The layers of the great tents were thrown open one after another. Copper basins and lamp stands were held high, their flames bright as day, illuminating even the surrounding mountains.
Within the military camp, the soldiers’ orderly footsteps rang like pounding drums as they marched across the wasteland overgrown with wild grass. The muffled sound seemed to travel straight through the earth.
The great banner bearing the character “Jun” snapped and billowed above the entrance. At last, beneath the flagpole, a figure emerged.
Jun Dingyuan wore a white robe beneath dragon-scale armor, the tassels of his crown gleaming in the sunlight. The armor plates struck against one another with a crisp, ringing sound.
A dark-colored whip hung at his waist, its tip wrapped in a thorn-patterned design. It shifted faintly in the breeze, and even from several dozen paces away, one could sense the cold, battle-hardened aura clinging to him.
Yet his face was unlike that of the rough-hewn warriors one usually found on the battlefield. Three parts of his features resembled Consort Liang, but there was not the slightest trace of severity in his brows and eyes. Instead, his face was almost delicately handsome, like powdered jade illuminated by clashing weapons—a striking mismatch with the murderous aura surrounding him.
Jun Dingyuan stepped forward and raised his left hand slightly. Eight sturdy soldiers immediately applied their strength in unison, slowly pushing open the heavy wooden gate and revealing the level earthen road behind it.
Wen Zhuo concealed the emotions in his eyes and pretended they were meeting for the first time. He clasped his hands and bowed. “General Jun.”
“Director Wen, there’s no need for such formalities.” Jun Dingyuan raised a hand in a gesture to spare him the ceremony. Shen Zheng noticed at once that his fingers were broad and thick, while his palms were covered in a heavy layer of calluses.
Compared with his face, those hands could not be called elegant in the slightest. Yet it was those rough hands that guarded the southern frontier and upheld the backbone of Great Qian.
“Uncle.” Shen Zheng’s voice was solemn as he greeted this young general who would one day streak across the annals of Great Qian’s history like a meteor.
He could not help feeling a surge of sorrow and grief in his chest. Only by exerting every ounce of self-control did he keep his emotions from showing.
The history of Great Qian recorded that Jun Dingyuan was proud and aloof, his sharpness impossible to contain. On the battlefield, he was brave and skilled, seizing enemy standards and beheading enemy commanders as effortlessly as reaching into a bag. Yet in court, he was poor at concealing his abilities and could not tolerate the winding turns of political maneuvering.
During Emperor Shengde’s reign, the court proposed cutting military provisions. Jun Dingyuan argued forcefully on behalf of his soldiers, laying out the harmful consequences in detail. Later, when military reforms were placed in the hands of outsiders, many of the measures proved incompatible with battlefield realities. He repeatedly defied the emperor’s wishes, speaking out in open opposition.
Emperor Shengde’s anger accumulated until he could bear it no longer. In the end, he took ruthless action and bestowed a sword upon Jun Dingyuan, ordering him to take his own life.
It seemed that throughout history, even peerless meritorious officials could never escape the tragic fate of becoming too powerful for the throne.
“You’ve grown so much, nephew. You’re even taller than your uncle now.” Jun Dingyuan reached out and placed a hand on Shen Zheng’s shoulder. The calluses on his palm rubbed against the fabric of Shen Zheng’s clothes, while his eyes were filled with undisguised affection.
He was clearly only ten years older than Shen Zheng, but in both his words and manner, he already carried himself entirely as an elder.
“I still remember when you were little. Your uncle used to take all of you children to play in the imperial city. You insisted on chasing after me and ended up falling on the steps outside the Hanlin Academy, swelling a great lump on your head. I taught you to fool your grandfather and Consort Liang by saying you’d been stung by a bee, and you obediently did exactly as I told you.” As Jun Dingyuan spoke, the corners of his mouth curved into a smile, and rare warmth appeared in his eyes. “I thought I could get away with it, but when we returned to the marquis’s residence, your grandfather still gave me a thorough beating. That was when I learned that a bump caused by a bee sting looks nothing like one caused by a fall.”
The estrangement and unfamiliarity brought about by ten years of separation vanished amid this recollection of childhood. Shen Zheng smiled as well and sighed. “I was too stupid back then. I should have said Shen Chen pushed me.”
Jun Dingyuan paused, then gave an exasperated laugh and put on a stern expression as he pretended to scold him. “You were so young, and already thinking of being that wicked?”
Shen Zheng thought to himself: Compared with that white-eyed ingrate who had occupied another person’s nest, this hardly counted as wicked.
It seemed that, in order to keep his entire family safe, he had no choice but to seize the throne.
“Come. We’ll discuss things inside the tent.” Jun Dingyuan took Shen Zheng by the hand and turned aside, ushering him and Wen Zhuo into the general’s tent.
The furnishings inside were extremely plain. In one corner lay a dark-green cotton mattress with plain-colored quilts folded on top. At the center stood a wooden table, its edges covered in marks left by blades and armor. Clearly, it had been used for many years and had never been replaced.
Several benches stood side by side beneath the tent canopy, accompanied by a square low table. They had obviously been prepared for the generals to discuss military affairs.
A copper-basin lamp stand stood outside the tent. Light filtered through the gray canvas flaps, casting hazy silhouettes inside. Four sesame-oil lamps burned within the tent. Their smoke was slightly choking, but it illuminated everyone’s faces clearly.
“Sit. There’s nothing good to eat in my camp. Make do with some hot water and a sesame flatbread to fill your stomach.” Jun Dingyuan glanced toward the guard outside the tent. The man immediately understood, turned around, and hurried toward the makeshift kitchen.
The benches had been sat on for years and had long since grown black with grime. Shen Zheng instinctively took a handkerchief from inside his robe, shook it open, and spread it over one of the benches. Then he reached out and took Wen Zhuo by the hand. “Teacher, sit here.”
His movements were so natural that Jun Dingyuan did not react at all. Wen Zhuo felt that fussing over etiquette at such a moment would only seem affected, so he wiped the edge of the bench and sat down on the handkerchief.
“There’s no one else here, so allow me to thank Director Wen for making plans for His Highness, considering the Jun family from every angle, and exhausting himself over the remains of our soldiers.” Jun Dingyuan struck his fist against his palm and gave the formal military salute.
He already knew of Shen Zheng’s intention to contend for the throne. As his uncle, he would naturally do everything in his power to assist him. Shen Zheng had spent ten years as a hostage and had no foundation or allies in court. Jun Dingyuan knew very well that Wen Zhuo was an important court official who enjoyed the emperor’s deep trust. To have Wen Zhuo’s support was Shen Zheng’s good fortune.
Wen Zhuo hurriedly rose as well. “There’s no need to thank me, General. I should be the one thanking you for bringing peace to Great Qian’s borders and sparing the common people the suffering of exploitation.”
After the exchange of courtesies was over, Jun Dingyuan asked, “Director Wen, you came here in the middle of the night. Is there something urgent?”
Wen Zhuo replied, “Nothing much.”
Shen Zheng sat to one side with his chin propped in his hand, raising his brows almost imperceptibly.
“When you meet His Majesty tomorrow, General, you need only speak of this great victory—the rampant aggression of Nanping, the hardships endured by our soldiers—and then mention how the people along the route are grateful for His Majesty’s benevolence. Under no circumstances should you mention Consort Liang’s suffering or His Highness’s difficulties, and you must not reveal the slightest trace of resentment.” Wen Zhuo stroked the low table and affected the tone of someone offering a reminder.
Jun Dingyuan nodded. “No one knows better than I do how narrow-minded and ungrateful the one seated high above can be, or how timid and fearful he is. I remember all too clearly how my father was abruptly recalled from the northern deserts to the capital back then.”
“Then that’s good. It seems I was only worrying unnecessarily.” Wen Zhuo relaxed. He glanced at the sky outside through the corner of his eye, then covered his mouth and gave a light cough. “I’m merely a frail scholar, and this is my first time in a military camp. Everything here is new to me. Why don’t you and His Highness catch up while I take a casual walk around the camp and broaden my horizons?”
“This… The sesame flatbread should be here soon. Wouldn’t you like to eat before you go?” Jun Dingyuan hesitated.
Wen Zhuo waved his hands. “No need, no need. I’ll only be gone for a little while. I’m just taking a stroll.”
“Then shall I send someone to accompany you, Director?”
“No need, no need. I can manage on my own.” With that, Wen Zhuo lifted the hem of his official robes, pulled back the tent flap, and walked out with unhurried steps.
Jun Dingyuan saw that he could hardly insist. Besides, he truly did want to speak with Shen Zheng privately.
Shen Zheng had not said a word throughout. He merely watched Wen Zhuo’s retreating back with interest. Even though Wen Zhuo had tried his best to make it seem like a spontaneous decision, calm and composed, Shen Zheng still noticed the flaw.
Who would meet a frontier general for the first time, exchange only a few words, and then hurry off to stroll around the military camp?
By now, nightfall was approaching, and the curfew bell at Guang’an Gate would soon sound. What on earth was the little cat in such a hurry to do?
Jun Dingyuan asked, “On my way back to the capital, I heard quite a few prefectures discussing how you’re the greatest living chess player and founded the ninth school of the Great Qian—the Meng School. What’s that about? I never noticed you had any talent in that area when you were young.”
Shen Zheng had no choice but to withdraw his gaze. Turning around, he said with a laugh, “Uncle, wasn’t I completely untalented in every area when I was young?”
“…”
Jun Dingyuan’s expression turned solemn. “No putting yourself down. You’ve always been kind by nature, with a benevolent heart. Your aunt and I have always believed that you were simply a late bloomer.”
This whole family really knew how to dote on their own.
Shen Zheng explained, “Actually, I only took advantage of a loophole. As far as chess skill goes, every civil and military official in court is better than me.”
He recounted the entire story of the Spring Terrace Chess Tournament to Jun Dingyuan.
Jun Dingyuan slammed his fist down on the table, making the writing implements tremble. Frost seemed to hang over his jade-like face as he angrily rebuked, “I never imagined that the Great Qian had become so corrupt. The Eight Schools are full of filth, but I never thought Shen Chen would harbor such vicious intentions as well. I should never have saved that woman back then!”
Shen Zheng quickly soothed him. “Uncle, although she turned out to be evil, helping her was not a mistake. Relieving the weak and assisting the poor is not wrong in itself. As for what the person you help eventually becomes, that is their own affair. Why blame yourself for it?”
Jun Dingyuan was rather surprised by this. “You’re so young, yet you’ve already reached such an understanding?”
Shen Zheng hurriedly humbled himself. “That wasn’t an insight of mine. It was the insight of an old gentleman named Adler. He calls it ‘the separation of tasks.’”
Jun Dingyuan found the name rather strange and somewhat Western, but did not pursue the matter. Instead, he sighed with emotion. “It seems you haven’t wasted these ten years. You truly are a descendant of the Jun family!”
Shen Zheng smiled, but his gaze once again drifted toward the tent entrance.
He had deliberately chosen not to follow Wen Zhuo because he did not want to ruin the little cat’s plan. With such consideration, what sort of reward should he receive?
Outside the tent, Wen Zhuo had indeed breathed a sigh of relief at Shen Zheng’s cooperation. He knew that what he had done was somewhat rash, but time was pressing, and he had no choice.
After leaving the general’s tent, he put on a show of wandering around nearby. He even exchanged a few words with several soldiers on watch. Seeing that everyone was gathered around the lantern stands, drinking water and eating, with no one paying attention to him, he turned and headed toward the rear camp.
His thin silk trousers did little to protect his legs. Grass blades scraped against his calves, bringing waves of itchy stings, but he endured the discomfort, wading through the thick grass and making straight for the solitary little tent.
The night insects disturbed by his passage chirped softly and scattered in all directions, parting the grass to form a quiet path.
From a distance, that familiar figure was indeed standing outside the tent.
Mo Shu was still keeping a low profile, traveling alone.
He sat on a low stool, holding a bowl of hot-water-soaked flatbread. He appeared to be lost in thought.
The weak candlelight danced over his figure, outlining him with a gentle halo.
He wore the simplest coarse hemp clothing, washed until its color had faded to a dull grayish blue. Coarse cloth bands were tied around his waist and hair, and he wore no luxurious ornaments whatsoever.
Yet his back was straight, and his movements as he ate were brisk but graceful—the refined bearing that came from years of immersing himself in books.
His chopsticks occasionally brushed against the rim of the bowl, making faint, brittle sounds. His hands, supporting the bowl, were covered in mottled scars from years of cuts inflicted by blades.
Wen Zhuo closed his eyes.
Mo Shu, in my previous life I failed to save you. In this life, I will protect you and make sure you come to no harm!
Having made up his mind, Wen Zhuo lightened his steps and used the wild grass to muffle his movements as he quietly approached Mo Shu. When he was only a few paces away, he suddenly spoke.
“It’s cold here at night, and the lanterns are dim. There are also so many mosquitoes. Why don’t you go to the front camp and eat with everyone else?”
Mo Shu heard the voice suddenly at his ear and shuddered violently. He sprang to his feet.
Wen Zhuo’s eyes sharpened. At once, he pretended to trip, cried out in alarm, and hurled himself toward Mo Shu.
“Careful!”
Mo Shu had no time to think. He quickly threw down the half-bowl of flatbread and reached out to catch Wen Zhuo.
Knowing that Mo Shu had a martial arts foundation, Wen Zhuo put every ounce of strength into the fall.
Unfortunately, Mo Shu happened to have one leg braced against a stool. Before he could properly plant his feet, he shifted backward and struck the stool hard.
His heart sank.
But by then, Wen Zhuo had already dragged him down, and the two of them crashed to the ground with a heavy thud.
The soaked flatbread scattered everywhere. The white bowl overturned in the grass. Mo Shu’s ankle had struck the stool, sending a dull pain through it. The coarse hemp cloth across his chest had been pulled open by Wen Zhuo, and two objects tumbled out: an ink marker and a small, toothed copper component. Anyone with the slightest knowledge would have recognized it as the “tooth” of a siege crossbow mechanism.
Wen Zhuo had no experience with staging a fall, so he had not come off much better himself. After hitting the ground, his palm was cut by a sharp blade of grass. Fortunately, the turf was thick enough that he did not injure himself anywhere else.
The commotion was considerable and attracted soldiers on duty, who hurried over to investigate. They cried out one after another, “Director Wen, are you all right?”
“Master Director, are you injured?”
Mo Shu abruptly raised his eyes and stared fixedly at Wen Zhuo’s face, fair as the cool moon over a mountain. After several strained breaths, he hurriedly struggled to help Wen Zhuo up, then dropped to both knees and bowed his head low.
“This humble one, Li Ping, greets Director Wen.”
Wen Zhuo got to his feet, raised a hand to brush the loose strands of hair from his forehead, then dusted the grass clinging to his official robes. His gaze swept indifferently over his bleeding fingertips before shifting to the two objects that had fallen from Mo Shu’s arms.
Fortunately, this injury had not been suffered for nothing, he thought.
A commotion suddenly arose outside the tent. The hot water and flatbread ordered earlier had yet to arrive. Jun Dingyuan furrowed his brows and demanded in a deep voice from the guards outside, “What is all that noise?”
The guard stammered through the tent curtain, “General… Director Wen went to the rear camp just now and was accidentally knocked down by Li Ping.”
“Knocked down?”
Shen Zheng’s heart lurched. He pressed both hands against the low table and was about to rise.
At that very moment, the tent flap was gently lifted. Wen Zhuo walked in with his sleeve rolled up and his bleeding hand hanging at his side, giving a slight bow as he entered.
His face was icy, his brows faintly drawn together, and bright red beads of blood dripped between his fingers, making the sight somewhat alarming.
Shen Zheng was both shocked and bewildered. He had no idea what Wen Zhuo was scheming, but for the moment, all he could think of was taking Wen Zhuo by the wrist and lowering his head to inspect the wound.
The scrape was not deep, merely somewhat long, which was why it was bleeding so profusely. Mud and bits of grass clung to the edges of the wound.
“Uncle, is there a military physician?” Shen Zheng turned toward Jun Dingyuan.
It was not a serious injury, but it needed to be disinfected and bandaged immediately.
Before he had even finished speaking, the military physician hurried in with a medical kit.
He efficiently took out a clean strip of linen and opened a jar of boiled, cooled water. Bowing, he said, “Your Highness, please allow me to treat Director Wen’s wound.”
Shen Zheng had no choice but to release Wen Zhuo’s hand, though his gaze remained fixed on the injury. He asked softly, “Teacher, are you hurt anywhere else?”
Wen Zhuo cast Shen Zheng a fleeting glance and shook his head.
In truth, the injury merely looked frightening. It was nowhere near as severe as the torture he had endured in the Dali Temple prison. But to make it clear that he was displeased by the wound, Wen Zhuo calmly said, “Your Highness, I’m feeling a little pain.”
Shen Zheng’s heart hurt a little too.
“It’s my fault. I should have stayed with you just now.”
The military physician was bandaging Wen Zhuo when footsteps sounded outside the tent once more. Mo Shu limped in. He had straightened his robes and tucked the fallen object back into his breast, and now stood uneasily in the tent, supporting his injured leg.
Seeing the weeds clinging to Mo Shu’s trouser leg and sleeves, the sticky smear of water staining the front of his robe, and the awkward way he favored his ankle, Jun Dingyuan abruptly rose from behind the desk.
Before Jun Dingyuan could speak, Mo Shu dropped to both knees and lightly touched his forehead to the ground. His voice was clear as jade striking jade, yet filled with utter humility.
“This humble man is guilty. I carelessly collided with Director Wen and caused him to suffer an injury that drew blood. I beg the general to punish me according to military law!”
Jun Dingyuan’s five fingers clenched abruptly, his brows drawing tightly together. Even his usually composed, jade-like features were visibly shaken.
His gaze fell upon Mo Shu’s swollen ankle. “Your leg…”
Mo Shu hurriedly cut him off. “This humble man is willing to accept military punishment and will harbor not the slightest resentment!”
Jun Dingyuan’s throat moved. In the end, he remained silent, quite unable to issue the order to punish him.
By then, Wen Zhuo’s wound had been properly bandaged. He rested his palm flat on his knee, his gaze slowly moving from Mo Shu, who remained kneeling on the ground, to Jun Dingyuan’s face, which was filled with words left unspoken.
Wen Zhuo suddenly curved his lips into a knowing smile. “I’m rather curious as to this man’s true identity. He has already volunteered to be punished, yet the general still cannot bring himself to give the order?”
Jun Dingyuan had already regained his composure. With his hands clasped behind his back, he lowered his eyes to Mo Shu’s stooped back and replied calmly, “He is my personal attendant, Li Ping. He has always acted with discretion, so I doubt this was intentional. Besides, if I punished him, there would be no one to attend to the affairs of my tent.”
Wen Zhuo lowered his head and flexed the injured finger. His tone was casual, yet carried a hint of pointed challenge. “Isn’t the general returning to the capital tomorrow? The Yongning Marquis’s residence has no shortage of servants. Surely you won’t be worried about having no one to attend you?”
—
—
Mo Shu bit his lip tightly. His voice trembled, but remained clear. “According to the Great Qian Code, anyone who injures a superior through collision is to receive seventy strokes. I know how strict military law is. General, there is no need to hesitate. Punish me!”
The veins at Jun Dingyuan’s temple throbbed faintly. His jade-like face flushed red, yet he still refused to speak.
Shen Zheng finally shifted his attention away from Wen Zhuo and let his gaze settle on the “Li Ping” who had kept his face hidden in the shadow of his arms from beginning to end.
He knew that Wen Zhuo’s schemes against Wu Kan and Liu Quan, and the way he had implicated the emperor, Consort Liang, Jun Dingyuan, and Nanping—using a spy to exchange for the remains of the fallen soldiers, winning fame along the way, and gathering the army’s loyalty—had all been part of one long circuitous journey.
At its root, everything had been for the sake of the man before them.
He gazed quietly at Wen Zhuo and saw the light of victory gleaming once more in those shrewd eyes.
Without changing expression, Shen Zheng reached out and adjusted Wen Zhuo’s sleeve, concealing the tiny drop of blood that had accidentally fallen onto his official robe.
Teacher has hurt himself deliberately for me again, hasn’t he?
Wen Zhuo remained entirely unaware of Shen Zheng’s silent question. Sitting upright and composed, his eyes gleaming with brilliance, he asked calmly, “How long does the general intend to keep hiding this?”
