The weeping Young Lord Zhao wiped his tears with the back of his hand while muttering complaints under his breath. When dismounting, his legs were weak, and he nearly stumbled.
The servant hurried over to support him, asking, “Young Lord, Young Lord, are you alright?”
Young Lord Zhao kicked at him, “Do I look alright to you?”
“I was truly frightened just now,” He Yan said. “It’s all my fault. If I hadn’t insisted on racing with Young Lord, you wouldn’t have been startled.” She apologized with sincere remorse, “I hope Young Lord won’t hold it against me.”
Hold it against her? What could he hold against her? She was his lifesaver – how could he blame her? Young Lord Zhao forced a smile, though he still harbored resentment. Looking at his mount, the culprit still lowering its head to graze, he became furious and waved his hand: “This ungrateful beast nearly got me hurt! Drag it out and butcher it! I want it chopped into eight pieces and made into dried horse meat!”
He Yunsheng’s brows furrowed slightly, and He Yan’s smile turned cold.
For a military commander, a horse isn’t merely a mount but a comrade who shares life and death. Though they cannot speak, they carry soldiers charging into battle. Though they cannot communicate, they will whinny in grief when their masters die, some even refusing food until death.
They are loyal to their masters, just as their masters cherish them.
The young lords of wealthy regions have never experienced the cruelty of the battlefield, and thus cannot understand the brotherhood between humans and warhorses. Even humans are divided by status – what is more than a mere beast? Kill it and be done with it, why consider anything else?
“…This is a fine horse,” said He Sui, attempting to persuade him. “Young Lord should reconsider.”
“This is my horse,” Young Lord Zhao, already frustrated with nowhere to vent, had He Sui stumble right into his path. He sneered, “I’ll do whatever I want with it!” He pulled out a dagger from his waist and unsheathed it, its cold light flashing. “Not only will I kill it, but I’ll kill it right here!”
The dagger’s handle was inlaid with a pigeon egg-sized ruby, its sheath made of pure gold, utterly magnificent. Now its tip pointed at the fine horse still grazing, unaware that its master harbored murderous intent, swishing its tail in a carefree manner.
Murderous intent gleamed in Young Lord Zhao’s eyes as he believed he’d thought of a good solution. Since this horse had frightened him and made him lose face, he would slaughter it right here – first to vent his anger, and second to demonstrate his bravery and salvage some dignity.
He shouted at his servant, “Hold it down!”
He Yan’s palm twitched slightly, unconsciously reaching for the iron staff at her waist.
She couldn’t… couldn’t watch this horse die because of her. Yet she had no justification to intervene.
The horse was held down by several servants. The lead servant turned his head and shouted, “Young Lord, Young Lord, we’ve got it held down! Young Lord, strike now!”
Young Lord Zhao approached with his dagger, aiming at the horse’s neck, the blade carrying a cold gleam about to fall—
“Bang—”
A crisp sound like metal striking metal rang out, something fell to the ground, and He Yan quietly withdrew her extended hand. Young Lord Zhao’s dagger had fallen, and he was now clutching his wrist, crying out “Ouch! Ouch!”
“Who? Who was it?” While jumping in pain, he didn’t forget to curse, “Who the hell flicked something at me!”
“I did.”
A voice came from behind.
That voice… He Yan’s heart stirred as she turned to look.
Two people had appeared behind them on horseback. The youth on the left wore a licorice-yellow round-collared diagonal-front robe, such a striking color yet he wore it with exceptional grace. With red lips and white teeth, his smile was bright, his pupils clear and rare with childlike innocence – a spirited young gentleman.
As for the young man on the right… He Yan’s eyes brightened.
In springtime, with willow branches of fresh green and ice melting away, amid the city’s spring colors, someone approached through the flowers and willows.
Though the yellow-robed youth was already quite handsome, this young man’s features were even more exquisite. His face was like fine jade, his eyes like bright stars, their shape gentle yet slightly upturned at the corners like autumn waters reflecting light – naturally alluring, yet made cold as ice by his gaze.
Unlike the youth’s liveliness, he wore a silver crown, his black hair falling straight. He wore a hundred-grass frost-colored riding outfit, with an exquisite phoenix embroidered in gold thread at the collar, creating an impressive presence. With dark blue boots and a crystalline sword at his waist, he sat regally on a white horse with a golden bridle. His right hand, with distinct knuckles, was currently playing with a dark blue fragrance pouch that made tinkling sounds.
What a graceful and elegant noble young lord of Wuling!
As He Yan was quietly admiring him, she suddenly felt something amiss. In a flash, she lowered her head, the white gauze swaying slightly to hide her flustered gaze.
From the other side came Young Lord Zhao’s fawning yet fearful voice: “So it’s Commander Xiao… my apologies.”
In He Yan’s mind suddenly appeared a scene from many years ago, also on such a spring day, with orioles singing and swallows dancing, in a courtyard with willows and swings. In her innocence, she had looked up at the handsome youth in white robes and embroidered boots in the treetop. Though his expression was full of impatience, it couldn’t diminish his heroic bearing.
In the lazy spring light and beautiful weather, he was like a person from a painting, outshining all the spring colors in the city.
Xiao Jue, Xiao Huaijin, her past life’s adversary, former classmate, and the renowned Right Army Commander, General Feng Yun.
Uncle has come out, are you all still going to lurk? [frowning]