Chapter Forty: Qingyun’s Schemes

She couldn’t help but laugh at his furtive manner, teasing, “It’s not as though you’re passing on military secrets. Why so nervous?”

Qingyun turned to look at her. “Do you know what this is?”

“Isn’t it just some scribbles?” She felt more at ease, walked over to the table and sat down, rolling her eyes at him. “And a few worm-like characters.”

“Scribbles? Worm-like characters?” Qingyun asked in confusion. “Don’t you recognize words?”

Kaiming shook her head, noticing the tension leave his face.

Qingyun tucked the paper back inside his robe, organizing his things. “You needn’t worry—this is a map I drew after the layout of the Southern Palace, meant to be presented to the Emperor when the time is right. I’m very careful with it—who knows if there are spies from other nations in the camp.”

He glanced at her and added, “This is confidential. Don’t tell anyone, not even General Dayin.”

“Why can’t the general know?” she asked, puzzled.

“Because I want to claim credit before the Emperor myself. If the general finds out, won’t she steal my merit?” He gave his usual faint smile. Kaiming considered and thought it reasonable, nodding in agreement.

Qingyun finished tidying up and spread out some blank paper on the table, dipping his brush in black ink. Casually, he asked, “What’s your name?”

“Kaiming.”

“A good name,” Qingyun praised, his wrist moving as he wrote. The worm-like characters appeared on the sheet. “Are these the characters?”

Kaiming frowned at the paper. No matter how she looked at it, she couldn’t make sense of it and tossed it aside. “I can’t read it anyway. I guess so!”

Qingyun burst out laughing. “Actually, those two characters read ‘puppy.’ You fell for it!”

“You tricked me!” She slapped the table and stood up. Qingyun laughed even harder.

“Just a little joke. Seems you truly can’t read.” Qingyun put down the brush and turned away.

So that was it, she thought, secretly looking down on him a little. This man was impressive in every other way, but had so many twists and turns in his mind—typical of a strategist, always scheming. No wonder he’d age before his time.

When she finished washing up, she saw him idly flipping through a book, his gaze unfocused. “Is there nothing going on in camp this morning?”

She glanced at him. Was he trying to send her away? Reluctantly, she stood up. “I was just sneaking in here for a break. I’ll go.”

“Why are you leaving?”

“Didn’t you just urge me to go?”

“You’re usually thoughtless, but now you’re full of ideas.” Qingyun smiled. “Sit down. Let’s chat. It’s rare to have free time.”

He had scarcely finished speaking when the tent’s curtain lifted and a tall, burly soldier strode in. “Has sir awoken?” He stopped, surprised to see Kaiming standing by the table.

Qingyun noticed the tray in his hands—plain congee and simple dishes—and clapped his hands in delight. “What a treat! I was just feeling hungry. Thank you, brother.”

The soldier smiled politely and set down the tray. “The general worried that last night’s food was too greasy and the wine might upset your stomach, so she ordered the cook to prepare some delicate, light dishes. She hopes they’ll suit your taste.”

“Thank the general on my behalf, please,” Qingyun replied with cultured courtesy.

The soldier glanced at Kaiming and, agreeing, withdrew.

Qingyun gestured invitingly. “Join me.”

Kaiming eyed him sideways. “Are you really inviting me?”

Qingyun grinned. “I am.”

Kaiming pulled out a stool and sat down. “Then I won’t be polite.” Her eyes wandered to the colorful dishes and the big bowl of congee, making her stomach rumble loudly.

Qingyun couldn’t help but laugh at her. She blushed furiously and retorted, “Who doesn’t get hungry? We’re soldiers, not scholars like you!”

Qingyun pushed the porridge toward her. “How are soldiers different from scholars?”

“One’s physical labor, the other’s mental. How could they be the same?” she huffed, quickly finishing up the food, then shot him a look. “It’s rude to stare at someone while they’re eating, you know!”

“It won’t happen again,” Qingyun smiled, taking her used chopsticks to pick up some side dishes.

“I already used those,” she reminded him kindly.

“I know,” Qingyun replied, slowly picking up a mouthful with them. “But there’s only one pair.”

Watching the chopsticks she’d used touch his lips, Kaiming felt awkward. Was Qingyun deliberately teasing her with this odd gesture?

“A man destined for great things doesn’t fuss over trifles,” he offered philosophically.

Kaiming saw the many books and sheets of worm-like writing on his desk and quickly changed the subject. “Still practicing your calligraphy?”

“Just passing the time,” he said enthusiastically. “Want me to teach you?”

Kaiming shook her head vigorously—learning to write was far less appealing than a good nap. She idly pulled out some sheets. Though she couldn’t read them, the elegant script was pleasing to the eye.

“Not bad, not bad.”

“What do you know? You can’t even read them.”

“I’ll just admire them as art.”

“Admire them as art?” Qingyun chuckled. “Is that all my calligraphy means to you?”

“Let me keep this one!” she said, tucking it into her robe with a laugh. “When you’re gone one day, it’ll be a memento.”

“A memento…” Qingyun’s expression shifted, thoughtful. “Indeed.”

“Oh, right.” She took it back out and carefully unfolded it. “Sign it for me!”

“You want a signature, too?”

“I mostly want to see your name, Qingyun!” she laughed heartily.

Qingyun shook his head and wrote his name in the lower corner.

Kaiming pored over the paper, delighted. “What does it say? If someone asks, I should be able to answer.”

“It’s a love poem,” Qingyun said with a smile. “It tells of a man in love with a woman, yet unable to confess his feelings—he’s torn and conflicted…”

“All right, enough. I hate riddles,” she interrupted, blowing on the ink before tucking the sheet away. “I’ve eaten and taken from you. Next time, I’ll treat you!”

“Then I’ll be waiting for a grand return gift,” Qingyun replied, his gaze meaningful.

Kaiming didn’t catch the double entendre, nodding as she left the tent.

On her way back, she saw the squads assembled and drilling in the camp. She was harshly berated by Chang Geng and returned to her unit dejected and disheveled. Gouzi eyed her with concern, tugging at her sleeve during a break. “I saw you go into that strategist’s tent.”

“I did,” she admitted candidly. “Spent some time there this morning. We get along well.”

“Don’t be so careless,” Gouzi frowned. “That man is fickle and cunning—best not get too close.”

“Don’t worry, he’s not like that,” Kaiming patted his shoulder and laughed. “He’s just like my mother.”

Gouzi was dumbfounded. “Like your mother?”

“Though he’s a bit effeminate, he’s no bad person.” She laughed, playfully slapping him until his small face wrinkled up miserably.

That afternoon, orders came down: Dayin had decided to attack the Southern Palace camp that night. All squads busied themselves—torches and bundles of straw were prepared, spear tips sharpened to a shine. Gouzi packed up all his belongings, declaring this was a crucial battle—whether they’d make it out alive depended on this night.

As night fell, the mood grew tense. Dayin and several commanders rode at the front, Qingyun at her side directing the route. The cavalry was in the center, infantry at the rear. Under the cover of darkness, the troops crept quietly toward the Southern Palace camp.

From afar, the Southern Palace camp’s banners leaned in disarray, sentries strolled lazily, the whole encampment slack and careless. Dayin smiled in satisfaction, her trust in Qingyun now complete.

“Commanders Yu and An will lead a vanguard force to set fires within the camp, sowing chaos. If Southern Palace officers escape, General Dayin will lead a team to intercept—surround them, and we’ll wipe out the enemy within our net,” Qingyun advised, and Dayin approved.

“Follow the strategist’s plan!” Dayin waved her hand and began deploying the troops.

Late into the night, a blazing arrow streaked through the darkness, striking a stake beside a dozing sentry. He leaped up with a shout, and more flaming arrows rained down. He sounded the alarm at the top of his lungs: “We’re under attack! Under attack!”

Instantly, gongs and drums thundered, flames leapt skyward, and unprepared soldiers ran in panic. Commanders Yu and An led their elite troops, smashing through the gates and charging in. The tents were ablaze everywhere, but after a circuit through the camp, the two commanders found not a single high-ranking officer. Their hearts chilled—was it a ruse?

Suddenly, from all sides, armored troops appeared, surrounding them. Several mounted officers stepped forth, led by a handsome man with cold eyes—it was Sikong, who had been wounded days earlier. Yet he moved with agility, showing no sign of injury.

He stared coldly at the prey now trapped in his snare and gave a deadly order: “Archers, ready!”

The two commanders, alarmed, exchanged glances and steeled themselves, spurring their horses straight for Sikong.

“Release!”

A hail of arrows, dense as locusts, flashed before their terrified eyes.

Dayin, watching the rising flames and hearing the din of battle, grew uneasy. “Why haven’t Commanders Yu and An returned? Commander Chang Geng, go check!”

Chang Geng answered, but before she could advance, a handful of battered men crawled out of the camp gate, shouting as they ran, “General! General, we’ve been tricked!”

Dayin’s face went pale. All around, shouts rose—Southern Palace soldiers seemed to spring from the earth, banners waving, drums pounding, battle cries shaking the plain.

“Qingyun! Where is Qingyun?” Dayin roared, but the strategist was nowhere to be found. Damn it, that traitorous adviser had ruined everything.

“Counterattack!” she commanded, her forces launching a desperate response. Suddenly, a Southern Palace unit swept out from the gates, their young silver-armored commander Sikong astride his horse, spear in hand, charging straight for Dayin.

Chang Geng spurred forward and clashed with him immediately.

From another unit, a mounted figure emerged, his deep voice booming, “General Dayin, you are surrounded. Why not surrender? The Emperor values talent and will not waste your abilities.”

He was a middle-aged man with a broad face, piercing eyes, a short beard beneath his chin, clad in golden armor, exuding authority.

Dayin’s face blanched. “General Quan? Weren’t you gravely ill? How are you here?”

General Quan stroked his beard and smiled. “That depends on who told you I was ill.”

Dayin realized too late and gritted her teeth. “So it was a trap from the start. Qingyun, what a cunning plan!”

“Indeed, that child Qingyun is exceptionally shrewd,” General Quan laughed. “He knew you were suspicious, so he used Sikong’s favorite red horse to allay your doubts, then gained your trust by raiding supplies, and finally lured you into this ambush. Only then could he capture the entire Central Palace army in one stroke.”

“Despicable!” Dayin trembled with rage, drawing her twin swords. “Enough talk! Come at me—tonight, it’s either you or me!”

“General Dayin, I admire your talent. Don’t act rashly,” General Quan warned.

“Once I serve a master, I serve for life! I am not one to fear death!” Dayin shouted, her twin swords flashing as she charged at General Quan.

He sighed, drawing his twin blades. “I’ve long heard of your skill with twin swords, General Dayin. Today, I’ll meet you, blades to blades.” A dazzling arc of silver swept out as his horse surged forward.

The two generals clashed fiercely. Southern Palace forces surged from both sides, scattering the Central Palace cavalry and infantry in an instant—leaving only chaos and desperate flight behind.