After the youth spoke, the other courier soldiers fell silent. The one who had been about to rise and help her also settled back into his seat, as if merely shifting to a more comfortable position.

The atmosphere became somewhat awkward.

The station master recognized this voice—it was the one who had first stopped the quarrel outside the relay station.

So young, the station master thought, but indeed he hadn’t been wrong—among this group, it was this youth who made the decisions. What was his background? Family connections? Or perhaps wealth—those with money and power were the masters, regardless of age.

This master didn’t seem easy to talk to.

The station master, who had always been smooth and followed the principle of avoiding trouble when possible, didn’t immediately chase the half-grown child out.

“What this child asks is actually an easy favor for you military gentlemen,” he said. “This child’s father is also a soldier.”

Hearing this, the courier soldiers’ expressions shifted slightly. Someone wanted to inquire, but after glancing at the youth, who was still holding his bowl and slowly drinking, seemingly not listening, the soldier who was about to speak swallowed his words back down.

The station master didn’t feel discouraged either. How could anything in this world be so easy—just cry a bit, call them heroes, and it’s done?

“Her father serves in the border commanderies. He hasn’t returned in three years. His wife’s health is poor, and she wanted to take their two children to seek refuge with relatives. But when they reached here, she became too ill to move. The physician said if she takes even one more step forward, there will only be a dead end,” the station master explained in detail. “So she wants to send the two children to find their husband. Otherwise, if she truly closes her eyes, these two children will have nowhere to turn and no one to rely on.”

Hearing this, the half-grown child kneeling to the side kowtowed again. This time she didn’t speak, only cried softly.

“You want us to take two children to the border commanderies?” a courier soldier couldn’t help but ask.

The station master nodded: “These two girls can’t make it to the border commanderies on their own, and they have no money to hire an escort or anything like that. So she entrusted them to me to watch over at the station—if there are duty soldiers going to the border commanderies, they could take them along.”

“But we’re urgent courier soldiers on the march—we can’t bring children,” the soldier said helplessly. “We can’t slow our pace. Missing the deadline means losing our heads.”

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

What could such young children learn, and girls at that—how could they truly 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 master said. “Since this opportunity has presented itself, I’m asking on their behalf.”

“Sending a message might be better,” a courier soldier said.

This was the Zhang-surnamed courier soldier who had been addressed as the leader.

The station master stepped forward and shook his head at him, lowering his voice: “That woman truly cannot be saved. She can only hold on for another half month at most. If we really wait until she dies, their money will also be exhausted. At that time, the two children will truly be finished.”

Is that so? The several courier soldiers exchanged glances, then looked again at the man still holding his wine bowl.

“A’Jiu, what do you think—” Zhang the courier soldier asked.

So the youth was called A’Jiu, the station master thought, watching as the youth took a drink, his expression showing not the slightest trace of emotion. However, he finally spoke: “There are many garrisons in the border commanderies. What’s this person’s name, how old is he, and which superior does he serve under?”

The station master was about to speak when the youth glanced at him: “Let her say it herself.”

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

“I’m called A’Fu,” the girl suppressed her crying and worked hard to make her voice clear. “My father is called Yang Dachun. He’s thirty-four this year. He’s in Yunzhong Commandery, Daqing Mountain Camp, stationed at the frontier garrison, serving under a general surnamed Chu—General Chu Wei.”

Upon hearing the four words “General Chu Wei,” the several courier soldiers couldn’t help but whisper among themselves: “He’s part of General Chu’s forces.” “It’s actually General Chu.”

Hearing their discussion, A’Fu raised her head hopefully: “Military sirs also know General Chu?”

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

The youth looked at the wine bowl in his hand, turning it, and asked: “Where are your father’s letters? You must be carrying them on you?”

A’Fu quickly felt inside her tattered padded jacket and pulled out a small cloth bundle. Carefully opening it, she revealed several letters inside: “Here they are.”

One could see how treasured these letters were, kept close to her body.

The youth extended his hand: “Let us have a look.”

The courier soldier beside him felt somewhat embarrassed and said to the youth in a low voice: “A’Jiu, reading other people’s letters isn’t right.”

“What’s wrong with it?” The youth didn’t care at all, his eyes looking toward A’Fu. “What unspeakable content could a common soldier’s family letters contain?”

A’Fu had already stood up, holding the small cloth bundle in both hands, placing the letters in the youth’s hands. The youth’s hands were slender with fair skin, but his palm bore a scar that crossed the entire width—quite fearsome.

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: “These are indeed the characters of those crude secretaries from the border commanderies—each character wishing it could be written as big as an egg, as if writing it larger would help the recipient recognize it.”

The courier soldiers also laughed, looking at the letters in their own hands. One soldier chimed in playfully: “Actually, it really works. I don’t know many characters, but when I see these large letters, I feel like 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 very quickly, his eyes scanning ten lines at once, finishing the family letter.

“The content is all correct,” Zhang the courier soldier understood the youth’s intention in reading the letters and leaned over to say in a low voice, pointing at the paper. “Between the lines, it all has the flavor of the border commanderies.”

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

The courier soldiers handed the letters back, watching as the girl carefully wrapped them up and placed them back in her bosom.

Only then did the station master step forward: “A’Fu also showed me these letters. I thought about sending a letter there, but letters going back and forth would waste time. It’s better to just take the two sisters directly.”

Zhang the courier soldier tapped on the table: “Going to the border commanderies is too far.”

“Take them as far as you can,” the station master said. “When they can’t walk anymore, they’ll stay at a relay station. Even so, Yang Dachun will be able to find them more quickly.”

As he spoke, he gave A’Fu, who was standing dumbly to the side, a meaningful look—this should be settled, quickly kneel down and kowtow and cry.

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

“Let’s go see this Lady Yang,” he said, his phoenix eyes sweeping over A’Fu and the station master, his expression half-smiling. “Let’s hear what she has to say. After all, this isn’t the station master’s family matter, nor is it something a child can decide.”

The station master couldn’t help but curse inwardly. This young man was so sharp and difficult—he didn’t look like someone from poverty, yet here he was doing the hard work of a courier soldier. Was he demoted here precisely because of this temperament?

You’re several grown military men with weapons and force—two twelve or thirteen-year-old girls under your very noses—can they kill someone or set fire to something?

This interrogation was going to be endless.

The station master really didn’t feel like talking anymore and waved at A’Fu: “Go, go. While your mother is still lucid, let her ask the military gentlemen herself.”

A’Fu didn’t feel she was being made difficult for. Her expression was joyful as she ran outside: “Mother, Mother, the military gentlemen are coming—”

Her voice was both sorrowful and joyful. Hearing it, several courier soldiers, especially the older ones with wives and children, felt their hearts ache.

Alas, they were all military families—if they thought about what would happen if they—

“This Yang Dachun is also worthless, letting his wife and daughters fall to this state,” A’Jiu’s disdainful voice rang out. “Truly disgraceful.”

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

Fine then. They didn’t want to admit they were also worthless, nor did they want to be disgraceful. The several courier soldiers shook off their soft-heartedness and sorrow and hurried to follow.