After traveling day and night for a day and a half, they finally reached the mountain pass of Yixian Gorge. Prince Changxin must have already heard that twenty thousand troops were marching to besiege Chongzhou, for the forces guarding the foot of the mountain had withdrawn somewhat. There weren’t many left, yet still far more than the mere thousand men escorting the grain could handle.

To deliver the provisions up the mountain, they could only rely on coordination from within and without—catch the Chongzhou troops unprepared, tear open a gap, and rush through.

But with their meager numbers, whether they could hold out long enough for the troops on the mountain to discover them and respond remained uncertain.

Grand Preceptor Tao and the young officer leading the escort were at a loss when, by chance, they met reinforcements from Yanzhou. When the two forces joined, they had two to three thousand men. Together they surged upward from the mountain foot, attacking a key pass held by Chongzhou troops.

The commotion indeed caught the attention of the Yanzhou remnants above. They immediately cooperated, striking from within while the reinforcements pressed from below. Before long, a breach was torn open, and the grain and medicines were hurriedly carried up the mountain.

The supply troops, however, did not follow them up. Once the trapped soldiers had hauled the supplies inside and Chongzhou’s other detachments swarmed toward the spot, the escort withdrew into the forest, playing hide-and-seek with the enemy so they could later meet the mountain troops when they broke through to descend.

Fan Changyu had been observing the battle beside Grand Preceptor Tao, but when she saw how slowly the supplies were being carried uphill, impatience got the better of her. She couldn’t help but join in the work herself. After hauling sacks of grain up the slope, she discovered the exit had been sealed again. She and the soldiers who had carried provisions could only remain on the mountain.

Fan Changyu was not too discouraged; she had intended to look for Yan Zheng anyway, and now she could inquire about him here.

The Yanzhou soldiers trapped on the mountain had gone two days without food. It was only early spring; few wild greens grew on the slopes. They had survived by hunting, boiling scraps of game into thin soup just to taste a trace of meat.

Now that rice had arrived, the men eagerly built fires and began to cook.

The condition in the infirmary tents was far worse. Many soldiers had caught high fevers from the rain, but the few medicines the army doctors had were utterly insufficient. Others had been injured in the battle and the mudslide; there were no hemostatic herbs, and wounds were bound only with torn strips of inner robes. They lay in varied postures upon the straw-covered ground.

With new medicine delivered, the doctors immediately began decocting it for the wounded.

Seeing their suffering, Fan Changyu could not bear it. She did not know whose fathers, sons, or husbands these men were—nor whether any would return alive.

Having once tended to Changning and Yan Zheng, she had some experience boiling medicine. Watching the overworked doctors, she volunteered to help with the decoctions.

· ─ ·✶· ─ · 

When medicine was finally available, the military physician first took it to change the dressing for Xie Zheng.

Since the mudslide two days ago, they had been trapped on the mountain, the once-defeated Chongzhou troops now blocking their descent. Xie Zheng had scarcely closed his eyes, constantly strategizing with Gongsun Yin on how to repel the enemy.

His injuries were grave, yet because medicine was scarce, he had not changed his bandages in two days, ordering that what remained be given first to those more severely wounded.

Changning’s condition, fortunately, was resilient. After drinking the medicine that day, her fever had subsided—but, having eaten nothing since, she had grown visibly thinner.

The game the guards had brought in had no salt or other seasonings; the soup they cooked smelled strongly of blood and fish, and she retched at the smell and could not eat. Xie Zheng had someone smear grass juice on the roasted meat, and only then did she manage to eat a little.

Gongsun Yin, knowing Xie Zheng himself was injured and inconvenient for him to look after Changning, and that his lodging was frequented by officers coming to consult, took the child to where he lived and had the guards watch her.

At this moment the military doctor went to urge Xie Zheng to change his dressings. Knowing that the soldiers now had sufficient food and medicine, the dizziness from excessive blood loss and the fatigue of two days without sleep surged together, and Xie Zheng felt that if he closed his eyes he would sleep and die. He raised a hand to press his temple; the whites of his eyes were full of bloodshot lines, and he said, “This Marquis can still hold on. First give the medicines to the soldiers below; there are too many people in the wounded tents. Some soldiers may be moved to the main tent.”

There were not enough tents on the mountain; many soldiers had hastily cut branches on site and erected temporary rain shelters.

The military doctor worried about Xie Zheng’s body and hurriedly said, “Marquis, the wound medicines are sufficient; your body is what matters…”

Xie Zheng suddenly looked up at the doctor. The doctor, pinned by that cold and weary gaze, lowered his head; all words of persuasion stuck in his throat.

He knew that although his Marquis had a fearsome reputation, he dearly loved the soldiers under him. The doctor sighed and left the tent, thinking to himself that he should let Mr. Gongsun persuade him later.

Gongsun Yin only ordered that the bandaged wounded be transferred to the main tent.

The military doctor, confused, complied—only then understanding that Gongsun Yin was thinking if Xie Zheng saw the wounded, he would believe the wound medicines were sufficient.

Xie Zheng was truly exhausted. After the military doctor left, he propped himself up intending to continue pressing the dull pain at his temple, but he could not resist the drowsiness and simply fell asleep. When the wounded were transferred into the main tent, he woke at the commotion.

The guards set up several temporary cots made from branches in the main tent, and had Xie Zheng rest on an empty cot.

Seeing that he sat in the main seat drew many glances from the wounded, he nodded.

His chest wound was severe; wearing armor would press on the wound, so he only wore a single garment.

Most of the wounded who entered the tent were low-ranking soldiers who had seldom seen Xie Zheng up close. Being transferred haphazardly to this tent, seeing him without armor and with injuries, they assumed he too had been transferred because he was wounded.

Since Xie Zheng had lent out the main tent for these wounded to recuperate, he naturally did not wish them to lie trembling under his eyes; he instructed his guards not to reveal his identity, then pulled his clothes together and lay down to catch some sleep.

The guards feared he would catch cold but did not dare drape his thick brocade cloak over him. After much thought, they could only find a tattered common soldier’s uniform to cover him.

Fan Changyu, having decocted the medicine and learning that a batch of wounded had been sent elsewhere, came to deliver medicine. She passed medicine bowls to each cot from the doorway. The wounded, upon discovering she was a young woman, were a little shy and softly thanked her.

A guard watching over Xie Zheng glanced out and, upon seeing Fan Changyu, his eyes widened like copper bells.

If he was not mistaken, this was the girl their Marquis had recently personally sought in the bandit den of Qingping County.

How could she be wearing Jizhou soldier’s clothes appearing here?

The guard immediately imagined a heart-wrenching play of a thousand-mile search for a husband, looked at the sleeping Xie Zheng, then at Fan Changyu delivering medicine, and hesitated whether to wake his Marquis.

Before he could decide, Fan Changyu had already carried the medicine bowl up to him.

Xie Zheng disliked the light being too bright; he lay with his face turned inward so that most of his face was buried in shadow. Fan Changyu did not recognize him at once—she only saw that half of his clothes were soaked with blood, the gauze wrapped around his body was stained a large patch of red, not looking freshly bandaged, and he seemed to have fainted.

She frowned and hurriedly called toward the outside of the tent, “Military doctor, this person’s wound seems to have burst open — it needs to be rebandaged.”

Almost at the instant he heard her voice, Xie Zheng abruptly opened his eyes.

Fan Changyu was preparing to help adjust the posture of this severely wounded man and turned toward the bed — unexpectedly locking eyes with Xie Zheng. She froze noticeably, and after a long moment, uncertain, she said, “Yan Zheng?”

The name left her mouth, and seeing him covered in blood like that, a sudden sourness rose at the tip of Fan Changyu’s nose.

So he had really almost died here.

Xie Zheng stared at her without speaking, his brow instinctively knitting; to others it showed nothing, but those who knew him would understand — he was stunned.

The guards, after thinking it over, quietly stepped a little farther away.

The other wounded soldiers, assuming Fan Changyu had come a thousand miles to search for her husband, cast envious looks at her.

Xie Zheng looked at Fan Changyu for a long time, and as if confirming she had truly come, hoarsely asked, “Why have you come? What are you doing here?”

He had not slept for two nights and his throat was somewhat hoarse.

Fan Changyu had not expected to meet Xie Zheng again under such circumstances. Seeing the bloodstains on his body, her eyes inexplicably stung; she said, “I came to find you.”

It was the truth — upon learning he was in this Yanzhou army and fearing something might happen to him, she had followed to deliver provisions.

At those words Xie Zheng’s pupils contracted imperceptibly; his heart felt suddenly hooked and pulled tight, a stinging ache and a prickling that rose, as if something wanted to take root and sprout in that mass of flesh and blood. His dark eyes fixed unblinkingly on Fan Changyu: “You came to find me?”

Fan Changyu had already unwrapped his gauze and, looking at the grisly wound that ran across most of his chest — mixed with herbal juices and darkened blood — her eyes reddened further. She did not answer him; pressing her lips tight to restrain the sorrow, she asked, “How did you get hurt like this?”

The wounds were even more terrible than those she had seen when she first found him.

It was the first time Xie Zheng had seen that expression in her eyes — like the morning light breaking through the misty mountain woods after rain: warm, gentle, brilliant, and full of pity.

The hook in his chest tightened further, painful and itching, as if the wound were urging on the birth of a new shoot. His fingertips twitched; he instinctively wanted to touch something, then looked away and said, “The wound looks terrifying, but it’s not that severe. It didn’t pierce the lungs. Lie here a few days and I’ll be mostly recovered.”

Fan Changyu naturally did not believe his words. She looked at his blood-stained, pale cheek and suddenly felt very sad. “Don’t go to war anymore. Come home with me, I’ll slaughter pigs and support you.”

Gongsun Yin and the military doctor had just reached outside the tent and were about to lift the tent curtain; hearing that sentence, they both paused in their steps.