After the youth spoke, the other soldiers fell silent. Even the one who had started to rise to help settled back, as if merely adjusting to a more comfortable position.

The atmosphere grew awkward.

The station manager recognized the voice—it belonged to the one who had first stopped the commotion outside the relay station.

So young, the station manager thought, but indeed he hadn’t been mistaken. Among this group, this youth was clearly in charge. What was his background? Family status? Or perhaps wealth—the rich and powerful were masters regardless of age.

This young master didn’t appear to be easy to persuade.

The usually diplomatic station manager, who typically preferred avoiding trouble, didn’t immediately drive the half-grown child away.

“What this child asks is a small favor for military gentlemen like yourselves,” he said. “This child’s father is also a soldier.”

Hearing this, the soldiers’ expressions subtly changed. Someone wanted to inquire further but glanced at the youth, who was still slowly sipping his wine, appearing not to have heard. The soldier swallowed his words.

The station manager didn’t feel rebuffed. When was anything in this world so easy? Did merely crying and calling someone a hero accomplish anything?

“Her father serves at the border commandery and hasn’t returned for three years. His wife is ill and wanted to bring their two children to seek relatives’ help. But having reached here, she’s too sick to continue. The physician says if she takes one more step forward, it will lead only to death,” the station manager explained in detail. “So she wants to send the two children to their father. Otherwise, if she passes away, these two children will be left with nothing and nowhere to go.”

Hearing this, the kneeling child kowtowed again, this time not speaking but quietly crying.

“You want us to take the two children to the border commandery?” one soldier couldn’t help asking.

The station manager nodded: “These two girls cannot reach the border commandery on their own. They don’t have money to hire escorts. So she entrusted me to watch for soldiers heading to the border commandery who might take them along.”

“We’re on urgent duty. We can’t take children with us,” the soldier said helplessly. “We can’t slow our pace. Delaying our mission would cost us our heads.”

“Brave soldier sir, my sister and I aren’t afraid of hardship,” the girl hurriedly said through tears. “We can both ride horses. When our father was home, we learned how.”

What could children this size have learned? And girls at that—how could they know how to ride horses?

“If these two children can find their father, they’ll have a way to survive and can rush back to save their mother,” the station manager said. “Since we have this opportunity, I’m making this plea on their behalf.”

“Perhaps sending a message would be better?” one soldier suggested.

This was the one addressed as the leader, Soldier Zhang.

The station manager stepped forward, shook his head at him, and lowered his voice: “That woman truly has no hope of recovery. She’ll last at most half a month. By the time she passes, their travel funds will be exhausted. By then, the two children will truly be finished.”

I see, the soldiers exchanged glances, then looked back at the man still holding his wine bowl.

“A-Jiu, what do you think—” Zhang asked.

So the youth was called A-Jiu, the station manager thought. He watched as the youth took another sip of wine, his expression showing no emotion whatsoever. However, he finally spoke: “There are many troops stationed at the border commandery. What’s this man’s name, how old is he, and under whose command does he serve?”

The station manager was about to speak, but the youth glanced at him: “Let her speak for herself.”

He doesn’t trust me? The station manager promptly closed his mouth. Fine. He gestured to the kneeling girl behind him.

“My name is A-Fu.” The girl suppressed her tears, trying to make her voice clear. “My father is Yang Dachun, thirty-four years old. He’s stationed in Yunzhong Commandery, at the Daqing Mountain Camp, as a frontier soldier. His general is surnamed Chu—General Chu Wei.”

Upon hearing “General Chu Wei,” the soldiers couldn’t help but whisper among themselves: “A soldier under General Chu?” “Servingx General Chu?”

Hearing their discussion, A-Fu raised her head hopefully: “Sirs, you know General Chu too?”

“Who doesn’t know General Chu?” one soldier muttered, but then coughed and didn’t continue the topic.

The youth rotated the wine bowl in his hand and asked: “Where are your father’s letters? Surely you carry them with you?”

A-Fu quickly pulled out a small cloth bundle from her tattered cotton jacket. She carefully opened it to reveal several letters: “Here they are.”

It was evident how treasured these letters were, kept so close to her body.

The youth reached out: “Hand them over for us to see.”

A nearby soldier seemed slightly embarrassed and whispered to the youth: “A-Jiu, reading someone’s letters, isn’t that inappropriate?”

“What’s inappropriate about it?” the youth was unconcerned, his eyes fixed on A-Fu. “What could a soldier’s family letters contain that can’t be seen?”

A-Fu had already stood up. With both hands, she offered the small cloth bundle, placing the letters in the youth’s extended hand. The youth’s hands were slender and fair-skinned, but his palm bore a scar that ran across the entire hand, quite ghastly.

A-Fu quickly lowered her gaze, not daring to look further.

The youth distributed the letters among the others and opened one himself. He first scanned the handwriting and smiled: “Indeed, the handwriting of those rough scribes from the border commandery. Each character is almost as big as an egg, as if writing larger would make it more legible to the reader.”

The soldiers all laughed. Looking at the letters in their hands, one soldier joked: “It works. I don’t recognize many characters, but seeing these large ones, I feel I can read them.”

The youth held the letter in one hand and his wine bowl in the other, reading and drinking simultaneously. He read quickly, skimming ten lines at a glance, finishing the family letter.

“The content matches her story,” Zhang understood the youth’s intention and leaned over to whisper, pointing at the letter. “Every line has the flavor of the border commandery.”

The youth finished reading and nodded, glancing at A-Fu: “Put them away.”

The soldiers handed the letters back, watching as the girl carefully wrapped them and tucked them back into her clothes.

The station manager then stepped forward: “A-Fu showed me these letters too. I thought about sending a message, but correspondence takes time. It would be better to take the two sisters directly.”

Zhang tapped the table: “The journey to the border commandery is too far.”

“Take them as far as you can,” the station manager said. “If they can’t continue, they can stay at a relay station. Even so, it would be faster for Yang Dachun to find them.”

He signaled to A-Fu, who stood frozen nearby. This should be settled—quickly kneel, kowtow, and cry a little.

But before A-Fu could kneel, the youth stood up.

“Let’s go see this Lady Yang,” he said, his phoenix eyes sweeping over A-Fu and the station manager with an ambiguous smile. “Let’s hear what she has to say. After all, this isn’t the station manager’s family matter, nor can a child decide it.”

The station manager couldn’t help but curse silently. This stubborn, difficult young man didn’t look like he came from poverty, yet he served as a hard-working messenger soldier. Was it his difficult personality that got him demoted to this position?

You strong military men with weapons and martial skills—what harm could two twelve or thirteen-year-old girls possibly do under your watch? Kill someone? Set fires?

The questioning seemed endless.

The station manager truly didn’t want to speak anymore. He waved at A-Fu: “Go, go, while your mother is still lucid, let her make the plea to the gentlemen herself.”

A-Fu didn’t feel she was being given a hard time. Her expression joyful, she ran outside shouting: “Mother, Mother, the soldier gentlemen are here—”

Her voice was both sorrowful and joyful, touching the soldiers’ hearts, especially those who were older with wives and children.

Ah, they were all military families. What if they—

“This Yang Dachun is truly useless, allowing his wife and daughters to fall into such a state,” A-Jiu’s contemptuous voice interrupted. “Disgraceful.”

He drained the remaining wine in his bowl and strode outside.

Well then, they didn’t want to admit they too were useless or disgraceful. The soldiers shook off their softened hearts and hurried after him.