The young Minister pressed on the blood stasis marks on his arm, and his skin returned to its pale color, but when he released his fingers, the marks resurfaced like an incurable disease clinging to the bone.

How much longer could he continue to move among people without arousing suspicion? Even though he frequently went to the military camp, Crown Prince Fu Su must already have some vague suspicions, right?

He truly didn’t have much time left.

The young Minister clenched his hands, his handsome face full of unwillingness. He hadn’t yet seen his Crown Prince Fu Su ascend to that supreme throne…

“A… A’luo… are you there?” From the Suanni stone carving wreathed in smoke came Chaofeng’s boisterous voice. Perhaps due to the great distance, it was mixed with the sound of rushing wind.

“I’m here.” The young Minister rolled down his sleeves, covering his bruise-covered arms again. “Has anything new happened in Xianyang?”

That’s right—the young Minister came to Wale Outpost without fail every three months to accompany the troop rotations precisely because the Suanni stone carving could only communicate with Chaofeng and Yaoying from this specific location. Though Crown Prince Fu Su had temporarily left Xianyang’s political center, that didn’t mean he was abandoning control over the situation there.

While listening and committing to memory everything that had happened over these three months that Chaofeng told him, comparing it with the secret reports transmitted from Xianyang, the young Minister’s body might be stiffening, but his mind remained as sharp as ever.

Though Chaofeng was gossipy, there actually weren’t many major events worth remembering, so it quickly finished its report and began rolling around acting spoiled.

“A’luo, I miss you so much! When are you coming back? Chiwen keeps sleeping all the time, and I can only bicker with Yaoying every day. I’m so bored!”

“It should be a while longer.” The young Minister explained, sighing silently.

“Hmph, I’m really unhappy.” Chaofeng snorted coldly in anger, then pouted reluctantly. “Sigh, even Yaoying can’t see you. We can only talk with you like this every three months. If you accidentally die in the desert, we wouldn’t even know.”

“Chaofeng, can’t you say something nice?” Yaoying interjected from the side, unable to stand it.

The young Minister smiled bitterly—truly, no one could stand Chaofeng’s personality.

Yes, though Yaoying claimed to see all matters under heaven, there were places it couldn’t see. It viewed all affairs through the eyes of other ridge beasts, meaning there had to be buildings with ridge beast carvings on their roofs. In the northern frontier, buildings were extremely crude, and even tents were temporarily erected, so they weren’t within Yaoying’s field of vision.

Actually, this was easy enough to solve—they just needed to install a ridge beast on some rooftop in Shangjun. But not wanting the two ridge beasts to discover his physical abnormalities so quickly, he had been using other excuses to deflect.

However, occasionally chatting with the two ridge beasts did make his mood somewhat lighter. Sometimes, the young Minister wondered if he had chosen to be a heartless, carefree person without attachments, perhaps he wouldn’t suffer such pain and troubles.

But then, that wouldn’t be him anymore.

The incense ball in the burner quickly burned out completely, and the Suanni quieted down again. It didn’t require much smoke and fire—even if another incense ball were lit now, it couldn’t wake the Suanni.

The young Minister picked up a silk handkerchief nearby and carefully wiped the incense ash from the Suanni’s head, but after a moment, his movements froze, letting the handkerchief slip from his fingertips.

Because a sharp dagger was pressed against his neck.

“Shh… don’t make a sound.” A male voice with a strange accent suddenly sounded by his ear.

The young Minister obediently didn’t move. After over a year in the northern frontier, he had heard this kind of strange accent before.

This was the accent created by Xiongnu people’s inability to smooth their tongues when learning to speak Qin language.

In other words, a Xiongnu person had somehow entered his tent!

Judging by the voice, though it couldn’t be called vigorous, there was absolutely no pain or resentment toward him, so it shouldn’t be the prisoner he had captured with his crossbow today. It seemed Wang Li’s subordinates weren’t incompetent to that degree, though allowing a foreign tribesman to infiltrate this heavily guarded military camp wasn’t much better.

The young Minister’s mind raced as the person behind him spoke again: “I heard talking. Is there someone else in the tent?”

Feeling the blade at his neck press slightly harder, the young Minister considered that the person probably hadn’t been outside the tent very long, and at the end, Chaofeng had only been saying insignificant things with no secrets. Slightly relieved, he replied calmly and evenly: “No one. I was merely talking to myself.”

“Hmph!” How could that person believe it? But this military tent was only large enough to turn around in—whether there was anyone else was obvious at a glance.

The young Minister listened carefully to the movements behind him, then saw the person circle around to his front. Though the dagger was withdrawn, the person directly took his crossbow hanging in the tent. The loaded arrow pointed straight at him, gleaming coldly in the lamplight, making one afraid to act rashly.

But the young Minister’s gaze only flickered over the crossbow briefly, not taking this weapon that could claim his life at any moment seriously. He looked straight at this audacious Xiongnu person who dared to infiltrate the Qin camp alone.

Judging from the person’s tattered clothes, filthy face, and exhausted expression, this person must have entered the Qin camp out of desperation and likely had no accomplices. Moreover, from the way the person held the crossbow in one hand while beginning to devour the food on the low table with the other, the young Minister had more or less guessed the person’s identity.

Well, the reason the person chose his tent was probably precisely because the dinner on his table remained untouched.

During these three years, feeling no hunger or thirst in his belly, the young Minister generally no longer ate in private, and today was no exception.

Though the person wolfed down the food, the posture was naturally graceful, and the person remained fully alert, muscles tense. A pair of sharp eyes like a hawk’s never looked down at the food but kept firmly fixed on him—like a lone wolf feasting on the grassland, enjoying itself while guarding against other animals trying to steal its food.

The young Minister pondered how he could signal to alert those soldiers that the Prince Modun they wanted to find was currently sitting across from him.

The dinner the personal guards brought for the young Minister was particularly abundant. Even after eating for a while, the starved Prince Modun began to slow his eating pace. Those eyes glowing green seemed to see through the young Minister’s thoughts, and Prince Modun sneered mockingly: “Don’t play tricks. Perhaps I’ll spare your life.”

The young Minister pursed his lips—how stupid would he have to be to believe that? In the conflict between two armies, fierce as fire and water, if Modun left here alive, the first person he’d kill would be him. Moreover, since he had guessed the person’s identity as Prince Modun, he absolutely couldn’t let the person leave alive.

Quietly clenching his fist, finding it weak and powerless, he realized he needed to consider other methods. The young Minister’s face remained expressionless as he thought. He somewhat regretted choosing a military tent in a rather remote area of the camp to maintain secrecy when communicating with Chaofeng and Yaoying. Add to that, most soldiers were either resting or had left the camp—even if he risked shouting loudly, no one might notice the abnormality here.

“Prince Modun honors us with his presence—we failed to welcome you from afar. How discourteous, how discourteous.” The young Minister cupped his hands in salute, the smile on his face sincere and genuine, not at all like someone being held hostage, but rather like someone entertaining guests in his own home.

Modun wasn’t surprised to have his identity exposed, but the unusual attitude of the young man before him instead raised his guard. He quickly listened carefully to the movements around the tent, and only after confirming there was no ambush did he leisurely pick up a piece of flatbread, eating while saying: “The meal is rather simple—no wine!”

If you’re so picky, don’t eat with such relish! The young Minister’s eyebrows twitched several times. Originally he felt no hunger, but watching Prince Modun devour what should have been his dinner made him distinctly displeased. He steadied himself, organized his thoughts, and amid Prince Modun’s chewing sounds, slowly said: “Your Highness, have you considered where to go from here?”

“Naturally to return to the royal court.” Modun answered without any hesitation, clearly having already made his choice. Finishing the flatbread in his hands in a few bites, he said in his strange accent, one word at a time: “Whether fortune or misfortune, I leave it to heaven’s will.”

The young Minister was stunned, not expecting Modun to quote from the “Chu Ci”: “Whether this be fortune or misfortune; where to go and what to follow.” This Xiongnu prince not only spoke Qin language but had understanding of the various philosophical schools.

No, this wasn’t merely understanding.

The young Minister’s danger assessment of Prince Modun rose considerably. His thoughts racing, his expression unchanged, he carefully said: “Has Your Highness considered what Chanyu Touman will do to you if you return to the royal court? The grassland is vast—it’s not only Xiongnu, but also Yuezhi, Donghu, and Loufan. Why must Your Highness focus your gaze only on the royal court?” Better external than internal conflict—the young Minister was attempting to persuade him. If letting Modun leave could exchange for decades of internal strife on the grassland, then this risk was worth taking.

Who knew Modun would coldly snort without even thinking: “The Xiongnu were mine to begin with. Why should I be a stray dog? My tribe are wolves—the replacement of the head wolf is perfectly normal. Touman is already old and should have been replaced by me long ago.”

The young Minister asked in shock: “If he’s unwilling…”

“Kill him.” Modun coldly spat out two words, his facial expression perfectly normal, as if saying the weather today was quite nice. He picked up another piece of flatbread, added some pickled meat, ate a few bites, then added a sentence: “That brother of mine naturally cannot be kept either.”

Facing this Xiongnu prince who spoke calmly of patricide and fratricide without changing expression, the young Minister was momentarily shocked into silence. The moral education he received naturally placed filial piety first. Though from the Xia, Shang, Zhou, and Warring States periods, many royal families had engaged in bloody internal conflicts whose sordid affairs he had read about in history books—how could a few brief strokes compare to hearing such words directly from the person before him?

The main issue was that Modun spoke too matter-of-factly, as if the way of heaven should be thus, which beyond shocking the young Minister, made him subconsciously think of Crown Prince Fu Su, whose situation was subtly similar.

Patricide… fratricide…

No, no.

His Highness would absolutely never do such things. Even if driven to a dead end, he would absolutely never do such things.

How could human social rules be the same as beasts?

But to survive, one would kill others. Fundamentally, what difference was there between humans and animals?