Four days later, the commanders in Shuzhou city surrendered their weapons and opened the gates. Several loyalist officials personally went ten miles out of the city to welcome them, waiting from dawn until noon on the eastern outskirts. Yet what greeted them were the Da Ping Imperial Army’s gleaming armor and sharp spears, advancing with an imposing presence.

Though they had already received urgent reports of Mingzhou’s fall, how could they have imagined that Yue Linxi would deceive them with his letter, leading the Da Ping imperial guards with their golden halberds and yellow pennants right to the foot of Shuzhou city?!

The rebel forces guarding the city, caught unprepared, quickly lost the three outer sections east of Shuzhou to the Da Ping imperial troops. Seeing that the imperial army had no intention of launching a fierce assault, the remaining forces stubbornly defended other parts of the inner city. The officials who had gone out to welcome them were naturally furious at this sight, but constrained by the capture of the city walls, they could not openly express anger toward Yue Linxi. They could only comply with the imperial army’s request to let Yue Linxi enter the city for detailed discussions.

Once inside the city, Yue Linxi explained the situation as Ying Gua had instructed. Everyone was greatly alarmed upon hearing this, and when they learned that the Da Ping Emperor had also arrived outside the city, they were even more shocked.

The group remained silent in the room for a long while before Fan Yu, who was slightly older, finally spoke up with a deep sigh: “Enough. Go and bring the imperial descendant into the city early tomorrow. We must see her and hear her consent to this proposal before we can consider it settled.”

Yue Linxi nodded and replied, “Master Fan is wise.”

Fan Yu frowned deeply in thought for a moment, then gestured for the others to leave, keeping only Yue Linxi in the room, and said in a low voice: “Come here, I have something to ask you.”

Yue Linxi walked up to him and respectfully said: “Please speak, Master Fan.”

Fan Yu stared at him with keen eyes. “From what you observed when you were captured, does the Da Ping Emperor truly still harbor feelings for her?”

The Da Ping imperial army had encircled nearly half the city after setting up camp outside Shuzhou.

Wind swept across the plain, gusting through layers of military banners, causing the blue sky to tilt and white clouds to scatter, while the thick tent fabrics rustled violently.

She lay on her side on the narrow couch inside the inner tent, separated by a thin curtain from him and his command desk.

The two shared a tent at his insistence—she naturally could not refuse. But on this night, with flickering candlelight and extreme coldness, the situation was unbearably difficult.

The capital imperial troops accompanying his campaign numbered 130,000. Under his direct command were about 50,000 troops, and after fighting their way from the Linhuai Route through various cities to the Jiankang Route’s Shuzhou, only 39,000 remained.

The losses could not be considered small.

These elite imperial troops of Da Ping had suffered such casualties against rebel forces scattered throughout various provinces, mountains, forests, and fortress towns, clearly proving his earlier concerns were justified.

If these nearly 100,000 rebel troops could march north alongside the Da Ping imperial army, it would certainly save considerable military strength and preserve the lives of tens of thousands of soldiers, while also significantly reducing the time needed to capture North Jian’s capital.

As for the common people in the three northern routes, they would no longer have to flee in panic like ants escaping a flood, suffering the fate of broken homes, lost lives, and separated families.

As she pondered these thoughts, she couldn’t help but turn over, gazing through the thin curtain at his silhouette outlined by candlelight.

Though they were so close, it felt as if they were separated by thousands of mountains and rivers.

Since their meeting, she had not once addressed him as “Your Majesty,” while he, contrary to his usual manner, referred to himself as “We,” creating a sense of distance between them.

When she was his subject, they should have maintained distance, yet they were so intimate. Now that she had become his legitimate wife, they were more distant than ruler and subject.

Thinking of this word “wife,” she found it extremely ironic.

It was nothing more than binding together two people with their own thoughts and national and family grievances, for the sake of the world’s people, tied by a yellow imperial edict.

Thinking this, she couldn’t help but gently close her eyes and turn over once more.

Not long after nightfall, someone entered the tent to report.

She listened carefully, vaguely hearing that good news had arrived from the north: Di Nian’s army had captured two important strongholds, while Zhao Pingkong and Guo Ming’s two divisions, previously stationed north of the Jiankang Route, had also been ordered to march south.

Hearing of Di Nian’s victory, her heart felt somewhat better. When she had ordered the imperial troops outside Golden Gorge Pass to retreat thirty miles, she had endured countless nightmares, fearing that Di Nian’s division might encounter problems because of her decision.

Fortunately, Di Nian was safe.

After reporting the northern military situation, the commander also detailed the progress of the other capital imperial troops in suppressing rebels across the three routes. He mostly listened in silence, occasionally interjecting with a question or two. Though they discussed military secrets, he showed no concern about her presence in the inner tent.

His lack of caution toward her made her increasingly uncertain.

But she could not and did not wish to think deeply about it. She merely covered her eyes with her sleeve, blocking the candlelight from the other side, and fell into a light sleep.

Deep in the night, a violent sound of killing and fighting suddenly arose.

She woke up with a gasp, only to find complete silence all around. The previous moments had been nothing but a dream.

Yet the dream had been so vivid—in it, he had been riding with a spear, his iron armor stained with blood… Her chest suddenly contracted in pain. She got up and pulled aside the curtain to look into the outer tent.

The candlelight remained dim and yellow. The items on the command desk were somewhat disorderly, the ink on the brush already dry, left lonely on the desk.

He was leaning back in his chair, eyes tightly closed, breathing steadily. Even in sleep, his body remained rigid and straight.

She stared at him for a while, seeing that he was well, and then wiped the cold sweat from her forehead with her sleeve.

The autumn night was very cold, and the tent was damp and chilly.

She quietly got out of bed, took a cloak from nearby, and approached him, carefully covering his body.

But as soon as she touched him, he suddenly opened his eyes, as if startled from a dream, and firmly grasped her hand that had lightly touched his shoulder.

His grip was extremely strong, causing her unbearable pain, yet she bit her lip without making a sound, allowing him to hold her tightly.

After a while, he slowly loosened his grip, the hostility in his demeanor receding. His gaze penetrated directly into her eyes, revealing fear, tenderness, and indecision.

“Meng Tinghui.”

He called her name in a hoarse, low voice, his warm breath brushing against her wrist.

Her body trembled instantly—the sensation was too familiar, that tingling weakness that only he could evoke in her.

The candle’s thin flame flickered slightly, and in that moment, she seemed to return to the past.

In the Western Glory Palace, he would work late into the night, and she would drape a robe over him. He would embrace and kiss her, and she would laugh softly.

The memory was too beautiful yet equally cruel, causing her eyes to moisten again.

Noticing the moisture in her eyes, he suddenly lowered his arm, then closed his eyes again without another word.

It was indeed not like before.

She withdrew her hand, slowly turned to lift the curtain, and lay back on the couch, facing inward, tightly closing her eyes.

At dawn the next day, she went alone to feed grass to Qing Yun, her hand stroking the imperial gift-gilded saddle, remaining silent for a long time.

As she was about to return, she saw a soldier hurriedly approaching, saying that Yue Linxi had returned from Shuzhou city to the camp and was requesting her to enter the city.

She hastily wiped her hands against her skirt and quickly followed the soldier back to the central command tent, where she found Yue Linxi standing to one side, speaking with him about something.

The loyalist officials in Shuzhou had all agreed but earnestly wished to see her in person, which was understandable.

After a brief inquiry, he dismissed Yue Linxi to wait outside the tent, then turned to look at her. “Choose someone to accompany you into the city. I will wait for you in the camp.”

She nodded and said, “I’ll have Lu Duo from the Palace Guard accompany me.” Having said this, she turned to leave.

But he called after her, “Meng Tinghui.”

She turned back to see him staring at her with clear, sharp eyes, and he repeated: “I will wait for you in the camp.”

A surge of bitterness rose in her heart, and she softly replied: “I understand.”

“Go, then,” he said quietly.

She had once owed him a return, owed him a child, owed him a lifetime of companionship. She had once left him without mercy, and had even willfully and arbitrarily thought of parting with him in death.

She owed him too much, far too much.

But this time, he would never let her leave him again, nor would he allow her to walk away without looking back.

Without her, this empire would no longer be complete for him.