The blizzard screamed its fury against the thin walls of the medical tent, a relentless onslaught of wind and ice that seemed determined to extinguish the very life from the world. The braziers, stoked to a furious heat, fought a desperate battle against the invading cold, their glow flickering across the ashen faces of the assembled physicians. The air was thick with the scents of burning coal, dried herbs, and a new, sinister undertone—the cloying smell of frost and something metallic, like blood frozen in the air.
Chu Hongying stood like a statue carved from fury and fear, her armor glinting in the erratic light. Shen Yuzhu lay motionless on the cot before her, a stark contrast to the chaotic energy that filled the space around him. His face was a mask of pallid wax, beaded with sweat that crystallized almost as soon as it formed. Each shallow, agonizing breath he drew misted before his lips, a ghostly exhalation that spoke of a body losing its war against an inner winter.
"The needles! Now!" Chu Hongying's voice was a whip-crack, slicing through the hushed panic. She had carried him in herself, his body frighteningly light and cold even through her armored gloves. The memory of that coldness still seared her hands.
The head physician, a man named Li with decades of experience etched into his weary face, finally withdrew his trembling fingers from Shen Yuzhu's wrist. His complexion had turned a sickly gray. "General… the cold poison… it is ancient, rooted deep. But tonight… it's as if a dam has broken. His own life force is raging against it, only fueling the poison's spread. It… it should not be possible for a man to survive this." His eyes flickered to the intricate, bluish-black veins now visible beneath the pale skin of Shen Yuzhu's neck, crawling upwards like malevolent ivy towards his heart. The skin they mapped was cold and rigid as polished stone.
He used his true energy to seal the tent against the poison mist, Chu Hongying realized with a fresh wave of anger that was directed as much at herself as at the unconscious man. He sacrificed himself to protect the rest of us. Reckless, arrogant…
"Fix him," she commanded, her voice dropping to a low, dangerous register. She stepped forward and, ignoring the startled glances of the physicians, grasped Shen Yuzhu's hand. The shock of the contact was visceral. It was like clutching the hand of a corpse pulled from a frozen river. A memory, unbidden, flashed behind her eyes—the feeling of her father's cold, lifeless hand in the snow of Snow Wolf Valley. She pushed it down violently.
As if sensing the sudden warmth, Shen Yuzhu's eyelashes fluttered. His eyes opened, their usual lucid intelligence clouded with pain and fever, yet a ghost of his infuriating smile touched his bloodless lips. "General…" he rasped, each word a struggle. "Your voice… could wake the dead… You'll frighten… these good doctors…"
"Silence," she hissed, leaning closer. She didn't release his hand. Instead, she wrapped her other, warmer hand around his, trying to impart some of her own formidable heat, to fight back the glacial death claiming him. It was an irrational, instinctive act, one that defied her every rule of distance and command.
Physician Li gestured frantically to an assistant, who produced a case of long, silver needles. "General, we must attempt to guide the poison away from his heart, disperse it to the extremities. It is… a perilous procedure. The pain alone…"
"Do it," Chu Hongying interrupted, her gaze fixed on Shen Yuzhu's face.
The first needle slid into a point on his chest. Shen Yuzhu's body arched off the cot with a silent, convulsive shudder. A trickle of dark blood, so cold it seemed to steam in the relatively warm air, escaped the corner of his mouth. Chu Hongying's own heart hammered against her ribs. She snatched a clean cloth and pressed it to his lips, her movements uncharacteristically rough with a fear she would never admit aloud. "Hold on, Shen Yuzhu. That is an order."
Then, a miracle—or a final, desperate act of will. His fingers, which had lain limp in her grasp, suddenly twitched and closed around her wrist with surprising strength. The cold of his touch was a brand.
"Snow… Wolf… Valley…" The words were a breathless whisper, meant for her ears alone.
Every muscle in Chu Hongying's body locked. The sounds of the tent—the crackle of the fire, the moan of the wind, the frantic whispers of the physicians—faded into a dull roar. She bent lower, her ear almost touching his lips, her world narrowing to that faint, dying voice. "Speak."
"The fire…" he gasped, a fresh wave of pain contorting his features. "Not… Di fire… The arrows… came from…" A fit of coughing wracked him, and this time the blood that stained the cloth was black. When his eyes opened again, the fog of pain had cleared, replaced by a terrifying, crystalline clarity and a depth of despair that struck Chu Hongying to her core. "…from behind."
From behind.
Two words. Two simple words that shattered the foundation of her life.
The world did not so much tilt as explode. The medical tent vanished. She was fifteen again, surrounded by the screams of dying men, the acrid smell of smoke and blood, the bewildering horror of an attack that made no tactical sense. The official story—an ambush by the elite Di Wolf-Falcon Camp—had been the bedrock of her hatred, the fuel for her vengeance for over a decade. And now this man, this enigma, was telling her it was a lie. That the killing blow had come from within, from those they trusted.
Her grip on his wrist tightened until her knuckles were white. "Who?" The question was torn from her, a raw, wounded sound.
Shen Yuzhu's strength was fading fast. His gaze held hers, desperate and insistent. "Wait… until I live…" His breath hitched. "…Evidence…"
His eyes rolled back, and his body went completely limp, his head lolling to the side. The fragile connection snapped.
"Shen Yuzhu!" Chu Hongying's cry was strangled. She had the irrational impulse to shake him, to demand he finish, to give her the name that had haunted her dreams.
Physician Li rushed forward, feeling for a pulse. After an agonizing moment, he sagged with relief. "He lives! The pulse is thinner than a spider's silk, but it is there. He must have absolute quiet, General. Not a shred of energy can be spared. Any further agitation could be fatal."
Chu Hongying slowly, stiffly, released Shen Yuzhu's hand. She straightened up, her face a mask of carved stone, but her eyes burned with a fire that had not been there before. She looked from Shen Yuzhu's lifeless form to the terrified physicians.
"He lives," she said, her voice flat and final. "If he dies, you will all join him." It was not a shout, but the quiet certainty in the words was more terrifying than any roar.
The physicians knelt, trembling, not daring to look up.
At that moment, the tent flap was thrown aside. Zhao Dashan stood there, his face a mixture of fury and fear, coated in a fresh layer of wind-driven snow. "General!" he blurted out, his voice tight. "The southern watchtower! We found more blood… and this!" He opened his hand to reveal a crushed, empty poison capsule. "And footprints! Faint ones, leading toward your command tent before they vanished into thin air! As if the one who left them could fly!"
The pieces clicked into place with chilling clarity. The poison that had triggered Shen Yuzhu's collapse had not been some random act. It had been administered deliberately, and the perpetrator had stayed to watch the results, close enough to leave traces near her own doorstep. The mole was not just in the camp; they were bold, skilled, and watching.
Chu Hongying's hand went to the hilt of her sword. Her gaze swept back to the cot, to the man who held a fragment of her past—a past that was now a lie—and the key to her future. A fierce, protective rage, hotter than any forge fire, ignited within her.
This man, this fragile, infuriating, indispensable man, knew the truth about Snow Wolf Valley. He was the only living link to the betrayal that had destroyed her family.
And she would be damned to the deepest hell before she would let anyone take that from her.