The night had already deepened. Wild birds flew overhead, phosphorescent light from rotting flesh flickering on their claws. Horse hooves struck the ice layer that had accumulated over thousands or tens of thousands of years, creating a tapping sound that seemed to strike one’s temples. The wind blew from the distance, carrying a dry and cold breath. The weather was getting colder. The north wind howled like a crazed tiger all day long. Chu Qiao sat astride her horse, shrinking her neck inward and licking her dry lips. She followed the distant lights ahead but didn’t draw too close.

After an unknown period, the procession finally stopped. Chu Qiao flipped off her horse, feeling the muscles on her face nearly frozen stiff, and numb. She rubbed her hands together, unloaded her baggage from the horse, opened the large bundle, and began collecting firewood.

At the same time, not far ahead in the mass of dark troops, plumes of cooking smoke also began to rise.

The fur curtain of Yan Xun’s tent moved, and A Jing entered with snow covering his head. Upon seeing a young general standing beside Yan Xun reporting something in a low voice, his expression immediately became unpleasant.

Yan Xun glanced at him lightly, his gaze indifferent, showing no discernible emotion. He just quietly listened to the man’s words, occasionally nodding. A Jing stood awkwardly at the entrance, his face slightly reddening. After a long while, he finally deliberately coughed and said loudly, “Your Highness, I have something to report.”

Yan Xun seemed to notice his presence only at this moment. He raised his head, looked at him indifferently, and then said calmly, “Wait outside.”

A Jing’s face suddenly turned even redder. He angrily looked at the person beside Yan Xun, who was bowing with a very respectful and humble demeanor. When A Jing entered, the man didn’t even raise his eyes, which instantly filled A Jing with anger. He answered with a muffled voice and then turned to walk out of the tent, his boots making loud thumping sounds on the ground.

Outside was extraordinarily cold. The north wind carried heavy snow, and the pine oil-soaked torches roared in the wind. A Jing stood at the entrance. The guards on both sides saw him but didn’t speak, only nodding slightly in greeting. A Jing felt a wave of discomfort. He no longer recognized anyone in the current imperial guard, and his position as the guard captain was becoming a mere formality.

After some time, A Jing was frozen to the point of jumping up and down on the spot, rubbing his hands and pacing back and forth. Suddenly, the curtain moved again, and the young officer in a neat dark blue uniform, with handsome features, walked out.

“Ahem… Pah!”

A Jing deliberately coughed and then spat forcefully at the officer’s feet, hitting the tip of his shoe. The officer immediately stopped, slowly turned his head, and met A Jing’s challenging gaze. The officer’s face was expressionless, his eyes dark, turning slightly, and then as if nothing had happened, he turned and walked into the thick darkness.

“Coward! Weakling!” A Jing shouted. “No wonder you wanted to be a deserter!”

The night was pitch black, and the man’s figure quickly disappeared. A Jing snorted a couple of times and then entered the tent.

Yan Xun was examining a map under the lamp and didn’t look up when he heard A Jing’s footsteps, only asking in a deep voice, “What is it?”

A Jing collected himself and quickly said, “Your Highness, the lady is still following behind. In such cold weather, without a tent for the night, she might…”

“What?” Yan Xun’s handsome brows slowly furrowed as he raised his head. His eyes were dark and deep, his voice low, and his tone stretched, but with several strands of obvious anger. He slowly said, “Didn’t you say she had already gone back?”

A Jing scratched his head and said quietly, “Yes, I saw the lady turn her horse back toward North Shuo, but who knew she would follow us again in the evening.”

“Useless!” Yan Xun slammed the map on the table in anger. “A group of men who can’t even keep an eye on one person.”

A Jing hung his head dejectedly, not speaking, but thought to himself: That’s your beloved; we dare not use force, we dare not bind her and send her back, she promised to escort us part of the way and then return, who knew she would follow us again?

Yan Xun turned and took the large fur coat from the rack, putting it on as he walked out. Seeing this, A Jing’s face brightened, and he hurriedly approached, eagerly saying, “Your Highness, I have prepared the horses for you. Let’s hurry, if we’re late, the lady might freeze. I was just saying, how could Your Highness not care for the lady? In Yan Bei, apart from you, the lady is the second most important person. The lady has shared hardships with you in Zhenhang; how can those ungrateful white-eyed wolves compare? I knew…”

However, before he finished speaking, he suddenly realized the person behind him hadn’t followed. He turned back and saw Yan Xun standing in the middle of the tent. The fire from the cylindrical lamp flickered on his face, making it shine brightly, with faint gray shadows dancing on his cheeks as if seen through an impenetrable fog.

“Your… Your Highness?”

A Jing called tentatively in a small voice. Yan Xun stood there, his gaze silent, his eyes like clouds drifting in the sky. Finally, he lowered his hand that was tying the fur coat’s strings and said calmly, “You take twenty guards and bring her here.”

“Ah?” A Jing stood dumbfounded with his mouth open, asking, “Your Highness, aren’t you going?”

Yan Xun didn’t speak, only turning away silently, removing his coat, and slowly walking to the desk. His fingers caressed the huge map of Yan Bei, and he remained silent for a long time.

Yan Xun’s figure was hidden among the layers of lamplight, the light so brilliant it was difficult to look at directly. For a moment, A Jing suddenly felt his vision blur. Looking at Yan Xun’s back, he suddenly remembered many years ago in the Sacred Gold Palace, on a bright morning, when the emperor of Da Xia slowly emerged from the many palace halls. He knelt in the middle of the crowd, secretly raising his head, almost blinded by the golden dragon robe.

“Yes, I obey your command.”

A Jing acknowledged, but as he was about to leave, he heard Yan Xun’s deep voice: “In the future, without announcement, do not enter the main tent unauthorized.”

The young Yan Bei warrior silently nodded, no longer as lively as before, responding formally, “Yes, I obey your command.”

When Chu Qiao followed A Jing into the camp, Yan Xun had already retired. She stared blankly at Yan Xun’s darkened tent. Feng Zhi ran over, appearing somewhat anxious, and said, “His Highness has traveled all day and must be very tired.”

“Hmm,” Chu Qiao nodded, showing no particular emotion, simply saying quietly, “Then I’ll go back first.”

By the time she returned to her tent, her hands and feet were already numb from the cold. A Jing brought people to eagerly deliver hot water to her. Although most of the soldiers didn’t know her, they had heard of her name and deeds, so they all gathered outside, peering in until A Jing scolded them away.

After a while, the curtain moved, and a small head peeked in from outside, smiling and saying, “Lord Chu!”

“Ping’an?” Chu Qiao was slightly surprised. Du Ping’an was wearing a small-sized military uniform, and in the few days since she had last seen him, he seemed to have grown taller. After the North Shuo battle had concluded, she had fallen ill and hadn’t been able to look after him. She hadn’t expected to see him here today and quickly asked, “What are you doing here?”

“I’ve joined the army.”

“You? Joined the army?” Chu Qiao was taken aback. “How old are you?”

“My Lord, don’t look down on me. General A Jing just gave the order that from now on, Ping’an will be the lady’s orderly. You can assign me any chores.”

Orderly? That’s good; at least he won’t have to go to the battlefield. Chu Qiao smiled slightly, rubbed the child’s head, and said, “Go tell A Jing I thank him.”

“The general isn’t on night duty tonight; it’s Lord Cheng who’s on duty.”

Chu Qiao’s eyebrows lifted slightly. A Jing was Yan Xun’s guard, always his most loyal protector. How could he not be on night duty? She asked, “Lord Cheng? Which Lord Cheng?”

“I don’t know,” Ping’an was still a child after all, and childishly wrinkled his brow. “I just know that lord’s surname is Cheng.”

“Oh,” Chu Qiao nodded. “It’s getting late; you should go back and rest first.”

Ping’an replied with a clear voice, seeming very happy, and bounced out of the door. Chu Qiao watched his receding figure and suddenly felt somewhat sad. If this were in modern times, a child his age would still be carrying a schoolbag, hiding in his parents’ arms to cry and throw tantrums when troubles arose. But here, he had to prematurely shoulder the responsibility of caring for his sister, living a life on the edge of danger.

After washing her face, the previously scalding water had already cooled somewhat. She took off her boots with some difficulty; it was painful. Her feet were already swollen from the cold, a mix of red and purple. They began to itch as soon as they were warmed by the fire. She took a deep breath, ate some of the dried rations that had just been delivered, and then leaned against the warm bedding, slightly lost in thought.

The events of that day had indeed left a rift in their hearts. Despite how impassive she appeared and how hard Yan Xun tried to adjust and make amends, some things were like porcelain—once broken, no remedy could truly fix them. At best, they could be gilded and embellished to maintain appearances.

Because of her illness, Yan Xun had delayed the army’s departure for a full two days. During these two days, he stayed by her sickbed day and night, feeding her, bringing her water, and even personally brewing medicine, attentive to the point of making those around them fearful. However, when Chu Qiao proposed to accompany the army, he still decisively refused. His reasons were so compelling that they were almost irrefutable. But no matter how much those words seemed to be for her good, how reasonable they seemed, Chu Qiao’s mind kept replaying Yan Xun’s words from that day: “If they violate military law again in the future, I won’t be lenient anymore.”

This was a warning, but how could one be certain it wasn’t also a signal? Chu Qiao felt guilty for thinking this way. Since when had she become so wary of him? Except for that day, Yan Xun was still as good to her as ever, so good that Chu Qiao almost believed that day had been just a dream. Yet when the army departed, she was fully armored, blocking the city gate, kneeling on one knee and pleading to join the military campaign, and Yan Xun became angry.

This was the first time he had ever been angry with her. He didn’t rage or shout, but looked at her for a long time, as if seeing many things through her thin shoulders. Finally, he simply asked, “Achu, what are you worried about?” Then, before she could answer, he rode past her without even looking back.

The soldiers surrounded her, demanding she return to the mansion immediately. She quietly watched Yan Xun’s departing figure, suddenly feeling a sense of desolation in her heart. He understood everything, knew everything; his mind was so complex. He asked her, what are you worried about? But Yan Xun, what about you? What are you worried about?

She eventually followed. As he had said, she was worried. Yes, she was worried about him. She feared he would kill all the Southwestern Garrison commanders. On the battlefield, there were too many ways to silently and tracelessly eliminate a unit. The Southwestern Garrison officers and soldiers had risked everything to follow her; she couldn’t let them die in such an unclear manner.

Perhaps she was being suspicious, but Yan Xun, since you know what I fear, why don’t you make me a promise? Or is it that you simply don’t dare, and what I fear is already part of your plans?

The charcoal on the ground burned quietly. This was high-quality white charcoal, emitting only a faint, nearly invisible smoke. Chu Qiao stared fixedly at it, her eyes gradually becoming dry and painful. Her illness had not fully healed, and she had traveled all day in the cold wind, fatigue washing over her like a tide. Wearing a white single layer of clothing, she curled up on the bed, blew out the candle, and quietly fell asleep.

Outside, the moon shone brightly, illuminating the snow-covered ground in a white glow. Inside the tent, however, it was pitch black. The wind howled; on the flat ground without a single tree, only the cry of night hawks could be heard, cutting sharply through the quiet night sky.

After some unknown time, in the pitch darkness, a cold sensation suddenly touched her feet. Chu Qiao, with her eyes closed, frowned slightly, and then as if electrified, she suddenly sat up and coldly demanded, “Who’s there?”

In the darkness, a tall figure sat at the foot of the bed. The man wore soft cloth clothing, and in the faint light, one could vaguely see the contours of his eyebrows and eyes. He sat there, his palm gently holding her frostbitten foot, with a bowl placed on the edge of the bed, emitting a strong medicinal fragrance.

“Awake?”

Yan Xun said quietly, then stood up to light the candle. The warm yellow firelight illuminated his face, revealing a calm and serene aura. He sat back down, extended his slender fingers, dipped them in the medicine, and carefully applied it to her chilblains. His fingertips were gentle, like a soft breeze, lightly brushing across her fingertips and the back of her foot. Yan Xun didn’t look up, his eyes like a cold pond, undisturbed as he said, “Your feet need to be treated with medicine every day. In the military camp, unlike at home where you have maids to attend to you, things are complicated here. Don’t forget to take care of yourself when you get busy.”

The medicine was cool and felt very comfortable on her skin. Chu Qiao’s feet were small and lovely, revealing a section of snow-white calf above. Yan Xun applied the medicine with one hand while holding her ankle with the other, his voice like water, gently washing away the awkwardness and unspoken words between them.

“Hmm, I understand.” Chu Qiao nodded, lightly biting her lip, not knowing what else to say. She recalled those years in the palace when, every winter, her feet would get frostbite, red and swollen, festering and oozing. In the worst times, she couldn’t even stand. In those early days, they had no medicine for wounds, so Yan Xun would rub alcohol on them, and when he saw she was in great pain, he would joke about getting her drunk so she wouldn’t feel the pain. Back then, Yan Xun’s eyes would curve, as if stars had shattered within them, sparkling brightly. Even now, every night, she could still dream of how he looked then, so clearly that she had almost forgotten what he looked like now.

“Rest well.” After applying the medicine, Yan Xun stood up, holding the bowl, and said, “I’ll leave now.”

“Yan Xun…”

Just as Yan Xun turned, he found the hem of his clothing held by a delicate white hand. That hand was so thin, with slender fingers, white as if transparent. Hearing her voice, his heart suddenly softened. He turned back, looked into Chu Qiao’s eyes, and quietly asked, “What is it?”

“Are you angry with me?”

Yan Xun looked at her and calmly asked in return, “Should I be angry?”

Chu Qiao was slightly breathless; the tent was stuffy. She bit her lip and then said, “I don’t know.”

The atmosphere suddenly turned cold. Neither of them spoke, and an awkward feeling flowed through the air. Yan Xun stood tall, his hair jet black, his eyes like black jasper, quietly gazing at her. Chu Qiao’s face was pale; she finally slowly raised her head, looked into Yan Xun’s eyes, tugged at his sleeve, and said softly, “Will you let me follow you? Please?”

Yan Xun stood silently for a long time. He looked at Chu Qiao’s face without speaking, many emotions flashing through his mind, making it impossible for him to grasp his truest self. The Yan Bei regime had risen too quickly, and now it was like sailing against the current—every step required careful caution. He frowned, silently considering his plans and strategies, filtering and selecting one by one. Finally, he spoke, “Achu, do you know what Yan Bei’s greatest hidden danger is right now?”

Chu Qiao looked up but didn’t answer because she knew that at this moment, she wasn’t expected to reply. Sure enough, Yan Xun answered his question, “Warlords dividing territory, each acting independently, Da Tong’s power deeply entrenched, military orders unstable, everyone having their commander to whom they are loyal—these are Yan Bei’s fatal flaws.”

Yan Xun reached out his hand, tucking Chu Qiao’s hair behind her ear, and said, “These all need reorganization and purging. Although bloody, it’s a necessary path for a regime to establish itself. There’s no right or wrong; it’s the circumstances forcing me to take this route. I don’t want you to be involved in it. Do you understand?”

Chu Qiao nodded, “I understand, Yan Xun. I don’t command troops; I just want to be by your side.”

Hearing Chu Qiao’s words, Yan Xun was visibly surprised. He had thought Chu Qiao followed to lead the Southwestern Garrison, and he couldn’t quite discern her intentions. Yet a warm ripple rose slowly in his heart. He nodded and said gently, “That’s good.”

Yan Xun let go of her hand and prepared to leave, putting on his blue cotton cloak. His body seemed somewhat thin. Chu Qiao watched him, suddenly feeling a bitter ache in her heart. She bit her lip and said, “Yan Xun, do you trust me?”

Yan Xun’s footsteps stopped, but he didn’t turn around. His voice, like gentle ocean waves on fine sand, softly rose.

“Achu, I have never doubted you. I only hope to protect you from trouble before chaos arrives, nothing more.”

The tent curtain swayed slightly, and his shadow flashed and disappeared. Chu Qiao sat on the bed, suddenly losing all drowsiness.

As the night watch sounded, everything was quiet and peaceful. She recalled words from many years ago when they promised each other: no secrets, always honest, never letting misunderstandings and barriers stand between them. Unfortunately, this could only remain a dream. In this world, there are many things one cannot tell others, especially those who love you.

She should trust him, Chu Qiao silently bit her lip. If she couldn’t trust him, whom could she trust?

She tried to convince herself, then lay down. Before closing her eyes, she vaguely saw again that day in the square—a row of severed heads, blood splashing, a scene of complete chaos.

After traveling for seven consecutive days, they finally reached the Blood Mallow River in Yao Province. The main camp was built against a mountain, with two hundred thousand troops stationed there. Looking from afar, it was a vast expanse of armored color.

Chu Qiao’s abandonment of the command of the Southwestern Garrison was not without reason. After the North Shuo battle, Chu Qiao’s reputation in Yan Bei nearly rivaled Yan Xun’s. The army also had much praise for her, and with her years of following Yan Xun, she had implicitly become the second-in-command in Yan Bei. The Southwestern Garrison, as the rebel army that directly led to Yan Shi City’s defeat years ago, evoked extremely complex emotions among the Yan Bei people—both years of resentment and gratitude for their defense of Yan Bei—and these emotions could easily be exploited by others.

The Southwestern Garrison’s loyalty to Chu Qiao was known throughout the world. If she continued to lead this unit, Yan Xun would lose command of the Southwestern Garrison, and this force would become her de facto personal army—something no emperor could tolerate. Therefore, she had to relinquish military power and stand by Yan Xun’s side. This way, if anything happened, she would have a neutral position, which would be beneficial for both the Southwestern Garrison and herself.

Her thinking was very sound, but when she saw the new commander of the Southwestern Garrison, she was stunned. Her brows furrowed tighter, her gaze is sharp as a knife. The young general in a blue uniform smiled politely at her and quietly said, “Lord Chu, it’s been a long time.”

“General Cheng.” Chu Qiao’s gaze was icy as she sneered, slowly saying, “Since our parting at North Shuo, General Xue Zhiyuan died tragically, and General Cheng followed General Xia An away. I thought I’d never have the chance to see your golden face again in this lifetime, but to meet you here today is truly a delightful surprise.”

Cheng Yuan smiled slightly and calmly said, “Life is full of unexpected encounters; the lady and I must be fated to meet.”

Chu Qiao snorted coldly, turned, and walked toward Yan Xun’s tent, saying coldly as she went, “He Xiao, watch the troops. Before I return, no one is allowed to interfere with the Southwestern Garrison!”

“Yes!” He Xiao responded loudly.

The cold wind blew on Chu Qiao’s face, her angry cheeks flushed red.

General Xue, I can finally avenge you!