Half a month passed in the blink of an eye.

Whenever she had free time from tending the wounded, Fan Changyu would take out a few books from her bundle to study. Since Yan Zheng was right beside her, she had a ready teacher—she could ask him whenever she didn’t understand something.

Seeing that she was holding a copy of Mencius, Xie Zheng asked, “Finished The Analects already?”

Fan Changyu answered honestly, “Yes, I’ve finished it.”

At that, memories of the time she had protected Li Huai’an from the mountain bandits surfaced in Xie Zheng’s mind. His long phoenix eyes lifted slightly. “You studied it by yourself?”

Fan Changyu said, “The essays in it are profound. There were many parts I couldn’t fully grasp even after reading the commentaries. When I was in Jizhou working on the upper-river dam, I met an old gentleman—he looked stern but had a kind heart. He taught me until I finished it.”

Speaking of the old man Tao, Fan Changyu’s expression softened with respect. “You don’t know, he’s quite a remarkable person. Later he even became a military adviser. But he’s old now, with no children of his own, and his only student doesn’t care for him. It’s really pitiful. When we were digging stones on the mountain together, he used to curse that ungrateful student every single day!”

Since she hadn’t studied under Li Huai’an, Xie Zheng felt relieved. Hearing her describe being mistaken for a spy and forced to dig stones to build the dam left him with a complicated feeling.

The plan had been his idea, but the dam construction was under He Jingyuan’s command. At the time, Xie Zheng had been stationed in Yanzhou and truly hadn’t known that Fan Changyu was being held there.

In the end, he only commented mildly, “If that student doesn’t respect his teacher, then now that the teacher’s regained some influence, it serves him right to be scolded.”

Fan Changyu glanced at him, clearly displeased. “Old Master Tao may be sharp-tongued, but his heart is broad.”

When Xie Zheng heard that the old man’s surname was Tao, his finger paused briefly as it slid across the page. “What’s his full name?” he asked.

Fan Changyu said, “I don’t know. He only said his surname was Tao.”

There were countless people with the surname Tao in the world. Xie Zheng thought about her description—the old man who cursed his unfilial student daily—and realized it had nothing to do with Grand Preceptor Tao.

His own teacher had long been retired; if he had come out again, he would surely have sought Xie Zheng first.

Suppressing his thoughts, Xie Zheng said, “Since he’s done you a kindness, you should help him rise when you get the chance.”

The moment he said it, he noticed Fan Changyu staring at him with an odd expression.

Xie Zheng realized he had misspoken, but before he could amend his words, Fan Changyu frowned and said, “Old Master Tao is already serving as a strategist under General Tang. What could you possibly promote him to? You’re not a general. Don’t speak carelessly—if Old Master Tao were to hear you, wouldn’t that be inappropriate?”

Xie Zheng choked, then said, “I meant in the future.”

Fan Changyu looked somewhat helpless. “You’re that sure you’ll become a general?”

Xie Zheng’s expression shifted slightly as he lifted his eyes from the scroll. “What if I become an official even higher than a general?”

Fan Changyu was puzzled. “Higher than a general? What kind of position is that?”

Xie Zheng said casually, “To be enfeoffed as a marquis, to be appointed as a minister.”

Fan Changyu stopped reading as well and asked, “Does your wound still hurt?”

After being so carefully tended for days, Xie Zheng wasn’t sure why she suddenly asked that. After a pause, he said cautiously, “It’s fine. Only when I exert strength does it sting sharply.”

In truth, he was already almost fully recovered; as long as he didn’t strain himself, there was hardly any pain.

Fan Changyu handed him the cooled medicine bowl. “Drink your medicine first. Think about marquisates and generals after you’ve healed.”

Xie Zheng: “…”

· ─ ·✶· ─ · 

Two days later, Xie Zheng’s “injury” still showed no “signs of improvement.”

Gongsun Yin, tormented by the endless military reports and memorials from the capital, and dark circles under both eyes, stormed into the tent in fury.

It had been some time since Fan Changyu last saw him, and she was startled to see the haggard man with his dull, shadowed eyes. “Mr. Gongsun, what’s happened to you?”

Gongsun Yin suppressed his murderous aura and forced a polite, scholarly smile. “Trivial matters have kept me busy, that’s all.”

Fan Changyu said with concern, “Mr. Gongsun should still take care of his health.”

He smiled and nodded. “Indeed. And how is your husband’s injury?”

Fan Changyu thought for a moment. “The physician said his internal injuries are severe and will take time to heal. His wound still aches.”

Gongsun Yin kept the smile on his face, but his jaw was tight enough to grind stone. “Is that so? I’ll take a look.”

Since Fan Changyu had to go prepare medicine, he entered the tent alone.

Inside were Xie Zheng’s personal guards, who had been pretending to be wounded for half a month now—their scabs already starting to fall off, yet still wrapped in bandages to maintain the act.

Seeing Xie Zheng napping with a book over his face, Gongsun Yin’s molars creaked audibly. He snatched the book away and roared, “If your injury doesn’t worsen soon, I’m going to die buried alive under those memorials!”

He had been so eager when helping plot this ruse, now he regretted it with every fiber of his being.

That bastard was truly resting, while he himself worked like a mill donkey—no, worse than a donkey!

What sin had he committed, digging a pit only to fall into it himself!

Deprived of the book’s shade, Xie Zheng frowned at the glare and lazily opened his eyes. Having eaten and slept well these days, his energy had returned; his face looked so strikingly handsome that Gongsun Yin’s eyes burned with envy. He nearly wanted to strangle him on the spot.

Once, he had been the elegant, refined one. Now, Xie Zheng hid here pretending to be ill, sending only false orders through those equally “injured” guards whenever necessary.

Whenever Gongsun Yin closed his eyes, all he could see was the mountain of unfinished documents on his desk—it was enough to drive him mad.

Xie Zheng sat up, ignoring his outburst. Glancing at the wrinkled book in Gongsun Yin’s hand, he lifted his gaze lazily, his tone slightly displeased. “Give it back.”

Gongsun Yin looked down at the cover and saw the title Mencius. Feeling odd, he said, “You studied the Four Books when you were barely out of your primers, why are you still carrying this one up the mountain?”

He looked at it suspiciously. “You value it that much, don’t tell me it’s some improper book?”

Flipping it open casually, he saw that every word and line had been carefully annotated. Though the handwriting had been altered, Gongsun Yin still recognized it at a glance—it was Xie Zheng’s.

Before he could read more, the book was snatched back from his hand.

Gongsun Yin’s grief turned to outrage. “I’ve been copying your handwriting to review your memorials, my hand’s about to fall off—and you, with all your leisure, annotated an entire Mencius?”

Xie Zheng didn’t bother explaining. He only said calmly, “In my library there are rare single editions of the Seven Sages. You can take them when we return.”

Instantly, Gongsun Yin stopped roaring. With one flick, his folding fan spread open. Though his panda-like eyes were still dark, he beamed and flattered, “To share the marquis’s burden is the duty of a loyal adviser.”

Xie Zheng, long familiar with his temperament, wasn’t surprised by this instant change of face. He turned to business. “Chongzhou is surrounded by Tang Zhaoyi’s twenty thousand Ji troops, no supplies can get out. The rebels below the mountain have been attacking for days; their provisions are exhausted, and they’re worn out. It’s time to catch them all in one sweep.”

These days, the Yan troops on the mountain had rested and recovered, but the Chongzhou army below had been scraping bark and digging for roots since two days ago.

After their grain was burned, the Chongzhou soldiers had three choices before them: first, retreat to Chongzhou; second, destroy the Yan troops on the mountain; third, flee before fighting to preserve strength.

To return to Chongzhou was near impossible. Twenty thousand Ji troops guarded the city’s outskirts, those rebels couldn’t get within reach without being skinned alive. Even if they fought their way back, once the main forces of Yan and Ji surrounded the city, it would still mean death.

Prince Changxin was shrewd and far-seeing. The day he withdrew only half his troops, he must have foreseen this outcome. The remaining half of the Chongzhou army at the mountain’s base was likely the lifeline he had deliberately left for Chongzhou.

Jizhou was now firmly held, and He Jingyuan was already leading reinforcements toward Chongzhou. If the city fell, the Chongzhou army stationed at the mountain’s base could still break out, seize another stronghold, and rise again.

Commanding that force was Prince Changxin’s trusted general, Shi Yue.

Back then, to burn Chongzhou’s supplies, Xie Zheng had deliberately used Sui Yuanqing as bait, tying down most of the rebel army. Shi Yue had stacked corpses to hold the mountain pass; though Sui Yuanqing was rescued, many of his men were lost, and with their grain burned, it was a crushing blow.

Shi Yue thought that without Sui Yuanqing as a hostage, the Yan troops on the mountain, besieged for days, would have no will to fight. Upon learning their supplies had been destroyed, he flew into a rage and ordered continuous assaults for half a month—but the terrain of the Yixian Gorge was steep and impregnable, costing him dearly.

Meanwhile, the Yan and Ji cavalry roamed the forests like ghosts, appearing and vanishing without warning. If they met the Chongzhou army head-on, they fought when they could win and fled when they couldn’t. The rebel infantry, on two legs, could never catch horsemen on four, leaving the Chongzhou commanders grinding their teeth in fury.

Now, with their supplies completely gone while the Yan army still held firm atop the mountain, Shi Yue finally realized he couldn’t trap the Marquis of Wu’an to death here, nor make a name for himself with such a “great victory.” He promptly changed tactics, marching by night to secretly withdraw part of his troops.

The assaults had failed; preservation of strength was the only choice left.

· ─ ·✶· ─ · 

The mountaintop camp was suddenly swept into an atmosphere of tense preparation. In both the infirmary and the cookfires, Fan Changyu kept hearing talk of the coming battle.

Troops were being redeployed continuously to guard every pass. The moment she stepped out of the tent, she could see banners billowing across the encampment, with streams of soldiers surging toward their assigned positions beneath the flags.

Every wounded man who could still hold a blade was being sent back to his unit—and naturally, so was Xie Zheng.

Just watching the scale of the preparations, Fan Changyu could tell this would be a deadly fight. But Yan Zheng’s wound still ached sharply whenever he exerted strength, he probably couldn’t even wield a weapon properly. Wouldn’t going to the battlefield like this be nothing short of suicide?

Thinking of that bloody hole in his side, anxiety churned restlessly in her heart.