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Fortunately, the sun was kind today, and the official road wasn't too muddy, its surface dry and firm. The carriages moved at a decent pace.
Over three hundred carriages stretched in a long line, their heads and tails barely visible, extending more than a li. Each carriage was laden with sacks of grain, covered with oilcloth, bound tightly with coarse hemp ropes that left deep grooves.
Two drivers on one of the carriages whispered to each other.
"Brother, where are we headed? This direction doesn't seem right," the younger driver said, lightly pulling the reins to guide the carriage.
"It's toward Sili," the older driver replied, squinting and leaning back.
The younger driver nodded. "Yeah, I noticed something's off. Brother, didn't they say we're going to Shangjun? Why are we heading to Sili?"
The older driver chuckled hoarsely. "How would I know? You think I'm some big shot?"
"I'm just asking 'cause you've traveled far and seen a lot," the younger driver said with a laugh, glancing back and forth along the convoy. "So many carriages—tsk, tsk—if they're all loaded with grain, must be a few thousand shi, right?"
"A few thousand shi?" The older driver scoffed, clearly unimpressed with the young man's estimate. "At least ten thousand shi!"
In truth, the older driver wasn't entirely correct either. This convoy carried a total of forty-five thousand shi.
Cui Hou, riding beside Fei Qian, looked at the long line of carriages with a mix of joy and worry. So many carriages and so much grain, but guarded by only eight hundred men—half of them new recruits—made safety a real concern.
Thankfully, the journey from Anyi to Shanjin could be covered in a day by fast horse. Even at the current pace of the heavy carriages, it would take only two days, which eased Cui Hou's mind somewhat.
This time, Cui Hou had staked his entire fortune, so the pressure was immense, leaving him restless.
Fei Qian glanced at Cui Hou, understanding his concerns. But some things couldn't be soothed with words alone; they needed to be seen to be believed. So, Fei Qian had no intention of comforting Cui Hou.
Moreover, Fei Qian had his own, more painful problem to deal with…
Two consecutive days on horseback had significantly improved his riding skills, but it had also left him with blood blisters between his thighs. With every rise and fall of the horse, the friction was excruciating, a pain that felt like a dance between life and death.
Previously, he had mostly traveled by carriage. Though carriages weren't much more comfortable, their jolts could be cushioned with furs. Riding a horse was different, requiring constant leg support. The inner thighs, with their delicate skin, suffered the most…
Thus, Fei Qian's focus was consumed by battling his physical pain, leaving little room to address Cui Hou's troubled expression, though he noticed it.
Choosing to ride was a deliberate decision. Once they entered Shangjun, they would have to deal with horses extensively. Relying on a carriage would be too limiting, so it was better to hone his riding skills now. Waiting until a critical moment to scramble would be far too late.
As they rounded a grove, a few scout riders appeared ahead, causing a brief stir in the convoy. The disturbance quickly subsided as the scouts, spotting Fei Qian's banner, sent two riders to report back while the rest approached slowly, showing no hostility.
One rider came closer, recognized Fei Qian and Huang Cheng, and rode up to them. He was about to salute when Fei Qian's grimace of pain startled him. Hesitantly, he said, "Greetings, Lord Fei… uh… are you alright?"
"Hiss… How far is General Wenyuan's camp?" Fei Qian asked, wincing through the pain.
"Not far. Just past that hill ahead, about twenty li…"
"What? Twenty li?!" Fei Qian groaned, the thought of more riding nearly unbearable.
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Fei Qian sat on a low stool, legs spread, head bowed, carefully applying medicinal oil to his thighs, grimacing with each touch.
Suddenly, the tent flap lifted, and Zhang Liao walked in. Seeing Fei Qian's state, they locked eyes, both momentarily stunned…
"Brother Wenyuan, don't you announce yourself before entering a tent?" Fei Qian thought to himself, grateful he wasn't accustomed to wearing crotchless undergarments and had opted for proper shorts, or he'd have been completely exposed.
Zhang Liao pulled over a stool, sat beside Fei Qian, and glanced at the blood blisters on his thighs. "It's my own tent. Do I need to announce myself? Come on, no need to cover up. We're all men, and it's not like I haven't seen this before…"
"When have you seen this?" Fei Qian retorted instinctively, still feeling a bit uneasy despite being among men.
Zhang Liao laughed. "Ziyuan, you forgot? That time at Lord Wen's mansion… haha…"
"Uh… I think it's better to forget that one…" Fei Qian recalled the memory, his face darkening. It wasn't a pleasant one.
"Hey, you're doing it wrong. Let me help." Zhang Liao pulled out a small, sharp knife, its edge gleaming. "You need to puncture all the blisters before applying the oil. That way, they'll mostly heal by tomorrow. Otherwise, you won't be walking."
"Really?" Fei Qian asked skeptically.
Zhang Liao nodded earnestly. "Of course. When I was a kid learning to ride, it was the same. If you don't break the blisters, they'll just get bigger and worse. No amount of oil will help if they don't heal properly."
Fei Qian considered this and nodded in agreement.
"Hey! Easy! Slow down! Argh!"
"Stop yelping and bear it! It'll be over quick!"
Outside Zhang Liao's tent, Huang Cheng, Ma Yan, and Cui Hou stood frozen, hearing Fei Qian's anguished cries. Like ducks with stretched necks, they exchanged bewildered glances, unsure whether to enter or stay put…