A’Le looked around. Campfires dotted the surroundings, patrols constantly moved through the military camp, and various clamorous sounds filled the air.

However, because Miss had earlier told people not to come near so as not to disturb Xie Yanlai’s sleep, their area was quite quiet.

Actually, when she saw Xie Yanlai suddenly embrace Miss, she hadn’t been all that surprised—probably because she’d witnessed it before.

That was when the General had just passed away. Miss had held back for so long until Xie Yanlai said a few words to her, and only then did she cry. After falling asleep, she was carried back by Xie Yanlai to rest.

And now, Xie Yanlai had made Miss cry again. Mm, perhaps it was about Prince Zhongshan’s matter.

A’Le sighed. This incident had indeed been extremely dangerous. In truth, right up until the moment they emerged, she had thought they would die in there.

Miss was also human—how could she not be afraid?

Miss was afraid but had no one to confide in. If she could have an A’Jiu to quarrel with and cry it out, that would be good too. A’Le sat down, hugged her knees, and looked up at the starry sky.

The spring night sky was much more beautiful than winter’s.

Xie Yanlai gazed at the brilliant river of stars in the distance.

“Actually, you shouldn’t think of her as your mother,” he said. “Apart from giving birth to you and the blood tie between you, more importantly, she is Mu Mianhong.”

Isn’t that stating the obvious? Chu Zhao wanted to laugh—she was Mu Mianhong. Just as she was about to lift her head, Xie Yanlai’s hand pressed down on her head, holding her in place.

“I mean, she’s a person. Treat her as a person, not as a mother.”

“Your bond with her—to put it bluntly—is very short, but this brief bond cannot be escaped for the rest of your life.”

“Perhaps for her too, it’s bewildering.”

“Maybe our parents sometimes regret giving birth to us.”

“If we didn’t exist, they could live more freely, more at ease.”

“I remember when I was small, I made my mother angry. She scolded me, saying that if she hadn’t given birth to me, she wouldn’t have to live this kind of life.”

He gazed at the stars, his thoughts drifting far away, but they were quickly pulled back because a pair of small hands quietly wrapped around his waist—

Xie Yanlai pressed down on Chu Zhao’s head, warning: “Don’t get handsy.”

The girl in front of him laughed softly and called out: “Who made the first move?”

She was still leaning in his embrace, her head still pressed down by his hand.

Xie Yanlai froze, then reached out to pull her away. “That’s different. I was comforting you.”

When he was little and cried—though he couldn’t quite remember why he cried—being held by his mother made it better. Later, when his mother was gone and he’d grown up, he never cried again and didn’t need any embrace anymore.

She was a few years younger than him, still somewhat of a child.

Chu Zhao looked at the young man before her, both amused and a bit saddened. Who was comforting whom? He wasn’t any better off than she was.

“Yes,” she nodded and performed a solemn courtesy. “I understand. I was wrong. I shouldn’t have been handsy with you, young master.”

Xie Yanlai didn’t want to wrangle with her—one thing would lead to another and who knew what strange words would come out.

“In any case, don’t overthink it, and stop trying to determine right and wrong,” he said. “You and she are destined to be this way. If you find it difficult to handle, she probably finds it even more difficult than you do. You need her now, and she can’t leave you either, so just face it openly and frankly.”

Chu Zhao sighed. “Actually, she’s quite unfortunate too.”

Because of this mother-daughter bond, in the previous life Mu Mianhong fought battles for her sake, and in this life she still couldn’t rest from warfare.

“You’re unfortunate too,” Xie Yanlai corrected. “Don’t compare on that front. It’s better that you both work to make others unfortunate instead.”

Chu Zhao laughed again.

“Xie Yanlai,” she said. “Thank you.”

Xie Yanlai replied arrogantly: “No need for courtesy. I’m also doing it for myself. If Your Ladyship’s mind becomes confused in the rear because of these trivial domestic matters and something goes wrong, it will harm us frontier troops.”

Chu Zhao smiled and nodded. “Your words are reasonable, beloved minister. This palace has been instructed.”

Xie Yanlai glanced at her. “I’m leaving.” With that, he stepped past her and strode away.

Chu Zhao watched his retreating figure and couldn’t help calling out: “Xie Yanlai.”

Xie Yanlai stopped and turned back. The night shrouded his face, making his expression unclear. Only his impatient voice could be heard: “What now?”

Chu Zhao smiled. “Safe travels.”

Xie Yanlai waved his hand and strode forward again. Behind him came another shout: “Xie Yanlai—”

Annoyed, he stopped and turned back again, wanting to raise his voice but keeping it low through gritted teeth: “What other commands does Your Ladyship have!”

The night shrouded the girl behind him. Her expression couldn’t be seen, but one could see her hands clasped behind her back, and her voice carried laughter: “Nothing more.”

Xie Yanlai glared fiercely at her—though she couldn’t see it either—then turned and walked away with large strides. But inexplicably, he could hear his own heartbeat, and even felt that if the girl called out once more, his heart would leap out.

His hand hanging at his side clenched tightly.

Fortunately, there was no more calling from behind.

He walked all the way to the bustling camp area, until his personal guards had gathered the troops and brought over the horses.

In the night, Xie Yanlai let out a long breath. Sitting on horseback, he looked back. In the quiet darkness beneath the starlight, that girl was still there.

From this distance, she definitely couldn’t call out anymore. Even if she did, he wouldn’t hear it. Xie Yanlai couldn’t help but smile with a bit of triumph.

He gripped the reins tightly but didn’t give the command. The horse beneath him grew confused and could only turn in place to remind its master.

Only then did Xie Yanlai snap the reins and give a shout. The horse galloped forward, soldiers clustering behind him, moving through the noisy camp like a fish breaking through waves.

The night was like the sea. The fish leapt into it and could no longer be seen. Chu Zhao still stood motionless.

“Miss, what are you thinking about?” A’Le asked softly. “Are you worried about him?”

Chu Zhao came back to herself and shook her head. Worried? Not really, because there was no need to worry. Xie Yanlai was right—they were all fearless people. No need for anyone to worry about anyone else.

“I was thinking about Xie Yanlai as a person,” she said.

Xie Yanlai as a person? What about him? A’Le immediately became alert: “Does that fellow have some problem?”

Chu Zhao smiled. “What problems that fellow has, I really don’t know. To me, he’s a stranger.”

A stranger? A’Le was even more confused. Speaking of which, didn’t Xie Yanlai and Miss know each other quite early on?

Chu Zhao didn’t explain further. In this world, she was at least somewhat familiar with many people, but only this Xie Yanlai—in that previous life, she had never heard of him. So to her, he was indeed a stranger.

Perhaps precisely because he was a stranger, being with him, she felt as if she’d arrived in a new world where she could speak freely without restraint.

A’Le couldn’t understand, so she simply stopped listening: “Miss, come eat quickly.”

Whatever kind of person he was, everyone had to eat.

To avoid waking Xie Yanlai, Miss had sat beside him the whole time without eating.

Actually, she felt it wasn’t necessary—going away to eat something wouldn’t wake him, would it?

“The sound of footsteps from getting up would wake him,” Chu Zhao said. “Don’t you know how alert this fellow is?”

That was true. This Xie Yanlai had seen through them with one glance back then, preventing them from seeing the General. A’Le nodded. But then again, such an alert person actually fell asleep beside Miss?

“Alright, let’s go eat,” Chu Zhao called to her.

A’Le stopped thinking about it and ran over to walk with her.

When they reached the tent entrance, Chu Zhao stopped again and said: “A’Le, go ask Aunt Ding to come.”

A’Le responded with an “oh.” Earlier Miss had seemed somewhat unaccustomed to Aunt Ding, after all, it had always been Xiao Man by her side. But since Aunt Ding was replacing Xiao Man, it was proper for Miss to become familiar with her. She happily went off.

Chu Zhao had just settled into her seat in the tent when Mu Mianhong entered. In the lamplight, her expression was somewhat tense.

“Your Majesty the Empress,” she said. “Is there something you need?”

She was actually very careful about how she addressed her, Chu Zhao noticed. She didn’t call her Miss Chu, much less call her by name directly, but used the respectful title of Empress.

Empress was sovereign. Even between mother and daughter, there was still the distinction between ruler and subject. This way was reasonable and proper.

Chu Zhao looked at her and asked: “Has the Chief eaten yet?”

Mu Mianhong looked at the dishes on the table, hesitated slightly, then smiled: “I’ve actually eaten already, but I feel I should say I haven’t.”

Chu Zhao laughed and extended her hand: “Chief, please sit. Try the late-night snack here.”