The pale light of dawn cut through the gaps in the felt tent flap, slicing apart the stagnant air within. The charcoal brazier still glowed faintly, yet its warmth failed to dispel the tension that coiled invisibly through the command tent.
Dangling from Gu Changfeng's fingertip, a strip of deep blue fabric swayed like a silent battle standard, heralding the beginning of another confrontation without smoke or fire.
Chu Hongying's gaze swept over the glaring hue, her expression as cold as steel. "Supervisor Gu has only just arrived, and yet seems remarkably attentive to a piece of scrap cloth." She reached out and took it, her fingers brushing over the brownish powder staining the edge—a fine, subtle residue that carried an unnatural chill. "The workmanship of Yunjin Pavilion. Your eye for luxury is indeed sharp. I wonder—are you accustomed to wearing such things, or… do you have other channels of access?"
Gu Changfeng's lips curved in a languid smile, utterly unfazed by the barbed probe. His gaze instead drifted toward the frail figure on the sickbed, eyes gleaming with mischievous interest. "This official merely fulfills his duty as Supervisor—reading significance from trifles. But Advisor Shen," his drawl lengthened, laced with mockery, "with such a frail body, you managed to prompt the General into locking down the entire camp. Truly… an extraordinary charm."
On the bed, Shen Yuzhu's lashes fluttered before his eyes opened slowly. Fever glazed his gaze, yet it sharpened briefly upon landing on Gu Changfeng before shifting to the fabric in Chu Hongying's hand. He coughed softly, his breath weak, but his voice clear:
"Yunjin Pavilion's tribute to the palace is strictly limited each year. Those who obtain such fabric are men of rank or power. Lord Gu, as the son of the Minister of War, surely knows its origin better than I."
He spoke gently, yet the deliberate weight he placed on "Minister of War's household" turned the blade subtly back toward Gu Changfeng.
Chu Hongying's heart tensed. Shen Yuzhu's words were nothing less than an insinuation—Gu Changfeng, too, might be suspect.
But Gu only laughed, careless as ever, strolling closer to the sickbed. He bent down as though in concern, his voice smooth: "Advisor Shen's tongue remains sharp, even in sickness. Shall I summon the imperial physician who travels with me? After all, your health is precious. Should anything befall you here at the Northern Frontier, I would find it difficult to explain to His Majesty."
He leaned so close he nearly blocked Chu Hongying's view. In that instant, her sharp eyes caught a subtle movement—the advisor's sleeve tightening as his fingers curled. A sliver of pale wrist was revealed, upon which a strange, dark fox-tail pattern writhed faintly.
The very same pattern carved into the dead assassin's neck last night.
Chu Hongying's pupils narrowed. Instinctively, her fingers tightened on the shaft of her Silver Spear Gale-Splitter. The air inside the tent froze once more.
"General! We've found something!"
Zhao Dashan's coarse voice broke the silence outside, thick with urgency.
Chu Hongying forced down the impulse to demand answers here and now. "Enter," she commanded.
Zhao Dashan strode in, neglecting ceremony. He opened his palm to reveal a small silver bell. "Near the granary—hidden in a snowdrift! There's powder inside!" His breath steamed as he continued, "Miss Lu examined it—'Mind-Dazing Powder.' Too much of it makes a man collapse in a daze!"
Chu Hongying accepted the bell. Its delicate body still carried traces of the same powder staining the brocade. Her gaze swept from Gu Changfeng to Shen Yuzhu before she spoke coldly:
"Pass my order. Search the entire camp for the source of this silver bell. Focus on those who have entered the granary, South Ridge, or the command tent. No one is exempt—not even attendants."
Though worded for all, the command had effectively encircled Gu Changfeng's own men.
Gu raised a brow, smirking. "Does that mean General Chu intends to investigate this official as well?"
"Theft of provisions concerns the survival of every soldier," Chu Hongying replied, her tone brooking no doubt. "Regardless of rank, all will be examined. Supervisor Gu, as overseer, should lead by example."
"Well, well." Gu clapped softly, though his eyes held no mirth. "So this is the famed iron-faced General Chu. Then this official shall wait and see what sort of… big fish… you manage to haul up."
His gaze slid meaningfully toward Shen Yuzhu before he flicked his sleeve and left. As the felt curtain fell, a faint trace of medicinal fragrance lingered in the air.
Silence reclaimed the tent.
Chu Hongying advanced toward the bed, each step punctuated by the faint grind of armor plates. Shadows swallowed Shen Yuzhu's pale face as she loomed over him.
"Now there are no outsiders," her voice sank low, sharp as the wind creeping across a snowfield. "The fox-tail pattern on your wrist is the same as the Wolf Owl Battalion's death marks. Explain."
Shen Yuzhu did not hide it. Instead, he calmly lifted his wrist, the strange marking fully revealed. His fevered eyes gleamed with clarity, his voice hoarse but laced with biting irony:
"Why not first ask, General—why such a pattern exists on someone who should have died in Snow Wolf Valley more than ten years ago?"
The words struck like a hammer. Chu Hongying's heart reeled. Snow Wolf Valley… so he was tied to that massacre!
"You know of Snow Wolf Valley?" She stepped closer, her breath uneven. "And the arrow from behind—how much do you know?"
But Shen Yuzhu broke into violent coughing, his body trembling, a ribbon of blood staining his lips. When he finally managed to speak, his voice was faint as mist:
"General… rather than interrogating a half-dead man… perhaps think first of that token—the female tally." His gaze drifted toward the bronze plaque at her waist. "Since the female tally lies with you, the mole holding the male tally must have sensed it. Tell me—will he keep hiding, or take the desperate risk… to steal it? Or… to silence you?"
His words had barely faded when a shrill scream split the air outside, followed by the clash of steel and soldiers' furious cries.
"Assassins!""Protect the General!"
Chu Hongying's expression hardened. She seized her spear and turned to leave, but cast one last sharp glance back.
Shen Yuzhu's eyes were closed, his voice barely audible: "Go, General… I cannot run…"
Grinding her teeth, Chu Hongying flung the curtain wide. Flames leapt from a watchtower in the direction of South Ridge, shadows thrashing against firelit snow. "Personal guards, with me! All others, secure the command tent! None enter or leave without my order!"
Her figure shot toward the chaos like a thunderbolt.
The command tent fell into a deeper silence.
On the bed, Shen Yuzhu's eyes opened once more. All weakness had vanished, replaced by an icy sharpness. His fingers twitched, and from his sleeve slid a needle so fine it was nearly invisible, its tip glimmering with a faint, deadly blue.
By the time an incense stick had burned, the uproar outside had ebbed.
Chu Hongying returned, reeking of blood and smoke, her face dark as stormclouds. Guards dragged in the corpse of a black-clad assassin—the wolf-head tattoo still visible at his neck, his lips stained with poison.
"Dead." Chu Hongying tossed down a bloodied wolf-head tally, nearly identical to the one Shen Yuzhu had presented—save that its wolf eyes were solid bronze. "He failed to infiltrate the command tent, tried to start a fire, and took poison when surrounded."
She strode to the bed, her gaze slicing across Shen Yuzhu's calm face. Without warning, she snatched at his waist, tearing free the cord that held his tally.
"You—" Shen Yuzhu started, momentarily caught off guard.
She held the token close to the firelight. At first glance it seemed flawless, but upon closer inspection, the rim of the wolf's hollow eye showed minute wear. The bronze around it gleamed slightly newer than the rest. She pressed her nail hard against it—
Click. A thin plate flaked away, revealing solid bronze beneath.
A counterfeit.
Chu Hongying's pupils constricted. She raised her head sharply, meeting Shen Yuzhu's gaze.
His lips curved into the faintest, coldest of smiles. His voice was light, almost a sigh:
"General… a fox has three burrows, a wolf leaves two shadows. The tally in your hand is no longer the original. The true one likely rests quietly in the bosom of a certain 'comrade,' guiding the wolf pack step by step toward the heart of this camp."
The counterfeit tally bit cold against her palm, the chill piercing straight into her chest. Flames flickered in her eyes—not hesitation, but killing resolve.
"Zhao Dashan!" she barked, her voice ringing like a war drum. "Sound the assembly! This General will—before all—interrogate the ghosts hidden within our ranks!"
The deep roll of the drum thundered out across the snowbound camp.