Qu Yunmie’s original plan was to fight a brutal battle for a day, then rush to Shengle’s north gate, climb the walls, and kill everyone in sight.

Never mind the sheer distance between the southern and northern gates of the Xianbei stronghold—Qu Yunmie’s god-complex hadn’t changed at all. He believed that if he could keep fighting after a brutal day, then so could his soldiers.

People always said overconfident troops lost easily, but tired troops were worse than cocky ones. Military manuals taught commanders how to exhaust enemy forces—yet Qu Yunmie wanted to lead his own tired soldiers into battle.

…

So it was impossible to execute that plan in one day. Absolutely impossible.

The whole operation would take at least seven days. During that time, multiple generals needed to work together to control the rhythm. They had to win against the Xianbei without letting the enemy know they were winning easily. They needed to create an illusion—that the Xianbei still had a chance.

This was to draw out more enemy troops. Shengle still had tens of thousands of elite warriors from the Murong clan. Though the Murong clan had rotted from within after nearly a century of power, their ability to fight remained.

It was tragic. Yong Dynasty nobles were corrupt and cowardly—even someone like Xiao Rong could stab three to death in one go. Murong nobles, though equally corrupt, could still fight. Even fat, middle-aged men could still charge into battle on horseback.

That should’ve been a source of national pride, but countless examples had shown fighting ability alone wasn’t enough. Unity and wisdom mattered more.

…

On the first day of battle, the reinforcements meant to support Qu Yunmie were to set off. If all went well, they would reach Qingluan Ridge in three days.

There were no covers along the way, but the ridge offered ravines and valleys where they could hide.

Still, it wouldn’t be easy. To stay undetected, they couldn’t cook or make noise. The entire army would have to crouch in the bushes or dense forest—living with snakes, bugs, rats, and ants.

Truly miserable…. It was late autumn—no hibernation yet. Every creature was bulking up. Even the foxes had become aggressive. The mosquitoes—those descendants of the Cretaceous—were vicious and once bitten, they had to endure it.

Bitten by day, frozen by night—it was a group mission. Without strong resolve, a single coward could ruin the entire operation. Their leading generals had to be strong enough to hold the line.

Qu Yunmie said he only needed 3,000 men. Xiao Rong wanted to send 30,000, but that was too many—no valley could hide so many.

So after several rounds of negotiation, they settled on 14,000.

A very specific number—the result of haggling.

…

As for who would lead them: Wang Xinyong and Yu Shaocheng.

The former was Xiao Rong’s suggestion. The latter was Qu Yunmie’s.

The reasoning was simple. Wang Xinyong was extremely steady. That’s how he made it into the F4 despite being a surrendered general. Even after years at the bottom of the F4, he had no complaints. He remained unmoved, no matter the winds. The perfect temperament for crouching in the wilderness.

Also, Xiao Rong wanted to promote him. After so many years of silent effort, all the credit had gone to the other three. It was unfair. In the official history, Wang Xinyong had followed Qu Yunmie to the bitter end. Even when captured, he never defected again—so, of course, he was executed.

Wang Xinyong was the oldest among the F4, already thirty-two. Before, when he met Qu Yunmie, he was also one of Nanyong’s rising stars, but the rising star lost to the sun. He was defeated and disheartened, becoming Qu Yunmie’s captive. Qu Yunmie, seeing that he had talent, gave him a break, spared him from being treated as a prisoner, and kept him by his side.

Although Qu Yunmie often ignored Wang Xinyong and had even said he disliked him, throughout Qu Yunmie’s life, Wang Xinyong was the only prisoner he ever spared—not before, not after.

Xiao Rong didn’t know if Wang Xinyong was grateful because of this, or if it was because he never spoke much, so no one ever knew that he actually agreed with Qu Yunmie’s ideals. In any case, as long as he was truly loyal to the Northern Army, that was all that mattered. Xiao Rong thought, if Qu Yunmie won’t promote him, then I will.

…

Jian Qiao was deeply struck.

He had thought that among the four of them, he was closest to Xiao Rong. Could it be that it was all just wishful thinking on his part? All their shared experiences—from Pingyang City to Yanmen County, and then from Yanmen to Chenliu—had all been for nothing?!

Yu Shaocheng glanced at Jian Qiao’s depressed expression and silently moved a little farther away.

Even though it was Wang Xinyong and Yu Shaocheng who were going to lead the assault on the north gate, that didn’t mean the others had nothing to do. The seven grueling days of battle beforehand required others to hold the front. Still, it was clear to all where the credit for the key victory would lie—everyone wanted to go to the north gate.

Well… not everyone. Gongsun Yuan didn’t really care.

As for Yuan Baifu, he lowered his gaze and said nothing.

Xiao Rong couldn’t help but glance at him.

These two names—Wang Xinyong and Yu Shaocheng—had been decided by Xiao Rong and Qu Yunmie in private. They had debated for a long time. Xiao Rong was unhappy with Qu Yunmie’s choice, and Qu Yunmie didn’t like Xiao Rong’s suggestion either. Qu Yunmie’s reason was simple: Wang Xinyong was steady, yes, but a sneak attack required not steadiness—it required speed, precision, and ruthlessness. If Wang Xinyong hesitated even a little, the entire plan could collapse.

Xiao Rong’s reason for objecting was even simpler. “You kangaroo-brained fool, do you even know what it means to manage your subordinates well?! Yu Shaocheng is so young, he’s not even a main general! He can’t command respect. If you place him in such a critical position, then just wait for the others to grow resentful!”

Still, Qu Yunmie was righteously adamant. In military matters, personal feelings and rank meant nothing—only capability mattered. He had high hopes for Yu Shaocheng because he was strong, energetic, and had a commanding aura when handling serious matters. Most importantly, he was bold and knew how to seize opportunities. Xiao Rong wanted someone who could coordinate well with others, and in Qu Yunmie’s eyes, Yu Shaocheng was the perfect fit.

Xiao Rong: “…”

Xiao Rong was so mad he nearly fainted. Qu Yunmie sounded reasonable, but he was just twisting the argument. He hadn’t addressed the core issue at all, which was that Yu Shaocheng’s rank was too low.

Since it was Qu Yunmie choosing his own partner, Xiao Rong ultimately had no say, and Qu Yunmie was the intuitive type of general. Those he picked often turned out to be very compatible with him later on, even if he couldn’t explain why.

Compared to others being upset, Qu Yunmie’s safety was far more important. Xiao Rong didn’t want poor partner choices to put him at risk.

So he eventually agreed, but with one condition: Wang Xinyong must go too. Originally he had only suggested Wang Xinyong, but now he insisted on it. If Yu Shaocheng—that madman—suddenly lost it, at least there would be a second, steady-as-a-rock general to stabilize things.

…

Wang Xinyong wore a pained expression. It was a good mission, but why did he have to partner with Yu Shaocheng? He didn’t even know him well. They’d only interacted twice, and somehow both times the conversation had veered toward Yu Shaoxie. Wang Xinyong found him a bit strange and didn’t really want to spend several days cooped up with him.

It was terrifying—two generals would be stuck together with nothing to do but wait. Waiting was boring, they’d definitely talk, and he really didn’t want to keep humoring Yu Shaocheng.

…

That was the rough outline of the plan. Because it involved a sneak attack, Xiao Rong had no intention of informing the reinforcements.

Better to keep things quiet. Those reinforcements all knew why they were there—to make up numbers and save face. Neither they nor the Northern Army had any illusions of mutual trust.

Three days before the great battle, the Monk prepared to depart. He bore the heavy task of persuading the Kumo Xi people. It was no small burden.

People came to reassure Mijing, telling him not to be discouraged if he failed. At worst, they would just detour further. Under Xiao Rong’s new strategy, time wasn’t as tight anymore—a few extra hundred miles wouldn’t break them.

Mijing smiled at those who came to comfort him. Actually, he felt okay. After years of being steeped in both Buddhism and chaos, Mijing had become a somewhat contradictory person. He desperately wanted to fulfill his mission, but once he set out, his heart became calm.

Whether the outcome brought suffering or reward, he was willing to wait until the very end to taste its flavor. Since that ending hadn’t yet come, there was no need to overthink it. Step by step—he would simply move forward.

Mijing packed up his things. Just before departure, an unexpected guest came to see him off.

—Qu Yunmie.

He had never expected Qu Yunmie to show up. Mijing froze for a moment, then bowed with one palm up. “Amitabha. Mijing greets the King.”

Qu Yunmie: “…”

The moment he heard “Amitabha,” Qu Yunmie felt a headache coming on.

He wanted to grimace, but that didn’t suit his tough-guy image, so he held it in. “I don’t care for these formalities. No need to be so polite in the future.”

Mijing smiled. “Is that Young Master Xiao’s view as well?”

Qu Yunmie: “…”

No. Xiao Rong always told him to act more like a King and to not randomly wave off people’s salutes. Some formalities should be observed.

Qu Yunmie was annoyed. “I came to see you off, and you don’t seem very grateful.”

Mijing said, “You’re mistaken, Your Majesty. I’m very happy you came. I just worry that if I say the wrong thing, you’ll flip the table again.”

Qu Yunmie: “…”

He ground his teeth. “Last time, you asked for it!”

Mijing lowered his head. “You’re right. It was my fault.”

He admitted fault so quickly that it left Qu Yunmie feeling unsettled. Staring at Mijing’s bald head, Qu Yunmie realized something—never debate with someone who’s good at debating. Don’t do what others excel at!

…

After a deep breath to suppress his irritation, Qu Yunmie stood awkwardly for a while before finally saying, “About that night during the Mid-Autumn Festival… thank you.”

Mijing looked up in surprise. He hadn’t planned to say anything, but Qu Yunmie cut him off quickly. “Don’t misunderstand. I know why you told Jian Qiao what you did. I still dislike how you’re willing to use anyone for the greater good. Even Xiao Rong, who treats you so well—you used him too.”

Saying this, and seeing Mijing momentarily stunned, Qu Yunmie paused, then added, “But regardless, thank you. If not for you, I don’t know how long I would’ve been kept in the dark. You’re not a good friend—but you are the kind of monk the people dream of.”

Mijing lowered his gaze. “Perhaps because in the monastery, I only learned how to be a monk—not how to be a friend.”

Hearing this, Qu Yunmie was surprised to realize he actually understood the sentiment. He was the same. Even though Gao Xunzhi and Agusheja had taught him other skills as a child—books, medicine—once his brother died, he officially became a general and had never left that path since.

Another silence fell. Then Qu Yunmie said, “You’re no longer in the temple. You’re in the secular world now. It’s not too late to learn these things. Look at me—I only started learning this year.”

Mijing: “…”

The King was still as blunt as ever.

Mijing said nothing. From his expression alone, Qu Yunmie couldn’t tell if he was happy or not. Qu Yunmie frowned and, not for the first time, thought: Why couldn’t people be as easy to read as Xiao Rong?

Then he said, “May the monk return safely. You’re someone Xiao Rong got into a huge fight with me over. Whether it’s him or me, neither of us wants you dying in some foreign land. You’ve wandered long enough. This time, no matter what, come home with us.”

Mijing stood frozen as Qu Yunmie nodded to him and turned to leave.

＊

Back in the royal tent, Xiao Rong looked up when he heard familiar footsteps. “Well?”

Qu Yunmie muttered, “I said what you told me to say…and some things you didn’t tell me to say too.”

Xiao Rong blinked. “What things? You didn’t—”

Qu Yunmie said, exasperated, “I just thanked him, okay? Stop looking so alarmed.”

Xiao Rong: “…”

Why was he so nervous? Because you always overstep. If not for your long history of going off-script, would I be this anxious?

He shook his head and went back to what he was working on. After a moment, Qu Yunmie, unable to stay quiet, said, “You sure care a lot about Mijing. You even forced me to say that stuff. Why didn’t you say it yourself?”

Xiao Rong replied, “Because it wouldn’t work if I did. If someone who usually hides their emotions suddenly shows sincerity, it feels precious. But if I say it—”

He stopped mid-sentence, realizing the rest shouldn’t be said aloud. He slowly looked up—sure enough, Qu Yunmie was already glaring at him. “Go on, say it. You’ve already shown genuine emotion to him, haven’t you?”

Xiao Rong: “…”

Fine! I show genuine emotion to everyone, alright?!

Kindness treated like a donkey’s liver and lungs—why did I even bother?

So angry.

With a “whoosh,” Xiao Rong tossed down what he was holding and stormed out. Qu Yunmie immediately asked, “Where are you going?”

Xiao Rong stopped, turned around, and glared. “I’m going to show genuine emotion!”

Qu Yunmie: “…”!

 

Edited by: Antiope

 

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