“This must be Xie Yanlai bewitching the Emperor,” Seventh Master Xie asserted confidently.

Xie Yanfang, who had just returned home from court and changed into casual robes, sat leisurely by the window. Hearing this, he smiled.

“A-Yu is genuinely worried about Lady A-Zhao,” he said.

Seventh Master Xie certainly knew about the young Emperor’s feelings for Chu Zhao. That girl had saved Xiao Yu, and the orphaned child had imprinted on her like a fledgling bird.

Children were such trouble—unable to distinguish who was truly family, unaware of their status and position. Gratitude for saving one’s life should be repaid by treating her as a loyal subject, while one’s true affection should be reserved for the Xie family.

It wasn’t that the Emperor didn’t show affection—he was blindly attached to that son of a concubine. A concubine’s son was no good thing; given the opportunity, such a person would only seek to soar high.

“Even if A-Yu asked him to go, his duty should have been to dissuade him,” Seventh Master Xie angrily slapped the table. “If he couldn’t dissuade him, he should have come to tell you. But instead, he only knows how to flatter and please—whatever the child says, he does! Is being the most trusted person in the eyes of a child Emperor something to boast about? Preposterous!”

Xie Yanfang looked at the table and said, “It’s not necessarily flattery. He also wants to go.”

Seventh Master Xie was momentarily stunned, as if he hadn’t understood: “Go where?”

Xie Yanfang raised his head and said, “Yanlai’s concern for Lady A-Zhao is no less than A-Yu’s. After all, compared to A-Yu, he has known Lady A-Zhao for much longer.”

Seventh Master Xie made a sound of realization, blinked a few times, seemingly understanding yet not fully comprehending, and slapped the table again: “Even more despicable—flattering both the Emperor and Chu Yi! Does he truly believe these two are his backers? Ridiculous.”

The young Emperor was still a child with a long road ahead and many changes to come. Being in his favor now didn’t guarantee the same two or three years later.

As for Chu Yi, his life would end this year.

Xie Yanfang smiled slightly: “Three actually—there’s also Lady A-Zhao.”

Chu Zhao—what would she amount to without Chu Yi? This Chu Zhao, like Xie Yanlai and Deng Yi, was all undeserving of their good fortune. Before Seventh Master Xie could speak further, Xie Yanfang waved his hand.

“Things have already come to this point, Uncle Seven, no need to say more,” he said. “His Majesty’s decision is for the best. Lady A-Zhao’s safety is of paramount importance, and besides, Yanlai is the most suitable candidate. Otherwise, who else could go?”

He looked at Seventh Master Xie, as if making a joke.

“Me perhaps?”

Indeed, it was amusing. Seventh Master Xie burst into laughter, his anger completely dissipating. He stood up: “You should get back to your business. I’m just angry that these people always act on their own initiative. The country is unstable; they shouldn’t be stirring up more trouble.”

Xie Yanfang said, “No need to be angry. Ever since the Crown Prince passed away and the late Emperor departed, the country has been destined to be unstable these few years. We’ll face each challenge as it comes; it will all pass eventually.”

Seventh Master Xie nodded and took his leave.

Xie Yanfang didn’t immediately bend over his work. Instead, he stared into space for a moment, then nodded: “If he’s worried, he goes to see her. It’s really that simple.”

With that, he smiled again and lowered his head to look at the letter paper spread on his desk. He had already written half of it, expressing his concerns. The next part should be persuasion—

Xie Yanfang picked up his brush, then put it down again, calling out for Du Qi.

Du Qi entered from outside.

Xie Yanfang stood up, stretched his arms, and pointed to the desk: “It’s finished. Send the letter.”

Du Qi went over to package the letter, glanced at the content, and couldn’t help asking: “Young Master, have you finished writing?”

This was the content written before they went out, and he had been watching them. The young master had said he would continue writing upon their return.

Xie Yanfang was walking toward the inner chamber and responded with a sound of affirmation.

Very well. It wasn’t his place to dictate how the young master handled his affairs. Writing half a letter must have its purpose. Du Qi finished packaging the letter, and as he was about to leave, Xie Yanfang turned back.

“Be quick,” he said. “As fast as possible.”

……

……

The Emperor’s decrees, military reports, and official gazettes spread throughout Great Xia through courier soldiers, carrier pigeons, official channels, merchants, travelers, and various private means.

Although still far from the border counties with no sign of war, Chen County visibly tensed across its entire territory, especially within the military camps.

In this relatively small garrison, horses galloped day and night.

At the first light of dawn, Chu Zhao stood outside the tent and saw an officer passing by. Recognizing him as the one responsible for dispatch reports, she quickly called out: “Is there any latest news?”

The officer dismounted and, not concealing the information, respectfully said: “The King of Western Liang has added another ten thousand troops.”

This meant that the King of Western Liang wasn’t merely making a show but was truly preparing for war. Chu Zhao thanked the officer.

The officer saw her frowning and looking toward the border counties, and couldn’t help adding: “Miss, Yunzhong Commandery is truly dangerous now. Although defenses are tight, many scattered soldiers from Western Liang have infiltrated, burning, killing, and looting everywhere. Yunzhong has implemented a scorched earth policy. You really shouldn’t head that way.”

The day the Chen County garrison arrived, Chu Zhao had asked them to handle the cleanup and investigation afterward rather than stay. She had intended to continue forward immediately, but before they’d gone far, a courier from Chen County caught up, reporting that the King of Western Liang was harassing the border counties.

So Chu Zhao had stayed.

She remained to understand the latest news and movements, then determine a new route to race toward Yunzhong Commandery.

Chu Zhao thanked him but didn’t say she wouldn’t go: “The soldiers and people of Yunzhong Commandery don’t fear the Western Liang troops, and neither do we.”

The officer looked behind Chu Zhao, where a group of—not quite guard-like guards—had gathered. These guards were also staring at him, and when he looked over, they scattered their gazes like startled animals—

If not for being in a military camp, the officer believed these people would have scattered in all directions.

The officer had long seen through the identity of these people—aside from their aura, many of their wanted posters hung outside the government offices in town. Although they covered themselves with rags, claiming to hide injuries after seeing officials, how could that truly conceal anything?

However, since this young lady said they were her guards, he wouldn’t question it.

The officer said to Chu Zhao: “Miss, your guards still aren’t enough, but we have no troops to allocate to you. We just received orders from the court that all garrisons must strictly defend their territories.”

They found this order somewhat strange. By reason, some troops should have been dispatched to aid the border counties.

Chu Zhao wasn’t surprised. Compared to the crisis at the border counties, the Prince of Zhongshan posed a greater threat. That’s why the court ordered all local garrisons to remain in place. Because if the Prince of Zhongshan suddenly made his move, the crisis would shift from the border counties to the capital.

This was also why she had paused to await news and readjust her route—not out of fear of the Western Liang conflict, but concern about the Prince of Zhongshan’s interception and attacks.

Of course, she couldn’t explain these details to the soldiers here, lest it cause panic. Chu Zhao thanked the officer again: “I understand. I’ll consider carefully.”

The officer said no more and galloped away.

Watching the officer ride away, Ding Dachui, standing near a tent not far off, also breathed a sigh of relief, though his posture remained tense.

“Quite interesting,” someone beside him muttered, “to think we’re staying in a military camp.”

Ding Dachui turned to look at the speaker, seeing it was another bandit leader, Ge Laosan. Their eyes met, creating an awkward moment.

Of the three bandit camps on Luoying Mountain, Chang Laizi had sought his death and was killed, while Ge Laosan, like himself, had been beaten into submission.

Now the two were in the same boat, so despite the awkwardness, Ge Laosan gave him a meaningful look and stepped away first.

When Ding Dachui came looking for him, only Ge Laosan was in the tent; the others had been sent outside to keep watch.

Ge Laosan was staring at a map.

“Can you even read that? You don’t know a single character,” Ding Dachui said.

Ge Laosan flipped the map over and pressed it against the table: “I may not recognize words, but I have ears. Enough idle talk—let’s discuss what to do now.”

He looked at Ding Dachui.

“Are we going to be her guards?”

At the time, they had accompanied the girl down the mountain under the guise of kind-hearted hunters, and then officials had arrived.

Seeing the officials had given them quite a fright.

Even more shocking was that the girl hadn’t introduced these kind-hearted mountain hunters to the officials but directly said they were all her guards.

This statement was more alarming because it indicated that the girl had seen through their fake hunter identities.

If she had called them hunters, the local officials would have investigated—

Their wanted posters were still hanging in town with bounties on their heads.

When the girl said they were guards, the officials didn’t give them a second glance. Even if they noticed something unusual, they were tactful enough not to mention it.

In those days, they had seen more clearly that this girl’s identity was indeed extraordinary. Even the proper officers in the military camp hurried to salute her first when they saw her.

This girl’s background was indeed a big business opportunity, but it was a business they couldn’t engage in.

“She wants to go to Yunzhong Commandery. Western Liang has already attacked there—going there is suicide,” Ge Laosan said in a low voice. “Even if she has great wealth and power in Yunzhong, when the Western Liang troops pass through like locusts, everything will be gone.”

Ding Dachui had naturally thought of this too and remained silent for a moment: “What else can we do?”

“Of course we should leave,” Ge Laosan said softly. “Leave this place, find another mountain. That way, all this talk of guards and new bosses—”

Before he could finish, they heard a cough.

The cough was gentle, but to their ears, it was like a thunderclap.

In an instant, their breathing froze. They couldn’t move or turn to look, just stood rigid in place.

“A few days without seeing you, and you’re already thinking of me?”

A woman’s voice asked as she slowly walked over, bringing a gust of wind with her.

The people outside—how had there been no warning?

Their most trusted brothers had surrounded the entire tent.

How had there not even been a cough as a warning—

Ge Laosan and Ding Dachui swayed as if blown over by the wind she brought, falling with a thud to sit down, stiffly turning to look at the woman standing before them.

The woman wore a gray cloth dress with her hair tied up in a headscarf, without a rain hat or veil—but her face was covered with a face cloth.

They finally saw her appearance, though only her eyes.

The woman’s eyes were like autumn waters—Ding Dachui didn’t know why this phrase came to mind, nor did he know what autumn waters looked like.

“B-Boss,” Ge Laosan stuttered, his voice faltering but his movements agile as he pulled out the stool from under his backside. “Please sit.”

The woman walked over with light steps and sat down, half-leaning against the table, looking at the two of them without speaking. But her eyes spoke volumes—meaningful, reproachful, warning, coquettish, murderous.

Coquettish? Ding Dachui shuddered. That was his imagination; his mind was in disarray.

Before this woman, they could not resist—not just because of her gaze, but her real skill.

“Once a boss, always a boss,” Ding Dachui gritted his teeth and said. “We harbored disloyal thoughts. Kill us or skin us as you wish.”

Ge Laosan swallowed, wanting to say something in explanation or to beg for mercy, but facing those gentle eyes, he couldn’t utter a single word.

The woman said: “There’s no principle that says once a boss, always a boss. Whether I can be a boss is my own business, nothing to do with you. You’re right not to want me as your boss.”

What? Ding Dachui and Ge Laosan were both stunned. What did she mean? They looked at her, trying to detect some mockery, threat, or something else, but found nothing.

Looking into this woman’s eyes, they felt that what she said was correct and sincere. Far from raising their guard, they didn’t even want to think—

“Following me is dangerous. In one night, you lost half your men,” the woman continued, her fingers lightly tapping the table. “Going forward, it will be even more dangerous. I’m using you as weapons, and there’s no way out for you.”

You understand that clearly, Ding Dachui thought to himself.

“But then again, you were already things with no way out,” the woman looked at them, spreading her hands as she spoke.

Was she insulting them? How could she make insults sound so pleasing? Ding Dachui didn’t feel angry at all, and looking at Ge Laosan beside him, he was nearly nodding in agreement.

“As bandits, you couldn’t even defeat other bandits—no way out. As hunters, the government gave you no way out.”

“You need to recognize yourselves. Either you had nowhere to turn, or you were lazy and chose this dead end.”

“All paths lead to death, so why be picky?”

With each persuasive and reasonable word the woman spoke, Ge Laosan couldn’t help but nod along. Ding Dachui also gave a bitter smile: “You’re right.” He cupped his fists. “We’re willing to be your blades, ready to die at any time or place.”

The woman nodded, her eyes full of a smile.

“However, when you truly become good blades, you won’t die,” she said softly. “The person wielding the blade will die, but the blade won’t. At that time, the blade can find a new master, one who will respectfully hold it, view it as a divine weapon, for protection, to guard the home, to pass down through generations. In that case—”

Ge Laosan, either entranced or delirious, blurted out: “In that case, we won’t have to die?”

The woman looked at him and shook her head: “You’ll still die.” She smiled again and said, “We will all die. Living is just waiting to die. The only difference is the process of waiting.”

Ge Laosan was dumbfounded again.

Ding Dachui came to his senses and said to the woman: “Boss, I understand your meaning completely. You are indeed someone who does big business, with great vision and aspirations. Ding Dachui is willing to follow you and experience this process of waiting for death.”

Though he didn’t fully understand, in this critical moment between life and death, Ge Laosan hurriedly nodded in agreement: “Me too.”

The woman looked at them, smiled, nodded, and sighed lightly: “What great vision and aspirations? To put it plainly, it’s just doing business to make a living.”

People with great vision and aspirations were always humble, Ding Dachui thought. Chang Laizi had merely occupied one more mountain camp than he and Ge Laosan, yet he smugly believed himself invincible, and as a result, he died.

“But don’t worry, you won’t be alone on this journey,” the woman continued. “Our family business isn’t very large, but we have many people.”

Now it’s “our family,” Ding Dachui thought. This woman could be a boss, not just because of her lethal whip. Think about the series of words since she entered—a stick in one hand and a sweet date in the other—who could resist?

“That young lady—” he thought for a moment and said.

Just as he opened his mouth, they heard someone outside sneeze forcefully—

With that sneeze, the seated woman abruptly stood up, and simultaneously, a clear female voice came from outside.

The voice, curious and amused: “Oh, is sneezing also a kind of signal? That’s a good idea! A-Le, take note. We should use this in the future.”

That young lady!

Ding Dachui cursed inwardly. The old saying was true: speak not of others behind their backs. Today was truly like seeing a ghost—speak of someone, and they appear.