What Su Luoyun worried about most was whether there would be enough grain.

“The grain-rats I caught are all terrified of losing their lives and are hoping I will deal with them leniently. I have not given them a definitive answer — only made my meaning clear with a few pointed words. They understood well enough and have been frantically coughing up their embezzled funds. With that money, I can buy more grain elsewhere to fill in the remaining shortfall. Only, the grain I bring in had best come quietly — if that General up in Jiayong Prefecture hears of it, he will not sleep easy.”

Su Luoyun had in fact already worked out a method for transporting the grain on Han Linfeng’s behalf. She said, “Since I have moved to Fengwei Village, I need to purchase all manner of household goods and furnishings — that can serve as useful cover. Since you do not want anyone to know, you cannot use the official road. A few days back in Liangzhou I had some time to spare, and visited several escort agencies on the pretext of transporting costly goods like spices. I had them make two trial runs, and they were perfectly reliable. If we need to move grain, we could engage several agencies, break the shipments into small loads, and bring it in a little at a time…”

Han Linfeng had not realised that while alone in Liangzhou, she had been quietly doing so much behind the scenes. She spoke of it lightly, but the thought and effort behind it had been considerable.

He had once shared his father’s view that taking a wife was like choosing a garment — one piece was much the same as another. The choice of wife was of little consequence, best left to one’s parents to decide.

But now he understood ever more deeply the ancient wisdom: when taking a wife, take a virtuous one.

Had he married a young lady from the Wang family, she would most likely have been like his mother the Princess Consort — her youthful bloom withering in the harsh cold of a place like Liangzhou, growing bitter and resentful because she could not adapt to the estate or understand her husband.

But Su Luoyun — the unlikely, wildflower girl no one had thought much of — looked fragile and helpless on the surface, yet radiated a vital, flourishing energy that infected everyone around her without their even noticing.

He had married her partly because he liked her, yes. But in that liking, five parts were love and five parts were pity.

He had always felt she was to be pitied, and wanted to keep her close and protect her.

Yet after the marriage, it turned out that he was the one who had received more of her care.

All his ambitions, all the thoughts he could share with no one else — he could pour them out freely to the woman on the pillow beside him. And she, in turn, did her utmost to quietly manage the small yet vital matters that kept things running smoothly for him.

She was the kind of woman a man could trust with his back turned — and then charge forward without hesitation.

There were countless women in the world. But one who fitted him like this — in all of heaven and earth, there was only this one Su Luoyun.

Thinking this, he pulled that little wildflower tightly into his arms and said, “Good. We do it your way. Break the shipments into pieces, use the escort agencies as cover, and fill the grain deficit bit by bit.”

The personnel upheaval at the Qianxi supply depot had been considerable. The relatives of those who had been implicated came not only to the Beizhen estate to plead — some went as far as General Wang Yun himself.

Wang Yun had also heard about the Qianxi depot’s reported grain losses. He had not expected that after his departure, Han Linfeng would actually manage to uncover the loopholes left by the previous supply officer.

This meant the shortfall in the Qianxi depot’s stores could be attributed entirely to the previous officer — and had nothing to do with the newly arrived supply officer Han Linfeng.

Wang Yun frowned slightly. In his assessment, this dissolute wastrel was not the sort to act with such decisiveness and speed. He summoned one of his advisers to look into the matter.

The adviser had an acquaintance at the Qianxi depot who had gathered the full account of events. He reported back to Wang Yun: “The whole business is rather curious. The Shizi initially left everything well alone. It was only later — no one knows quite how — that he caught wind of the previous officer’s scheme to sell off the stored grain. At that point it dawned on him that the supply depot had been a goldmine, but that his subordinates had been gorging themselves while he, the newly arrived superior, was left entirely in the dark and got nothing out of it. He flew into a fury and began his purge.”

The adviser even nodded with a measure of understanding: “That is only natural — those transport officers were too greedy. They wanted to keep the whole haul for themselves, and in doing so they provoked Han Linfeng. He waited until they were in the middle of a transaction with the black-market traders, then appeared with his guards and caught them in the act.”

Wang Yun’s brow eased somewhat. So the wastrel had discovered he was being cut out of the spoils and had made a scene over an unequal share of the plunder?

The adviser continued: “That would seem to be the size of it. Word is that Han Linfeng came down hard and squeezed a considerable sum out of his corrupt subordinates. He is flush with money now — he has apparently settled his beautiful new wife out in Fengwei Village, bought the previous officer’s courtyard, and has been ordering all manner of furniture and provisions from the south, with escort agencies making regular runs back and forth. Quite an operation, by all accounts.”

Wang Yun gave a cold snort. He had been counting on the supply depot as a convenient excuse to deflect blame for any military setbacks — but the thought of leaving his own rear in the hands of such a half-baked supply depot was enough to keep him from sleeping soundly. He was genuinely afraid those grain-rats would drag him down.

And so Wang Yun chose not to press further into the personnel upheaval at the supply depot. He simply resolved inwardly that once this wastrel had served his purpose, the depot would need a thorough clearing-out from top to bottom.

Meanwhile the front lines were crying out for grain. The Tiefu people, the rebel forces, and the Wei army were all watching the supply lines closely.

The moment Han Linfeng set out with the grain, it would be like carrying fragrant meat through a pack of starving wolves. Wang Yun would not need to lift a finger — the wolves would tear him apart on their own.

Rebel leader Qiu Zhen had been making frequent moves of late, and a major battle seemed imminent. Wang Yun had no desire to waste more time at Jiayong Prefecture. He was eager to return to the rear and be reunited with his family.

Half a month later, Wang Yun issued orders to the Qianxi supply depot — send more winter grain forward.

Han Linfeng understood at once. Wang Yun was afraid the bait was not fat enough to draw the wolves.

If a large quantity of grain were lost, the crime would be no small matter.

He showed nothing on his face, and passed the order along as normal. With the General’s command issued, the Qianxi supply carts began loading, set to depart in three days.

Even as the carts at the Qianxi depot began to be loaded, the news had already spread of its own accord, reaching the rebel encampment in the north.

“Deputy Commander Qiu, the Qianxi depot holds all the grain that was once ours. I have already confirmed that the new supply officer is the Beizhen Shizi — a man who has spent his life drifting between pleasure houses, a wastrel who once held a sinecure at the Ministry of Works without any real accomplishment… Word also has it that the Tiefu people are getting restless and intend to set their sights on this shipment.”

The spy who had returned from the Qianxi depot was giving his respectful report to the rebel force’s newly ascendant young commander, Qiu Zhen.

The young man seated in the bearskin armchair raised his eyes slightly. Thick brows, phoenix-shaped eyes, a trace of exotic foreign blood in his features — and yet compellingly commanding in bearing. It was unmistakably the man who had crossed paths with Su Luoyun in the Liangzhou spice shop.

This was Qiu Zhen — the rebel force’s rising young commander.

Qiu Zhen had achieved success young. He was no more than nineteen, yet had accumulated a string of remarkable feats and steadily grown in reputation within the rebel ranks. He was now the deputy commander of the rebel army.

The rebel force had by now recovered five of the twenty lost prefectures, and no longer had to endure the gruelling days of constant skirmishing on the move.

Since Commander Cao Sheng had fallen ill, Qiu Zhen had effectively taken command of the entire rebel army’s military authority. He still paid outward deference to Commander Cao — but everyone below knew that Qiu Zhen was the one whose word was law.

The previous loss of the grain shipment had been a serious blow, however, and had damaged Qiu Zhen’s standing within the rebel forces. Rumours had also been circulating that Cao Sheng’s injury had been engineered by Qiu Zhen himself, as part of a scheme to seize power.

Calls for Commander Cao to return and take charge of the situation had been growing louder — which was extremely unfavourable for Qiu Zhen.

Not long before, the camp had run desperately short of hemostatic medicine. Fortunately, Qiu Zhen had devised a timely solution — using elk grass as a substitute — and had personally led men into the city to purchase it at considerable risk. This had salvaged some of his reputation.

At minimum, Cao Sheng, though gravely ill, was still alive. And Qiu Zhen had also secured a betrothal to Cao Sheng’s daughter — as the future son-in-law, his management of military affairs in his prospective father-in-law’s stead was something no one could reasonably criticise.

Yet not all those under his command were so easily convinced. Even as they spoke inside the tent, voices rang out from beyond the entrance — someone loudly demanding to see Commander Cao, wanting to know why someone surnamed Qiu was confining the Commander and preventing them from visiting.

Qiu Zhen rose and walked out of the tent. The man outside was Cao Sheng’s sworn brother, Yuan Xi.

Yuan Xi had been in the south buying grain and had repeatedly been denied access to his sworn elder brother. Over the past few days he had rallied several high-ranking commanders within the rebel force and was now pressing Qiu Zhen to hand Cao Sheng over.

Qiu Zhen knew these men carried real weight within the rebel army. Continued refusal would only stir up greater trouble.

He raised an eyebrow and fixed his expression into a look of frank openness: “Uncle Yuan, it is purely because the Commander’s constitution is so weak. I have been following the physician’s instructions in keeping visitors away. Yet because of this, you have all grown suspicious of me — how am I to bear that? Since you are not reassured, I will let you go in and see him. Let your minds be fully put to rest.”

As he spoke, he cast a casual, sidelong glance at one of his attendants nearby.

The attendant understood at once and slipped away quietly to make preparations.

When they arrived at Commander Cao’s tent, guarded by sentries on all sides, Yuan Xi strode in and saw his sworn elder brother lying on the sickbed — skeletal and wasted. His eyes filled with tears, and he choked out in a low voice, “Elder brother… how did you come to this?”

No matter how he called out, Cao Sheng never opened his eyes.

Just as Qiu Zhen had said, Cao Sheng was gravely ill, sleeping nearly around the clock, beyond the reach of those who called to him.

Qiu Zhen stood behind Yuan Xi, knowing that the sedative his men had administered to Cao Sheng beforehand had taken effect.

As long as Cao Sheng remained unconscious, what did it matter if these old men came to look?

Yuan Xi had hoped that today he might finally speak properly with his elder brother. For the rebel army, under Qiu Zhen’s leadership, had entirely forgotten the founding purpose of this great force — to recover the lost homeland. Now the man surnamed Qiu had his heart set entirely on expanding territory and proclaiming himself emperor. Yuan Xi was deeply troubled and had wanted to speak with his elder brother about it.

Yet his elder brother could not even open his eyes. As disappointment settled over him, Qiu Zhen was already urging them from behind: “Now that you have all seen Commander Cao, you can set your minds at ease. I ask that everyone please leave now — do not disturb the Commander’s rest.”

He stepped back, gesturing for those in the tent to file out.

Just as the people behind him began to rise and move, blocking Qiu Zhen’s line of sight, Cao Sheng — who had lain with eyes firmly shut all this time — quietly opened them a crack. At the same moment, he reached swiftly for Yuan Xi’s hand, just as Yuan Xi was about to stand, and pressed a small folded strip of cloth into his palm. He gripped it firmly for a moment, then quickly withdrew his hand.

Yuan Xi startled. Thinking Cao Sheng had come round, he almost cried out — it was only the unmistakably deliberate grip that stopped him.

He stood frozen for a moment, watching his elder brother quickly tuck his hand back beneath the covers.

At that instant, the others behind him had already filed out of the tent. Qiu Zhen, seeing Yuan Xi had still not moved, asked, “Something more to say, Uncle Yuan?”

Yuan Xi turned slowly and said to Qiu Zhen, “It was only that I missed elder brother too dearly and let my feelings get the better of me today. Please forgive me, nephew.”

Qiu Zhen smiled faintly: “Pei’er and I will be wed before long. You are the sworn younger brother of my future father-in-law — which makes you as good as my own uncle. You will be asked to accept the wedding toast in the Commander’s place. We will all be family soon — why such formality?”

But after Yuan Xi departed, the smile faded gradually from Qiu Zhen’s face.

“A bunch of men who rely on being old-timers in the rebel army to look down on you…”  an attendant nearby muttered coldly.

Qiu Zhen curved his mouth slightly, glanced at Cao Sheng lying on the bed, and said with calm composure, “Tomorrow we are sending men to reconnoitre the Tiefu movements, are we not? Send Yuan Xi to lead the party — and then sell his whereabouts. A thorn like this cannot be allowed to remain.”

The attendant understood without needing it spelled out. The Deputy Commander intended to use the Tiefu people’s hands to remove Yuan Xi.

After Qiu Zhen had given his instructions for this housecleaning, he led his men out of the tent.

Once the tent fell quiet again, the supposedly unconscious Cao Sheng slowly opened his eyes.

He drew his emaciated hand from beneath the covers. Cupped in the palm was a fragment of broken porcelain bowl. He had been gripping it so tightly that it had cut into his flesh, leaving the hand streaked with blood.

This was the shard he had managed to keep — deliberately smashing a medicine bowl at an unguarded moment and concealing a piece for himself.

Qiu Zhen had dosed him with sedatives so many times that he had gradually built a tolerance to the usual quantities. It was only through the sharp pain of the porcelain against his palm that he had barely managed to stay conscious.

What he had slipped to Yuan Xi was a strip of cloth torn from the lining of his own inner garment, with words written in blood — urging Yuan Xi to seek out the Beizhen Shizi without delay, make known his situation, and ask Han Linfeng to find a way to rescue him. He also asked Yuan Xi to locate the hiding place of the rebel army’s account ledgers and hand them over to the Shizi along with the funds.

The ledgers were of the utmost importance. They contained the certificate vouchers from money houses across various regions — the very thing Qiu Zhen had been trying to get his hands on all along. Without money to back an army, however large, how could anything be accomplished?

This was also why Qiu Zhen had kept Cao Sheng alive — as long as Cao Sheng, that golden standard, remained in existence, fundraising presented no difficulty. Cao Sheng’s reputation among the common people was formidable; a single call could rouse a hundred responses. He could not be allowed to die easily.

What Cao Sheng regretted most deeply was that he had not listened to his sworn younger brother Han Linfeng’s warning, and had failed to guard against this wolf-hearted creature Qiu Zhen.

In part, this was because Han Linfeng had made such a remarkable impression on him during his time in the north — so that when he later encountered the dashing young Qiu Zhen, who carried a similar trace of Bouguo blood, he had felt as though he had found another talent like Han Linfeng, and had been moved instinctively to admire and cultivate him.

He had not known that though the two men shared a similar appearance and equally exceptional martial skill, their characters were as different as heaven and earth — impossible to compare.

Cao Sheng now found himself imprisoned as a result of his own misjudgement. He could accept that. But the one he felt most deeply guilty toward was his own wife and daughter — he could not bear to let them continue to be used by others.

He smeared the blood from his palm on the underside of the bed plank, hid the porcelain shard away again, and muttered under his breath, “Insolent little wretch — you think a cage like this can hold me? I will show you what it means when the old ginger is the hottest.”

As for Yuan Xi — once out of the tent, he found a place with no one around, and hurriedly unfolded the cloth strip to read what was written.

What he read set a fire blazing in his chest. He knew he could not rescue his elder brother alone. His only course was to do as the cloth instructed — find Han Linfeng as quickly as possible and ask him to devise a way to get the Commander out.

As for the hiding place of the account ledgers — though the message was written in cipher, more than ten years of brotherly bond with Cao Sheng meant that Yuan Xi understood immediately where they were concealed.

Just then, someone came to his tent to announce that the Deputy Commander hoped Uncle Yuan would lead a small party to reconnoitre the Tiefu migration routes.

This assignment would never ordinarily have fallen to Yuan Xi. The moment he heard it, he knew something was wrong.

He accepted it without a flicker of hesitation. That night, Yuan Xi made his escape — heading for the Qianxi Camp to find Han Linfeng and break the rebel army out of this desperate crisis.

Back in Fengwei Village near the Qianxi Camp, all remained peaceful and undisturbed.

Since moving here, Su Luoyun had been living in her own quiet, self-contained little courtyard once more. Because Han Linfeng could not freely leave the camp, she had her own small kitchen prepare meals every day and deliver them to him.

With a wife camped just outside the barracks, it would hardly do not to add some dishes to her husband’s table.

On this particular day, as usual, she climbed into the carriage with the meal box and set out for the Qianxi Camp. Fengwei Village was not far — three quarters of an hour on the road and she would be there.

Though it was winter, there were still villagers behind the hills along the mountain road, digging earth and firing bricks.

Su Luoyun had made this journey back and forth several times and was familiar with the surrounding mountain paths. Hearing voices from the earth-diggers drifting from ahead, she knew they were about to pass a small hillside.

But at that moment, the carriage jerked to a sudden halt, as though something had thrown itself against the horses.

The escort guards were instantly alert. Blades drawn, they surrounded whatever had fallen in the road, pressing a sword to the throat of the figure lying on the ground: “Bold creature — who are you, to dare stop this carriage?”

The man appeared to have taken an arrow in the back and was bleeding heavily. He glanced at the nameplate hanging from the carriage, caught his breath, and managed to gasp out, “Could this… could this be the Beizhen Prince’s household carriage? Is the Han Shizi inside?”

“You already know whose carriage this is — stand aside and stop blocking the way for the household members inside.”

It was not that the guards were indifferent to a man’s life — it was that the stranger’s sudden appearance was too alarming and suspicious. If he turned out to be a bandit feigning injury to ambush and stop the carriage, and the Shizi’s consort came to any harm, they would be held responsible.

The injured man seemed to understand this too. But he had already been losing blood for some time and was slipping in and out of consciousness. The pursuers behind him were close and closing fast. He had no choice but to take the gamble and see whether he could intercept someone willing to help.

“I am an old acquaintance of the Han Shizi,” he said weakly. “Please would someone pass word inside, and tell him that I am Yuan Xi, a grain merchant from the north — I have something urgent to bring to his attention…”

The guards remained unmoved. But Su Luoyun inside the carriage frowned.

She had no knowledge of the rebel forces in the north. But she did know that when procuring grain for Yan County, Han Linfeng had funnelled part of the provisions to a man named Yuan Xi.

The Shizi had not said so outright at the time, but Su Luoyun had guessed that Yuan Xi was connected to the rebel forces in the north.

But was this man truly the Yuan Xi from the north? Or could he be a plant sent by the Sixth Prince to test them?

At this thought, she lifted the carriage curtain and spoke: “The Shizi does not know any grain merchants. But since you are injured, we will not leave you here on the roadside. Wait here — I will have someone bind your wounds, and a physician will come to treat you shortly…”

“People are still chasing me,” Yuan Xi said through clenched teeth. “I doubt I can wait for a physician…”

Even as he said it, the sound of hoofbeats was already rising in the distance. Yuan Xi’s face changed. All he could say was, “Leave now. The ones coming are skilled fighters — your people cannot stop them.”

This was not the front lines, and yet these killers had chased their quarry all the way here. Their audacity spoke to their skill.

Su Luoyun knew she had to make a quick decision.

Was this man truly someone who knew the Shizi — or was he a decoy sent by the Sixth Prince?

“Did you send a wedding gift to the Shizi?” she asked suddenly.

Yuan Xi answered without hesitation: “I was in a hurry at the time. I only managed to buy a complete set of fine porcelain tea bowls from a roadside stall…”

That confirmed it. Han Linfeng had indeed brought home a set of tea bowls, saying an old friend had sent them. She had felt the porcelain by hand — the glaze had been a little rough, and compared to the other gifts the Shizi had received, rather modest.

This man, then, really was Yuan Xi.

In the span of a breath, Su Luoyun made her decision — she would rescue him.

But as the man had said, she did not have many people with her. If the pursuers were seasoned fighters, the guards she had would be woefully outmatched.

She quickly asked Xiangcao whether there was blood on the ground, then called out her instructions: “Help him into the carriage. Wipe the blood from the road clean, then let some drops fall toward the riverbank over there… then drive on at our usual pace.”

At the Shizi’s consort’s word, everyone sprang into action. They helped Yuan Xi into the carriage, cleared the blood from the ground, and one of the guards sliced his own palm and dripped a trail of blood leading toward the river at the roadside.

While this was being done, Su Luoyun asked Xiangcao to describe their exact position on the road — and whether the earth-digging workers behind the hillside were still visible.

When Xiangcao told her where they were, a quiet steadiness settled in Su Luoyun’s heart.

She had been turning over in her mind the account Han Linfeng had given her only recently — the stratagem of the empty city. She decided that today she would play the role of Zhuge Kongming herself. The only question was whether this hastily assembled stage set could frighten off a band of desperate killers.

At that moment, more than a dozen pursuers arrived.

They were tall and powerfully built, dressed as passing merchants, but every one of them bristled with concealed weapons, and their eyes carried unmistakable menace.

One of them came up to the carriage, looked it over with narrowed eyes, then said, “A thief stole our belongings a moment ago — he took an arrow in the back. Did you happen to see him?”

“There was one,” the guard replied, glancing at him. “He saw our carriage and jumped into the river.”

The man seemed unconvinced. He turned and exchanged a look with those behind him.

They had chased their quarry all the way from the rebel camp on orders from the Deputy Commander, tasked with recovering the account ledgers. Yuan Xi could not be allowed any chance of escape.

The river was bitterly cold. They could not be certain Yuan Xi would have leapt in — but this carriage would have to be searched.

The carriage looked like it belonged to a wealthy household and came with a few armed escorts — but these men were all seasoned killers, and had no fear of a handful of guards. Even without killing the carriage’s occupants, they intended to force their way in and search it.