The scorched camp lay gasping in the deepest dark before dawn, the air thick with the choking smell of gunpowder and the bitter odor of burnt wood. Snow began to fall again, but could not conceal the devastation. Ashes drifted down like black snow, shrouding the remains of yesterday's order, leaving only broken walls and pillars standing silent under the bleak moonlight.
Chu Hongying's back was ramrod straight, like a banner that would never bend. The arrow wound on her shoulder had been hastily treated by Lu Wanning, but a dark stain still seeped through the white bandage onto her armor. She walked steadily through the scorched earth and ruins, the faint sound of her armor scraping with each firm step, as if each step pressed down upon the troops' wavering morale.
"Squad One, continue clearing the area and inventory any usable weapons and armor. Squad Two, assist the wounded and see that clean drinking water is distributed first." Her voice was hoarse from inhaling too much smoke, yet it carried an undeniable authority, echoing through the silent ruins.
The soldiers' initially panicked eyes gradually calmed when they fell upon her composed figure. They had witnessed firsthand how the General had charged into the inferno, how she had disregarded her own injuries for Advisor Shen when his cold poison flared up. That desperate, all-out demeanor did more to solidify their spirits than any impassioned speech. It was a silent oath—she and they, shared life and death.
Not far away, Gu Changfeng leaned casually against a charred log, the hem of his black brocade robe stained and filthy, which he seemed to ignore. He held a roster, tapping it with his finger, a habitual, lazy smile playing on his lips, but his eyes sharply scanned the face of every soldier passing by, occasionally whispering instructions to his personal guard beside him.
"The Supervisor is quite diligent, starting the headcount so soon after the fire was put out?" Chu Hongying approached him, her tone flat.
Gu Changfeng looked up, his smile widening. "You jest, General. Ministry of War regulations, extraordinary times, extraordinary measures. Must know who's missing after a fire, or perhaps... some took the chance to harbor ill intentions." He closed the roster meaningfully. "After all, setting precise fires simultaneously in the granary, the armory... that's not the work of one or two spies." He stepped half a pace closer, lowering his voice so only she could hear. "You should be careful, General. This play... may be longer than you think. I've seen many plays, and I fear even you might find it hard to extricate yourself."
His words were part reminder, part probe, and another unspoken oath between those versed in power struggles.
Chu Hongying's heart sank. She crouched, pinching a bit of charred soil, rubbing it thoughtfully between her fingers. "The grain transport routes were deliberately blocked with rubble and broken wood. Water allocation for firefighting was repeatedly hindered by invisible obstacles. This wasn't impulsive; it was premeditated, targeting the entire logistical lifeline."
Lu Wanning approached silently, handing over a silver needle. Its tip was coated with a black, viscous liquid retrieved from a pottery shard, its surface glimmering faintly with an eerie blue sheen. "The fire oil is indeed specially made in Jiangnan. Its medicinal components share the same origin as the previous soul-dispersing powder. The other party... has far-reaching connections."
Clues, like icy spider silk, wound around them one by one, weaving a vast web stretching from the Northern Frontier to Jiangnan, and disappearing into the depths of the capital.
Returning to the main tent, she found Shen Yuzhu coughing violently, his pale face flushed with an unnatural redness, his body trembling slightly from the cold poison's backlash. Lu Wanning stepped forward to apply acupuncture, her brow furrowed. "His meridians are too damaged. Forcibly suppressing it could harm his foundation."
Chu Hongying waved Lu Wanning back. She sat on the edge of the bed, unceremoniously pulled Shen Yuzhu up, and pressed her palm against his back. Warm, pure Yang energy slowly transferred into him, struggling against the raging cold force within his body. The extremes of ice and fire collided and tore at her meridians, yet in their violent clash, they found a strange accord.
"Why always hide it?" Her voice was husky, laced with exhaustion and a question she had not even realized she was asking. "Your wounds, your past... every time, you only reveal a bit when your life is at stake?"
Shen Yuzhu struggled to open his eyes, blood-flecked foam at his lips, but his gaze was unusually clear. "General... have you never suspected that the fire igniting this war was never just the Northern Frontier's blizzard?" His breath was weak, but his words were distinct. "What they want isn't just the border... but a reshuffling of the entire board. You and I are merely... pieces struggling in the game." His icy fingers curled unconsciously, lightly brushing against her vambrace—a weak pressure, like a silent entrustment.
The energy flowing between their meridians brought not only pain but also a confirmed reliance in this desperate situation. Doubt had not vanished, wariness still remained, but a silent oath—"if we don't rely on each other, we cannot survive this conspiracy"—had quietly been sworn upon the ashes.
Chu Hongying remained silent, neither withdrawing her hand nor refuting. In that moment, she seemed to hear a faint cracking sound from the depths of her own frozen heart.
In the evening, Zhao Dashan hurried over, holding a half-charred arrow fletching, his expression tense. "General, found this in the ashes west of the granary. This pattern... it doesn't look like the Northern Di's, nor like anything from our army."
Chu Hongying took it, her fingertips tracing the remaining intricate, unfamiliar emblem. Her heart jolted violently—she had definitely seen this pattern before! During her secret investigation into her father's old case, she had glimpsed it in the corner of a tattered evidence catalog, once annotated—then scratched out—with the words: 'Forbidden object from the Inner Palace.' Now, seeing this pattern again was like a poison-tipped needle stabbing deep into her memory. Her expression unchanged, she clenched the arrow fletching tightly in her palm and said firmly, "Keep this quiet for now. Don't spread it. Stabilizing morale is the priority."
"Yes, sir!" Zhao Dashan accepted the order and left.
The night deepened. Chu Hongying sat alone on the edge of the charred ruins, the Lie Feng spear lying across her knees, its shaft blackened and mottled by the flames. The surroundings were silent, save for the occasional crackle from smoldering embers.
She looked up at the hazy stars obscured by thick smoke and whispered, as if sighing:
"This war is no longer just a border conflict."
After a long while, she stood and returned to the main tent. In the flickering candlelight, Shen Yuzhu had fallen into a deep sleep due to the medicine, his breathing still weak but steadier. His tightly furrowed brows had relaxed slightly, the teardrop mole at the corner of his eye particularly distinct in the dim, yellow light.
Chu Hongying stood quietly by the bed, watching him for a moment. As if moved by a ghost, she reached out to adjust the slipped quilt corner for him. Her fingertips halted just before touching the rough cotton fabric. It was as if it weren't just a quilt corner, but a boundary laden with countless unspeakable secrets and dangers between them. She suddenly realized it wasn't the touch she feared, but the fact that—once she reached out, she might never be able to pull back.
This thought shocked her. Her fingers curled slightly, finally slowly retracting, clenched into a fist, and hung at her side.
Just as she was about to turn away, a faint glint of metallic light caught the corner of her eye from beneath Shen Yuzhu's slightly open collar. It wasn't the texture of the fabric, nor the mark of a scar, but an extremely tiny—
Golden needle.
The tip was as fine as gossamer, buried deep below his collarbone, only the nearly invisible end exposed. If the candlelight hadn't happened to hit it at just the right angle, it would have been undetectable.
Chu Hongying's breath caught in her throat.
She recognized this technique—it was the "Soul-Locking Needle" from the Southern Border shamanic healers. Legend said that using golden needles to seal acupoints could lock the last breath of a dying person, prolonging their life, but at the cost of...
"General!"
A hushed, urgent cry from Zhao Dashan outside the tent interrupted her thoughts. His voice held unprecedented panic. "The patrol... found A'gula's body on a snow slope three li outside the camp! He has... an arrow in him. The fletching pattern is exactly the same as the one we found in the ashes!"
Chu Hongying whipped her head around, looking at the sleeping Shen Yuzhu on the bed, then down at her own tightly clenched palm, where the pattern of the broken arrow seemed branded into her flesh.
A'gula... the general under Helian Sha most likely to be turned, now a cold corpse.
And that arrow pointing to the "Inner Palace" had not only killed a key witness but also served as a silent warning, aimed directly at her weakness.
She slowly opened her palm, looked at the broken arrow, and the last trace of warmth faded from her eyes, replaced by a coldness sharper than the Northern Frontier's ice.
This fire had consumed more than grain and morale—it had stripped away the last disguise. From this moment, retreat was no longer possible.