After keeping watch nearby for two days, Gao Dazhuang ordered Lou Mingyue to remain on standby while the others went in groups to gather intelligence.

Though they hadn’t received official orders, they couldn’t afford to be ignorant of the battle situation.

The Liao forces, primarily consisting of nomadic tribes, employed their usual tactics. Small cavalry units of no more than 500 men each raided the area, pillaging and burning villages as they went. In recent years, dozens of nearby settlements have fallen victim to these attacks.

The Song army still lacked an effective strategy against these mobile cavalry units. They often arrived too late, left only to deal with the aftermath.

Moreover, these Liao horsemen were exceptionally fierce, each capable of fighting ten men. Even 5,000 Song troops might struggle to fend off 500 Liao cavalry. Consequently, every encounter with this Liao tactic left the Song forces exhausted and demoralized, feeling as if they were being toyed with.

Sui Yunzhu believed that this year’s winter would be longer than usual. The Liao wouldn’t be satisfied with small-scale plundering and would likely attempt to capture several large cities to alleviate their resource shortages.

General Ling Ziyue shared this suspicion, which was why he had requested the emperor to send Konghejun assassins to assist. Though he acted solely for the benefit of the Song, he knew that such a request would only heighten the emperor’s suspicions. But what choice did he have? Over the years, he had trained many scouts, but these former peasants lacked martial arts skills and were of limited use. Meanwhile, the Liao spared no expense in deploying skilled warriors, making their cavalry nearly unstoppable.

“Ah, we’ll defend the Song for as long as we can,” Ling Ziyue sighed, standing in the wind and gazing at the distant grasslands beginning to turn green.

His deputy general, following behind, said, “But General, we’ve sent five or six memorials requesting supplies, and there’s been no response. We requested Konghejun assassins long ago, but there’s no sign of them either!”

“The Konghejun has already arrived,” Ling Ziyue replied.

The deputy general was surprised and looked around, asking, “Where?”

“With Zhao Ling,” Ling Ziyue said, gripping the sword at his waist and furrowing his brow. His voice was full of fatigue. “It seems they answer to Zhao Ling. If we can handle Zhao Ling properly, we might be able to use them to our advantage.”

As a loyal military commander who had guarded the border for over a decade and only returned home twice, being treated this way by the emperor was undoubtedly hurtful. But Ling Ziyue had long since accepted his role as a bulwark between Liao and Song. The Liao forces would have to pass over his dead body to advance.

The deputy general, hearing the underlying meaning in his words, felt his eyes growing moist. “When I was young, my mother urged me to study hard. I didn’t listen. Now I realize that without passing the imperial exams, one is considered useless for life, even if you shed blood for your country.”

“Haha!” Ling Ziyue laughed boisterously. He slapped the deputy general’s shoulder hard, causing him to stumble. “You’re almost thirty, yet you still talk like a green boy. How can you ever amount to anything?”

He turned back towards the main camp, with the deputy general following, rubbing his shoulder.

“All those scholarly types, who among them can face Liao’s iron cavalry?” Ling Ziyue joked. “The Song should send thousands of teachers to Liao instead. After I’m dead, their children will all become sour-faced Confucian disciples, too weak to even mount a horse. Only then will the Song truly be secure!”

“That’s a brilliant idea, General!” Mocking scholars was one of their favorite pastimes. The deputy general cheerfully added, “Come to think of it, studying is useful!”

“Of course it is!” Ling Ziyue roared with laughter.

An Jiu, peering out from behind a tree, watched their figures disappear into the camp.

Her keen eyesight allowed her to see strands of white hair on Ling Ziyue’s head, though he was still in his prime.

So the Song had such men too! Yet, before him lay the fierce Liao army, and behind him, the suspicion of the Song emperor and his court.

An Jiu had never seen how civil and military officials interacted, but she often heard scholars use terms like “brute” and “uncouth” when referring to military men, their contempt barely concealed. It was clear that military officials held a low status in the Song.

She stood there for a long while, feeling the urge to approach this man who could laugh so heartily despite his dire situation. In the end, she suppressed this impulse.

She infiltrated the camp at night and observed Ling Ziyue’s tent for an entire day.

True to his reputation as a seasoned commander, Ling Ziyue sensed someone watching, despite his spiritual energy being inferior to An Jiu’s.

He acted naturally, ordering increased security in the camp and carefully checking confidential documents. Finding no signs of tampering, he relaxed slightly.

At nightfall, he dismissed his attendants and stood alone in his tent, asking, “Are you an assassin from the Konghejun?”

An Jiu heard this question from afar but remained silent.

“If you’re one of us, show yourself. If not, don’t blame me for being ruthless!” Ling Ziyue’s spiritual energy surged suddenly, causing even An Jiu to startle.

Admiration aside, An Jiu never responded well to threats.

Ling Ziyue seemed to sense the observer for a moment, but the feeling vanished instantly, along with the sense of being watched.

He became more certain that the observer was a Konghejun assassin but couldn’t discern their intentions. Were they here to assist or to spy on him?

For the next two days, nothing unusual occurred in the camp.

On the fourth day, someone tossed a crumpled paper into the tent.

Ling Ziyue was studying a map when he noticed. By the time he reacted, the person had vanished. He hesitated before picking up and unfolding the paper. In scrawled writing, it read: “Xijin Prefecture, 150,000 Liao troops.”

At the bottom of the note was a lifelike crane seal.

Ling Ziyue had seen this seal long ago; it was part of the Konghejun assassin’s token! This news invigorated him, but out of caution, he sent people to verify the information while urgently preparing for battle.

Xijin Prefecture wasn’t far from Hejian Prefecture. The Liao secretly amassing 150,000 troops there signaled an imminent major offensive.

An Jiu left the camp and returned to Zhao Ling’s residence in Hejian Prefecture to meet with the others.

“Did you deliver it?” Gao Dazhuang asked.

“Yes,” An Jiu paused. “He sent people to verify and began preparations.”

“Good,” Gao Dazhuang yawned. “I thought we’d be risking our lives here, but it turns out we’re just idle.”

“We’re not idle. You refused orders,” An Jiu reminded him.

Gao Dazhuang glanced at her askance. “You look like you’re eager to go undercover?”

“With my sour face, like everyone owes me money, I lack that talent,” An Jiu leaned against the wall, her voice drifting from the shadows. “I have even less feminine charm than you.”