Dawn broke, pale and anemic, over the fortress. The blizzard that had raged with primal fury throughout the night had finally exhausted itself, leaving behind a world encased in a deathly, sterile white. An oppressive silence had fallen, heavier and more menacing than the storm's roar. The wind was now a subdued whisper, slinking through the camp as if holding its breath, waiting for some imminent catastrophe. The air itself was a blade, sharp with the scent of frozen metal and countless shattered snowflakes, a cold so profound it seemed to freeze the very marrow in one's bones.
Chu Hongying stood rigid before the commander's tent, her iconic black armor layered with a brittle frost. The storm gathering on her brow was darker and more turbulent than any sky. At her sharp command, the main gates of the camp had been heavily barred, their massive beams thrown into place with a sense of finality. Teams of her personal guards, clad in their somber hues, fanned out like a disciplined black tide, conducting a meticulous, grid-by-grid search centered on the southern watchtower and radiating outward. The sound of their boots methodically crushing the virgin snow was a monotonous, urgent drumbeat against the silence. Yet, for all their thoroughness, the investigation had already hit a wall. The trail of faint, tell-tale footprints that should have led them to the infiltrator had vanished inexplicably just a few paces from the commander's tent, as if the assassin had simply dissolved into the wind and snow, a ghost without substance.
"Investigate!" Her voice was not loud, but it carried the cold, hard ring of a sword striking stone, cutting through the stillness and reaching every ear with chilling clarity. "From last night until this very moment, every single person—soldier, cook, stable hand, officer—who approached the southern ridge or this tent is to be isolated and questioned. I want everyone accounted for. Not a single one missed!"
Zhao Dashan, his face ashen, accepted the order with a sharp salute and turned on his heel. A cold sweat already beaded on his temple, trickling down his weathered cheek. This battle-hardened veteran, who had faced down Di cavalry charges without flinching, felt for the first time a deeper chill within the familiar confines of his own barracks. The enemy outside the walls was known; the shadow lurking within was far more terrifying.
Chu Hongying turned and strode quickly back into the main tent, the heavy flap falling shut behind her, muffling the outside world. Inside, the brazier burned fiercely, its heat lapping at the cold air, but it did nothing to dispel the icy turmoil churning within her. Her gaze was drawn irresistibly to the cot. Shen Yuzhu had fallen unconscious again, his face so pale it was almost translucent, like fine porcelain on the verge of shattering. The emergency medicine Lu Waning had left behind had temporarily stabilized his erratic pulse, but a faint, sinister cold aura still clung to him, a clear sign that the crisis was far from over.
With a sharp gesture, she dismissed the remaining attendants. The tent was suddenly, profoundly empty, save for the two of them and the occasional crackle and spit from the firepot. The silence was a living entity, thick with unspoken questions.
She stood motionless before the cot, a statue carved from worry and suspicion. "Snow Wolf Valley," "from behind," "evidence"—these fragmented words, uttered with his last vestiges of consciousness, now swirled in her mind like a blizzard, stirring up a tidal wave of memories and doubts she had fought for over a decade to seal away. That old, festering wound, long scarred over, now throbbed with a fresh, acute pain.
Just as her thoughts threatened to spiral into chaos, the man on the cot stirred. His eyelashes fluttered, and he slowly opened his eyes. They were clouded with profound weakness, his vision unfocused for a long moment. But upon seeing her looming figure, a keen alertness sharpened his gaze instantly, a flash of calculation that was then perfectly masked by his usual veneer of gentle, almost fragile harmlessness.
"General..." His voice was terribly hoarse, a dry rasp. He made a weak attempt to push himself up, a show of deference that cost him visible effort.
"Lie down." Chu Hongying stepped forward in an instant, her hand coming down on his uninjured shoulder with undeniable force, pushing him firmly back onto the thin mattress. She leaned in close, her face inches from his, her gaze locking onto his like a hawk sighting its prey. Her voice was low, each word weighted and deliberate, leaving no room for evasion. "Snow Wolf Valley. What exactly happened back then? And the evidence you mentioned—where is it?"
Being forced back onto the cot triggered a fit of violent, wracking coughs. Shen Yuzhu's pale face flushed with a sickly, uneven red. He managed a pained, bitter smile. "General... you just pulled me back from the gates of hell... and now you're holding court to interrogate me before my body has even cooled?" His words were a masterful blend of reproach and feigned vulnerability.
"Don't play word games with me," Chu Hongying's tone was icy, her fingertips pressing slightly harder into his shoulder, a silent promise of pressure. "I need to know how much truth is in the words you bought with half your life. I have no patience for theatrics."
Shen Yuzhu closed his eyes, as if gathering strength, or perhaps composing his lies. When he opened them again, they held a bottomless, calculating depth. He spoke slowly, each word a carefully placed probe. "The truth... hasn't the General always harbored doubts in her heart? If not, why has she spent these long years secretly investigating the traces that connect the fate of the 'Wolf-Falcon Camp' to certain powers in the capital?" His tone then shifted abruptly, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, so low it was almost swallowed by the crackle of the fire. "General, recently... have you received any letters from so-called 'old acquaintances' in the capital? Any... 'greetings' that arrived separately from the routine documents from the Ministry of War?"
Chu Hongying's pupils constricted sharply!
Three days ago. A private letter, sealed with a familiar insignia, had indeed found its way to her desk, bypassing official channels. The content had seemed innocuous at first—pleasantries, inquiries about her health, reminiscences of past times. But the final line, "The North Border is troubled, the General should take good care of herself," had felt abrupt, almost jarring. At the time, she had dismissed it as clumsy phrasing. Now, in this context, it felt like a needle, its tip dipped in a subtle, insidious poison.
Though her expression remained a masterclass in stoicism, the momentary freeze in her posture and the flicker of shock and dawning suspicion in her eyes were accurately captured by the man on the cot. He let out a light sigh, tinged with a weariness that seemed to see through the entire world's deceptions. "It seems you have. Then, has the General considered that the one who sent this 'solicitous greeting' and the one who is now so eager to silence me forever... might share the same root? That they might be two heads of the same serpent?"
The atmosphere in the tent tightened instantly, stretched to a breaking point like a fully drawn bowstring.
At that very moment, Zhao Dashan's voice, deliberately raised and laced with a barely perceptible panic, came from outside the tent: "General! Supervisor Gu Changfeng has arrived! He insists on seeing you at once!"
Before the words had fully faded, the felt flap was unceremoniously lifted by a hand adorned with an exquisite mutton-fat jade thumb ring. A figure in rich, dark-blue robes, lined with silver fox fur, stepped into the tent. He brought with him a wave of outside cold and an aura of lazy, almost reckless arrogance.
Gu Changfeng's eyes, bright and holding a spring-like amusement, swept around the interior. A playful, knowing smile graced his lips. His gaze first lingered with open interest on the sickly Shen Yuzhu, taking in his pallor and weakness, before finally settling on Chu Hongying's hand, which still rested possessively on Shen Yuzhu's shoulder. His smile deepened, his tone light and teasing, yet sharp as a razor's edge: "Well, well! Quite the... intimate scene in General Chu's tent so early in the morning! I've only just arrived by imperial decree to supervise the army, barely found my footing, when I hear you've locked down the entire camp and launched a massive manhunt over a mere strategist. This level of 'importance' you place on your subordinates is truly touching, enough to move even a hardened soul to tears."
His words sounded like praise but were laced with barbs, each one designed to provoke and insinuate.
Chu Hongying withdrew her hand as if burned, her face returning to its customary mask of cold and aloof authority. "A spy has infiltrated the camp with malicious intent, targeting a key advisor. I am conducting a thorough investigation according to military regulations. Is there anything improper about that, Supervisor Gu?"
"Proper? Entirely proper." Gu Changfeng sauntered forward with an easy laugh. With a seemingly casual, almost theatrical gesture, he produced a small piece of dark blue fabric from his sleeve, twirling it deftly between his fingers. "But such searches, my dear General, require the delicacy and patience of embroidery, not the brute force of a sledgehammer. For instance, this intriguing little item..." He held up the fabric, allowing the firelight to catch its rich hue. "...was found tucked away atop the highest flagpole behind your very commander's tent. Hidden quite cleverly, one must admit. If not for my admittedly sharp eyes during a morning stroll, this little... fox's tail might have been missed entirely."
The fabric was unmistakably of fine quality, its color a deep, calm indigo, certainly not the coarse hemp or standard-issue cloth of the Northern Frontier army. More notably, the edge of the fabric was stained with a few minute specks of dried brownish-red powder.
Chu Hongying's heart turned to ice. The color and texture of that powder were identical to what she had glimpsed last night on the plain handkerchief Shen Yuzhu had used to cough up blood—the residue of the poison capsule.
Gu Changfeng extended the fabric toward Chu Hongying. His smile remained fixed, but a sharp, knife-like glint flashed in his eyes, belying his casual demeanor. "General Chu, it seems more than one 'precious phoenix' or perhaps 'cunning fox' has flown into your Northern Frontier camp. This particular brocade, I happen to know, comes exclusively from the capital's 'Cloud Brocade Pavilion.' A place far beyond the means of any ordinary soldier or minor official."
The air in the tent froze solid. You could have heard a snowflake land.
Chu Hongying took the fabric, her fingertips tightening around the cold, slick material. It felt like holding a shard of the conspiracy itself, its chill seeping straight into her heart. The blood-stained handkerchief, the shattered poison capsule, this damning piece of capital brocade... several disparate clues rapidly intertwined in her mind, weaving together into a bewildering, sinister web that pointed unmistakably toward an unknown, deep abyss.
On the cot, Shen Yuzhu kept his eyes weakly closed, his breathing shallow. But the corner of his lips, hidden in the shadows, seemed to curl into an extremely faint, utterly cold smile—a ghost of an expression that vanished as quickly as it appeared.
Chu Hongying raised her eyes, meeting Gu Changfeng's mocking gaze head-on, her voice as cold and steady as polished steel. "Supervisor Gu indeed has keen eyesight and a talent for... discovery. May I ask if you intend to personally take charge of this investigation now, invoking your authority as Imperial Supervisor?"
"I wouldn't dare, I wouldn't dare to usurp your authority so brazenly, General." Gu Changfeng cupped his hands in a mock salute, his laugh ringing hollow in the tense space. His tone was lazy, yet every word was laden with meaning. "However, if the General does not mind the presence of an... observer... I would be quite pleased, indeed fascinated, to join you in this hunt. Let us see, together, just how many hidden fox trails and wolf tracks lie buried beneath the snow and wind of this Northern Frontier of yours."
Outside the tent, the wind picked up again, wailing as it swept past the taut canvas walls, a mournful dirge for the peace that was shattered.
A fiercer, more dangerous storm was now silently approaching, and its battleground was the very heart of the camp.