Inside the commander's tent, the brazier crackled, casting the silhouettes of the two confronting figures onto the felt walls, swaying like two beasts poised for combat.
Chu Hongying stood holding her spear, the tip of "Gale-Splitter" pointing at the ground, its cold light reflecting her icy eyes. "Strategist Shen, is this what you call 'keeping watch'?" Her voice was low, yet each word was like an ice spike, piercing the tense silence within the tent. "With guards posted three steps outside the tent, you managed to sleep soundly right next to my cot."
Shen Yuzhu leaned against a low table not far from the military bed. Hearing this, he slightly raised his eyes. His pale face showed no panic; instead, a faint, weak smile touched his lips. "If General finds my wakefulness bothersome, I could always pretend to be asleep again." His tone was mild, yet like a fine needle wrapped in velvet, it deftly deflected her sharpness.
Before the words fully settled, he suddenly covered his mouth and broke into violent coughs, his thin shoulders trembling like burdened bamboo struggling in a storm, causing the wide sleeves of his moon-white robe to ripple. Chu Hongying's brow furrowed almost imperceptibly. She took two steps forward. Though she didn't move her spear, her gaze sharply scanned the bloodstain seeping through his sleeve again.
"Your golden needles last night," her tone remained hard, interrogative, "how could they counter the Wolf-Falcon Camp's Raging Fire?" That was certainly not something an ordinary physician could accomplish.
Shen Yuzhu caught his breath, meticulously wiping the blood from the corner of his mouth with a plain handkerchief, his movements as composed as if polishing a rare artifact. "A mere petty skill, not worth mentioning. My teacher traveled widely and occasionally obtained folk remedies. It just happened to be effective against this particular case." He looked up, his gaze clear and moist as he regarded her. "But General... your old shoulder injury. If not properly treated soon, I fear it may not withstand the next large-scale engagement. The northern border's wind and snow are most adept at gnawing at old scars."
Chu Hongying's eyes turned frosty, her fingers tightening slightly around the spear. "How do you know that?" She hid this old injury well; even Zhao Dashan only knew the generalities, not the details.
"When wielding 'Gale-Splitter', General's right shoulder sinks three parts lower than the left. When exerting force, the energy deviates slightly. Although the power remains undiminished, it is ultimately not a sign of seamless, unimpeded flow," he explained softly, as if commenting on a piece of calligraphy. "Although my body is weak, my eyes are not yet dim."
Suddenly, his wrist seemed to lack strength. He swayed and nearly collapsed forward. Chu Hongying reached out almost instinctively to steady him, her fingertips instantly touching the cold, smooth skin of his wrist. The chill was piercing, causing an inexplicable pang in her heart. And in that fleeting moment of contact, her sharp eyes caught—beneath his loosened sleeve, which had slipped down due to the movement, a slender, sinister blackish-blue pattern coiled upwards. Its shape... resembled a cunning and malevolent fox tail!
This pattern was strikingly similar to the tattoo revealed on the neck of the scarred death warrior last night!
The air in the tent froze instantly.
Chu Hongying's fingers tightened like iron pincers, not allowing him to break free. Shen Yuzhu's attempt to withdraw his hand paused slightly, then he relented, letting her hold his pulse point. He merely slowly raised his eyes to meet her gaze, his depths calm, even carrying a trace of helpless resignation.
"If General suspects me," his voice was light as a sigh, "you can seize me now, send me to the prison tent, and interrogate me strictly. I... will have no complaints."
Chu Hongying remained silent, but the thumb holding his wrist subtly shifted, pressing accurately against his pulse point. The rhythm transmitted to her fingertips was chaotic as tangled hemp, a sinister cold energy entrenched deep within the pulse—extremely dangerous. This was no ordinary illness, nor something easily feigned.
"You're suffering from cold poison?" Her voice dropped, carrying a tension she herself hadn't noticed. The poison's pulse was vicious, completely at odds with his currently calm appearance.
"An old chronic ailment. I apologize for the unsightly display," Shen Yuzhu lowered his eyes, his long lashes casting a small shadow beneath them, veiling his emotions. "The north wind not only knows how to devour people, but also how to gnaw at sick bones. I'm accustomed to it." He tried to withdraw his hand again, his movement gentle yet firm.
Chu Hongying released his hand, but her gaze remained fixed on his wrist, now covered again by his sleeve. That pale, slender wrist, seemingly fragile and easy to break, hid golden needles capable of instantly freezing fierce flames, and that strange fox tail tattoo shared with the enemy.
In the silent interlude of their standoff, hurried, frantic footsteps suddenly sounded outside the tent, accompanied by Zhao Dashan's coarse voice, hushed yet unable to conceal his anxiety:
"General! Bad news! Something terrible has happened!"
The felt flap was thrown open. Zhao Dashan rushed in, bringing a gust of cold air. His face was flushed red from the chill, but sweat beaded on his forehead from anxiety. "General! The granary... during the shift change of the patrol last night, three carts of winter wheat vanished without a trace!"
Chu Hongying turned sharply, her eyes instantly sharp as a hawk's. "When was it discovered? What traces are at the scene?"
"Just now! When they were preparing to open the granary to distribute rations! There are only a few faint drag marks on the ground, as if the cart wheels were wrapped felt. The snow is too thick, the footprints are all blurred. No direction can be discerned!" Zhao Dashan wrung his hands in desperation. "This is the troops' rations for the next half month! What damned thief dares to touch army provisions!"
Chu Hongying's face turned iron grey. Stolen army provisions shook morale; this matter was no triviality. Her peripheral glance swept towards Shen Yuzhu beside her.
She saw he had quietly retreated two steps, head bowed arranging his slightly disheveled sleeves, his posture still composed, as if the previous confrontation and the current crisis had nothing to do with him. But as he raised his sleeve, Chu Hongying seemed to catch a glimpse of a faint flash of silver light at his fingertips—gone too fast to be sure.
"General, if you trust me," Shen Yuzhu spoke softly suddenly, breaking the anxious atmosphere in the tent. He looked at her, his lips pale almost transparent, but his eyes clear and piercing. "I might... attempt to track this thief."
Chu Hongying looked at him sharply. "You have a method?"
Shen Yuzhu nodded slightly, his tone plain yet carrying a strange, undeniable force. "The fox is cunning, skilled at hiding its tracks. Yet, crossing snow, it ultimately leaves tail marks to follow. Since it came foraging, it will always leave behind a scent... that only its own kind can smell."
His words carried implied meaning. The dancing firelight illuminated the deep, unfathomable undercurrent in his eyes.
Chu Hongying was silent for a moment, suspicion and the current crisis warring fiercely within her. Finally, she coldly ordered, "Zhao Dashan, take a squad, seal off the perimeter of the granary. Without my command, no one is to enter or exit, and no trace at the scene is to be disturbed!"
"Yes, sir!" Zhao Dashan accepted the order and hurried away.
The tent was left with only the two of them again. Chu Hongying stepped step by step towards Shen Yuzhu, her armor emitting faint metallic clinks, until she stood right before him.
"Shen Yuzhu," her voice lowered, only for the two of them to hear, "I will temporarily trust you this once. But you better remember, if I find out you are playing tricks, or have the slightest connection to this grain theft—"
"General's 'Gale-Splitter' spear will undoubtedly pierce my chest," Shen Yuzhu calmly finished her sentence, the corner of his lips even curving into a faint smile. "I... will await it expectantly."
He adjusted his sleeves and gave a slight bow. "Please wait a moment, General. Allow me to fetch a few small tools." With that, he turned and walked towards his simple luggage.
Chu Hongying watched his thin, straight back, her gaze finally falling on the plain handkerchief he had used to wipe the blood—on it, besides the bright red bloodstains, there seemed to be a trace of something very fine, barely noticeable... brown powder.
Her eyes narrowed abruptly.