Under all eyes, Pei Zhaoye glanced toward the direction of the Princess’s command tent and said:

“To bring out such a foolish question—have you lost your senses? Princess Qinghe is His Majesty’s only daughter. Without His Majesty’s permission, how could the Princess dare act on her own?”

“The Princess is the court closest to us. From this day on, whether we pacify internal chaos or repel foreign tribes, to be loyal to the Princess is to be loyal to the court.”

The crowd suddenly understood.

Gu Bing’an, standing in the front row, exchanged a glance with Pei Zhaoye, then raised his voice and shouted:

“The General is wise and mighty! May the Princess live for a thousand autumns without end!”

All the men shouted together:

“The General is wise and mighty! May the Princess live for a thousand autumns without end!”

Inside the Princess’s command tent, the brush in Lizhu’s hand—its tip soaked with thick black ink—fell in the final stroke.

On the great scarlet silk, there appeared one powerful, vigorous character: “Pei.”

To write this character, Lizhu had even practiced for quite a while with a tree branch on the ground before solemnly putting brush to silk. After finishing, she examined it carefully for a long moment, then showed a satisfied smile.

From now on, this would be the command banner of the Hongye Army.

The cold wind howled, and the banner fluttered.

Tan Rong and Madam Guo stood on the city tower, watching as the Hongye Army, in grand formation, broke camp and marched toward Jiangzhou.

Thinking of the danger in his past battle with Pei Zhaoye, Tan Rong felt uneasy.

Now that this force had departed—if unlucky, the rebels in Jiangzhou would ensure they never returned; but if lucky…

It would be no different from letting a tiger return to the mountains.

While Tan Rong’s heart was heavy, inside Lizhu’s carriage the mood was light.

Upon entering the borders of Jiangzhou, she sent someone to the post station to retrieve the letters sent from Yiling over the past few days.

Because their journey had been uncertain, many letters had accumulated; now they filled an entire box.

Lizhu eagerly went through them one by one.

It was too cramped to stay inside the carriage, so Pei Zhaoye spent most of his time on horseback, only occasionally returning when he wished to speak with Lizhu.

That evening, when the troops stopped to dine, Pei Zhaoye lifted the curtain and saw that she had been reading the entire afternoon—utterly absorbed and full of energy. He couldn’t help saying:

“All those densely written characters—after reading all morning, you’re still so spirited. You truly are born to be a…”

“Born to be what?”

Lizhu lifted her head.

Pei Zhaoye swallowed the rest of his words and only asked:

“What’s so interesting about them anyway? Just now outside, I saw a whole grove of plum blossoms and wanted to show you, but you ignored me completely.”

Lizhu looked apologetic.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t hear you… I was just reading Lin Zhang’s report. It says that the number of refugees entering Yiling Commandery is decreasing. For those who have stayed, after some inquiry, many turned out to be craftsmen. They plan, once spring comes and the county’s finances ease, to allocate some funds to lend them for business—just right for bringing Jiangzhou’s crafts into Yiling…”

As she went on, the topic grew more complicated, so Lizhu paused, then changed the subject and said:

“And also, the official decree from Luoyang has arrived. Zhao Weizhen and his faction, as well as the Pei brothers, are to be executed at three quarters past noon today.”

At those words, Pei Zhaoye’s eyelashes trembled slightly.

“Is that so? Then that is truly great news.”

Lizhu saw him calmly pick up the map, his expression unchanged in the slightest.

He had always hidden his thoughts deeply, and Lizhu did not wish to press him further. But she suddenly remembered something.

“When is your birthday? Is it coming soon?”

Lizhu recalled that in her previous life, the Pei family had used the pretext of a coming-of-age ceremony to summon Pei Zhaoye back home. Then, taking advantage of Dan Zhu’s troublemaking, Hongye Stronghold had been destroyed the very next day after his birthday.

In the dream, the snow had filled the sky—so it must have been deep winter.

Pei Zhaoye glanced at her. “You want to celebrate my birthday?”

Lizhu smiled sweetly. “A man’s twentieth year, the coming-of-age ceremony—it’s a great day. Of course I want to celebrate it for you.”

In her past life, Lizhu had also celebrated his birthday three times, each time with great care.

Unfortunately, those had all been Pei Shao’s birthdays, not his.

This time, it would be best to make it lively and joyous, to wash away the misfortune of the previous life.

Pei Zhaoye looked steadily at her for a moment, then suddenly leaned forward and kissed her hard. The tassels in her hair quivered wildly under his kiss.

While Lizhu was still dizzy and disoriented, he quickly sat upright again.

As if nothing had happened, he said evenly:

“My birthday is ten days from now. However you wish to celebrate, it’s fine. If you’re too busy, keep it simple—I don’t care about such things.”

Didn’t care? Then why did he kiss her so hard!

Lizhu glared at him in dissatisfaction, touching her slightly numb lips.

Ten days…

She calculated the time. They would reach Yanshan in five days and join forces with Wu Yan’s troops.

That left five days—tight, but still enough to prepare a simple coming-of-age ceremony.

Lizhu took out a wooden tablet and began to write and draw on it.

It was the tablet she used to record her daily affairs.

Now that she had so many things to manage, she feared forgetting something, so she had to note down every matter, big or small, to keep everything in order.

When she finished writing and looked up, she was surprised to see Pei Zhaoye, for once, also holding a blank wooden tablet. Comparing it with the map, he was writing down notes.

Lizhu leaned closer to take a look, somewhat surprised that he could write.

…Though the handwriting was barely bearable to look at.

“What are you writing those place names for?”

Lizhu was curious.

He had written down only the plains along their route.

Pei Zhaoye said, “I’m noting them so that when we pass through, we’ll know which lands have owners and which don’t. If we come across unclaimed ones, it’ll be a good chance to go hunting.”

Lizhu didn’t immediately catch his meaning, only smiling as she asked, “You like hunting?”

In both her previous and present life combined, she had never gone hunting with him.

“I do,” Pei Zhaoye said with a smile. “And it’d be even better if I could catch a few sheep.”

Lizhu: “…”

By coincidence, the area they camped in that day happened to have a nearby forest with no owner.

After confirming with the local villagers, Pei Zhaoye took Danzhu and three other trusted men and went into the mountains.

The sun had not yet begun to set, yet Lizhu’s cheeks were already tinted with a faint blush.

…Was he truly going hunting for that reason?

Where would sheep come from in a mountain without an owner?

Even if he did hunt one down, was he going to butcher it in front of everyone to take the intestines—wouldn’t everyone see?

That kind of thing could certainly be bought in Luoyang. But out here, in such rural towns, most people probably hadn’t even heard of it, let alone sold it.

Walking along the ridge between the fields, Lizhu grew more and more embarrassed the more she thought about it.

He just—had—to—be—that—impatient!!!

Recalling her expression when they parted, Pei Zhaoye only found it utterly adorable.

“Mountain Lord—oh no, General.”

Danzhu tossed him a bow and a quiver of arrows, asking curiously,

“Are we really hunting here? The mountain’s so bare, it doesn’t even look like there’s a pheasant. What are we supposed to catch?”

Pei Zhaoye of course did not expect to find any sheep here.

While tying a cord to an arrow, he said, “There may be no pheasants, but there are wild geese overhead.”

Now, in a time of chaos, everything had to be kept simple. She didn’t care for formal ceremonies, and yet she was worrying about preparing a coming-of-age rite for him.

Pei Zhaoye had nothing suitable to give her.

Gold and silver she’d seen plenty of—if he offered those, she’d only use them as military funds.

The only thing he had to offer was his own strength.

Wild geese were birds of faithfulness. When taking a wife and presenting betrothal gifts, a man would capture a wild goose alive to prove he had sincerity and ability, that he was worthy of proposing marriage.

Danzhu sat atop a tree, watching with amusement. “Archery’s my strong suit. If the General can’t manage it, I’ll shoot it for—”

Just as the words left his mouth, the arrow—its tip unsharpened—brushed past the wild goose. Pei Zhaoye gripped the cord tightly and gave it a fierce pull—

The goose plummeted heavily to the ground, wings flapping helplessly within the tangled rope.

A single strike, a clean hit.

Pei Zhaoye lifted the fine wild goose he had set his eyes on and tossed the bow back to Danzhu, sneering: “Today you help me hunt a goose, and tomorrow you’ll think you can take my place in the bridal chamber. Save your strength—mind your own business, and go hunt one yourself to give to that little lord of yours.”

The others burst into laughter, slapping their legs.

But in the midst of their laughter came the sound of hurried footsteps.

“—What country bumpkins dare to hunt on my Xue family’s mountain!”

It was a young, lively voice—yet the tone was so imperious that one frowned upon hearing it.

The speaker was a young lady of the Xue family, out inspecting the family estate in the outskirts with her mother.

Seeing Pei Zhaoye’s group there, she assumed they were peasants poaching on Xue land and immediately came to scold them.

Pei Zhaoye was unruffled.

He turned his head slowly and saw a carriage curtain lift—inside sat a young woman of seventeen or eighteen, glaring at him in anger.

When their gazes met, the young woman froze for a moment, and for some reason, her anger vanished completely.

“Little lady,” Pei Zhaoye said evenly, “your Xue family’s mountain lies three li further west. And even if this were your mountain, the goose I hunted was from the sky—”

The Xue family girl looked at the handsome man before her and lazily uttered four words:

“None of your business.”

•—–٠✤٠—–•

The others were still busy setting up camp. Bored, Lizhu had the local headman take them for a walk through the nearby fields.

Hearing that the troops of Princess Qinghe were entering Jiangzhou that very night, the headman had been nervous and waiting in fear, worried his village might not host them properly—yet he hadn’t expected the Princess to be so unassuming.

She didn’t even ride in a palanquin; she stepped directly on the yellow earth, not minding in the least that her fine embroidered shoes were stained by mud and dirty snow.

Lizhu asked, “…This year’s famine in Jiangzhou is said to be the worst in ten years. I wonder what caused it exactly? Heavy taxation by the court, or some natural disaster?”

“There’s been no great disaster, and taxes are as usual,” the headman said. “It’s only that the rainfall was poor this year, and the harvest not so good—perhaps that’s the reason.”

Lizhu frowned. “A slightly poorer harvest, and so many people starved to death? Even to the point of thousands rising in revolt?”

The headman hesitated, then quickly smiled again.

“The people’s lives are hard. Even in good years, farmers only just get by. If Heaven withholds its favor, starvation is common. The rebels at Yanshan merely used it as an excuse, Your Highness need not take it to heart.”

…He wasn’t telling the truth.

Chang Jun and Xuan Ying exchanged glances—both hearing the false note beneath his words.

Lizhu did not expose his lie, only continued asking casually about things like rice seed and irrigation.

Those questions he answered without hesitation.

Finally, Lizhu steered back to the real issue and asked about their annual rent.

At last, she found the clue she’d been looking for.

“…So all these fields we see before us—they aren’t yours, but rented? And each year you have to hand over seventy percent of the harvest as rent?”

The headman’s face showed unease.

Seeing his frightened look, Lizhu took a step forward and pressed, “This seventy percent rent—into whose hands does it go?”

Sweat beaded on the headman’s forehead; he didn’t know how to answer. Then, the sound of hoofbeats drew near.

“Well, well—didn’t you say last time that paying rent would starve your whole family? Old Lin, looks like after paying rent, you’re still quite alive and kicking, aren’t you?”

The headman bowed hastily. “G-greetings, Second Young Master Xue…”

The moment Lizhu heard that, what was unclear became clear at once.

These lands—all of them—belonged to the Xue clan of Suinan.

And they dared to collect seventy percent rent!

No wonder people starved even in good years, no wonder the taxes sent from her fief were pitifully small—

That was her money!

Lizhu glared at him, fury blazing in her eyes.

Just as she took another step closer, about to explode in anger, the young man on horseback suddenly seemed to lose control of his horse.

The horse stumbled at the edge of the field ridge, and he tumbled headfirst into the dirt.

Lizhu was startled.

She stepped back half a pace—yet in that instant, the man suddenly reached out and grabbed the tip of her shoe.

Chang Jun instantly drew his sword, shouting, “Let go! Let go, or I’ll cut your hand off!”

Lizhu struggled hard; she managed to pull her foot free, but the filthy shoe was now clutched tightly in his arms.

Lizhu was utterly shocked.

Was this man insane!?

“…Little beauty.”

The Second Young Master Xue hugged her embroidered shoe, gazing at her with a dazed expression.

“Where did you come from? How have I never seen you in Jiangzhou before? Come with me. As long as you’re willing to be with me, I’ll do anything you ask—”