Pei Zhaoye would not go to Wan Commandery to seize grain; that would be taking the military grain for the refugee army from the Changping granary in Wan Commandery according to the court’s orders.

Everything could be resolved.

After a long while.

Their discussion ended; Wu Yan said: “Open the granary and distribute grain first—not to us, but to the villagers. Within three days, at least one hundred thousand shi. Once we see the grain, we will surrender.”

Lizhu’s vision went black.

Within three days!?

“…Can it be a few more days? Fifteen days? Ten days?”

Court deliberation takes time, but the uprising army needs to submit quickly.

The sooner the court sees results, the sooner it will endorse the refugee army proposal.

Pei Zhaoye could also, before being branded a rebel, obtain the protection of the refugee army title.

Wu Yan shook his head: “Too long. If you deliberately stall to trick us, then what? Three days, no more. If we don’t see the grain, our Yanshan troops will go to the county and take it ourselves.”

“……”

Chang Jun rowed the boat, sending Lizhu and her group back to shore.

If not for Xiao Qiyuan still being present, Lizhu would have already thrown herself into Xuan Ying’s arms and broken down crying. But now, she still had to hold herself upright and show no sign of weakness.

“Princess! Princess!!”

Suddenly, several familiar voices came from the shore.

Lizhu almost thought she was hallucinating. When she looked up, she truly saw Gu Bing’an and Danzhu.

“How are you two here!”

Lizhu stepped down into the water to disembark. Before she could even feel relief, she was met with their anxious, weary faces.

Danzhu grabbed Lizhu’s arm and said urgently: “Princess, bad news—Mountain Lord has been captured by that old thief Tan Rong! His life hangs by a thread, and they demand we hand over three hundred thousand shi of grain. Princess, please think of a way—”

Lizhu’s arm ached from Danzhu’s grip. Hearing her words was like taking a heavy blow—her heart gave a violent thump.

“Why do you only bring bad news!”

Gu Bing’an pulled Danzhu aside, steadied himself, and said:

“Princess, Mountain Lord took back three hundred thousand shi of grain from Tan Rong. Before leaving, he ordered us to deliver one hundred fifty thousand to you, keeping one hundred fifty thousand for himself.

“But Tan Rong used the Mountain Lord’s life as leverage, forcing us to send the grain back. We dared not decide on our own, so we brought all the grain here—to return it or not, we ask the princess to make the decision.”

For a moment, Lizhu’s world fell silent.

“…Don’t panic. Tell me everything from the beginning, what exactly happened.”

Gu Bing’an then briefly recounted the events.

After hearing the whole story, though Lizhu’s heart was burning with anxiety, she was not too surprised.

Pei Zhaoye was just that kind of man—one who loved to gamble.

Even knowing that the main camp at Wan Commandery was not far from Yixian Valley, he still chose to pursue, betting that reinforcements from Wan Commandery wouldn’t arrive in time and that he could withdraw safely.

Since it was a gamble, there were both wins and losses.

In her previous life, when two armies faced each other, Nanyong’s troops were weak and poorly supplied, while the northern forces were strong and abundant. Only he dared to gamble—and he had won many times.

The one and only time he lost, he lost his life.

“It’s all right. There’s still time.”

Lizhu took hold of Danzhu’s and Gu Bing’an’s hands.

Her hands were small, with only a few calluses from writing practice—otherwise white and smooth as mutton-fat jade, warm to the touch.

At that moment, as her soft palms wrapped around their large hands, a strange strength passed through, carried by her calm gaze.

As though she had foreseen this, or perhaps had already lived through it once before—there was no trace of panic.

Danzhu and Gu Bing’an looked at her, and for some reason, inexplicably calmed down.

“Keep the brothers of Hongye Stronghold in good order, have them station in the suburbs, do not cause trouble, wait for my news.”

Lizhu spoke as if to them, and also as if to herself:

“I will save him, this time, I will definitely save him.”

•—–٠✤٠—–•

Cold stars lit the night, within Tan Rong’s residence in Wan Commandery.

Tonight a north wind rose unexpectedly, the lanterns outside the door swinging without stop.

Tan Rong threw the letters heavily to the ground, the candle flickered, and he cursed wildly:

“……This is really like someone who raised hawks his whole life being pecked in the eye by a hawk! This Princess Qinghe, who usually pretends to be soft and weak, cries for three days at a single insult, actually managed to play my elder brother!”

Madam Guo picked up the wooden tablets and skimmed them.

“Could it be that when she sent the letter, she guessed that the Minister of Personnel might detain it, so she prepared two copies in advance?”

“My elder brother of course would detain it, didn’t he see what tricks she might be plotting.”

Tan Rong’s wound had not yet fully healed; upon getting slightly angry, his chest ached terribly.

He pressed his chest, sweating profusely, and said: “With this so-called refugee army, the localities will have forces directly under the court. In the future whether in external wars or internal wars, we will not be the only ones to rely on!”

Madam Guo pondered for a moment:

“The refugee army is only conscripted temporarily, they haven’t undergone long training and are not sufficiently loyal. I fear they will be unmanageable.”

“That is not important.”

Tan Rong’s eyes were like torches, and he spoke each word deliberately: “What matters is, once the court agrees, the princess will have troops. Do you know what that means?”

Previously the things the princess did in Yiling Commandery could be overlooked by others.

With troops, the nature of it is entirely different.

But what made people gnash their teeth and yet be helpless was——

With enemies at the gate, Nanyong needs soldiers.

In theory a princess should not interfere in politics, should not command troops, yet facing matters of the nation’s survival, even ethical norms must step back.

Since when did this start?

How did this inconspicuous princess overnight secure a foothold, no longer that pathetic little thing whom a push from Shen Fu would topple with nowhere to cry?

Tan Rong: “……I will kill Pei Zhaoye right now.”

Madam Guo pressed down on his sword.

“If the princess were to request an imperial decree for him, making him the commander of this refugee army, and came to demand the man from you—what would you do then?”

“…Pei Zhaoye stole three hundred thousand shi of my grain and fodder. Would killing him be wrong?”

“Husband, do not forget—the grain from the Changping Granary, whether sold cheaply or given outright, was meant for disaster relief in Jiangzhou, not the private property of the Tan family.”

Madam Guo lowered her eyes calmly:

“These matters, left unspoken, are unimportant. But if they are truly brought to light, could you emerge unscathed?”

Tan Rong could hardly believe it. “…If he goes out of here alive and becomes Princess Qinghe’s right arm, how could that be tolerated?”

“Husband, do not be hasty. This matter has not yet been decided. Whether His Majesty is even willing to let the princess command the refugee army is still unknown.”

Madam Guo held his hand, slowly guiding the sword back into its sheath.

“But before that, husband must not take Pei Zhaoye’s life.”

Not only Madam Guo thought this way—Tan Xun, who was also within the Tan residence, gave the same instructions to the household physician.

“…How is it that five days have passed, and he is still unconscious?”

The physician said only that the injuries were severe, yet also that the man’s constitution was exceptionally strong, his pulse steady and powerful—he truly should not have remained unconscious so long.

Tan Xun frowned, gave a few more orders, and sent the physician away to prepare medicine.

He stepped inside the room.

Pei Zhaoye must not die.

Setting aside all political concerns—merely because he himself had failed to deliver the three hundred thousand shi of grain to Lizhu, while Pei Zhaoye had fought with his life to send it—he could not allow this man to die here.

If Pei Zhaoye died, Lizhu would remember him forever, think of him always, and there would never again be room in her heart for another.

Only…

With such a strong and resilient body, could he truly be so gravely injured as to remain unconscious for five days?

Tan Xun looked at the man whose limbs were bound to the bed’s railing, examining him from head to toe.

Suddenly, his gaze fell upon one section of the railing where the rope was tied.

Tan Xun reached out and flicked it.

That piece of wood was broken!

A shock ran through Tan Xun’s heart; he leapt back two steps, about to shout—when his vision suddenly went dark.

A force as crushing as a mountain pinned him down completely, and at the same time, something was shoved into his mouth to gag him.

“Shh—”

The deathly pale Pei Zhaoye made no sound at all. Stepping on Tan Xun’s back, he swiftly stripped off the man’s clean, fine clothes within moments.

Tan Xun struggled furiously, but was still, in utter humiliation, stripped of his outer robe by Pei Zhaoye and tightly bound.

Pei Zhaoye took off his own filthy clothes.

In the tearing motion, the wounds on his body began bleeding again.

He had feigned death for five days, having only been fed a bit of rice soup. At this moment his head was heavy, his limbs weak, yet he still forced himself to stand, changing into Tan Xun’s robes and hair crown.

Pei Zhaoye looked into the mirror.

The outer fox-fur cloak even covered the bruises on his neck, leaving no trace visible.

“Fits perfectly. If you hadn’t come, I really wouldn’t have known how to escape.”

He smiled faintly, balled up his own dirty clothes at random, and stuffed them into Tan Xun’s mouth as a gag.

Tan Xun’s eyes burned with hatred fierce enough to devour a man alive.

Pei Zhaoye recalled the young master’s usual pretentious gait and manner before pushing open the door and stepping out.

Their builds were similar, and the night was dark. Servants would not raise their heads to scrutinize their master. As long as he avoided crowds, he would not be discovered easily.

Indeed, that was the case.

In the cold winter night, only a few stone lamps glowed faintly in the courtyard, and everyone in the Tan residence moved hastily about.

Pei Zhaoye, uncertain of direction, wandered through the residence once around—no one recognized him.

A few times, he nearly reached an exit, but each time saw the gate area too brightly lit, too crowded with idle people, and had to turn back again.

It seemed escaping the room was easy, but getting out through the main gate would not be.

Had it been someone else, their heart would already be in chaos, panicking beyond control.

But Pei Zhaoye was a man of immense daring. Far from flustered, as he turned and circled about, he found he had somehow entered Tan Rong’s chamber.

He even opened the dressing chest by the window for a look.

Inside were all manner of rare and precious jewels.

Pei Zhaoye remembered Tan Rong’s words—“born with a thief’s bones.”

He tugged at the corner of his lips.

Heh.

He had yet to show them what it truly meant that “a thief never leaves empty-handed.”