What had they just been talking about?

Something very, very serious. Something very, very frightening. But not something she wanted him to know — she couldn’t bear to let him know.

Ziqing smiled brilliantly. “Guess?”

Seeing her smile like that, Jun Beiyue knew it couldn’t be anything too serious — whatever Yelu Qianqian might have to say, it was likely just something about Situ Haonan.

He didn’t bother pressing further, letting out a quiet sigh instead. “Let’s go. I’ll escort you there.”

He said it so calmly — but it struck Ziqing with sudden alarm. “Beiyue!”

“I’ll see you there. A few extra days round trip won’t make much difference,” Jun Beiyue said, his tone still perfectly composed.

But Ziqing was deadly serious now, addressing him by his full name. “Jun Beiyue!”

A sealed dispatch from the northern front took over ten days to arrive — never mind ten days, even a single day, a single hour, a single moment could bring countless changes, could alter everything!

And this man — he still wanted to escort her all the way to the northern steppe?

Had he lost his mind?

And her — did she want that too?

In truth, she wanted it desperately. When he hadn’t said anything, she’d already been secretly, timidly hoping for it herself, unable to stop herself from wanting it.

But Ziqing resolutely turned and mounted her horse instead. “One month. I’ll see you then!”

Jun Beiyue immediately caught hold of her reins, looking at her with an expression so grave, so serious, that even without a word from him, Ziqing felt as though she might be on the verge of surrendering entirely.

If he kept this up any longer, she wouldn’t be able to hold out.

She wouldn’t be able to think straight anymore.

Just as Ziqing was struggling to convince herself — it’s only a few days, after all — Jun Beiyue suddenly released the reins and leapt lightly onto his own horse instead.

Ziqing’s heart sank, a flash of disappointment flickering through her eyes. How could this scoundrel do this to her!

She’d finally worked up the resolve, and here he was, deliberately shaking it — and not even fully, just enough to give her hope before dashing it again. It was truly too much.

Too much, in fact, that her eyes — which never cried — stung faintly, growing damp.

She’d always been the type who could down three thousand rounds of drink with the army and never speak a word of parting sorrow — and yet here he was, making her feel this wistful, this sentimental.

Suddenly, Ziqing raised her whip sharply — not toward her own horse, but toward Jun Beiyue’s. “Go! One month is the deadline — a day late, and I won’t see you at all!”

With that, she cracked the whip hard and turned to ride away.

This was merely a temporary parting, not a permanent farewell — why be so reluctant to let go, so mournful, so heartbroken over it?

She, Han Ziqing, had never been one to dawdle or drag her feet. She had a war to fight.

Now that everything had finally been sorted out, with nothing left to hold her back, she was ready to throw herself wholeheartedly into battle.

Ziqing didn’t look back, whip cracking again and again as she rode straight toward the northern steppe. She had no idea whether Jun Beiyue, left far behind by that single lash of her whip, had turned to watch her go, had paused, had taken a few steps in pursuit — she didn’t even know what expression had crossed his face in that moment.

She rode on without a backward glance. A month later, when she looked back on this day, she still hadn’t cried — the tears had simply flowed silently within her heart instead.

But that, of course, was a story for later.

Let us fight, then!

Jun Beiyue — let us go to war!

I am the beautiful one, the rose of iron and steel! I will not be a bringer of ruin, I will not be a burden!

I fight for Da Zhou’s dominion — for you, and also so that Da Zhou’s realm will one day have room enough for me, an orphan of the isolated island!

Hooves thundered, dust flew, and within a few days, Ziqing arrived at the northern steppe.

But what awaited her there was far beyond anything she’d anticipated — she’d believed things wouldn’t unfold quite so quickly.

“Your Highness, His Highness wasn’t wrong. Nangong City has joined forces with Xiliang, and has now also convinced the Xiongnu. Armies now stand poised on both the western and northern borders of the steppe — they’re expected to reach the steppe within three days at most!”

“Negotiations with the northern steppe chieftain have failed. He’s agreed to let both armies use the steppe as a staging ground, to attack Xijing’s northwestern defensive line from here.”

Yingzi and Bingchan reported, one after the other, honest and thorough.

Ziqing stood atop a high ridge, her cloak snapping sharply in the wind, surveying the entire small northern town below. This town she loved so dearly had already been transformed beyond recognition.

Amid the drifting snow, there wasn’t a single warm light glowing from any household window, no wisps of cooking smoke rising from any chimney. Beneath the overcast sky, the entire town lay shrouded in an atmosphere of deathly stillness, pitch black, like an abandoned, dead city.

Even the courtyard at the foot of the mountain had faded into the darkness of the mountainside itself, nearly indistinguishable, impossible to spot at all.

Lige — he, too, was nowhere to be seen.

“Where is everyone?” Ziqing asked coldly.

“All hiding in the forests to the northwest. Only the northern steppe chieftain and a few elders have remained behind,” Yingzi reported honestly. Stationing troops in the northern steppe wasn’t simply a matter of borrowing land, staying put temporarily.

A military encampment was one of the most terrifying things imaginable — especially when it belonged to two of Longyuan’s most notoriously savage armies, the Xiongnu and Xiliang.

Troops stationed here meant plunder here — taking food, supplies, and women alike…

Staring down at the pitch-black darkness below, Ziqing slowly narrowed her eyes, a fierce, ruthless curve rising at the corner of her lips. “Three days, is it? My apologies — this princess consort claims it first.”

With that, she spurred her horse and charged straight down the slope, her long hair and cloak whipping in the wind, her bearing fierce and commanding — even Yingzi found himself momentarily stunned.

That silhouette looked both familiar and strangely unfamiliar all at once. Was this truly their usually silent, aloof, reserved princess consort?

“This… this must be Her Highness’s first time personally leading troops into battle,” Yingzi suddenly realized.

Truly stepping onto the battlefield in person — this did indeed seem to be a first for their lady.

“Come on, let me show you what real warfare looks like!” Bingchan said with obvious pride, immediately giving chase.

Yingzi followed close behind. He had no idea how Ziqing had trained her mercenaries, but he assumed that even though it was her lady’s first battle, with gunpowder as her advantage, things should turn out fine.

Ziqing fixed her gaze forward, urging her horse into a full gallop, calling out coldly as she rode, “Bingchan, notify the Xijing military commanders — station the front line along the northwestern border of the small northern town, where it meets Xiliang. Full mobilization, bows drawn, standing ready for orders. Take three men and go. Within two days, I want to see the entire defensive line established.”

“Yes!” Bingchan accepted the order and rode off at once.

Yingzi, however, was alarmed. “Your Highness, we’ve been negotiating with the northern steppe chieftain for a long time now. They keep refusing, keep obstructing us — there’s no way to establish a defensive line at all!”

“Who told you to negotiate?” Ziqing suddenly reined in her horse, demanding coldly.

“I… I…” Yingzi stammered, unsure how to answer. He was an assassin, a shadow guard — not cut out for warfare. He’d stayed behind trying to establish the defensive line the whole time, but this was the steppe people’s own land — with a crowd of elderly men and women blocking his way, what was he supposed to do?

“Perhaps, Your Highness, you should go yourself…” Yingzi suggested timidly.

“He doesn’t carry that much weight yet!” Ziqing said coldly, continuing forward, passing straight through the small northern town until she reached the forest directly north of it — the very border with the Xiongnu territory.

Only then did she stop, turning to look back at the small town, a cold smile curling at her lips. “Yingzi. Go tell the northern steppe chieftain — if he trusts this princess consort, then bring his people back, let them settle in properly, go about their lives as usual. This princess consort guarantees that not a single soldier from either side will set foot in this town. But if he doesn’t trust me — in ten days, the northern steppe will belong to Da Zhou’s territory.”

These words left Yingzi utterly dumbfounded. He’d always known his lady was no ordinary woman, but he’d never quite grasped just how much sheer force of will she truly carried within her — surpassing even most men.

Beneath the overcast sky, across the vast, boundless wilderness, this woman sat astride her horse, her face carved from cold resolve, as if she alone had claimed every ounce of splendor the heavens had to offer.

Since arriving on the continent of Longyuan, Han Ziqing had never once truly commanded troops, never once led an army into battle in earnest — but that could never erase everything that had come before, her true identity, her origins as a mercenary.

Longyuan’s first true battle under her command had come somewhat late — but she would fight it, and fight it magnificently.

……