The moment Chu Hongying stumbled from the secret passage, half-carrying the barely conscious Shen Yuzhu, a scorching wave of heat slammed into them, stealing the breath from their lungs. Acrid smoke filled the air, coiling upwards like a furious, living dragon.
Ahead, the granaries were a raging inferno. Flames clawed hungrily at the sky, staining the night a violent, bloody crimson. Snowflakes vanished into steam before they could even touch the scorched earth. Soldiers scrambled in blind panic—desperate shouts, the chaotic clatter of dropped armor, and the deafening roar of the fire merged into a single, hellish symphony.
A cold, sharp dread pierced Chu Hongying's chest. This was more than a fire; it was a calculated spear thrust straight into the heart of her army's morale. If order collapsed tonight, the Northern Frontier would fall with it.
"Steady!" she shouted, her voice swallowed by the overwhelming chaos. The arrow wound on her shoulder had torn open anew, warm blood soaking through her armor, yet she stood absolutely unwavering.
"Form ranks!"
Her voice cut through the din like a honed blade. She shoved aside the frantic Zhao Dashan, her gaze sweeping the disastrous scene, assessing, commanding.
"First unit—sand and soil to contain the flames! Second unit—clear the eastern tents, create a firebreak! Everyone else—weapons ready, watch for enemy attack!"
Every word was iron, absolute.
The soldiers, momentarily frozen in their panic, snapped to attention under her authority. Their blind fear began to recede, replaced by a dawning sense of purpose. In the flickering firelight, their eyes fixed on the lone, unmoving figure in scorched armor—their General, their last anchor in the storm.
Without hesitation, she snatched a nearby bucket and strode directly into the heart of the blaze. Flames seared her cheeks, embers spat and hissed against her armor, the sting biting deep into her skin—yet she moved as if untouched, every gesture filled with a desperate, unyielding resolve.
"Must the General dirty her own hands? Leave this rough work to the men."
Gu Changfeng's lazy drawl cut strangely through the roar. He stood nearby, his dark robes illuminated by the hellish glow, a faint, mocking smile playing on his lips.
"If the Overseer is bored," she retorted coldly, without even looking at him, "go take stock of what grain remains. If you are only here to spectate, then step aside."
He raised an eyebrow, the smile not fading. But then, to her slight surprise, he rolled up his sleeves. His sword, Feixia, flashed in the firelight, cleanly severing a heavily burning beam about to collapse. He began directing the nearby soldiers with sharp, unexpected efficiency.
Turning, the mockery vanished from his eyes as they swept coldly over a group of whispering junior officers.
"Since when does the Northern Frontier camp tolerate gossips?" his voice rang out, clear and hard. "One more word against your commander, and I'll see you flogged."
His voice carried an authority that silenced the ranks instantly. The dissolute nobleman was gone, replaced entirely by the sharp-edged scion of the Ministry of War.
A ragged, wet cough sounded from near a pile of broken beams. Shen Yuzhu trembled violently, then vomited a stream of dark, almost black blood, his body buckling towards the ground. The chill poison was raging uncontrollably within him, his meridians in total chaos, his face a ghostly, terrifying pale.
"Yuzhu!"
Her heart lurched. In an instant, she was at his side, gathering his limp form into her arms. She dropped to her knees, pressing her palm firmly against his back, pouring her scorching, pure Yang qi into him without any reserve.
A thick white mist enveloped them, generated by the clash of energies. The powerful transfer of qi sent sparks flying outwards in a small wave.
"General, your wound!" Zhao Dashan cried out, his voice frantic with worry.
She ignored him completely. Sweat beaded on her brow and upper lip, her gaze locked intensely on his ashen, lifeless face. The cold, venomous energy in his veins resisted her like solid iron; each pulse of her healing energy felt like a brutal, draining battle.
Through the haze of his pain and fading consciousness, Shen Yuzhu's eyelids fluttered weakly. He saw the glistening trail of sweat tracing her temple, tried with immense effort to lift a hand to brush it away, but his strength failed him utterly. In that fleeting, almost imperceptible tremor of his fingertips, the profound loneliness he had carried like a burial shroud for years cracked, pierced through by the shocking, unexpected warmth of her touch.
Around them, soldiers stared, muted whispers rising like the wind.
"She risks everything... for him..."
"Her heart... it isn't made of stone after all..."
The wavering morale, witnessing this raw, desperate, and selfless act, began to harden and coalesce into something new—something fierce and unbreakable.
As the flames were finally beaten into submission, leaving only smoldering ruins and thick smoke, Chu Hongying rose slowly to her feet. She walked into the charred, still-hot remains, her eyes sharp and searching.
"The fire burned hottest here," she noted, her voice low. She knelt, her fingers tracing the peculiarly blackened, cracked earth. "Dig here. Now."
Soldiers hurried to obey, and soon unearthed fragments of shattered pottery jars, the edges stained with a thick, dark, oily fluid. Chu Hongying lifted a piece, her face grim and hardening.
Lu Wanning appeared at her side as if from nowhere. She took a fragment, dipped a fine silver needle into the residue. The needle's tip instantly glowed with a sinister, faint blue light.
"Fire oil," she confirmed quietly. "And it originates from the same source as the Bewildering Powder we found before."
Chu Hongying's heart turned to solid ice. This was no accident. It was a deliberately laid trap.
"General!" Zhao Dashan ran up, breathless, his face smudged with soot, clutching more blackened fragments in his hands. "We found these jars buried near every major fire site! It's Jiangnan-made—completely identical to the powder!"
Her hand clenched around the shard in her palm. The sharp, broken edge bit deep into her flesh, and blood welled up, dripping in steady, dark drops onto the scorched ground.
Jiangnan. The specter from her past, from her father's past, had returned, more vicious and targeted than ever before.
Her eyes lifted, drawn towards Shen Yuzhu, who still lay unconscious and pale nearby. The wind whipped ashes and embers against her face, and a deep, cold dread coiled tightly within her, colder than the deepest Northern winter.
She realized it with a sudden, chilling clarity—the flames had never been meant for the grain. They were meant to consume her name, her command, her very existence.
The politely venomous final line of that recent 'letter of regards' from the capital echoed in her mind, a poison needle finding its mark:
"The Northern Frontier is troubled. The General should take good care of herself."
Her gaze lingered on Shen Yuzhu's still form. Her hand rose slightly, almost of its own accord, hovering, almost reaching to wipe the trail of blood from his lip, but it halted, suspended in the air.
Was she afraid of his fragility, or was she terrified of the deep, vulnerable cracks he was revealing in her own carefully armored heart?
Her fingers slowly curled into a tight, bloody fist. In this moment of utter chaos, she saw her own weakness with painful clarity. She was not invincible. She could fear. She could lose.
The soldiers' whispers around her had changed in tone.
"A General like this... who would dare not follow?"
The words struck her with the force of a temple bell, clearing the fog of doubt and fear. She could not fall. She could not retreat. This land, these men, this person who had somehow become so important—they all demanded she stand firmer than ever before.
She tightened her grip on the bloody shard, the pain a sharp, focusing anchor.
This fire had stripped away all hesitation.
What remained was steel—
and if the enemy sought to burn her,
she would answer as the storm that outlasts the fire.
Somewhere in the shadows, an unseen enemy was already smiling, certain the trap had sprung. But as her gaze fell once more upon Shen Yuzhu's still form, her resolve crystallized into something diamond-hard and unyielding. Her hand had frozen in the air—not from any fear of touching him, but from the sheer, terrifying admission of how much she already cared.
The blaze had taken her doubt.
What remained was fire—
and she would burn hotter than any enemy dared.