Today marked the first major court meeting after the Shangyuan Festival. Yet, as the court dispersed, the rain returned. Civil and military officials emerged from Danfeng Gate, their clothes soaked, hats dripping, while servants hurriedly shielded them with umbrellas, jostling as they covered their masters. Civil officials scrambled into sedan chairs, while military officers rode their horses cautiously—the so-called light drizzle on Sky Street was heavy enough to make the bluestone slabs gleam like polished mirrors, slick under the horses’ hooves, forcing a slow pace.
Pei Xian, atop his horse, had only taken a few steps when he noticed a lone rider dashing along the street. The rider’s oilcoat revealed a bamboo tube and rain-soaked pheasant feathers—a messenger from the front lines. Pei Xian’s heart sank. Without hesitation, he guided his horse aside as the palace gates swung open, and a voice called: “Pei Taiwei! Your Majesty requests your presence immediately to discuss urgent matters!”
Though Li Ni had written a plea for leniency, the emperor had denied him command, only posthumously honoring his mother, Liu, as a virtuous concubine. The Dong family, meanwhile, was to be commemorated with a mausoleum in keeping with tradition, and the legitimate heir, Yuanchen, had to pay tribute. Li Lai had hoped to lead the army south, but the emperor, wary of risking him, assigned Pei Yuan as commander of the march, reinforced by troops from Lingnan Road under Li Junyao.
Previously trapped and humiliated at Xingyang, Li Jun’s position had changed drastically as the eldest son of the Son of Heaven. His court now teemed with loyal vassals, including Yang Yuan, a down-on-his-luck man who had defected to Li Jun. Yang Yuan bluntly advised: “Your Highness, Pei Yuan is like the arm of the King of Qin. Why not sever it while you can?”
Yang Yuan proposed a calculated plan: send Pei Yuan with only 20,000 soldiers, supply them minimally, and exploit the already strained logistics from Jiangnan. The Ministry of War repeatedly warned the emperor, but Li Jun’s words prevailed. Even as half a month of continuous rain struck Maine, the emperor pressured Pei Yuan to act, aggravating the situation.
Pei Xian, outraged, argued for Pei Yuan, only to see his old injuries flare. Li Ni, deeply concerned, rushed to the Pei Mansion, supporting Pei Xian and calming the household. Though Pei Xian’s pride made him hesitant to show weakness, he could not hide his gratitude for Li Ni, who reassured him with quiet confidence: “I have my own way to help Ah Yuan.”
At last, Li Ni addressed Pei Xian as he had back in the Zhenxi Army—a title he had not used since leaving Laolan Pass. He understood the weight of it: as the King of Qin, with deep bonds to the Pei family, he knew the Son of Heaven and even courtiers would consider such familiarity taboo.
Pei Xian, reading Li Ni’s intentions, regarded him steadily. “Your Highness was already a suspect,” he said cautiously, “but acting otherwise may only arouse further suspicion.”
Li Ni’s gaze was firm. “Ah Yuan cannot be left in such danger—without food or support, it would be a death sentence.”
Pei Xian opened his mouth to respond, but Li Ni interrupted, insisting he rest and focus on the medical matters at hand. Pei Zhan, ever delicate and observant, escorted Li Ni out and quietly asked, “Your Highness, have you found a way to handle this?”
Li Ni nodded. “I cannot intervene directly, but there is someone I trust who can.”
Relieved, Pei Zhan turned to persuade Pei Xian to recuperate. The general sighed, muttering “Confused”—a subtle reference to the emperor’s indecision rather than Li Ni’s own plans. Pei Zhan understood all too well: the emperor’s wavering nature was a danger to his ministers.
Back at Qin Wangfu, Li Ni wrote letters urgently. Lao Bao and others, longtime comrades from the army, noticed his focused diligence. “Have you found a way to rescue General Xiao Pei? Will you lead troops yourself?” Lao Bao asked.
Li Ni shook his head. “I cannot lead troops personally, but Ah Yuan must be rescued.”
Lao Bao raised his eyebrows. “Who then can save him?”
Li Ni quietly wrote, dispatching orders to Colonel He to lead the Dingsheng Army south. Lao Bao glimpsed the letter and exclaimed, “You actually asked her to take the army to save General Xiao Pei?”
Li Ni’s expression was calm. “The front is perilous. Only she can provide timely reinforcements.”
Lao Bao laughed and shook his head. “Truly remarkable—you are willing to eat soft rice yet remain the number one little white face in the kingdom!”
Li Ni merely smiled, focused on his correspondence. Soon, a reply came from Ah Ying: four words of reassurance. Without awaiting the court’s approval, the Dingsheng Army moved south. The emperor, though furious, could do nothing against Cui Yi’s decisive actions, knowing Cui Yi was not a man to be trifled with like Pei Xian.
Meanwhile, Pei Xian faced the grim reality outside the palace gates. Pei Yuan, pushed by relentless imperial orders, advanced with insufficient supplies. The ensuing campaign was brutal: Pei Yuan suffered defeat, retreated to Changzhou, and clashed repeatedly with Sun Jing’s remnants. Yet reinforcements eventually arrived, ambushing Sun Jing’s retreat to Baiyue. The victorious army captured Sun Jing’s former general Wang Xiao, learning that Sun Jing had already perished. Wang Xiao’s deception to preserve Sun Jing’s legacy failed, as Cui Yi swiftly led forces to conquer Baiyue, capturing Sun Jing’s wife Yuan, their eldest son, and the ruling princes. Thousands of Dingsheng troops remained to secure the territory before Cui Yi returned to Changzhou to report to the court.
The emperor was secretly pleased that Sun Jing had finally perished. With him gone, the realm seemed stable, yet his relief was tempered by concern: Cui Yi had destroyed Baiyue and stationed a large army in Changzhou, clearly intending to claim it as his own. The emperor knew Changzhou’s strategic importance—its fertile lands and vital position made it a prize, and the Cui family already controlled half the rivers and mountains, rivaling even Sun Jing’s former might.
Summoning Pei Xian, the emperor sought counsel on whether Pei Yuan could delay his return to Beijing and instead contend with Cui Yi for Changzhou. Pei Xian, discouraged by the emperor’s previous indecisions and weakened by illness, replied lightly, “The child’s abilities are insufficient. If Changzhou is to be seized, it must be by the King of Qin.”
The emperor hesitated. Pei Yuan had indeed suffered defeat, and without Cui Yi’s private intervention, he might have lost his life. Yet he was reluctant to grant Li Ni military authority again.
Meanwhile, Li Jun and Li Lai had received news of Sun Jing’s death and Changzhou’s precarious situation. Li Lai, ever calculating, recognized the threat: Cui Yi’s control over Changzhou could spark rebellion, perhaps even surpassing Sun Jing’s former power. Allowing Li Ni to intervene seemed advantageous: whether he won or lost, the outcome would serve the imperial court’s interests.
Li Jun, taking Yang Yu’s counsel, urged the emperor: “That old fox Cui Yi is dangerous. Why not let Li Ni lead the army? He thrives in battle.”
The emperor hesitated. “But the Zhenxi Army would be under his command again.”
Li Jun explained diplomatically: “Publicly, father, you are the Son of Heaven, and he is a courtier. Privately, you hold ultimate authority. Once he confronts Cui Yi, he will have no choice but to obey and return the army afterward.”
Li Lai, too, entered the palace alone, persuading the emperor with subtle logic: “Father, whether Li Ni wins or loses, it benefits the realm. Victory eliminates Cui Yi; defeat justifies stripping him of military power entirely.”
Yet Li Ni, feigning illness, refused to attend court or receive orders. The emperor’s fury was evident, but he was powerless. Seeing the stalemate, Li Lai promptly volunteered to visit Qin Wangfu to personally persuade the King of Qin.
Li Lai, meticulous and deliberate, approached the mansion with measured steps. He observed the two pale walls, dense woods, pink and vermilion pillars, glazed eaves, and golden ornaments—a palace grander than many yet strangely quiet, with no soldiers in sight. As he examined the entrance, the door creaked open. Lao Bao appeared, smiling warmly and greeting him with diligence. “How does His Highness the King of Qi honor us with his visit?”
Li Lai recognized the familiar confidant of Li Ni and returned a smile. “Lao Bao, it has been many days. You seem well and in good spirits.”
Lao Bao patted his belly proudly. “Since arriving in Kyoto, I no longer worry about meals or drills. Though I don’t train, I haven’t gained weight either.”
Li Lai asked softly, “Where is His Highness the King of Qin?”
Lao Bao’s face suddenly darkened. “Your Highness, you don’t know. The King of Qin has been ill for several days. Since he returned from the prison gate, I’ve never seen him suffer such a serious sickness—even during his time in the army.”
Li Lai sighed lightly. “Have you summoned the imperial doctors?”
“I have,” Lao Bao replied. “Fan Yizheng, Dr. Hu, and Dr. Shi all examined him. Although this illness is not fierce, it lingers and is hard to cure. Fan Yizheng prescribed a remedy, and the others examined his pulse and confirmed the prescription is sufficient—no additional medicines are needed.”
Li Lai listened to the rambling, yet he only smiled. “Fan Yizheng is skilled. Did the King of Qin take the medicine? Is he improving?”
Lao Bao shook his head. “You know His Highness’s temper. Taking medicine and lying still to recuperate is impossible for him. How could he possibly get better?”
They spoke as they entered Chunxuan, the study of the former Ji Wangfu. Once belonging to a wealthy and scholarly king, the study was elegant yet understated. The mountain rocks behind the house were dotted with green bamboo, and the front courtyard’s flower platform—called Di Chunxuan—was lined with peonies, though early spring left it sparsely adorned.
Lao Bao bowed respectfully and led Li Lai inside. Li Ni wasn’t lying on a sickbed; he leaned on a soft couch by the window, dressed casually, idly reading a book. Seeing Li Lai, he quickly stood, ordered fragrant tea, and arranged nuts and pepper to ward off the cold for his visiting brother.
Li Lai observed him and said with a smile, “Your complexion seems fine, third brother.”
Li Ni nodded lightly. “Since arriving at Sanjiu, old injuries flared. I only intended to rest a few days, not celebrate the festival. Yet the sickness worsened—I was truly unwell.”
Li Lai chuckled. “Then you must rest well. Though young, your injuries are serious and need proper care.” They shared light conversation as Lao Bao brought the tea. Li Lai remarked, smiling, “No one here seems skilled in brewing sencha.”
Li Ni shrugged. “Don’t hide it. This tea came from the former warehouse.”
Li Lai noted in his mind that the tea was excellent but violent in flavor. The King of Ji had left a legacy of refined tastes, but compared to Li Ni’s modest quarters, it all seemed restrained. Li Lai, favored by the emperor, had his own lavish Qi Wangfu, yet he admired the simplicity here.
He said with interest, “This tea is exquisite. Lao Bao, bring the tea set—I’ll personally brew for His Highness the King of Qin.”
Lao Bao smiled broadly and moved the set carefully, setting up the charcoal stove. Li Lai excitedly boiled water and brewed the tea himself. Li Ni observed, feeling slightly bored but smiling politely.
“You needn’t master such trivialities,” Li Lai said. “Your skill lies in strategy and command, not in tea-making.”
When the water boiled, the room filled with steam. Lao Bao carefully poured the water, adding salt, pepper, and sesame seeds, producing a fragrant cup. Li Ni tasted it slowly.
Li Lai leaned back and said, “Third brother, you’ve always been perceptive. You must have guessed why I came today.”
Li Ni smiled faintly. “Isn’t the second brother here merely to visit the sick?”
Li Lai laughed softly, nibbling a pastry. “Don’t speak secrets in front of Ming people. I know why you’re unwell, and I sympathize. Our eldest brother is… a little confused. To be honest, I persuaded father to posthumously honor the queen—an imperial edict. Your mother Liu Niangniang and our own mother, Dong Niangniang, were both posthumously named queen. But you know the eldest brother’s temper. Mention it before father, and he scolds me for being unfilial.”
Li Lai continued, smiling, “We are younger brothers; I won’t dwell on his faults. But your capability is undeniable. If you feign illness and refuse to lead troops, any future military intervention will be complicated and less effective. Your talents would go underused.” He patted the crumbs from his hand. “I’ll send some new snacks next time. The new cook has excelled.”
Despite their distant childhood, Li Ni felt the warmth of the gesture and nodded. “Thank you, second brother.”
Soon, Lao Bao brought medicinal soup, urging Li Ni to drink it. Though bored, Li Ni pretended to comply, but Li Lai stopped him. “Rest, third brother. Don’t be stubborn.”
As Li Lai departed, Li Ni pushed the soup away, frowning. “What kind of medicine is this—black and pungent?”
Lao Bao laughed, drinking it himself. “Fan Yizheng prescribed it—not for you, but for me. He said my internal organs are injured and I shouldn’t fight again. Now, with the world at peace, why go to war? Instead, I should enjoy wealth and comfort. A big mansion in Beijing, three hundred thousand coins… marry the top Oiran at Yihong Courtyard, and live happily. That’s my plan.”
Li Ni snorted. “Where would I get three hundred thousand coins?”
“Cross the river and demolish the bridge!” Lao Bao bellowed. “If the King of Qi visits again, perhaps I can help!”
The next day, Li Lai returned, bringing steaming pastries, tea cakes, and mountain spring water, personally brewing tea for Li Ni. Though annoyed, Li Ni allowed himself a moment of social nicety.
Afterward, Lao Bao left with the medicinal bowl. Li Ni muttered to himself, “Pretending to be sick is no simple task.”
Lao Bao, ever the optimist, suggested, “Why don’t we all go to Qi Wangfu for flower wine?”
Li Ni considered briefly, then nodded. Lao Bao spread his hands confidently. “Five thousand coins for flower wine!”
Li Ni’s eyes widened. “Five thousand coins? With a month’s salary, supporting nearly a hundred people, we drink flower wine for five thousand? Are we supposed to survive the month on the northwest wind?”
Lao Bao grinned mischievously. “Going to Yihong Courtyard? You’ll need to pay Duzhi a coin at the gate. If you wish to see Ruiniang herself, that’ll cost three thousand yuan. And if you want an entire banquet without owing a single cent, be prepared to shell out five thousand.” He waved a hand vaguely, adding, “Helpers, errands, all the little rewards—none of that’s included!”
Li Ni’s eyes widened. “Can’t we just pick a cheaper place to drink?”
“You don’t understand,” Lao Bao said with a gleam. “Drinking wine and indulging in flower wine are two different worlds. You could invite someone to ten regular drinks, but skip flower wine once, and it’s like denying the sun itself!”
Li Ni frowned, skeptical. Since joining the Zhenxi Army, his skills had often been honed by Lao Bao. Yet Laolan Pass had been remote; he had never actually experienced flower wine, only heard tales of it from old soldiers. They spoke as if it were the ultimate pleasure in existence. “Can’t you just find a modest place for flower wine?” he pressed.
Lao Bao sighed, shaking his head. “Not impossible…”
Li Ni cut him off decisively. “Five hundred dollars. No more.” He opened his money bag, but before he could count, Lao Bao snatched it away with lightning speed.
“Six, seven hundred coins in there!” Li Ni protested, half angry, half amused.
Unfazed, Lao Bao walked off with the bag, muttering, “I’ll buy a few pounds of pig’s head meat with the extra coins—everyone will make a tooth sacrifice!”
Li Ni lay back, flipping through his book, but restlessness soon overcame him. Sitting at his desk, he picked up his pen and began writing again—naturally, a letter to Ah Ying. Though the Dingsheng Army had occupied Changzhou, causing ripples of fear among court ministers, Li Ni wasn’t concerned. After all, it had been her decision to save Pei Yuan, and she had always acted with perfect advantage, refusing to suffer even the slightest loss. Sweet and vexing as ever.
His pen flew over the paper, recounting trivial domestic matters—Huang Youyi nearly breaking the covered bridge, termite damage demanding a costly repair, plum blossoms blooming by the rockery—details he knew would delight her.
Before he could finish, Xie Chang’er burst in, sweating from the cold. He handed Li Ni a bamboo tube sealed with fire paint and the familiar round private seal of Ah Ying. Li Ni opened it to find a letter in Taozi’s hand, full of concern. Ah Ying had arrived in Changzhou seemingly healthy, but had suddenly developed hemoptysis. Taozi, diagnosing tuberculosis, had prescribed treatment carefully, but her condition worsened over the past two days. A fast horse had carried the letter straight to Beijing.
Li Ni’s heart sank, but he quickly regained composure. “Lao Bao is out inviting people from Qi Wangfu to drink. Go find him and quietly tell him that Colonel He is unwell. He’ll understand.”
Xie Chang’er nodded and hurried out. Li Ni, after rereading Taozi’s letter, calmed himself. He picked up the pen and continued writing to Ah Ying, carefully omitting her condition, instead chatting lightly about home and shared memories, sealing the letter with his private seal and sending it off via fast horse.
Meanwhile, Lao Bao carried out his own mission flawlessly. Though he claimed to be visiting Qi Wangfu to drink flower wine, it was all a ruse—he’d coordinated with Li Lai beforehand. In truth, he was making friends, pretending the encounter was coincidental, while subtly gathering information.
He led them to a small, discreet restaurant—not luxurious, but stocked with Shuzhong’s finest smuggled wine. After three rounds, with cheeks flushed and ears warm, Lao Bao boasted of having glimpsed the famed oiran of Yihong Courtyard.
The Qi Wangfu party leaned in eagerly. “Brother Bao, you really saw her?”
“Of course I did…” Lao Bao’s voice dropped conspiratorially. “I watched secretly.”
Their curiosity ignited, questions flew: “How did you manage it? Yihong Courtyard is in Pingkangfang, the busiest, most guarded district. How did you sneak past the gates?”
Lao Bao smiled slyly. He produced a few coins, unlocked a service door meant for deliveries, and led the group inside. Familiar with the terrain, he guided them past a lush rockery, pointing to a small building. “There—her residence.”
They crouched in hiding, the scent of flowers thick in the air. A few servants passed, helping a radiant woman ascend the stairs. The dim lanterns barely obscured her beauty, yet it shone like moonlight, leaving the group breathless.
Suddenly, a servant carrying a lamp stumbled upon them. “Thief!” he shouted, and chaos erupted. Lanterns swung, sticks flew, and servants surged forward.
Lao Bao yelled, “Run!” People scattered. He fought bravely, shouting, “I’ll hold them off—go!”
Eventually, the Qi Wangfu officials regrouped. “Bao has our orders! We can’t leave him!” One by one, they returned to Yihong Courtyard, meeting Lao Bao along the way. His nose bruised, face swollen, and clothes torn, he looked comically embarrassed—but victorious.
The high-ranking team quickly grabbed Lao Bao, calling out in alarm, “Brother Bao!”
Lao Bao waved them off with a grin, signaling that he was unharmed. Soon, they found a modest shop to continue drinking, lamps casting a warm glow across the room. Despite a few scratches and bruises, Lao Bao was perfectly fine. Team Gao leaned in curiously. “Brother Bao, how did you get away?”
“I tore through them twice,” Lao Bao said with a chuckle. “Took advantage of the chaos and ran.”
That daring feat bonded everyone instantly. Spirits high, they called for more drinks and continued celebrating until midnight. The high-ranking team, drunk and carefree, slung their arms around Lao Bao’s shoulders, swearing brotherhood with him. Later, they switched to a piping-hot sour soup, and hiccupping from the alcohol, one asked, “Brother Bao, you’re the most esteemed in front of His Highness the King of Qin. Why haven’t you been promoted to guard? The salary must be better, right?”
Flushed with drink, Lao Bao waved his hand. “You don’t understand. We came out of the Zhenxi Army with His Highness. Guard or no guard, our salary is the same. A seventh-rank post is boring—listening to court politics all day? Better to stay where His Highness values us. He’s never treated us poorly.”
Envious murmurs rippled through the group. The high team, closer than ever, asked, “So, His Highness rewards you generously?”
Lao Bao laughed, shaking his head. “Kind, yes—but money? Hardly a coin.”
The audacity of this claim stunned everyone into laughter. The King of Qin, head of the princes, reputedly penniless? Ridiculous! Yet, as Lao Bao continued with a few drunken complaints, they pieced together the truth: the King of Qin received far less favor and reward than the King of Qi, revealing the quiet injustice in the court.
Captain Gao shared a story of a wealthy landlord in their village, his eldest sons forced to fend for themselves, while the youngest was favored, inheriting the family’s wealth. Lao Bao nodded. “Yes, partiality like this is not uncommon.”
They discussed the King of Qin’s plans. “Does he intend to act?” Gao asked.
Lao Bao’s voice slurred, “Plans? His Highness is disheartened. He wants to return to the prison, ignore the siege of Changzhou—he doesn’t care.”
The team understood. Anyone facing an eccentric father would be disheartened. Lao Bao, realizing he had perhaps spoken too freely, raised his bowl again. “Drink! More soup and cheer!”
The night dissolved in laughter, camaraderie, and drunken storytelling. Lao Bao returned to Qin Wangfu in high spirits, sleeping deeply amidst the lingering scent of wine.
Meanwhile, Li Ni’s mind was elsewhere. Ah Ying’s illness weighed heavily on him. He summoned Fan Yizheng, heir to a prestigious medical family and inheritor of the Imperial Medical Bureau’s legacy. The young physician, having already assessed the King of Qin’s feigned sickness, prepared a new prescription after hearing of Ah Ying’s worsening cough and hemoptysis.
Li Ni, wishing he could accompany Fan Yizheng to treat her personally, settled for careful guidance. Fortunately, within days, Li Lai arrived bearing an imperial decree.
The Dianjun in the palace had reported Lao Bao’s antics with the King of Qi. Li Lai, ever shrewd, realized that Li Ni might abandon his rank to return to prison. If so, the Changzhou crisis would rest solely on the court, leaving Li Jun in a delicate position.
After careful persuasion of both Li Jun and the emperor, Li Ni regained control of the Zhenxi Army, received the title of Grand Governor of Lingnan Province, and Pei Yuan was pardoned and appointed commander of the march.
Even with the decree, Li Ni remained half-reluctant. “Second brother, I am injured. I truly cannot fight.”
Li Lai, unyielding, thought to transfer Pei Zhan to the Ministry of Household Affairs as a servant and persuaded the emperor to appoint another Grand Sima to Pei Xian. Eventually, Li Ni half-accepted, agreeing to lead the army to Changzhou, his old injuries requiring Fan Yizheng to accompany him on the expedition.
Li Ni had pushed through the previous skirmishes with precision, but once he led the troops out of the city, it felt like a storm had broken loose. Pei Zhan, now in charge of provisioning the army through the Ministry of Household Affairs, had ensured the soldiers lacked nothing. Travel was swift, rest minimal, yet in just a few days, they reached Nanding, a river town across from Changzhou.
Nanding had long been a minor county, placed under Pei Yuan’s command by Cui Yi after the war with Baiyue. When Li Ni arrived with the army, Pei Yuan had prepared a grand reception stretching for dozens of miles. Yet, when they finally met face to face, there was a moment of silent tension. Pei Yuan finally spoke, bowing slightly, “Pei Yuan has been careless… but I am weary from serving His Highness so diligently.”
Since being named King of Qin, especially after reclaiming Xichangjing, Pei Yuan rarely addressed him as “Seventeen Lang” anymore, opting for the formal “Your Highness.” Li Ni frowned, troubled—not merely by Pei Yuan’s change in address, but by the weight of all the subtle currents at court.
“I do not blame you,” Li Ni said softly, “I blame those in the court with ill intent.”
The words carried weight, understood by both, though they dared not speak further. That night, in a quiet tent, they conferred secretly. Though Pei Yuan had suffered defeat, he was composed, observing the Dingsheng Army, analyzing troop movements, and sharing every detail of Changzhou with Li Ni.
“I have never seen Cui Yi deploy troops like this,” Pei Yuan noted. “If Your Highness intends to face him, be wary of their cavalry—it is formidable.”
Li Ni nodded silently, absorbing each word. Pei Yuan had more to say, but hesitated, sensing that pressing the matter further was unnecessary. “Ah Yuan, you have labored endlessly. Rest these next two days. Changzhou’s situation cannot be resolved overnight; I will find a way.”
Pei Yuan’s eyes darkened with concern. “Your Highness, with your presence, Changzhou will be resolved… but these are not the times of old. Your Highness alone commands the army and the fate of all… do not take this lightly.”
Li Ni smiled faintly, masking his own unease. “Ah Yuan, worry not. I will never put myself in needless danger.”
Despite reassurances, Pei Yuan could not shake the unease in his heart. Finally, he suggested, “Your Highness, why don’t we talk by candlelight tonight?”
“No,” Li Ni replied simply. “After several days of marching, I am exhausted. Have Fan Yizheng prepare my medicine, and I will sleep.”
Pei Yuan, who had secretly consulted Lao Bao earlier, knew that Li Ni’s strategy was layered. Lao Bao’s words were clear: Seventeen Lang feigned illness to avoid suspicion at court, yet his choice to bring Fan Yizheng ensured he could care for his own injuries at any moment. Pei Yuan, though suspicious, had no grounds to challenge the monarch. He departed, only to see Fan Yizheng arrive, medicine box in hand, ready to attend Li Ni.
Back in his residence, Pei Yuan lay restless. Sleep eluded him, haunted by visions of Li Ni captured by Cui Yi, moments from death. He awoke suddenly to the faint flicker of candlelight, the wind rattling the window lattice. Relief flooded him—it had only been a dream.
Meanwhile, Ah Ying, weak from illness, stirred in her chamber. Though the hemoptysis had slowed thanks to the peach-flavored medicine, her body was exhausted. She woke to a quiet night, red candles nearly burned down, hunger gnawing at her. Calling Taozi, she requested assistance. Taozi, ever vigilant, hurried in, ready with a bowl of sweet soup, having slept nearby to attend her every need.
“I’m a little hungry,” Ah Ying murmured.
“There’s sweet soup on the stove,” Taozi said. “I’ll bring you a bowl.”
As Taozi moved to serve her, she leaned back drowsily, the effort of sitting upright exhausting her. Soft footsteps approached, and she assumed it was Taozi. Yet when she opened her eyes slightly, she saw Li Ni standing there, gently lifting her into his arms.
“Why are you here?” she asked softly.
“Ah Ying,” he murmured, holding her close, a thousand unspoken words held in his chest.
She, fragile and light as a butterfly, rested her chin on his shoulder. “You don’t even know how much bitter medicine I’ve taken,” she complained weakly.
Li Ni chuckled softly, patting her back. “Taozi asked me to bring you a bowl just now.”
Her eyes flicked to the steaming medicine placed on the table. “Then I’ll drink it later,” she said reluctantly.
He took the bowl. “Taozi insists the medicine be taken on time. Drink now, then enjoy some sweet soup afterward.”
She shifted slightly, feigning exasperation. “You came, and the first thing you do is make me take medicine… then remain silent.”
Li Ni coaxed gently, “Afterwards, I’ll stay with you all night.” Taking a sip of the medicine himself, his eyes widened in surprise. “Huh, it’s not bitter at all.”
“I don’t believe you…” she murmured, but before she could protest, his lips covered hers. After a long, tender moment, he pulled back slightly and asked, “Still bitter?”
She glared, a mix of exasperation and affection. “Only you, full of schemes, would trick me like this.”
He smiled. “This isn’t trickery—you just tasted it yourself. Truly, it’s not bitter.”
She couldn’t help but glare at him. “Only you, full of conspiracies and tricks, just to deceive me.”
Li Ni smiled faintly. “How can this be called a lie? You just tasted it yourself—it’s really not bitter.”
Before she could respond, a very faint sound came from the roof tiles. Li Ni also caught it, and their eyes met in understanding.
“Let’s go,” she whispered.
Li Ni shook his head. “It’s too late.”
Indeed, it was too late. They had barely risen from the bed when the door was pushed open. Well-armored guards, weapons drawn, filled the doorway. Cui Yi, clad in armor, stepped forward, his gaze cold and sharp.
“Colonel He,” he said in a deep, commanding voice, “this person sneaked into my Dingsheng Army camp in the dead of night to coerce you into revealing military plans, aiming to seize Changzhou. Is this true or not?”
Ah Ying hurriedly tried to intervene. “Jiedushi, it isn’t… In fact, before he could finish—”
Cui Yi’s fury cut her off. “Tie up this spy who sneaked into the house!”
The guards acted instantly. Iron ropes were drawn, and Li Ni was bound without resistance. Calmly, he allowed himself to be restrained. Ah Ying’s heart tightened, but Li Ni signaled her with a glance—not to intervene. She was trapped in helpless anxiety as Cui Yi ordered him escorted away.
“Jiedushi!” she called again, panic rising.
Cui Yi’s voice was merciless, cold as ice. “Colonel He, do you not know how a thief who breaks into a camp intending to steal military secrets is dealt with in our Dingsheng Army? You were unaware, yet you are also culpable. According to regulations, you are to be confined for three days.”
Ah Ying felt her chest tighten. Cui Yi’s orders were absolute. Even as she struggled, Taozi was brought into the room, escorted by two guards. The lock clicked shut, sealing both Ah Ying and Taozi inside.
Taozi’s calm voice reassured her. “Captain, even if the military governor is angry, he won’t truly harm the King of Qin.”
Ah Ying bit her lip, doubts swirling. Li Ni’s stealthy maneuvers, the Zhenxi Army’s victories, and her father’s deep-seated displeasure—it all compounded her anxiety. “I fear he may face hardships this time.”
Taozi shook his head. “Then he deserves them. I warned him it was late to come see you tonight. Still, he went, and now we are grounded here.”
Ah Ying let out a reluctant laugh. “Didn’t Xie Chang’er come?”
“He is outside, as ordered by the King of Qin,” Taozi replied. “I haven’t seen him yet. The governor appeared suddenly.”
Ah Ying smiled, a spark of hope in her eyes. “Then the whistle. If we blow it, Xie Chang’er will come.”
Taozi frowned. “The governor has stationed guards around the house. Even Xie Chang’er will have difficulty entering.”
Ah Ying’s confidence did not waver. “Seventeen Lang ordered him to watch the wind. Now that the King of Qin is trapped, Xie Chang’er will find a way.”
Half an hour later, Xie Chang’er appeared. Disguised in the Dingsheng Army uniform and carrying a tray of food, he swaggered into the room as if he were merely serving supper.
Taozi remained calm, assessing the situation. “How many did you bring?” she whispered.
Xie Chang’er lowered his voice. “I came alone. Seventeen Lang brought me. I had to maneuver through many obstacles to get here.”
Ah Ying chuckled. “Seventeen Lang has been arrested by the military governor. We need a plan to save him.”
Xie Chang’er nodded confidently. “Colonel He is capable, Taozi is capable. We will rescue him.”
Ah Ying outlined her plan. “The governor has stationed heavy troops. I am too weak to fight. We must trick the guards—knock them unconscious, tie them up, and don their uniforms. Then we can leave undetected. I’ll stay here disguised as myself, while you and Taozi act as decoys.”
Both Taozi and Xie Chang’er recognized her strategic mind and nodded in agreement.
It was said that Li Ni was escorted by Cui Yi himself, who paid him little attention, and then ordered him placed in the water prison. Changzhou City, once the seat of the Annan Protectorate, had long been battered by rebels since Sun Jing’s uprising. The Protectorate had been burned repeatedly, and the Dingsheng Army now stationed its forces here, choosing the former Protectorate site as the central camp. The water prison, once used to detain the most dangerous criminals, was made entirely of solid stone, impenetrable and unyielding.
Li Ni was shackled heavily by hands and feet and confined to a solitary cell. Yet, he did not panic. Calmly, he sat against the cold stone wall, taking in the small, dimly lit space. Only one wall faced outward, with a small stone alcove ten feet high and a thick wooden door. The door was short, forcing anyone to bend to enter, and its solid frame provided no weakness. Beyond it ran a corridor, torchlight flickering against the walls, and through the narrow gaps, faint beams of light spilled into the cell, casting shadows on the stone floor.
Bored yet unyielding, Li Ni glanced at the scattered straw on the ground. He gathered a few pieces, braiding them into small figures—one a man with a bun, one a woman with a comb. He held them aloft like shadow puppets.
“Ah Ying,” he whispered, “I don’t know if you’ve taken your medicine. Your father is so fierce, with that stern face—if he had known I was here, I should have barged in to take you away myself.”
He bent his fingers slightly, and the straw figure dressed as a girl seemed to nod. “Okay, Seventeen Lang. Let’s elope together.”
His amusement was interrupted by a soft chuckle outside the door. A whisper followed: “Whoever wants to elope with you, don’t dream here.” Then, the lock clicked, and the wooden door creaked open. Ah Ying, clad in Cui Yi’s personal guard uniform and carrying a lantern, stepped in.
Li Ni’s eyes lit up. “You’re here.”
She glanced at him coolly. “If I didn’t come, how would I know you’re being honest in your cell, or if you’re still plotting some escape?”
Excitedly, Li Ni held up the straw figures. “Look! Don’t they look like us?”
Ah Ying raised the lantern, examining the small figures. She couldn’t help but smile. “Well… the one with the bun does resemble you.”
Li Ni pressed the figures into her hands. “Keep them. For you to play with.”
She smirked. “You’re in prison, yet you still have the leisure to play games.”
“I know you’ll come for me anyway,” he said with certainty.
She shook her head, amused. “I’m not here to save you. I was ordered by the governor to escort you for interrogation.”
Li Ni grinned. “You must be very similar to the governor’s handwritten order.”
Although she had mimicked Cui Yi’s handwriting perfectly and stamped it, the dim prison light kept the ruse convincing. Several guards, seeing her in the uniform and her composed demeanor, nodded silently. One whispered: “The prisoner is strong. Do not untie his shackles.” Ah Ying’s solemn nod secured their compliance, and she began escorting Li Ni out of the water prison.
They passed through several silent courtyards. The bright moon had set in the west; night was at its quietest. Hazy moonlight spilled across flowers and trees, and a soft night wind rustled through the courtyard. Ah Ying coughed lightly, and Li Ni immediately removed his coat, intending to drape it over her shoulders. She waved him off, forcing herself to cough. Pointing to a large tree, she said, “Go from over there—you can leave quickly.”
Li Ni shook his head. “Since I’m here, I don’t intend to go back just yet.”
She gave a mix of exasperated and amused glance. “You led the army here. If you don’t return, my father will detain you and control the three armies.”
“Ah Ying, come with me,” Li Ni said firmly, taking her hand. “I also brought Fan Yizheng. He has great medical skills, and I want him to check on your illness.”
Her lips curved into a small smile, about to respond, when a sudden commotion arose nearby.
Although Cui Yi had confined Li Ni in the water prison, his mind could not rest. He knew this boy had always been cunning, and that he held a particular regard for his daughter. The thought of Li Ni’s audacity kept him awake, so he dressed hastily and went straight to the water prison, intending to interrogate the boy overnight. Yet, when he arrived, Li Ni had already been escorted by the guards, his own handwritten letter in hand, and Cui Yi realized he did not need to send anyone to check on his daughter—he already understood everything.
Rage surged within him. He summoned heavy troops, surrounding the Protectorate like an iron barrel to ensure Li Ni could never escape.
Upon seeing Li Ni, Cui Yi said nothing. Drawing the long sword at his waist, he lunged at the young man. Startled, Ah Ying leapt in front of Li Ni, shouting, “Jiedushi!”
“You still remember who I am?” Cui Yi sneered, his voice sharp as a blade. “You were grounded, yet you sneak out in secret, daring to defy the rules of the Dingsheng Army?”
Ah Ying, weak from illness, coughed violently, blood rising in her throat. Li Ni quickly supported her, whispering, “Jiedushi, I will not run. Let Ah Ying return to her room and rest first.”
Cui Yi, seeing the pale state of his daughter, forced himself to restrain his anger. He commanded someone to escort her back. Though she wished to stay, Li Ni’s subtle wink reminded her that he would find a way out. Reluctantly, she obeyed, taking her medicine and retreating to her room.
With Ah Ying gone, Cui Yi did not return Li Ni to the water prison but brought him to his residence. Once inside, he asked bluntly, “King Qin, you’ve been here all night. I suppose it’s because you care for my daughter?”
Li Ni, taken aback by the frank question, could not hide his joy. “Yes,” he admitted without hesitation. He had long loved Ah Ying and now hoped for Cui Yi’s approval.
Cui Yi’s eyes glimmered faintly. “Since you care for her, and Ah Ying has a fondness for you, I will not oppose it.”
But then his words shifted, testing Li Ni. “If you give up your title of King of Qin, join our Cui family, and take command of the Victory Army, I will betroth Ah Ying to you.”
Li Ni smiled bitterly, knowing this was a trap. “Jiedushi, for any other matter, I would face the mountain of knives or the sea of fire without fear. But this… this I cannot do.”
Cui Yi’s smile turned faintly mocking. “What? Reluctant to give up your title? Or afraid of tarnishing your reputation by joining our family?”
Li Ni spoke with gravity: “Jiedushi, I have never sought wealth or fame. For Ah Ying, no prince nor title matters. But as the King of Qin, to join the Cui family would betray the throne. The court would see it as humiliation, and war between the Dingsheng Army and our forces would be inevitable. That is something I cannot allow.”
Cui Yi fell silent, recognizing the reason. “Then there is no need to discuss further. You may return to the water prison.”
Li Ni bowed respectfully. “Jiedushi, I do not wish to return.”
Cui Yi’s lips curled in a sneer, about to order his guards to take him, when Li Ni continued, “Ah Ying is sick. I brought a skilled doctor from Beijing to care for her. Let me stay and ensure she recovers before facing your judgment.”
Cui Yi’s glare hardened. “If you sneak into my Dingsheng Army camp at night and try to escape prison, the law allows thirty lashes or thirty days in the water prison. Choose your punishment.”
Without hesitation, Li Ni replied, “I deserve the lashes.”
Cui Yi sighed, acknowledging the boy’s cunning—and his devotion to Ah Ying.
Meanwhile, Xie Chang’er, upon learning of Li Ni’s interception, moved swiftly. Ah Ying, exhausted but vigilant, handed him her medicine bowl and whispered instructions for him to return safely to the Zhenxi Army camp in Nanding, ensuring no rash actions were taken.
Ah Ying, finally taking her medicine, fell into a deep sleep, the first she had in many long nights. Sunlight poured through the window lattice, illuminating the dust in the warm spring air like floating gold, painting the courtyard in ethereal beauty. Beside her, sleeping deeply on the side table, was Li Ni. His face had grown paler from lack of sunlight and harsh winter conditions, his eyebrows slightly furrowed, a rare expression of fatigue.
Ah Ying, feeling a pang of tenderness, crept to him and draped her quilt over his shoulders. Li Ni stirred, their eyes meeting intimately. “You sneaky thing… planning to kiss me secretly?” he teased.
She frowned but smiled, tossing the quilt onto his shoulder. “Who wants to kiss you secretly?”
Li Ni, with one hand wrapped around her, the other pulling the quilt snug, whispered, “I want to kiss you… I want to be with you.”
She placed a hand on his chest, feigning hesitation. “I heard this illness is severe.”
“Then we get sick together,” he said simply. “If you wish to die, I will die with you. If you wish to be buried, I will be buried with you.”
She pressed closer, conflicted but resolute, embracing him tightly. In that moment, life, death, and danger melted away, leaving only the certainty of their bond.
Finally, she asked, “Why didn’t the military governor lock you up again?”
He was still brushing the corner of her mouth with a faint, lingering kiss. “I impressed him with my sincerity,” he murmured.
She gave him a sidelong glance, teasing lightly, “Clever tongue. What exactly did you say to deceive your father? How did you recruit him to your truth?”
Li Ni chuckled softly. “I told him I no longer want Changzhou City. Once he was satisfied with that, he no longer locked me up and allowed me to stay with you.”
Ah Ying’s eyes narrowed. “Nonsense. Don’t try to lie to me again. Even if what you say is true, do you think my father would ask that? Do you think the Zhenxi Army can conquer Changzhou without a battle? The outcome isn’t known yet. If the King of Qin desires Changzhou, then let us fight to the death on the battlefield!”
A small smile tugged at the corners of his lips. “You speak like a military governor. You really are learning well.”
She snorted. “Enough talk. Tell me, what exactly did you promise your father to be allowed here with me?”
Li Ni sighed, a touch of exasperation in his tone. “I cannot hide anything from you. I told him you miss me greatly, that if you couldn’t see me, you could neither eat nor take your medicine properly. To ensure your recovery, I requested to accompany you. Though he was reluctant, he eventually allowed it.”
Ah Ying’s skepticism softened as she studied his calm expression. Slowly, a smile broke through. “I knew it. You used me to hold my father hostage!”
He raised his eyebrows slightly, his lips curling into a faint smirk. “Naturally. If you are the target, the blow must be precise.”
Her anger flared. “You threatened my father and actually boasted about your mastery of strategy!” She attempted to push him away, but Li Ni, anticipating her move, tilted his body gracefully, captured her hand with his backhand, and avoided her push. His shoulders relaxed as if nothing had happened, though he still held her palms in his.
Just as he was about to speak, her expression suddenly shifted. Following her gaze downward, he saw the crimson seep slowly through his heavy clothing from his shoulders. Alarmed, he tried to cover himself and think of an excuse, but she had already spoken, her voice sharp and commanding: “Untie your clothes. Show me.”
A faint flush of embarrassment crossed him. “You’re asking a girl to see me undress…”
She ignored his protest, her face as serious as water, eyes dark and unblinking. “Do you understand? If not, I will tie you up myself and deal with this!”
Li Ni let out a low laugh. “The more you talk, the more absurd it becomes… but fine, it’s time for your medicine—I’ll go get it…”
Before he could move, she sprang into action. A short knife flashed from her left sleeve. Sliding her right hand along his cuff, she worked swiftly. Li Ni did not resist, fearing her weakened state. She slashed with her left hand, cutting a long line in his clothing, then pulled sharply with her right, splitting the fabric on his back in half.
He barely had time to react before she took in the sight of his back: whip marks crisscrossing in cruel patterns, blood oozing from raw, exposed flesh. The sight was horrifying, and she gasped involuntarily. Li Ni quickly covered the torn clothing with his backhand, turning to face her with a strained smile. “These… are old injuries…”
Her eyes blazed with anger and anxiety. “You still dare lie to me? Turn around!”
He forced a laugh, trying to ease the tension. "I can't cover my body… what do you want me to do, turn around…?"
She couldn’t hold back, insisting on going behind him. Fortunately, his height allowed him to block her gently with one arm while he pulled the torn clothing over his back with the other, doing his best to hide the scars. “Don’t look!” he urged softly.
Her eyes glimmered with unshed tears, voice trembling as she asked, “How many whips did my father give you?”
Li Ni could no longer hide it. “Only thirty…”
Her anger flared instantly. “You are the dignified King of Qin! Didn’t you immediately reveal your identity and make my father understand the distinction between ruler and subject? You claim to be the best scout of the Zhenxi Army—why didn’t you show your ability to escape? Will they really chase you to the Zhenxi Army camp? Why are you so foolish? He wants to fight, so you let him fight?!”
He had never seen her so furious. Gently, he said, “Ah Ying… don’t be angry!”
She turned her face, pretending to be calm. “I’m not angry!”
He tilted his head, teasing softly, “Then why is your face so red, if not angry?” He smiled, trying to ease her worry. “Ah Ying, it really isn’t much. It doesn’t hurt that much…”
She turned her face further, frowning. “Don’t call me! I don’t know someone as foolish as you!”
He took her hand, rubbing the back of it gently. “Ah Ying, really… don’t be angry. Imagine if one day, a stinky boy climbed over the wall and came into our home, holding our daughter on the bed, daring to kiss her—don’t you think, as a father, I’d want to take a knife and smash that boy to pieces immediately? Only thirty lashes… that’s really cheap for him…”
Her glare softened slightly, though she hissed, “Who wants a daughter with you?!”
Seeing her relent a little, he quickly reassured her. “Son is fine, son is fine… I’m just explaining. Don’t be angry, and don’t blame Uncle Cui…”
She shot him another fierce look. He hurriedly corrected himself. “I mean, don’t blame the military governor.”
She finally stopped paying attention to him and began to turn away. “Where are you going?” he asked.
She rolled her eyes. “Where’s the Peach?”
He smiled. “She’s decocting your medicine.” His gaze drifted to the morning sun through the window. “It should be ready now. I’ll bring it to you—Peach reminds you to take it after waking, don’t make a mistake.”
“I’ll get it myself,” she insisted.
“No, I’ll bring it,” he said.
She shook off his hand impatiently. “I said I’ll get it! There are so many deep wounds on your back, flesh blooming, blood oozing. If you don’t apply the medicine now, tomorrow it’ll be swollen and festering!”
He chuckled. “Then I’ll have her bring it with me. And by the way… go change your clothes.”
Her eyes widened as she noticed his tattered clothes, torn to the waist and scratched by his own hand. She had been angry and anxious, but a shy, almost embarrassed warmth spread through her. A moment later, she laughed aloud. “Forget it, I’ll get the medicine… and I’ll fetch you some clothing. How can you walk around like this?”
Seeing her finally smile, he couldn’t help but laugh. “All thanks to you.”
She picked up a discarded cloth, unfolded it, draped it over his shoulders, and said with a teasing pout, “Then cover up, His Highness the King of Qin.”
He beamed. “You’ll help me apply the medicine yourself?”
“Bah! Don’t flatter yourself! If you’re too stupid to do it, I’ll do it myself. Otherwise, it will hurt too much!”
Since Ah Ying’s illness, Liu Chengfeng had been anxious, always wanting to check on her. Taozi intercepted him whenever he tried, yet he persisted, asking daily about her sleep and whether her medicine improved her condition.
The night before, in order to catch Li Ni, Cui Yi had deployed personal soldiers and heavy crossbows. Liu Chengfeng, noticing this movement, suspected a spy. Early that morning, he went to the courtyard where Ah Ying stayed. Peach was already decocting medicine and hurriedly greeted him, whispering, “The captain is still asleep.”
Seeing Taozi’s bloodshot eyes, he asked gently, “How is she? Last night, there was a spy… but you didn’t disturb her, right?”
“No, no,” Peach replied, a faint joy in her expression. “The captain just fell asleep briefly. When she wakes, I’ll tell her the young master came to see her.”
Liu Chengfeng’s heart froze momentarily, a cold ice of concern running through him, though he hid it behind a composed smile. “If Ah Ying wants anything—food or otherwise—send someone to tell me immediately.”
Taozi nodded. He knew Liu Chengfeng’s knowledge of Ah Ying’s wishes would remain incomplete—ever since he had insisted on his path to seize the South Pass, distance had grown between them.
Just as he prepared to ask Taozi more, Cui Yi’s summons arrived, and Liu Chengfeng departed swiftly.
Cui Yi, unbound by formalities, did not wait for a salute. He gestured for Li Ni to sit. His face betrayed sleeplessness, his eyes rimmed with dark circles, strands of white hair glinting against the dim light. Li Ni’s heart tightened.
“Dad,” he said softly.
Cui Yi rarely used that name. Before, in public, he always called him “Arlene.” That name belonged to them both, shared in rare, private moments.
Li Ni smiled faintly, tinged with sadness. “I’m not used to being called that, Dad.”
Cui Yi’s eyes softened. “You were seriously injured and fell into the water. I sent many to search for you, but couldn’t find you. I once feared the worst. Later, I and Ah Ying went to your tomb to pray. I thought deeply… In the past, I was too selfish. When you were young, I even asked if you wished to be my son—but you were too young to understand.”
Li Ni paused, uncertainty mixing with concern. “Dad…”
Cui Yi seemed to have made up his mind. “Feng’er, I have already thought about it. In the future, you will change back to Liu Chengfeng’s name, but you are still your father’s son. And your father will say it to everyone—you are my adopted son.”
Liu Chengfeng felt as if five thunderclaps had struck him. After a long moment, he finally found his voice and muttered, “Dad… do you mean to let me change my surname back to Liu?”
Cui Yi nodded. “Yes.” He hesitated for a moment, then continued, “Now that Ah Ying is older…”
Hearing the half-spoken words, Liu Chengfeng felt a sudden lightness in his chest. His mind raced—could it be? Could his father be preparing to allow Ah Ying to marry him, to formally accept him as a son-in-law? His heart surged and fell in a way he could barely describe.
Cui Yi continued, “You also know that Ah Ying is very willful. I won’t need to care for her as much in the future. You have grown up in our family, and I truly treat you as a son. I want you to recognize your ancestors, change back to your surname Liu, let the matchmaker arrange a proper marriage, marry a virtuous lady, have children, and ensure the Liu family has an heir.”
Liu Chengfeng’s happiness initially soared, then crashed. It was as if he had fallen from a cliff, and ten thousand arrows pierced his heart at once. He parted his lips to speak but no sound came. After a long moment, he realized his whole body was trembling, every word seeming impossible to utter. Finally, he asked in a quivering voice, “Dad… does this mean you do not want a son?”
Cui Yi’s expression softened. “Although you change your surname back to Liu, you are still your father’s son.”
His heart felt cold. After a long pause, he forced a reluctant smile. “Dad treats me well… I know.”
Cui Yi’s own heart ached. He had raised Ah Ying as a boy in her childhood, letting Liu Chengfeng bear the name Cui Lin and become his apparent son in everyone’s eyes. Watching them now, he was filled with complicated, unspeakable emotions. Fortunately, Ah Ying had never cared about the name. She had walked her own path, pretending to be the young master’s maid, training with the army, earning a reputation as the resourceful “brocade girl.” Reflecting on it, Cui Yi sometimes worried that his choices might have hindered her life, and he had once apologized softly: “Dad reported to the imperial court when you were born, saying you were a boy. Later, Liu Chengfeng took Cui Lin’s name and became my son. You grew up in a man’s world, fighting outside all day. Will you one day need to find a husband? But a man willing to marry you may have flaws. I could not look down on it, nor could I choose lightly.”
Ah Ying had smiled at him then, eyes shining. “Dad, I like to fight. I like living like this. There are so many men in the world—I can do what they can do. Why should I marry?”
Cui Yi had felt a pang. “A daughter always must marry and have children… but Feng’er… is special. I think—”
That had been his first temptation, thinking of asking her whether she would marry Liu Chengfeng. After all, he had personally raised Liu Chengfeng, who, though physically weaker, had a strong heart, excellent literary talent, and a keen military mind. Most importantly, Liu Chengfeng would tolerate Ah Ying, support her fully, and allow her to continue her military path. If she married him, the vast Cui family and its victorious army would effectively remain hers, passed to her children. It was a selfish thought, but one Cui Yi could not deny—the family’s future, the army’s might, all in her hands.
Ah Ying, however, shook her head firmly. “The world is so vast. I haven’t seen it all yet. If marriage and children are knowledge, then it’s only one of thousands of lessons. There’s no harm in not learning it yet.”
Cui Yi sighed. “One day, I will grow old and leave you. When that time comes, you will be alone. What face will I have, going underground to see your mother?”
She smiled softly, comforting him. “Dad, I have lived a happy life. When I see mother in a hundred years, I can tell her that I lived well. That is enough. I am living happily, and mother would be satisfied knowing that she gave birth to me.”
Indeed, she had lived happily. That had been the greatest wish fulfilled for her parents, and also for Liu Chengfeng. He felt a pang of relief, nodding sadly, reassured for the moment.
Yet he could not know that a young man existed in the world who could make Ah Ying’s eyes shine even brighter. Li Ni—rarely had such a handsome, capable, high-spirited young man appeared, someone who would willingly endure thirty lashes for her, who would kneel in front of the King of Qin himself.
Why? Because both he and Li Ni understood—after those thirty lashes, no excuses or identities could keep him from Ah Ying. From that moment on, the King of Qin would turn a blind eye and allow their connection.
Liu Chengfeng could only admit it—he truly admired Li Ni. A young man of extraordinary talent, skilled in troops, daring in spirit… hundreds of years ago or hundreds ahead, few could match him. Li Ni was the natural choice for marshal, the generalissimo of the world’s armies, comparable only to Emperor Taizong when he was king. A prodigy, dazzling as the sun itself—impossible to look at directly, impossible to ignore. All were scorched by his brilliance.
Cui Yi understood, too. Such talent had grown within his family’s fold, but the path for such a man would be thorny. His identity, his position—all would be challenged. Many would fall; countless arrows would fly. Some would pierce his chest, some his back.
Yet even knowing this, Cui Yi’s heart remained steadfast. He realized the strength within his grasp, the potential to dominate the world, to reclaim the Cui family’s glory. But when the young man joyfully unbuttoned his clothes and knelt before him, whip in hand, his ardent eyes looking at him with trust and love, his heart grew heavy.
That young man—Ah Ying, his daughter, his Amin—once filled with affection and loyalty, now stood before him. Amin was gone, and despair had once tempted him to follow. Living seemed meaningless without her. No title, no victory, no empire could justify life itself.
Yet Ah Ying remained, his daughter, sharp of mind, steadfast of heart. She leaned against him, small arms holding him, calling him “Dad,” whispering, “My mother told me to live. Only by surviving will I understand why she died. I will live to save more people.”
He and his daughter depended on each other. Yes, his daughter was his only hope. Yet he didn’t know that he was also the person Ah Ying most respected, loved, and felt conflicted about. His words carried immense weight for her—if he refused to nod, there would be no way for her to act. And yet, Ah Ying insisted, fiercely, on being with the stinky boy in front of her. But what could she do if her heart truly belonged to this stinky boy?
Cui Yi picked up the whip. He drew it back and struck the man kneeling before him. Skin split, flesh bled. This was the son of the emperor, yet on his back lay scars of old battles, healed long ago. Cui Yi, a man hardened by warfare, recognized them immediately—these were marks of someone who had once thrown himself into battle without hesitation, someone as unflinching as he once had been.
He raised the whip again, hoping for a cry of pain, a sign to stop. He wanted to throw down the whip, help His Highness the noble King of Qin up, say forgiveness, and escort him respectfully to the Zhenxi Army camp. Yet no sound came. The man knelt there, eyes half-lidded, unmoving, as if the whip’s strikes were but a breeze against him.
Stubborn. Truly like himself in youth.
Cui Yi lashed harder, strike after strike. Blood splattered, the man’s flesh gradually torn. Yet he did not flinch. Cui Yi felt his own body tremble with each strike, but a deep relief surged in his heart. Amin, he thought, can you see it? Our daughter has chosen well. The finest man in the world, the proudest, the one who loves her most.
After thirty lashes, Cui Yi collapsed, the long whip hanging loosely from his hand, tip dripping crimson. The man before him rose neatly, bending to pick up the whip. Calmly, respectfully, he said, “Uncle Cui, give me this whip. I want to keep it—it will be useful in the future.”
Cui Yi looked at the young man, slightly dazed. He was still young, yet he had endured thirty lashes, kneeling in blood, and now sought to take the whip away as a keepsake. Cui Yi realized that Li Ni might one day use it to teach his son-in-law a lesson. He smiled to himself, thinking how clever Ah Ying was—no foolishness would let their future daughter ever grant such a chance.
Yet, out of subtle pride, Cui Yi said simply, “Since you want it, you can take it.”
Li Ni smiled, happily taking the long whip that had been Cui Yi’s for years. Cui Yi’s heart ached slightly, regretting that his soft-heartedness during the last lashes might have spared him from full pain. But he dared not force more; he could only let it be.
Li Ni departed. Cui Yi, too restless to sleep, lay awake until dawn, thinking. He needed to go to Yingzhou, to Amin’s tomb, to tell her of this momentous event. He had made decisions without authorization, acquiescing to his daughter’s will. He still intended for Ah Ying to recognize her ancestors, return to the name Cui Lin, so that even if she became Qin’s princess, no one in the court would dare underestimate her. Yet he also feared that if she returned to Cui Lin too openly, the DPRK might use the Ding Sheng Army to coerce her.
In the end, he made his choice. Since Ah Ying did not love Liu Chengfeng, he had to let Liu Chengfeng know, so that Feng’er could release any hopes and accept reality. He had to cut through the chaos—perhaps then, his daughter could find her true love, and both sides achieve peace.
Liu Chengfeng left Cui Yi’s house confused, unsure where he was going. Ah Shu followed silently, master and servant strolling as if casually, yet weighed down by inner turmoil.
The day was a rare spring warmth. Sunlight touched Liu Chengfeng, yet he was at a loss. He looked up and saw Xinyi flowers under the eaves, buds swelling, ready to bloom. In Yingzhou, such flowers were rare, and spring arrived much later. Even if he returned, without Ah Ying, what would spring mean to him? His heart felt like Yingzhou’s frozen north—icy, unyielding, eternally cold.
Finally, Liu Chengfeng returned home. Ah Shu left for a moment, returning with a small wooden tube tightly stuffed with cloth, containing a single pill. Liu Chengfeng shook it. The pill rolled inside with a hollow sound, echoing the emptiness in his heart. Yet he knew that flesh and blood, love and loyalty, could fill the void.
Ah Shu hesitated. “Young master… there is no turning back. Are we really doing this?”
Liu Chengfeng’s cold smile was like frost. He held the bow without turning back; the poison meant to lure Li Ni was ready. It would not truly harm Ah Ying, but the torment was necessary. Once, he could never have borne to see her suffer like this.
The warm spring sun shone on him, yet he was austere, clad in a simple robe, long hair flowing like midnight lacquer, voice cold and sharp as the Nine Heavens’ ice. “Ah Shu… didn’t you choose for me a long time ago? Do we still have a choice?”
Ah Shu shuddered, but bowed resolutely. “Young master, I obey. Even if you command me to die, I will do it quietly. You will not soil your hands.”
Liu Chengfeng smiled lightly. “Dead or alive… we are both people who have already faced death. What fear remains now?” He glanced at the incense smoke curling from the cauldron. “Now, it is always someone else’s turn to die.” He handed the bamboo tube back. “Do it yourself. If you make a mistake, do not return to me.”
Ah Shu lowered his head, whispering, “Yes.”
Once Ah Shu departed, Liu Chengfeng turned to another inkstone, thick ink flowing, and wrote two lines on plain silk:
"Alas, the beauty believes in cultivation, and the Qiang Xi rites and Ming poetry. Holding the jade pendant to harmonize me, I hope to set a date for the deep abyss. I hold on to the sincerity of my affection, fearing that the spirits will deceive me."
A sentence from Cao Zijian’s Luoshen Fu. He smiled bitterly, set the pen down. The ink was still wet. Holding the silk, he placed it in the cauldron with burning agarwood. The flames licked it, the paper curled, turned to ash. With a sigh, he watched the ashes scatter in the spring breeze, vanishing into nothingness.
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