Han Yu’s mother stopped in her tracks even more frantically. Astonishment and panic flashed across her wrinkled face, immediately followed by helpless clenching of her fists. But in the end, she still let out an “ah”: “I see.” She walked forward a few steps, suppressing her heartache and choking emotion as she looked at her son for a long while, then reached out to straighten his clothes and said as calmly as possible: “Then I’ll go pack your clothes for you.”

They all depended on Han Zhengqing for their livelihood. Whatever Han Zhengqing told them to do, they had to do.

But sadness was inevitable. She looked at Han Yu for a long while, and tears as large as beans heavily struck the muddy ground as she lowered her head, creating a water stain that was soon dried by Xibei’s strong winds.

Han Yu’s heart was full of bitterness. Leaving the courtyard gate with a bundle on his back, he saw several soldiers already waiting at the door with horses. He mounted his horse and couldn’t help but look back repeatedly along the way.

He had told his mother to wait well for his return, and he had promised his mother he would definitely come back. He hoped his mother could endure. Thinking this, he had already left Jingzhou City. All along the way there was chaos of war and famine, his ears filled entirely with crying—that despairing, terrified crying was truly unbearable. Han Yu thought of his own mother. His mother’s father was a County Magistrate who had lived fairly peacefully in a county under Datong’s jurisdiction, but the Tartars had shattered that peace. His maternal grandfather had been captured by the Tartars and later rescued by Han Zhengqing.

If not for the chaos of war, if not for the Tartars, his mother wouldn’t have had to sacrifice her entire life. He looked at the women in the distance whose cries shook the heavens, crouching before corpses burying the dead, and closed his eyes somewhat unable to bear it.

Why must it be this way, why must it be this way!

He clenched his fists, thinking of his mother’s unbearable expression, suddenly feeling heartsick, and also feeling that his father was truly impossible to respect—he was a city garrison commander, a general who guarded the capital, yet he actually invited the wolf into the house, personally watching these people who should have been protected by him, who regarded him as more important than heaven itself, being plunged into dire suffering.

But no matter how much he thought about it, he could only think—that was all. He sighed and lowered his head, averting his gaze.

The horse that had been traveling well was suddenly grabbed by its reins. Coming to his senses, he discovered that his group had already entered a gorge with mountain walls on both sides. The one pulling his horse’s reins in front was not his attendant, but several disheveled, dirt-covered people.

Presumably local people. Han Yu, thinking of his father’s conduct, felt somewhat ashamed and instructed his attendants to give them some silver.

But these people still didn’t move, stubbornly clutching his horse’s reins and refusing to budge.

His attendant couldn’t help but become somewhat angry and stepped forward trying to push the person away. That person dodged to the side. The attendant looked at his own hand, puzzled, and turned to glance at his young master.

Han Yu’s expression became grave. These people before him, though their clothes were tattered and they appeared bedraggled, their movements were absolutely not what ordinary disaster-stricken common people could possess.

These people had come looking for him but wanted to disguise themselves? He wondered for a moment, somewhat hesitant about whether to ask them what they wanted or just send them away.

“Young Master.” The person gripping his horse’s reins took the initiative to speak, moving closer two steps and inconspicuously pushing aside the attendant, almost pressing against Han Yu’s ear: “Young Master, we have matters to discuss with you. You’d best listen.”

Han Yu was a gentle person. He took after his mother, always having no temper. Hearing this, he gently asked: “What matter?”

“A matter of life and death.” That person stared at him with a serious expression: “Where are you headed on this trip? Let me guess—either Hubei or Taiyuan, right? No matter which one you’re going to, you’ll likely have a journey with no return.”

The order to go to Hubei had been told to him personally by his father. At that time, aside from the two beautiful concubines, there had been no one else present. Han Yu was shocked with alarm. Without much thought, he nodded at them. Seeing them look toward his guards, he raised his voice with a laugh: “Since you all have strength, and I happen to need capable people here, you can follow me—after all, it’s just a meal!”

They couldn’t be his father’s people. His father had finished giving all his instructions. Even if there were things left unsaid, he wouldn’t use this method to remind him.

And saying that what his father had instructed him to do concerned his life and death, that he would have a journey with no return—Han Yu truly wanted to know more.

Though the attendants found it somewhat strange, they were all Han Yu’s own people after all, so they had no objections. After all, as Han Yu said, it was just a meal. Moreover, traveling did indeed require more hands.

As for those unwilling, the reason Han Yu gave was also sufficient—after all, they were handling affairs for Han Zhengqing, and Han Yu was Han Zhengqing’s son after all, so they couldn’t say much more.

It was just that they felt some of these people ahead seemed somewhat familiar. The leading centurion scratched his head, unable to recall for a moment where exactly they were familiar from, and let the matter drop.

In the evening they lodged at a dilapidated inn. Conditions were harsh—there wasn’t even hot water. Han Yu was choked by the rising brazier smoke until he coughed continuously. Seeing someone push the door open, he held back his tears and waved at them: “Sit anywhere.”

The people who had been ragged and shivering with cold during the day were now completely transformed. Though their clothes weren’t luxurious, their bearing showed at a glance they were no ordinary people. Han Yu gradually sat up straight, tensing his back as he looked at them. He thought hard for a long time, then tilted his head to look at one of them and frowned: “Marquis Dingyuan?”

The lamplight in the inn was dim, yet Marquis Dingyuan and Lu Ran’s eyes were gleaming brightly. The two exchanged glances and nodded at Han Yu.

Han Yu had already stood up. He couldn’t understand at all why Marquis Dingyuan and Lu Ran would seek him out, when both of them were enemies of Han Zhengqing, and he himself was precisely Han Zhengqing’s son.

Lu Ran saw through his doubts and smiled quite perceptively: “Young Master need not worry. We’ve come to inform you of certain matters, and absolutely have no intention of harming you.”

Han Yu was half-believing, half-doubting. They indeed hadn’t harmed him. Now at such close distance, he had witnessed both Lu Ran and Marquis Dingyuan’s martial skills—if these two wanted to harm him, it would be very simple.

“What matter?” After a moment’s hesitation, he still asked. Although he knew these were his father’s sworn enemies, truthfully, he really didn’t feel aversion toward these two because of this. Perhaps because he himself knew his father was not a good person.

Outside, the trees rustled as wind blew through them. The fierce wind howled, and even inside the room it was freezing cold. But the words Lu Ran spoke were even more bone-chillingly cold: “Regarding your father Han Zhengqing—listen to what we have to say. There’s no harm in it. It might even save your life.”