outside.”
Though unwilling, Jin’an obeyed. He let himself be pushed out but didn’t go far. Instead, he circled around to the tent’s side, his sharp hearing straining for any sound from within.
Inside, he heard faint, muffled groans—Li Shuang’s pain echoed through the fabric walls, slicing through him like a blade.
Earlier, when he had been away from her, that same ache in his chest had driven him back without rest. Now, even though he was near, the pain refused to leave him. He couldn’t step away—not even half a step.
Even if knives rained down on him, he wouldn’t move.
She was inside, she was suffering—and he could do nothing but listen.
The minutes stretched endlessly. Finally, her breathing steadied. Only then did Jin’an slip back into the tent. The guards assumed Miss Lu was merely performing a massage and, seeing how protective the General was of the child, said nothing.
Inside, Li Shuang had already sat up, color slowly returning to her face. Lu Xin handed her a small tablet, which she placed on her tongue to dissolve.
When Li Shuang looked up and saw Jin’an standing there, she smiled faintly and beckoned him closer. “Come here.”
He stepped forward, and she raised a weak hand to ruffle his hair. “Thank you.”
Jin’an’s eyes didn’t waver. “Are you better now?”
“Yes,” she said softly. “It doesn’t hurt anymore.”
He lowered his head, gripping her hand tightly. “Don’t be in pain anymore. Ever.”
Li Shuang’s heart softened. She smiled—a quiet, radiant smile that melted the lingering ache in the room.
“Alright,” she whispered.
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