He’d heard these words countless times recently. He turned to look at the tree-lined view outside the window—he could now follow the path with just a glance.

Then Ah Shu spoke again, puzzled, “It’s strange. You weren’t in good health before either. When we traveled, you were always sick. A small illness every three days, a serious one every five, but no matter what the illness, you never lost your appetite. Is this a new symptom?”

Xiao Rong: “…”

He turned his head expressionlessly. “Ah Shu.”

Ah Shu quickly responded.

Xiao Rong said coldly, “You’re suddenly very annoying. Take that soup and go play somewhere.”

Ah Shu: “…”

Ah Shu, full of grievance, left with the confinement soup.

The door had been opened. Since Xiao Rong fell ill, the room had always been heated with charcoal. Zhang Biezhi, holding a bundle, watched Ah Shu get kicked out and adjusted his expression before walking in with a fawning smile.

He didn’t waste time—he took out a paper-wrapped parcel from the bundle and smiled flatteringly at Xiao Rong. “Lotus-leaf chicken, osmanthus cake—freshly made. Bought from outside, not from the mansion chef.”

Xiao Rong narrowed his eyes. The aroma drifted out. He twitched his nose, then tapped the table twice with his fingers.

Zhang Biezhi beamed and laid out the food before him, even unwrapping the paper and handing him chopsticks like a well-trained lackey.

Xiao Rong started with the chicken. Chickens these days are large. After two drumsticks, he was already half full. He slowly worked through the rest. Then, catching sight of the osmanthus cake, he remembered, “The osmanthus is blooming—Mid-Autumn Festival isn’t far off.”

Zhang Biezhi nodded. “The shopkeepers on Baibao Street are already planning celebrations. It’s their first major festival since opening. I heard they want to hold a massive sale.”

Without Xiao Rong leading them, the shopkeepers had learned his tactics. After tasting success during the Thousand-Scholar Anthology, they wanted events every day, but a literary spectacle like that could only happen once. They didn’t have Xiao Rong’s extravagance to spend ten thousand gold attracting crowds.

So aside from sales, they planned to come up with other gimmicks.

Xiao Rong chuckled. “Let them do as they please.”

After all, he only cared about collecting taxes.

Zhang Biezhi grinned. “It’ll be a grand scene. Would you like to come too? My sister is going. If you go, it’ll be even livelier.”

Xiao Rong murmured, “Sure. I’ll take a stroll during the day and come back for a reunion dinner.”

Zhang Biezhi beamed. “I knew you’d agree! Ha! Di Fazeng said I was overestimating myself. He doesn’t know—I’m a seasoned expert at cheering people up!”

Xiao Rong looked at him speechlessly. He had barely been serious for a moment before showing off again. What was there to be proud of?

Still, since Zhang Biezhi brought good food and went out of his way to please him, Xiao Rong decided not to discourage him and asked with a gentle tone, “Oh? You didn’t use your brothel skills on me, did you?”

Zhang Biezhi quickly waved his hands. “I wouldn’t dare! I used the ones I use on my sister.”

Xiao Rong: “…”

That still felt a bit odd—but it was barely acceptable.

He lowered his head and continued eating.

Zhang Biezhi’s voice sounded again. “When my sister misses her husband, she also loses her appetite and dislikes everything at home. So I go out to buy her flavorful or sweet food. Being stuck at home makes the mood worse, so I’d take her out to walk. In no time, she’d feel better.”

Clang.

Zhang Biezhi was momentarily stunned. He saw Xiao Rong put down his chopsticks and smile as he asked, “Who do you think I’m missing?”

Zhang Biezhi: “…”

The smile on Xiao Rong’s face deepened. “Say it—who do you think I’m missing?”

Zhang Biezhi: “…”

His heart jumped into his throat. He stared stiffly at Xiao Rong and said in a tiny voice, “Isn’t it… the King?”

Xiao Rong slapped the table with a bang, startling Zhang Biezhi so much that he trembled all over. “I’m worried about him! It’s not missing him, and certainly not the kind of longing your sister feels for her husband!”

Xiao Rong stood up and gradually approached Zhang Biezhi, while Zhang Biezhi looked up at him with increasing fear.

“You remember this—I couldn’t eat because I was sick!”

“It had absolutely nothing to do with Qu Yunmie!”

“If I hear you talking nonsense again, I’ll invent a new seasonal dish called Spicy Fried Zhang Biezhi! I’ll sell it once this year, and once again eighteen years later—got it?!”

Moments later, outside the courtyard, Difa Ceng, who was waiting with his arms crossed, once again saw Zhang Biezhi burst through the door, sobbing uncontrollably as he ran out.

Difa Ceng: “…”

Heh. That’s what you get for not listening to me.

 

…

 

This time, Zhang Biezhi didn’t run off to complain to the Zhang family, because halfway there he ran into Ah Shu. These two lifelong rivals looked at each other and confirmed that they were both victims of Xiao Rong’s wrath.

So they sat down together and began jointly criticizing Xiao Rong.

Ah Shu said, “The Lord’s temper is getting worse.”

Zhang Biezhi replied, “No, his temper was always this bad. Remember back in Jinling? I was the one getting scolded every time!”

Ah Shu said, “Then you should be used to it.”

Zhang Biezhi said, “I really was used to it back in Jinling, but once we returned to Chenliu, he stopped scolding me!”

Ah Shu said, “That’s because you weren’t by the Lord’s side anymore.”

Zhang Biezhi shook his head gravely. “I don’t think that’s the reason. Think about it—when did Xiao Rong start getting more irritable?”

Ah Shu: “…”

He wanted to say he was always irritable, but seeing Zhang Biezhi’s expression, he figured that wasn’t the right answer.

After thinking carefully, Ah Shu said uncertainly, “After… the army set out on the expedition?”

Zhang Biezhi struck his left palm with his right fist. “Exactly! Before the army left, the King bore the brunt of Xiao Rong’s bad temper. After the army departed, the King took the troops with him, and we became the ones closest to Xiao Rong—so our days got rough!”

Ah Shu: “…”

He didn’t like that explanation. His cheeks puffed up in frustration, and he said stiffly, “That’s not true. I’ve always been the one closest to the Lord. Who could be closer than a personal attendant?”

Zhang Biezhi looked at him with sympathy. “I get it. Before my sister married her husband, I used to think the same way—who could be closer than a blood brother?”

Ah Shu: “…?”

His mood got even worse. “No wonder the Lord yells at you! My Lord hasn’t married the King, so don’t say things like that again!”

Zhang Biezhi waved his hand listlessly. “Alright, alright, it’s just a figure of speech. It’s not like Mr. Xiao could really marry the King. I just meant they’re very close. I don’t understand why you’re all so serious.”

Ah Shu wanted to refute him but couldn’t think of a way. He turned around with the pot of soup in his arms, showing only the back of his head to Zhang Biezhi.

Zhang Biezhi sniffed and glanced at the pot in Ah Shu’s arms. After a while, he asked, “What kind of soup is that?”

Ah Shu answered gloomily, “Red date chicken soup.”

Zhang Biezhi said, “Give me some.”

He paused, then asked, “Do you have a spoon?”

“…”

Ah Shu began to seriously consider dumping the entire pot of soup on Zhang Biezhi.

 

＊

 

Some people showed their concern for Xiao Rong openly, others did it in secret.

While others were trying everything to get Xiao Rong to eat more, the Buddhist disciple’s letter had already crossed the Yellow River.

 

…

 

Though he had already explained to Xiao Rong what Qu Yunmie had said back then, he never said he wouldn’t follow through. He just hadn’t written down everything—like how Xiao Rong inexplicably fainted for half a day. That part, he left out. He only wrote about Xiao Rong’s poor appetite and frequent outbursts of anger.

Wondering when his letter would reach Qu Yunmie, the monk sighed softly.

Whether peace in the realm or peace in the palace, he sacrificed much for both.

 

…

 

Xiao Rong had a bad temper over here, and Qu Yunmie wasn’t doing much better over there.

On the first day, he weakened the Xianbei’s alertness to the Northern Army by challenging them to a duel. At midnight, he launched a surprise attack. The Xianbei had taken the bait—but not entirely. Their elite troops were still on guard against sneak attacks from the Northern Army. As soon as Qu Yunmie arrived, their general rode out—clearly, he hadn’t even gone to sleep.

The battle raged all night. At dawn, when they counted the casualties, Qu Yunmie’s side had lost 6,000 men, the other side had lost just over 10,000.

It looked like Qu Yunmie had won, but the reinforcements on the Northern Army side were all old, sick, or weak—good for boosting numbers, useless in real combat. So Qu Yunmie had to lead the charge with his own soldiers. Meanwhile, the Xianbei used their reinforcements as meat shields, keeping their elite troops mostly intact.

If one did the math, the losses were roughly even.

This made Qu Yunmie furious.

Over the following days, no amount of persuasion helped. He led his personal guards into repeated charges and retreats. Each time he charged into the enemy lines, he took hundreds of lives. When the main force caught up, Qu Yunmie would retreat without lingering. After the horses recovered, he’d charge again.

This was a contest of stamina and strength. Qu Yunmie used this method to wear down the enemy’s energy and morale, breaking up their formations again and again. Once their formation-setting slowed, Qu Yunmie would wave his hand, and Wang Xinyong—who had been watching all along—would roar and lead his troops into the fray.

It went on like this every day. Since Shengle City was on the grasslands, its only natural barrier lay to the north—not the south. The Emperor who had originally built Shengle City had never prepared for an attack from the Central Plains, he only feared the tribes further north.

When the army arrived, there was nothing but endless grass ahead. Gaining an advantage through terrain was out of the question. Both sides could see each other—there was nowhere to hide. Qu Yunmie had only one option: defeat the army before him, then storm the city and break into the Xianbei Imperial Palace.

There was no quick victory to be had, so the situation turned into a prolonged stalemate. Every day was a battle of attrition, draining both provisions and lives. Both sides had wins and losses, but the Northern Army won more often. If things continued like this, the Xianbei would fall sooner or later—but by then, the Northern Army would also be severely weakened.

Qu Yunmie had planned to end the war within two months and return to Chenliu by October. Now, it seemed that just reaching Shengle within the year would be an achievement.

After yet another charge, Qu Yunmie returned to camp with a dark face. He still hadn’t calmed down. He handed his still-bloody Snow-Drinking Vengeance Spear to someone nearby. The others, like He Tingzhi, dared not linger around him, afraid he’d lash out.

At this moment, Yu Shaoxie once again showed his boldness—he was the only one who dared confront Qu Yunmie in this state.

“Your Majesty, why must you be so reckless again? The enemy has two hundred thousand soldiers—do you plan to kill them all by yourself? At this point, it’s no longer bravery, it’s recklessness!”

Qu Yunmie hadn’t yet shaken off his killing mood. His eyes glinted with murderous intent as he stared at Yu Shaoxie. “Since when do you have the right to question my actions?”

Yu Shaoxie refused to back down and was about to argue further when Yu Shaocheng suddenly pulled him back and produced a letter. “Your Majesty, a letter has arrived from Chenliu—sent by the Buddhist disciple.”

Qu Yunmie froze. Ignoring the blood on his hands, he snatched the letter. As he read, Yu Shaoxie muttered angrily, “Why did you stop me? Someone has to say these things. The reinforcements may not care, but we do. How can we let the commander charge into battle every day? What if something happens—”

Yu Shaocheng whispered, “I know, but His Majesty is like that by nature. Scolding him won’t change anything.”

Yu Shaoxie grew even more frustrated. He knew Yu Shaocheng was right but had no idea how to solve the issue. The brothers muttered back and forth, both troubled over how to persuade Qu Yunmie.

Meanwhile, as Qu Yunmie read, his lips gradually tightened into a smile.

Loss of appetite, constant rage—Xiao Rong turned out like this not long after he left.

Though the monk hadn’t written it, Qu Yunmie knew—this wasn’t longing, it was worry. Longing was a light feeling—one that came when you knew the person would return. Worry was deeper—it persisted even if the person was long gone, as long as they might come back someday.

Clearly, no matter how many times he had reassured him, Xiao Rong still didn’t believe him.

Sigh, he had expected as much.

After all, Xiao Rong knew him too well. He knew Qu Yunmie loved danger. Knowing he had caused such worry, Qu Yunmie felt deeply guilty.

At some point, the two brothers had fallen silent. They were now staring at Qu Yunmie’s faintly upturned mouth with bizarre expressions.

He just killed a bunch of people—and now he was smiling?

Qu Yunmie slowly put the letter away. He prepared to return to his tent and change clothes. When he saw Yu Shaoxie, he paused, as if suddenly remembering something, and said, “Sir, you’re right. Tomorrow, Yuan Baifu and Yu Shaocheng will charge in my place. I had a poor attitude earlier—I hope you won’t take offense.”

Yu Shaoxie: “…”

He stared blankly ahead. After a long while, he turned to Yu Shaocheng in disbelief. “Even the monk can do that?”

Wasn’t that something only Rong’er could do??!

 

Edited by: Antiope

 

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