Given the current situation, Ling Ziyue was determined to destroy the enemy’s exploding crossbows to eliminate this unfair advantage in battle.

The Liao army was already stronger than the Song forces. If the exploding crossbows couldn’t be destroyed, Ling Ziyue would have to lament that “Heaven wants to destroy the Great Song!”

“Dismantling weapons isn’t a problem, but the issue is…” Lou Xiaowu shifted uncomfortably, “My martial arts skills aren’t very good, and more importantly…”

Ling Ziyue listened attentively.

“I need to eat a lot,” Lou Xiaowu whispered, her face flushing to the tips of her ears.

Mo Sigui glared at her, feeling like her words made him sound abusive.

Ling Ziyue smiled. As long as Lou Xiaowu had real skills, everything else was manageable. “I’ll have the kitchen prepare a whole roasted lamb right away. Last month, we intercepted two Liao nomad groups and obtained some young lambs. They’re very tender.”

Lou Xiaowu’s mouth watered, and she nodded eagerly despite trying to maintain a dignified appearance.

After arranging accommodations for the two, Ling Ziyue headed to his tent. He needed to check on the mysterious expert, as no one else could infiltrate the Liao army undetected. The task of dismantling the crossbows would still rely on his abilities.

Chu Dingjiang gave Ling Ziyue an impression summed up in two words: mysterious. Wrapped in a black robe, he sounded relatively young, no more than middle-aged, yet conversing with him felt like speaking to a highly respected elder.

Back at the tent, Ling Ziyue saw An Jiu still standing guard inside with her bow. He asked quietly, “How are the shadow guard’s injuries?”

Chu Dingjiang had said he was fine, but he hadn’t emerged yet. Given An Jiu’s way of thinking, she wouldn’t consider that Chu Dingjiang might be lying to comfort her, but would only think, “He needs time to recover.”

“That’s good,” Ling Ziyue said, not yet mentioning his request for assistance. He turned to order his subordinates to prepare a feast.

The Liao army’s hasty retreat was entirely due to the shock from Chu Dingjiang and An Jiu’s arrow. While Ling Ziyue felt relieved, he took no joy in this victory.

He temporarily moved to another tent, carefully considering the mysterious shadow guard’s words.

Perhaps he had been too concerned with appearances, leading to the Emperor’s wariness of him. But even if he could relive those moments, he couldn’t guarantee he’d act in a way that wouldn’t arouse the Emperor’s suspicion. The shadow guard was right about one thing: if his intentions were truly for the country and its people, he shouldn’t worry too much about his reputation. Sometimes, it wasn’t necessary to consider the court’s or Emperor’s opinions too heavily. Under the court’s oppression, his attempts to please everyone had only brought him frustration, without earning him more respect or trust from the court. As long as he could defend the border, he should be assertive when needed and use strategy when appropriate, rather than blindly following orders. How many more years could he, Ling Ziyue, protect the Great Song?

Enough! History would judge his merits and faults. He should only ensure his conscience was clear before heaven and earth!

Tossing and turning until midnight, Ling Ziyue got up, threw on some clothes, and wrote a memorial. Its main points were: The border lacks supplies. Soldiers count grains of rice at each meal, starving and unable to continue. If supplies aren’t sent soon, we might as well all lay down our arms and return home! Let whoever wants to guard the border come do it. I quit!

After writing, the long-suppressed frustration suddenly dissipated. He read it over many times, then gritted his teeth. He summoned a messenger and ordered it sent to Bianjing with utmost urgency.

In reality, Ling Ziyue wasn’t exaggerating. They were carefully rationing every meal, fearing they wouldn’t last until the next supply delivery from the court. The court was slow, but he couldn’t wait until they were counting grains before requesting help.

After sending the memorial, Ling Ziyue thought of his fallen loyal officers and all the large and small battles fought over the years guarding the border. Unable to sleep, he went outside for some air.

After standing outside the tent for a while, he was about to return when he noticed a figure standing like a statue, holding a bow at the entrance of the other tent. He paused, then walked over.

“Miss, please rest. I’ll have someone replace you,” Ling Ziyue said, wondering why there weren’t other shadow guards to take shifts.

An Jiu pressed her lips tightly and shook her head. She planned to keep watch for another hour, and if Chu Dingjiang still showed no signs of movement, she would call Mo Sigui to check on him.

“If you need anything, just let me know,” Ling Ziyue said. He had lost countless officers and soldiers, and even the toughest men couldn’t help but be moved. Being able to help a comrade was a luxury for him.

“Miss, your heaven-shaking arrow turned the tide of battle. I deeply admire your skill,” Ling Ziyue said, still recalling how that arrow had made his blood churn and felt like it would shatter his internal organs. “I thank you and all the shadow guards once again.”

Both the exploding crossbows and An Jiu’s arrow far exceeded Ling Ziyue’s imagination. He considered himself well-informed, yet the warriors of both countries kept surprising him. It felt like divine intervention, making Ling Ziyue acutely aware of his insignificance and weakness.

This was also one of the reasons he dared to pressure the court. They were already not very strong, and if they remained overly cautious, how could they resist powerful enemies and protect the Great Song with their meager strength?

An Jiu couldn’t guess Ling Ziyue’s thoughts but could sense his emotions.

After a moment of silence, just as Ling Ziyue sighed and prepared to leave, An Jiu said, “I rarely admire anyone, but the General has earned my respect.”

Ling Ziyue stopped and turned back. “I don’t deserve your admiration.”

An Jiu met his gaze, noticing that the General’s aura seemed weaker than when they first met. Displeased, she said coldly, “In terms of martial arts, you’re only at the eighth or ninth level. The Konghe Army has many such warriors. But we are ghosts who can’t see the light of day. You are the sun. If you can’t illuminate the Great Song, it’s better to disappear early rather than give people false hope.”

Her words were harsh, and while Ling Ziyue understood the meaning behind them, he disagreed with her view. “Hope and anticipation lead to a future. I will do my utmost to fight for a glimmer of hope for the people of the Great Song, even if it seems false.”

People would always be drawn to that glimmer of hope and strive tirelessly towards it. As more people gathered, they might just turn that hope into reality.

“It’s like being on the verge of starvation in a desert, and someone tells you there’s food ten miles ahead. You’d use your last bit of strength to reach it,” Ling Ziyue said, shaking off his momentary self-doubt. He realized how pointless his earlier thoughts had been and smiled. “Perhaps after those ten miles, there’s another ten miles. As long as we keep the thought of food ahead in our minds, we can go further. Maybe along the way, we’ll find a real chance for survival.”

An Jiu fell into deep thought. Ling Ziyue’s explanation was simple and easy to understand. She agreed with it but wondered why she hadn’t thought of it herself.

“This year, the Liao army breached two of the Great Song’s border cities, capturing over 70,000 Song people, mostly women and children. Not to mention the grain, gold, and silver…” Ling Ziyue sighed, wanting to say more but ultimately holding back.

The Liao state was divided into southern and northern administrations, with the southern mainly governing the Han people. Liao’s harsh climate couldn’t support too many people, with many dying during the long winters each year. A border city or two wasn’t worth dispersing their forces to engage with the Song army. The Liao had always had their eyes on the fertile lands south of the Yellow River.

Ling Ziyue heard footsteps and turned to see Mo Sigui approaching leisurely in a long robe, well-fed and content, flanked by two plump half-grown tigers. One of them excitedly bounded towards An Jiu, its fat rolls jiggling.

The tiger bit at her trouser leg and rolled around. She bent down and scooped it up with one arm.

Lying in her arms, the tiger immediately stopped fussing, contentedly narrowing its eyes and even opening its big mouth to yawn.

“General Ling,” Mo Sigui bowed in greeting.

After returning the gesture, Ling Ziyue said, “I have matters to attend to. If you need anything, please send someone to inform me.”

“Certainly, certainly,” Mo Sigui replied without hesitation.

After Ling Ziyue left, Mo Sigui excitedly rushed to An Jiu’s side and peered into the tent. “I heard Chu Dingjiang was injured. How is he? When will he die?”

An Jiu slowly turned her head, her dark eyes emotionless as she looked at him. “A moment before you do.”

“How vicious!” But Mo Sigui was satisfied. “If I can live a moment longer, it’s because of my good character.”

An Jiu coldly sneered, “Scourges live a thousand years, good people don’t live long. If you want to compete on character, find someone more long-lived to compare with. Slapping yourself like this and calling it gilding just makes me think you’re brain-dead, not admirable.”

After speaking, An Jiu realized that they might need Mo Sigui’s help to save Chu Dingjiang soon. She paused, then sincerely offered him advice, “If you want to change your situation, you should try to make Chu Dingjiang live longer than you.”