Chapter 47

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As soon as Gu Hanjiang returned, several generals who commanded troops called him over to discuss matters. Then, he retreated to his tent to review military reports, feeling dizzy and bleary-eyed. Finally, he found a rare moment to catch his breath. When he looked up, he noticed that most of the candles in the main tent had been extinguished, a clear sign that everyone inside had long since gone to rest.

He was furious.

That man had dumped all these trivial tasks on him and then gone off to enjoy himself!

Unable to swallow his anger, Gu Hanjiang threw the unfinished official documents onto the desk and calmly walked outside. He wandered around until he stopped in front of a tent that was neither prominent nor shabby but reasonably clean.

With Pei Muzi’s petty nature, he certainly wouldn’t show Du Jing any kindness. Normally, Du Jing would be thrown into the rear camp with the prisoners of war to do menial labor.

But Gu Hanjiang was thinking ahead—since he would need Pei Muzi’s help for an antidote later, he had specially arranged a secluded courtyard far from the main tent.

Du Jing sat under the lamp, pen in hand, deep in thought.

Suddenly, the wooden plank door banged open.

“Leave! Stop staying here to detoxify him! Let him die if he must!” Gu Hanjiang stormed in, grabbed the water kettle from the desk, and poured himself some tea.

Du Jing was not startled by the loud noise. Seeing that it was someone from Pei Muzi’s entourage, he handed over the writing he held. “Qingwu has been ill for a long time. Please do not be stingy with the herbs, Young Master Pei.”

“He won’t be stingy. If the worst happens, two of them will die in the same bed.” Gu Hanjiang choked on the tea and coughed violently. When he finally caught his breath, his tone remained irritable. “Didn’t I tell you to leave? Why aren’t you? Once my mind clears, I won’t be so kind.”

“General, your lips are blistered, and your liver fire is strong. You should drink more bamboo leaf tea to clear the heat daily.” Du Jing did not move, finding Gu Hanjiang’s behavior somewhat amusing.

“I’m not a general! I’m just Pei Yuanshi’s donkey, grinding the mill every day to the point of exhaustion, only to be stabbed afterward!” Gu Hanjiang punched the desk, spilling tea across the surface.

Du Jing casually wiped away the spill as if listening to a joke.

“Where did you get that handkerchief?” Gu Hanjiang’s eyes twitched slightly, immediately catching Du Jing’s subtle movement.

Pei Muzi’s usual silk handkerchief was made from similar fabric. Gu Hanjiang had always wondered who embroidered such strange patterns on it, but Pei Muzi never answered or even showed it to him.

“It was part of Qingwu’s dowry before marriage.” Du Jing put the damp cloth into his sleeve after wiping it clean.

At first, he hesitated to use it, but during Qingwu’s convalescence, she embroidered many, so there was no shortage of them.

“Now it makes sense!” Gu Hanjiang’s sword-shaped eyebrows shot up in anger. “I didn’t expect him to be so indulgent in beauty. Why did I help him? He’s bound to be a foolish ruler! Maybe it’s better the poison isn’t cured—let him have his pleasure. He has everything now; dying under the peony blossoms is still romantic!”

He was truly angry.

Originally, Pei Muzi was not like this during the Southern Dynasty.

But after spending over half a year in Bianjing, why had he changed into this state?

Du Jing hadn’t heard such a noisy voice for a long time and pressed his temples, rubbing gently.

“Hey, speaking of which, the Minghui Emperor of the Yong Dynasty was also foolish and incompetent, executing countless loyal ministers. You come from a military family and even have a personal vendetta against him for killing your father. Why haven’t you rebelled?” Gu Hanjiang had to pass through the quiet main tent and a mountain of military reports awaiting his attention. He preferred to keep his distance and avoid unnecessary troubles.

“I don’t think I’m particularly close to you, General,” Du Jing said as he was about to get up to extinguish some white candles but was held back.

Determined to waste time here, Gu Hanjiang pulled up a stool beside him. “Talking more won’t make us closer? Those old acquaintances only add trouble; better not to see them.”

His mind was filled with the image of that person who skipped the grand enthronement ceremony to come to this small border town for a “wedding.”

Du Jing didn’t expect Gu Hanjiang to have such thick skin. Unable to withstand him, he sighed softly, “It’s not that simple.”

In this matter, he admitted he could not compare to Pei Muzi.

His life had been saved by Qingwu, and he did not wish to harm her family or have her look at him with hatred.

Yet even if he had not done these things, he still had nothing.

“What’s so simple about it?” Gu Hanjiang wasn’t sure if the doctor was naturally so tough or if years of hardship had worn down his spirit. “Take Pei Yuanshi—those years living worse than dogs, enduring humiliation and quietly accumulating strength in prison.”

“Of course, I had a hand in that too. After all, he was the one who saved me,” Gu Hanjiang smirked, shaking his head. “Later, when Qi Yu infiltrated the capital, Yuanshi almost died on the way to Bianjing to deploy defenses. Fortunately, the Yong Emperor was traveling incognito, bought him off, and sent him to the Princess’s mansion as her personal attendant. Though it sounds bad, at least he survived.”

Du Jing noticed the indifferent tone Gu Hanjiang used when mentioning Emperor Minghui, as if he had never met the man.

“Then why did you force the emperor to his death beneath the city walls? Since he had surrendered and was a hollow, powerless emperor, he shouldn’t have been a threat to your grand plan. Pei Muzi, out of respect for Qingwu, shouldn’t have been so ruthless to him either.”

Gu Hanjiang was stunned by the question, as if he heard something incomprehensible.

“Who forced him to die?”

Du Jing was about to ask more when a sudden noise infuriated Gu Hanjiang. He slammed the desk, strode forward, pulled back the curtain, and shouted in anger, “What’s all this noise? No military discipline? Looks like training isn’t thorough enough! I’ll have the troops do extra drills on the mountain!”

Outside, Gu Hanjiang had overheard unpleasant words from the recently dismissed soldiers—something about the Lord and beauties.

Yes, yes! The Lord was cuddling a beauty, resting comfortably!

All the hard work and worry were his alone! Without a single compliment!

As Gu Hanjiang sat down, each step seemed to shake the muddy road beneath him. In his anger, his mind went blank. He turned to Du Jing and asked, “What did you just say?”

——

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Only a few candles remained lit in the main tent, dim like a swarm of tiny glowing insects overhead.

Pei Muzi suddenly opened his eyes and found the bedding beside him cold.

He didn’t even have time to put on his outer robe. Quickly, he got up, slid on his socks and shoes, threw on his cloak, and hurried out to find someone.

Qingwu was sitting with the soldiers who had just finished training, chatting casually. Xu Ying stayed by her side.

The early morning breeze was sharper and cooler than daytime. Two young girls sat nearby, while some soldiers had gathered dry wood to start a fire.

The boy next to Qingwu was quite young, with freckles on his cheek, holding a bag of rations which he tossed into the fire.

The soldiers around bent down to pick up red potatoes and yams that had rolled away.

“We can’t enter the kitchen, so miss, please bear with us,” they said, unaware of Qingwu’s true identity. They only knew the Lord had come to Quzhou specifically to retrieve her, and Xu Ying was the wife of the governor, so both were to be treated with respect.

Qingwu smiled indifferently, her cold, elegant features softening. The firelight flushed her cheeks.

Several nearby soldiers stared openly until a senior officer signaled them to look away.

Qingwu idly poked the fire with a small stick and took the opportunity to inquire, “Do you know where the doctor who came back with us is?”

She had fleeting memories of Xu Ying but couldn’t recall where she had met her before.

“Young Master Pei ordered that the miss stay near the main tent and avoid other areas,” Xu Ying replied with a practiced smile, refusing bluntly.

Qingwu worried Du Jing might suffer because of her but couldn’t find out his whereabouts.

Suddenly, sparks flew from the fire, startling her. Her anxiety grew with the tiny crackling sounds, and she asked, “Is there any wine?”

When others heard she could drink, they cheered. Xu Ying, helpless, went to find some.

Pei Muzi had only forbidden the princess from wandering too far from the main tent but placed no other restrictions.

When Xu Ying was at the Chiyu Pavilion, she often heard rumors about Princess Rongzhao. When the young master visited last time, she dared not look too closely. Now, having met her up close, she realized she was a very special person.

By the time Xu Ying returned, some soldier had brought out long-saved fine wine. Qingwu was already drinking, her cheeks flushed bright like a delicate blush.

The camp’s drinking games lacked the literary flair of scholars. Losers didn’t have to drink more, so they simply chose someone randomly to compete.

In the end, the one who drank the most was Qingwu, who simply wanted to get drunk and forget her sorrows.

The young soldier was strong and held his own wrestling against an older man.

The loser refused to accept defeat and challenged with swordplay.

They were all reckless men raised in the camp. When heated, they rolled up their sleeves. During wrestling, their clothes got dusty, so they took off their jackets, revealing bronze-toned skin.

Indeed, long-term training sculpted their muscles clearly, making them look well-toned.

Qingwu sat in the corner, her eyes misty and unfocused, intoxicated.

Whether it was the alcohol or the overwhelming choices before her, she could not focus, only staring at the dazzling white.

After a match, she used her stick to gesture at ordinary soldiers’ moves, earning cheers from the crowd.

The instructed soldiers came forward to toast her, holding their cups as she demonstrated.

Under Du Jing’s supervision, Qingwu had not drunk for a long time. After a few cups, she felt heavy-headed.

But the moves were ingrained in her bones, and she could perform them perfectly even in her sleep.

“Miss, you know Drunken Fist?” a soldier mimicked behind her.

“What Drunken Fist? I’m just drunk!” Xu Ying helped steady Qingwu and stepped back a little, distancing herself from the half-naked men. “Don’t let her drink more. The master will punish you later.”

Before she finished, Qingwu lifted her head from Pei Muzi’s arms, loudly calling out Xu Ying’s name.

Everyone stopped what they were doing and stared.

In the spotlight, Qingwu gripped Pei Muzi’s collar, seemingly unable to see clearly, randomly pointed at some soldiers who hadn’t yet put on their clothes.

“Mother Ying! These young men are good-looking—save them for me!”

Xu Ying pursed her lips, unwilling to speak or look at Pei Muzi’s stern face.

——

Pei Muzi thought that since they were facing off against the Southern Dynasty across the river and the front lines needed men, he would not punish these soldiers and even allowed them to stay and finish the remaining roasted food.

He carried her toward the main tent, bending down to peck at the corner of her mouth.

A strong scent of alcohol lingered.

He guessed she hadn’t eaten much earlier and had only been drinking.

Worried she might be hungry soon, Pei Muzi brought her to the small kitchen and sat her down, then went to boil a hangover soup.

In a few days, there would be a decisive battle. The soldiers all wanted to eat tangyuan (glutinous rice balls), so the cooks had left unfinished glutinous rice flour and fillings on the prep table, ready for use.

Pei Muzi washed his hands and made a few tangyuan himself, covering the pot.

Qingwu obediently sat on a small stool by the stove, her cheeks glowing. Her long black hair cascaded over her shoulders. Her eyes were heavy-lidded, with a lazy, alluring charm—half-drunk, half-awake as she watched him.

Truly beautiful.

Whether adjusting her cloak earlier or now making dumplings, his expression remained calm and unruffled, as if nothing could trouble him.

Perhaps because her gaze was too obvious, Pei Muzi bent down and pressed his thin lips to hers.

Qingwu flinched and looked up in confusion. Upon seeing it was him, she closed her eyes.

Encouraged, Pei Muzi lifted her by the nape, pulling them closer.

His tongue, cool and faintly medicinal, curled around hers, mingling the scent of herbs and wine in the small space. His tongue slowly probed, calming her rapid breath.

It brushed her palate, sending an uncontrollable tickling sensation down her spine, as if plunging into the depths of the sea.

She sank deeper and deeper, and he followed closely.

Qingwu gasped for air, relying on the fresh breath he brought, and gradually began to take the lead in their kiss.

It was as if she were demanding something from him.

“Your Highness, call me,” Pei Muzi whispered with hope and tenderness in the hidden kitchen corner.

Qingwu’s body temperature rose steadily. The excess alcohol dulled her senses.

Her lips parted with broken murmurs and gasps. Hearing his words, she instinctively treated him as her lover, murmuring, “Ling Yu…”

Pei Muzi’s smile stiffened but he was not discouraged, coaxing softly, “Wrong, say it again.”

Her voice was gentle and enchanting, a soft seduction that sent shivers down the spine. She called again,

“Du Lingyu.”

The silence around them was profound. The small name, Du Lingyu, burst between them like fireworks—deafening and overwhelming.

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Pei Muzi didn’t even frown. In front of everyone, he draped his cloak over her shoulders, fastening the tie at her collar.

He was much taller than Qingwu; the cloak’s hem trailed on the ground.

“It’s so loose,” she complained, kicking the trailing hem and trying to pull the tie loose again.

Pei Muzi adjusted the fit gently, then scooped her up in his arms. Her soft cheek pressed against his chest, the thin fabric conveying her warmth.

“Those who drank just now, come get twenty lashes with the military rod.”

The soldiers quickly put on their jackets, eyes fixed eagerly on the highest-ranking officer.

“Lord… we didn’t drink. We only gave tea to accompany the miss.”

They stammered nervously. Xu Ying couldn’t stand it and tried to explain, “Master, it’s the miss who wanted wine because she was upset. It’s my fault for not watching her carefully. She drank so much. Young Master is angry; if you must punish, punish me.”

Before she could finish, a sharp call interrupted.

Qingwu lifted her head from Pei Muzi’s arms, shouting Xu Ying’s name loudly.

Everyone stopped and watched.

Under all eyes, Qingwu gripped Pei Muzi’s collar again, as if unable to see clearly, casually pointing at a few soldiers who hadn’t finished dressing.

“Mother Ying! These young men are good. You have to keep them for me!”

Xu Ying pressed her lips, too afraid to speak or meet Pei Muzi’s darkening expression.

——

Pei Muzi thought about the ongoing standoff with the Southern Dynasty across the river. The front lines needed manpower, so he did not punish the soldiers and even allowed them to stay and finish their meal.

He carried Qingwu toward the main tent and, on the way, lightly pecked at the corner of her mouth.

Only a strong scent of alcohol remained.

He guessed she hadn’t eaten earlier and had been drinking alone.

Worried she might soon be hungry, Pei Muzi brought her to the small kitchen to sit on a stool by the stove and went to prepare a hangover soup.

In a few days, there would be a decisive battle. The soldiers wished to eat tangyuan, so the cooks had left leftover glutinous rice flour and fillings on the prep table for easy access.

Pei Muzi personally washed his hands and made a few tangyuan, covering the pot.

Qingwu sat obediently on the small stool, cheeks flushed. Her long black hair fell behind her shoulders, and her eyes were dreamy with a lazy allure, half-drunk, half-awake as she gazed at him.

Truly beautiful.

Whether earlier when he fastened her cloak or now making these dumplings, his expression remained calm and unflappable, as if nothing could challenge him.

Perhaps because her gaze was too obvious, Pei Muzi bent down and pressed his thin lips to hers.

Qingwu tried to shy away but then lifted her head in confusion. Seeing it was him, she closed her eyes.

Encouraged, Pei Muzi lifted her nape, pulling them closer.

His tongue, cool and faintly scented with herbs, curled around hers, mingling the fragrance of medicine and wine in the small space. His tongue slowly explored, soothing her rapid breaths.

The touch tickled her spine uncontrollably, as if plunging into the deep sea.

She sank deeper and deeper, and he followed closely.

Qingwu gasped for air, relying on his fresh breath, and gradually took the lead in their kiss.

It was as if she were demanding something from him.

“Your Highness, call me,” Pei Muzi whispered, his expression and tone filled with hopeful longing in the hidden kitchen corner.

Qingwu’s body temperature rose along with the excess alcohol, dulling her mind.

Her lips parted with fragmented murmurs and gasps. Hearing his words, she instinctively took him as her companion and murmured, “Ling Yu…”

Pei Muzi’s smile stiffened, but he didn’t give up, coaxing softly, “Wrong, say it again.”

Her voice was gentle and enchanting, soft and seductive, sending shivers down the spine. She called again,

“Du Lingyu.”

The silence was profound. The small name, Du Lingyu, exploded between them like fireworks—deafening and overwhelming.