There was a romantic saying, “In the past, carriages moved slowly, letters took a long time to arrive, and a whole lifetime was only enough to love one person.”

Xiao Rong didn’t know which sentimental youth came up with that line. First of all, ancient times never had the notion of “a whole lifetime was only enough to love one person.” Just look at Gongsun Yuan—his backyard nearly had enough people to form a football team. Secondly, anyone who could say such a thing clearly didn’t value their time much, which is probably why they could find romance in the unbearably slow exchange of letters.

Xiao Rong was a pragmatist, so it was only natural that he disliked the phrase. There was someone else who disliked it just as much—Song Shuo, who hadn’t experienced joy since the night of the Mid-Autumn Festival.

…

When the Buddha’s Son departed, Song Shuo’s cold still hadn’t cleared up. Although he no longer had a fever, his nose was so red he looked like he belonged to a different race. There was always fluid threatening to run out.

Mijing looked at him with a complicated expression. He wanted to persuade Song Shuo to go back, but Song Shuo refused. He insisted on coming to see Mijing off. Later, Mijing even heard him sniffing while quietly muttering, “We knew each other, after all. I ought to see him one last time.”

Mijing: “…”

No one in the King’s residence took Song Shuo too seriously, least of all Mijing. When he heard it, he simply pretended not to. He turned around, mounted his horse, and quickly disappeared down the official road. Song Shuo stuffed his hands into his sleeves and silently watched him go. No matter what he just said, at this moment, he sincerely hoped Mijing would be safe.

As well as Xiao Rong, Yu Shaoxie, Yu Shaocheng, and the King.

…

He didn’t want to always be the one sending others off, and even more so, he didn’t want to receive one piece of bad news after another amid endless worry.

He was only twenty years old—it should’ve been the age when others worried about him. How had it all reversed?

Song Shuo hung his head and listlessly turned back.

＊

By the time the Buddha’s Son had settled into the military camp, Song Shuo’s condition had worsened.

…

There was no helping it. Xiao Rong only pretended to be sickly, but Song Shuo truly was. His immune system had always been weak and there came one blow after another. Now his mental stress had peaked. It would’ve been odd if he hadn’t fallen ill. The sicker he got, the more anxious he became—he wanted to recover quickly and continue overseeing Chenliu City.

Yet illness strikes like a landslide and retreats like silk. Now, not only was his nose red, but his entire face had turned red.

Gao Xunzhi came to see him and almost couldn’t reconcile this sickly young man with the slippery, sharp-tongued Song Shuo of the past. He sat beside him with a complex expression and couldn’t help but say, “Now I understand why your grandmother named you ‘Song Qianzhen’.”   (Sounds like ‘Song Sends Illness’)

Song Shuo: “…”

He asked, displeased, “Did Xiao Rong tell the Prime Minister that? Hmph, I don’t even need to ask—it must’ve been him!”

Gao Xunzhi stayed silent and changed the subject. “Since you’re unwell, you should rest. Matters in the city—there are many, or few, depending how you see them. The government offices have plenty of scholars. If you don’t use them now, then when?”

“Those scholars that Xiao Rong mentioned are still under evaluation—if circumstances are special, you can start using the ones with decent conduct. Also, Zhao Yaozu or Zhao Gongzong, whatever his name is… since Xiao Rong assigned him to you, just use him.”

In the end, Gao Xunzhi even sounded a bit resentful. “If you keep exhausting yourself like this, your small illness will become a big one. Then how will I explain myself to Xiao Rong?”

Song Shuo shrank deeper into his chair and mumbled, “I could say the same to you, Chancellor.”

Gao Xunzhi: “…”

He chuckled, though the laughter was mostly helpless. “You should worry more about yourself. I’ve lived long enough to see all kinds of storms. Now that Xiao Rong and the King are both alright, in my opinion, the most dangerous days have already passed.”

Song Shuo frowned. “How could you say they’ve passed? The mastermind is still at large, and the news of the King’s injury has spread across the realm. Chancellor, haven’t you realized Chenliu is in imminent danger?”

Gao Xunzhi: “…”

He started to wonder whether the Northern Army had failed to consult a fortune-teller when they named themselves, and that’s why all the talented people it attracted were so dramatic. Either they exaggerated their own importance or exaggerated the enemy’s.

After a long silence, he finally refuted, “The King left behind 100,000 Northern troops. Unless Southern Yong gathers every bit of strength they can muster, they won’t break through Chenliu.”

Song Shuo asked again, “What if they attack other cities instead?”

For example, they could march toward Chenliu while conquering the towns between Jinling and Chenliu along the way.

Gao Xunzhi looked at him and said two words. “Doesn’t matter.”

Song Shuo’s expression shifted.

The room went silent for a moment before Gao Xunzhi continued, “Those other cities aren’t as important as Chenliu. Before their officials are replaced, those cities don’t truly belong to the King—they merely fall under his administration temporarily. Both sides know of each other, but neither interferes. If we had extra strength, of course we’d go rescue them, but those 100,000 troops were left for Chenliu, not for all north of the Han River. If we divide them, we’ll lose both.”

Song Shuo knew Gao Xunzhi was right, but he still felt deeply anxious—so anxious he wanted to yank out his own hair. “No! I can’t lose the city! I was appointed in a crisis—Xiao Rong picked me. I can’t lose the city on my first job…”

That was the root of his refusal to rest. He feared that the moment he stepped back, everything would spiral out of his control—and he didn’t want to let Xiao Rong down.

The enemy was clearly plotting in the dark. The troops still stationed in northern Yang reported that Shen Yangrui was no longer in Huaiyin City. No one knew where he’d gone. It wasn’t a holiday or anything—if a general was suddenly summoned, it could only mean one thing.

The Yong Dynasty had always been like this—coming up with sudden plans, then scrapping them at the last minute. Changing orders was nothing new. They even once recalled an army right after it arrived outside an enemy city.

Before, Gao Xunzhi used to silently criticize Yong people for being fickle and unfit to lead. Now, he just sighed. They must have a lot of money—only the rich could afford to act this flamboyantly.

…

Since Song Shuo refused to listen, Gao Xunzhi had no choice but to act. He delegated all of Song Shuo’s duties to others and selected four promising scholars who had recently defected. They were assigned to help with managing affairs.

With all the minor tasks distributed, only critical matters remained for Gao Xunzhi and Song Shuo: How to set up city defenses and gather intel outside the walls.

They had done all they could. If anything truly went wrong, it would be out of their hands.

＊

Truth be told, Xiao Rong shared some of Song Shuo’s worries—but he wasn’t the one shouldering the responsibility, so his mindset was far more relaxed.

…

His thinking aligned with Gao Xunzhi: As long as Chenliu was safe, everything else could be dealt with later. Those 100,000 troops could hold out until Qu Yunmie returned. So, really—what was there to worry about?

Besides, he had already written a letter to the Young Emperor. The emperor might not have much power, but he was the emperor. At a time when Sun Renluan was still wavering, a few words from his imperial nephew might tip the scales. Sun Renluan was smart—he’d realize that not attacking Chenliu was the wisest choice.

At most, they’d eye Chenliu for the time it took to drink a cup of tea. Then Xiao Rong would return to plotting his ambush.

Although the original plan came from Qu Yunmie, it had been overly simple and crude. After rounds of refinement, Xiao Rong had upgraded it to version 5.0—almost ready for public launch.

…

 

Edited by: Antiope

 

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