Yes.

If Song Zhiyu had died on the battlefield, the nature and circumstances would be completely different.

The former was a hero, revered and mourned by the world, whose children and descendants could receive protection.

The latter was a defeated general, spurned by ten thousand people—a disgrace his children and descendants could never shake off.

Bu Liu looked at Yan Sanhe before him in shock, suddenly realizing he’d still underestimated her.

This girl’s perspective on problems was not only sharp but seasoned.

“Having discussed Song Zhiyu, let’s return to Old General Zheng Yu.”

Yan Sanhe ignored Bu Liu’s gaze.

“As I understand it, in spring of the seventh year of Yonghe, the Late Emperor appointed the Prince of Han as Commander-in-Chief and Old General as Deputy Commander. If I’m not mistaken, Old General’s campaign this time was to assist the Prince of Han, correct?”

Not a single word wrong.

Bu Liu quickly steadied his surging emotions.

“The Prince of Han voluntarily memorialized requesting to campaign. He submitted three memorials in succession before the Late Emperor nodded in agreement.”

But the Prince of Han was the Late Emperor’s most beloved son. To ensure his son could win the battle, he selected Old General Zheng Yu.

The Prince of Han was young and impetuous, with courage at the forefront. Old General was battle-tested, prioritizing stability. Their cooperation was complementary—achieving mutual enhancement.

Yan Sanhe pondered for a moment: “And Old General—when the Late Emperor appointed him, did he readily agree to campaign?”

Hearing this, Bu Liu couldn’t help shuddering.

Such detailed questioning!

“Miss Yan doesn’t know—Old General hated the Tatars to his bones. The wound on his leg came from fighting the Tatars. Besides that, several captains in the Zheng Family Army also died at Tatar hands. These people had followed Old General for many years.”

Bu Liu’s eyes suddenly bulged.

Men who marched and fought all had obsessions—all wanted to avenge their fallen brothers.

“Old General said to us personally—in this battle, he would don armor and personally kill several Tatars to vent his hatred.”

“So before the campaign, Old General’s emotions were normal, his fighting spirit high, with nothing amiss?”

“Yes! The General knew clearly this was his last time commanding troops in battle. We subordinates also knew clearly this was the last time following the General on campaign.”

Yan Sanhe frowned slightly. “This was all his reasons for readily campaigning? Or just one of them?”

“One of them.”

Bu Liu’s sigh was deep, as if lamenting Old General, and as if lamenting himself.

“Just as women always miss their youthful beauty, men also always miss when they were young and could down seven or eight bowls of rice in one go, could urinate far in one stream. Who wants to admit they’re old, can’t raise their spear, can’t kill enemies—that they’re an idle old waste?”

Yan Sanhe carefully savored the meaning in these words.

“Can I understand this to mean the General was grateful to the Late Emperor for appointing him to campaign? After all, he was old.”

Bu Liu was dazed.

He had an illusion that sitting face-to-face with him wasn’t a young girl inexperienced in worldly affairs, but a strategist who’d been immersed in official circles for many years.

“Miss Yan, the bond between the General and the Late Emperor was unusual.”

“Unusual in what way?”

“During the Yuanfeng years, when the Late Emperor was still Prince Zhao, the General assisted him in campaigning against Mongolia. At that time Prince Zhao was Commander-in-Chief, the General was Deputy Commander…”

Without Bu Liu continuing, Yan Sanhe knew how things developed afterward—Xie Zhifei had explained it to her in detail.

Prince Zhao and Zheng Yu got along temperamentally on the battlefield and formed a deep friendship. After Prince Zhao ascended the throne, the Zheng family’s status rose steadily like a tide.

Which meant that in the seventh year of Yonghe when attacking the Tatars, Emperor Yonghe Zhao Ji had Zheng Yu assist the Prince of Han not only because Zheng Yu was steady-natured and battle-tested.

There was another reason buried deep—between sovereign and subject, they trusted each other.

Therefore, Emperor Yonghe Zhao Ji entrusted his son to him, believing Zheng Yu would be dedicated and devoted, just as he’d assisted him in the past.

“Did Old General say he would properly assist the Prince of Han?”

“He did, more than once. When training troops, he was exceptionally harsh with us as well.”

That made sense then.

Assisting the Prince of Han, defeating the Tatars—this was Old General’s best repayment to Emperor Yonghe who appreciated him.

Thus, two things could be deduced:

First: Before Zheng Yu campaigned against the Tatars, the sovereign-subject relationship was excellent.

Second: The informer leaked the matter of Begonia Courtyard’s twins to Emperor Yonghe Zhao Ji only after Zheng Yu set out on campaign.

From these two things arose a new question—one that Yan Sanhe couldn’t figure out:

Why would Zheng Yu shelter her? Protect her?

When clearly his relationship with Emperor Yonghe Zhao Ji was so good.

“Bu Liu, after the great army reached the north, were all Old General’s words and actions normal?”

“All normal, at least in my view.”

After entering the north, they also rested for a month, but during rest, Old General intensified training.

The great army at that time actually comprised three groups.

One group was the Zheng Family Army.

One group was the Prince of Han’s troops.

Another group was troops dispatched by the court.

Regardless of whose troops, Old General treated all equally. In training troops he was merciless—beatings when needed, punishments when needed, impartial as iron.

The Prince of Han’s troops privately complained, saying how could Old General have such good energy—like a man in his early thirties. Couldn’t he let them rest a few days?

Whether a person’s condition was good or not could be seen from their spirit and energy.

Bu Liu remembered clearly that during that period, though very bitter and exhausting, Old General’s back was always straight, his eyes bright and piercing. One glance from him could make people’s hearts tremble.

“During the day he trained troops. At night he and the Prince of Han would study terrain in the tent, discuss battle strategy. Sometimes they’d discuss all night, yet the next morning he’d still come supervise our training. If they finished early, he’d walk around the soldiers’ camp tents, chat a sentence with this one, spar a round with that one, occasionally gather together for a drink.

Miss Yan, you certainly don’t know—Old General’s alcohol tolerance was extremely poor. One bowl and he’d fall, yet his drinking conduct was excellent. Whoever came to toast, even a insignificant soldier, he’d drink without fail.

When drunk, he loved teaching us the Zheng Family Blade. Sometimes we’d stir up a commotion: ‘General, teach us the last two moves of the Zheng Family Blade too. Don’t keep them hidden!’ He’d smile and scold us: ‘You little bastards only have eyes for those two moves of mine. They’re reserved for my sons and grandsons. Don’t any of you even think about it.'”

At this point, Bu Liu’s mouth twitched, smiling to show white teeth.

“Actually we weren’t coveting them at all. We just liked talking with him. He had an aura of heroic spirit about him… like ancient heroes—’Ten paces, one kill. A thousand li, no trace remains. Matter done, brush clothes and go, deeply hiding self and name.'”

“‘Ten paces, one kill’—this poem is from Li Bai.”

“Li Bai?”

Bu Liu paused. “I don’t know. Anyway, whenever the General drank, he loved reciting these lines. Eventually everyone in our Zheng Family Army learned them. Miss Yan, you definitely can’t imagine—when the General was six parts drunk, he became completely different from his usual self.”

Yan Sanhe: “Different how?”

Bu Liu spoke but laughed first: “He’d say soft words to people, with a bit of acting cute about it.”

Acting cute?

Yan Sanhe froze.

How was this drinking conduct somewhat like Xie Chengyu’s?