"......If this person is still around, my lord, you must recruit him into your service."
Huo Tingshan narrowed his eyes and smiled. "Naturally."
Gongsun Liang couldn't help but ask, "Has my lord already met this extraordinary talent?"
He had noticed that the ink on the paper was fresh, and the drawing had been made recently. At first, he thought the drawing was a copy made by Huo Tingshan, with the original safely stored away. But judging by his lord's expression, Gongsun Liang began to doubt that assumption.
His words caused a stir among the others present.
The improved saddle and the newly named "stirrups" were items no military officer could resist cherishing. Even though the equipment hadn't been crafted yet, everyone could easily imagine the might of the Youzhou army once outfitted with these innovations—unstoppable and invincible.
"My lord, who exactly is the person behind these drawings?"
"General, is this person in the county magistrate's residence? Could we summon him for an audience?"
"Could it be one of those three bailiffs?" The last question came from Xiong Mao.
The others paused, their expressions twisting slightly at the thought of a genius being linked to those fawning minor officials. Yet, Xiong Mao's speculation wasn't entirely unreasonable. In Beichuan County, the only new faces bold enough to approach were those bailiffs. If not them, then who?
"My lord, please don't keep us in suspense any longer. My goat beard is about to be singed off by my burning curiosity," Gongsun Liang pleaded, unable to contain his eagerness.
Huo Tingshan chuckled. "It does involve those bailiffs."
The group looked as if they'd swallowed flies, but then Huo Tingshan continued, "However, the drawings were not their work."
They exchanged puzzled glances. Even the quick-witted Gongsun Liang was stumped. If it involved the bailiffs but wasn't their doing, then who?
Seeing Xiong Mao and the others scratching their heads in confusion, Huo Tingshan decided to end their torment. "It was Madam Pei, the wife of Bailiff Hao, who drew them."
The group was stunned.
"A woman?"
"How could a sheltered lady understand military affairs?"
"General, could this Madam Pei be a spy?" Xiong Mao blurted out.
Silence fell for a moment. Gongsun Liang tapped his feathered fan against Xiong Mao's shoulder, muttering "fool" under his breath.
Chen Shichang's lips twitched. "Unlikely. What spy would bring such a groundbreaking strategy? That would be like throwing away both the bait and the fish."
"Perhaps her late husband left it to her," Gongsun Liang speculated. "My lord, I suggest we thoroughly investigate Madam Pei's background. Her husband must have been no ordinary man."
The others nodded in agreement.
They couldn't believe the drawings were truly the work of a woman. Housewives spent their days confined to domestic duties, preoccupied with trivial matters—how could they possess such profound insight? The drawings must have been her husband's creation, and as his wife, it was only natural she knew of them.
Huo Tingshan's smile faded slightly. "Her husband was an official in Beichuan County. By next year, the grass on his grave will be three feet high."
The group was both shocked and dismayed.
"That genius is dead?"
"How could he die? Damn those Bingzhou bastards and their atrocities."
Only three officials remained in Beichuan County; the rest had perished. Otherwise, those lowly bailiffs wouldn't have been present at the earlier banquet.
Huo Tingshan sighed. "Well, the dead cannot return. Should I venture into the underworld to fetch him? Xiong Mao, I entrust this investigation to you. Leave no stone unturned in his study—bring back anything of value."
Like Gongsun Liang, Huo Tingshan believed the two revolutionary designs were the work of Madam Pei's late husband. The man had died suddenly at the hands of "bandits," meaning his study likely still held undiscovered treasures.
"At once!" Xiong Mao was thrilled. "General, give me half a day. By noon tomorrow, I'll have everything brought to you!"
Ransacking a study? A trivial task. He’d have it done by tonight, no—he’d work through the night to finish it.
At this moment, Xiong Mao was brimming with confidence.
Pei Ying endured the worst of the feverish heat alone in her room, finally feeling somewhat relieved. She was grateful the drug wasn’t like those in dramas, where one would die without engaging in that act.
Once her strength returned, her first thought was to find her daughter.
Creak. She pushed open the door.
Twilight had faded, replaced by a vast, dark sky. A small lantern hung under the eaves, casting a long shadow.
Pei Ying’s heart skipped a beat—she hadn’t expected to run into someone so soon. But she quickly relaxed when she saw it was a woman, likely a maid, judging by her attire.
Hearing the door, Xin Jin turned swiftly. Not daring to look directly at the noblewoman, she kept her gaze lowered, catching only a glimpse of the lady’s fair hands beneath her sleeves. "Madam, how may I serve you?"
Pei Ying steadied herself. Running into someone was fortunate—at least she’d have a guide. "Do you know where the young girl who came with me is?"
Xin Jin replied, "Please follow me, Madam."
Relieved, Pei Ying trailed her to a side chamber. The maid whispered, "Madam, the young lady is inside."
Pei Ying hurriedly thanked her and pushed the door open, unaware of the maid’s startled gaze at her retreating figure.
This room was smaller than the one she’d just left, but the bed was visible from the doorway. On it lay Meng Ling'er, still unconscious.
Pei Ying rushed over. Her daughter’s clothes were thin but intact, her cheeks flushed red. Pei Ying felt both relief and worry—relief that the child hadn’t suffered the fever’s torment, worry that the drug might have lingering effects.
She touched Meng Ling'er’s forehead. Thankfully, it wasn’t feverish—just her cheeks were warm.
Just then, Meng Ling'er let out a soft moan and slowly opened her eyes.
"Sweetheart, how do you feel? Does anything hurt?" Pei Ying asked anxiously.
Dazed from sleep, Meng Ling'er blinked up at her mother and murmured, "Mother... what’s wrong?"
Pei Ying glanced around, spotted a teapot, and poured her daughter a cup of water. As Meng Ling'er sipped, her gaze suddenly caught Pei Ying’s red round-collar dress and the faint marks on her exposed skin. She jolted. "Mother, where are we? Weren’t we at home? Why are you...?"
Pei Ying had debated whether to tell her daughter the truth. In the end, she decided honesty was best—they only had each other now.
She summarized the events, mentioning the bailiffs’ betrayal and emphasizing Huo Tingshan’s promise.
Meng Ling'er trembled with rage. "How dare that bailiff! Father always said his colleagues were honorable men of shared ideals!"
Pei Ying hugged her, soothing her. "It’s over now. We’re going home."
"Yes, home," Meng Ling'er agreed, nodding vigorously. But then she glanced at their attire—Pei Ying’s red dress, her own thin robes—and blushed, hesitating.
Pei Ying had been solely focused on finding her daughter earlier and paid no heed to anything else. Only now, observing her daughter’s expression, did she realize the impropriety of their situation. "Wait here, darling. Mother will have someone fetch our clothes."
Pei Ying called for Xin Jin, who was waiting outside. Moments later, Xin Jin returned with their garments. As she handed over the two neatly folded outfits, Xin Jin lowered her voice and said, "Earlier, it was the maids who changed the clothes for you and the young mistress. Please forgive any offense, Madam."
Pei Ying gave Xin Jin a thoughtful glance. This young girl, barely older than her daughter, was demure in demeanor but possessed a keen mind.
After changing back into their own clothes, both Pei Ying and Meng Ling'er breathed a sigh of relief—only to realize their respite was short-lived.
"Why can’t we leave?" Meng Ling'er demanded, eyeing Xin Jin warily. She didn’t wish to stay in this place a moment longer.
Xin Jin kept her head respectfully bowed. "Madam, Young Mistress, though the bandits have been dealt with, there may still be a few lurking in the county. For your safety, General Huo has ordered an early curfew. Please rest here for the night. Further arrangements will be made tomorrow."
Pei Ying sighed. She was reluctant, but Xin Jin’s words made it clear this was a county-wide measure, not targeted at them specifically. There was little they could do. "Thank you for your trouble," she conceded.
Xin Jin hastily replied that it was no trouble at all.
Meng Ling'er pursed her lips but said nothing.
Dinner turned out to be unexpectedly lavish—lamb stew, millet rice, flatbread, steamed fish, thinly sliced roasted lamb, and even a small dish of cheese.
Meng Ling'er’s eyes widened. Though her father had been the county magistrate, her frugal grandmother managed the household finances strictly. Aside from festival occasions, their meals were usually simple and light.
Her mouth watered, but Meng Ling'er refused the food.
In these times, when a close family member passed away, immediate relatives typically observed mourning for twenty-five months—two years and one month, symbolizing three years. However, as the saying went: "Laws do not bind the nobility; rites do not constrain the common folk."
For ordinary people, mourning customs were less stringent. There was no enforcement, only personal discretion. Moreover, mourning didn’t require complete abstinence from meat—only refraining from official duties and indulgent pleasures.
"Ling'er, have some meat. Your father’s spirit would not wish to see you waste away in grief," Pei Ying urged, placing a slice of roasted lamb in her daughter’s bowl. As a time traveler, Pei Ying had no emotional ties to Meng Ducang, but she couldn’t bear to see her daughter deprive herself.
While Pei Ying and her daughter enjoyed a rare moment of peace, Xiong Mao was leading a group of soldiers with great fervor to Hao Wu. After extracting Pei Ying’s background from Hao Wu, he immediately diverted course to the Meng residence.
Xiong Mao spent the entire night at the Meng estate, only to find himself stumped by what he had assumed would be a simple task. He didn’t sleep a wink, turning Meng Ducang’s study upside down—yet found nothing of use.
Complete and utter failure.
Standing outside the study at dawn, Xiong Mao gazed at the pale light breaking over the horizon. Morning had arrived.
With only a few hours left until noon and no progress made, Xiong Mao grew increasingly anxious. After much deliberation, he decided to return to the magistrate’s residence. If his own mind couldn’t uncover the hidden clues, perhaps a sharper one could.
His plan seemed sound—until fate intervened. The moment he stepped into the magistrate’s courtyard, he encountered Huo Tingshan, who was training in the crisp early autumn air.
Despite the chill, Huo Tingshan wore only a short tunic, its collar open to reveal a glimpse of his heated, sinewy chest. "What have you found?" he asked.
Xiong Mao’s thoughts scattered. He swore his mind had never worked faster. "General, the lady’s husband was named Meng Ducang, courtesy name Chengyu. He began his studies at four, entered Jiuchuan Academy at eight, studied under Master Ningqing, excelled in the imperial exams, was recommended as a court official, and later served as the county magistrate of Beichuan..."
Xiong Mao had spent an hour memorizing Meng Ducang’s entire biography the night before—his upbringing, education, mentors, friendships, career, political achievements, family relations, and even the petty cash and valuable scrolls he’d uncovered in the study.
As he reported, Xiong Mao stole glances at Huo Tingshan’s expression, growing increasingly uneasy. Finally, he even mentioned the small stash of silver and paintings he’d found—likely Meng Ducang’s private savings.
When he finished, Xiong Mao swallowed hard, satisfied with his thoroughness. As for the missing item, he planned to mention it later. There were still hours until noon—perhaps a breakthrough was imminent.
Huo Tingshan, however, saw through Xiong Mao’s omission. Without pressing the issue, he asked instead, "How did this man meet Lady Pei?"
Xiong Mao froze.
Huo Tingshan continued, "How many years were they married? What was their relationship like?"
Xiong Mao’s head spun.
Huo Tingshan’s expression remained impassive. "Go back and investigate further."
