On the journey to rescue Xiao Yan, Song Yueyao had already discussed countless strategies with the accompanying soldiers.
But just as they were about to reach Deer City, someone from the front of the convoy reported that a person was lying on the road.
It was Xiao Yan.
Earlier, scouts had reported that he had been hung from the city wall, subjected to flaying, his body covered in wounds. However, when the soldiers approached to examine him, they found that most of his injuries had already healed.
According to Xiao Yan himself, in the middle of the night, a young man claiming to be a righteous wanderer of the martial world had suddenly appeared and saved him. The man was dressed in a black robe and wore a face covering, making his features impossible to distinguish—only his voice revealed that he was quite young.
Song Yueyao pondered for a moment but did not press further.
She recalled that her grandfather had once told her that during his early years leading the Nie family army, they had once rescued a martial arts master of unfathomable skill while on the march. It was not unheard of for someone like that to come and repay a favor now.
On a high cliff unseen by anyone below, the entire scene could be clearly observed.
Chai Xiaomi pulled back her gaze, her eyes full of concern as she tugged off her own hair ribbon and carefully wrapped it around the young man's sharply defined wrist, layer by layer.
"I only told you to save him, but you had to feed him a Blood-red Silkworm?"
"The man was barely hanging by a thread, with one foot in the grave. If it had been anyone else, I wouldn’t have bothered—but since you asked me to save him, I had to make sure he survived for certain." Wu Li casually twisted his wrist, a faint smile curling at the corners of his mouth. "No need to wrap it. The wound will heal on its own in a bit. You’re just wasting a good hair ribbon."
His gaze was utterly indifferent when he looked at his own wound, but when he mentioned the wasted ribbon, a hint of reluctance flickered in his eyes.
Chai Xiaomi shot him a speechless glare. "What do you know? What if something dirty gets in during the healing and causes an infection? You handled it too roughly before, but now that you’re my husband, you have to follow my rules."
Something in her words seemed to please him. The hand that had been casually twisting his wrist suddenly stopped, and he obediently held it still, letting her fuss over it however she pleased.
In truth, her wrapping technique was far from professional—winding left and right, layering haphazardly, making his wrist look like a wrapped zongzi dumpling. Any skilled bandager would deem it unacceptable.
But Wu Li rested his chin on one hand, his gaze drifting up from beneath his eyelashes, watching with a look of subtle absorption and delight.
Ever since the curse had faded, the malevolent energy had stopped corroding his body. His nails had returned to a normal color, and Chai Xiaomi had trimmed and polished them neatly.
By now, his hands had indeed become rather pleasing to the eye.
Chai Xiaomi stared at his long, well-proportioned wrist, now wrapped in several loops of her ribbon—it looked exactly like a light pink wrist guard. Something suddenly came to mind, and her eyes curved into a smile. "I once heard a saying—if a boy wears a girl’s hair tie on his wrist, that means the flower... I mean, the grass is already taken."
She studied it for a moment, then hesitated. "But honestly, this color looks a bit strange on you. Since you’re not bleeding anymore, I’d better take it off."
"Wait!"
Her hand was suddenly seized.
"I feel like the bleeding hasn’t stopped yet. It’s better to keep it wrapped." A hint of stubbornness, barely perceptible, crept into Wu Li’s voice. "Tie it back on for me."
With a slight surge of inner force, the wound that had nearly healed split open again, revealing a thin trace of blood.
Chai Xiaomi looked down and immediately grew anxious. "Why is it bleeding again?"
“Mimi, make a tight knot,” he urged softly, his gaze shifting. “Tie it tight, and the bleeding will stop.”
Chai Xiaomi gave him a skeptical look but followed his instructions. She lowered her head, wrapped the ribbon tightly, and carefully tied four or five firm knots.
Finally, there was no sign of fresh blood seeping through.
She poked at the tangled knots and couldn’t help grumbling, “Well, now it’s impossible to undo. We’ll have to cut it with scissors later.”
Everything was quietly advancing along the predetermined path of the original story.
Former Vice General Xiao had returned to his post, and the morale of the Nie family army had greatly recovered.
The barbarian tribes had taken five cities in a row, and the ease of their victories made their troops complacent. They held a feast in Deer City, celebrating with fine food and wine, carried away by their triumph.
When they heard that the newly appointed commander of the Liangya Prefecture was a young woman, the barbarian soldiers burst into roaring laughter and sneered in disdain. Their khan even boasted that he would capture this woman alive and keep her as his personal trophy in his camp.
The arrogant often overlook everything but their own pride, failing to see the blade already closing in.
Ten days later, Song Yueyao led her troops with unstoppable momentum, reclaiming Deer City in a single powerful strike.
The barbarian army suffered heavy casualties, their forces weakened, and they retreated in defeat, fleeing in panic back to the great desert. They even abandoned the four cities they had previously captured.
But the Nie family army was hardly in a better state.
Already outnumbered from the start, more than half of their soldiers were lost, and the wounded filled the camp. They were forced to take a temporary rest in Deer City.
However, when the city gates slowly opened, Song Yueyao stood frozen in place.
The entire city lay in ruins, a sight too grim to bear.
The streets were a mess, covered in charred black marks from fires. The bodies of the elderly and young children lay scattered along the roadside. Young women were half-clothed, pieces of fabric strewn about. Among the broken walls and collapsed buildings, a few survivors huddled in corners, their eyes empty and numb.
Song Yueyao’s hand gripping the reins trembled slightly.
She held back the lump in her throat and said in a low, steady voice, “Issue the order: properly collect and bury the remains of the city’s people. Take cloth from our army tents to cover the bodies of the women and children so they may be buried with dignity!”
“Yes, Commander!”
After giving the order, she turned to look back at the smoke-filled battlefield beyond the city gates.
For some reason,
a vague sense of unease crept into her heart.
Though this battle had been fierce and grueling, now looking back, she felt an inexplicable sense that everything had gone too smoothly.
It was as if an invisible hand had been pushing things along behind the scenes, helping her secure this victory.
Song Yueyao looked up at the sky.
Was it fate? Was it luck? Or was there some hidden force supporting her?
It felt like reading from a script that had already been written—she was simply following the predetermined chapters, step by step.
Yet the path didn’t feel solid underfoot.
Three days later, all the bodies in the city had been properly collected and buried.
In the open spaces along the streets and lanes, wounded soldiers could be seen everywhere resting and recovering.
“Why does Sister Yao seem unhappy even after winning?”
Chai Xiaomi sat on the highest rooftop, her hands propping up her chin and resting on her knees, looking down below. She knew that, faced with such a scene, no one could truly feel cheerful.
But even after retaking the lost territory, Song Yueyao had shown no sign of relaxation. She was like a bowstring pulled taut, neither sending a victory report to the capital nor planning to rest. Instead, she had ordered Vice General Xiao to lead a thousand-strong vanguard cavalry on daily patrols outside the city.
Wu Li glanced sideways at her, his eyes dark and serious. “Never mind her—you’re not happy either.”
He noticed that her mood had been low for a long time now.
Starting from the journey from the capital to Lucheng, his smiles had grown fewer and fewer. He knew her too well; given her temperament, seeing Song Yueyao triumph completely would have moved her to ecstatic tears.
She did weep, but not from joy.
At the moment of victory, she stood in a secluded shadow behind a pillar, holding him tightly. The deafening trumpet of triumph resounded through the city, yet he heard her voice, barely a whisper:
"Lili, from now on, you must eat well, sleep well, and live well. The Jingming Terrace is a fine place—go and live there."
He said, "Alright. Wherever you go, I'll follow."
In the midst of the long, shrill trumpet calls,
he didn't know if she had answered.
Or perhaps she had said nothing at all.
He seemed to hear a dull pounding from his chest, one beat after another, like the ancient Miao ritual drums—that heavy, sonorous bronze mother drum being struck, calling out to something.
In the drumbeat, the farewell chant begins, word after word, all bidding farewell.
