The border garrison troops temporarily rested at Sha First Battalion. They gathered around the bonfire, pulling off the cloth strips that had shielded them from the wind and snow, and began devouring their food.
As Qi Zhuyin unfastened Zhujiu, she noticed that their spears were no longer the same as before. After sitting down, she handed a cup of hot tea to Lu Guangbai.
Lu Guangbai held the tea in both hands. After a long silence, he said, “Your Highness…”
Qi Zhuyin sipped her tea and gave a quiet “Mm.”
Lu Guangbai asked, “How are Jiming and Ce’an?”
“Not well,” Qi Zhuyin replied, slicing roasted meat neatly with a dagger and eating as she spoke. “Since Jiming fell from his horse, he can no longer ride. Now he can only remain in the capital, directing the war from behind—it puts him at a serious disadvantage against Hasen. As for Ce’an, he was gravely wounded while pursuing His Highness. His injuries are severe. The northern front is now in urgent need of a commander—Libei is on the brink.”
“I want to return to the capital with you,” Lu Guangbai said, looking straight at her. “In the desert, I discovered weaknesses in the Biansha cavalry. There are many matters that require both you and Jiming present to discuss.”
“Who knows if you’re a spy,” Qi Zhuyin said, wiping her fingers. “This is Libei—not Qidong.”
“I’ll hand over my troops to Zhao Hui and remain in the First Battalion as garrison,” Lu Guangbai said, gently placing his spear by his side. “I can relinquish command and armor and let you escort me into the capital.”
Qi Zhuyin sheathed her dagger and stared into the blazing fire. “I leave at dawn. Come with me.”
At daybreak, Qi Zhuyin departed with Lu Guangbai. By the time they returned to the capital, it was already deep into the night two days later.
Xiao Jiming did not alert anyone. He stood waiting at the steps.
Snow was falling lightly when Lu Guangbai dismounted. He looked at Xiao Jiming—both familiar and distant.
Qi Zhuyin tossed her whip to Qi Wei and stepped up the stairs, patting Lu Guangbai’s shoulder as she passed, signaling him to follow. The two of them stood ahead, silently urging him forward.
“Iron steed, frozen river—Xiao Jiming.
Wind sweeping the wild plains—Qi Zhuyin.
Beacon fires over shifting sands—Lu Guangbai.”
In their youth, they had chased after one another, too embarrassed to speak of their ambitions, as though they would forever live under the shadows of their fathers.
But the surging tides had torn down those sheltering walls.
Now, they met again in the falling snow.
Under their gaze, Lu Guangbai stepped forward—returning home.
He first paid respects to Xiao Fangxu, then followed them into the courtyard.
The warm chamber was tucked away in a quiet corner, heated from below. Qi Zhuyin removed her cloak and sat cross-legged. The side door stood open, facing a small pond dotted with snow-covered stones. A few branches of green plum blossoms stretched across the pale paper door, their silhouettes stark against the empty night.
After a moment of silence, Lu Guangbai spoke.
“Half a year ago, I left the border command and went east into the desert. I wanted to eliminate the Qingmouse Tribe and seize their pasturelands to support the border garrison—but I failed. I had no choice but to press deeper. In May, I reached east of Gedale, where I found Amur’s granary.”
“So Amur’s supply line really runs through Zhongbo,” Qi Zhuyin said, eating absentmindedly. “To support both northern and southern fronts, a central granary makes sense.”
“There’s more,” Lu Guangbai said, gripping his teacup. “Amur has farmland there. He’s reclaimed wasteland and made the Liaoying Tribe farm while still raising hawks. The Qingmouse Tribe’s southward movement was just a feint to mislead Qidong. He’s isolated the region east of Gedale and is experimenting there—copying our military farming system and building new cities.”
Both Xiao Jiming and Qi Zhuyin were startled.
“We must unify the northern and southern fronts,” Lu Guangbai said slowly. “We may even need to tell the capital to stop its internal strife. Amur has grown into a giant—he intends to become the supreme ruler on both sides of the Tea-Stone River.”
“I came north to do three things,” Qi Zhuyin said, setting down her chopsticks. “First, to see what these ‘Scorpions’ really are. Second, to test whether Libei cavalry can still be saved. Third, to persuade Jiming to abandon the current standoff and reconcile with the capital.”
“That’s impossible,” Xiao Jiming replied calmly. “Libei now has its own supply line. We’ve formed an alliance with Zhongbo. Reconciling with the capital means surrendering our advantage.”
“If Libei refuses, the capital won’t help at all,” Qi Zhuyin said. “You know the Empress Dowager’s temperament.”
“I will never again,” Xiao Jiming said firmly, “hand over my brother to them. Nor my wife. Nor my son. No one will take them from me again. Libei doesn’t need the capital’s aid—they should worry about keeping themselves alive first.”
It was rare for Xiao Jiming to speak so bluntly. His refined demeanor often made people forget that Libei’s war camps were built under his command.
Lu Guangbai quickly tried to mediate. “We can still—”
“There’s nothing more to discuss,” Qi Zhuyin said, leaning back slightly. “I already knew Xiao Jiming wouldn’t agree.”
Lu Guangbai sighed helplessly. “Marshal…”
“I’m just reminding you,” Qi Zhuyin said, gesturing between herself and Xiao Jiming. “Until the fronts are unified, we are no longer on the same side. If we ally, who commands whom? And Libei still has to guard against the capital. If—just if—Libei loses its commander again, who will take responsibility for the northern front?”
She had long warned them: placing the entire army’s faith in one man was dangerous.
Xiao Jiming rested a hand on the teapot, calmly pouring tea.
“When Hasen took my father’s head,” he said, “he told Ce’an it was an eye for an eye.”
He looked at Qi Zhuyin, his expression cold.
“You think Libei’s command structure is too centralized. But we will still follow the old path. We will answer in the same way—an eye for an eye. Our faith was never in my father alone. If Hasen thinks defeating him means defeating Libei, he’s gravely mistaken. Our faith lies beneath our feet.”
He paused.
“My father drew strength from this land thirty years ago. That strength carried Libei to where it stands today. We will not surrender. A new alpha wolf has risen—young, strong, and fiercely competitive. He can stand at the front and gather the scattered morale when we counterattack.”
“That person is not me.”
“I will temper him,” Xiao Jiming continued. “When he is finally unsheathed, he will be unstoppable.”
“But from what I know,” Qi Zhuyin said, “he hasn’t truly commanded the major war camps. Libei’s generals aren’t obedient like Qidong’s—they won’t follow him so easily.”
“But he knows Libei,” Xiao Jiming replied. “In these six months, he’s traveled every route. He knows how to deliver supplies quickly, how to bring reinforcements through, and the consumption of every battlefield. That is my father’s gift to him. He only needs time.”
“And so… it falls to me,” Lu Guangbai interjected at the right moment. “How to unify the fronts is your concern. But how to deal with Hasen on the front lines—and buy Libei time—that’s the other matter I came to discuss.”
“You changed the border garrison’s spears,” Qi Zhuyin said, recalling what she had seen.
“Yes,” Lu Guangbai said, bracing his hands on his knees. After a pause, he added heavily, “After losing to the Qingmouse Tribe, I encountered other tribes… and I lost to them all.”
“Oh,” Qi Zhuyin said after a moment, trying her best to comfort him. “That… must not have been easy.”
“I fought them while starving,” Lu Guangbai said. “To survive, we had to keep moving between them. We clashed repeatedly—and that’s when I discovered the cavalry’s weakness.”
As he spoke, he took the spear from behind him, placed it across his knees, and removed the wrappings.
The spearhead was revealed.
“You extended the tip,” Xiao Jiming said, measuring it with his fingers. “…That’s very long.”
“And added barbs,” Qi Zhuyin observed, studying it closely. “Why is it bound on like this?”
Chaohui originally thought that Qi Zhuyin had brought reinforcements from Qidong, but when he looked behind her, he saw only a few dozen personal guards. He could not help but ask in confusion, “Marshal, this is…?”
“I’m not here to fight for you,” Qi Zhuyin said as she wrapped cloth strips around her right palm to keep blood from making the hilt slippery. “I’m here to use you to fight. From this moment on, you and this brother here are demoted on the spot. I will temporarily take command of the first battalion.”
The moment those words fell, not only was Chaohui stunned, even Guo Weili froze for a beat before snapping, “That won’t do!”
Though Qidong and Libei had long maintained friendly relations—having joined forces in the fourth year of Xiande to halt the Biansha cavalry’s advance and reclaim the six prefectures of Zhongbo—their jurisdictions had always remained clearly separate. They could call Qi Zhuyin “Marshal,” but that did not mean they would accept her command.
Qi Wei pulled a token from the cloth pouch at his waist and tossed it to Guo Weili. Catching it and flipping it over, Guo Weili saw that it was Xiao Jiming’s personal insignia.
…
The battle raged, fire oil cascading down the walls, flames devouring the Biansha infantry. Then the gates lifted, revealing warhorses and the Libei cavalry behind them.
Qi Zhuyin rode out like a falling star, her blade Zhujiu flashing in the heat of the horses’ breath.
The thunder of hooves split the snowy night as the cavalry charged, trampling shields and smashing into the enemy ranks. When the heavy cavalry withdrew in perfect formation, lighter riders surged forward to replace them—no, not light cavalry, but Libei riders who had shed their heavy armor.
Guo Weili felt lighter than he ever had. All the frustration he had endured poured into his grip as he roared and cut down a “Scorpion” rider in one strike. Blood sprayed. He surged to the front, trembling with exhilaration.
“Damn it…” he gasped, voice shaking. “Marshal—this feels good!”
Even Chaohui nearly burst into tears at that shout.
Qi Zhuyin laughed, raising Zhujiu high before driving it down with her horse’s momentum, piercing straight through a Scorpion’s body.
…
“Retreat,” Hasen ordered decisively, refusing to drag out the fight.
Yet his forces carried heavy equipment—hard-won spoils from Zhongbo—and abandoning them would be a great loss. Part of his cavalry slowed to cover the withdrawal, burdened by supply wagons.
Qi Zhuyin pursued just enough to harass, like teasing prey, letting the Libei cavalry chase at the enemy’s heels before reining them back in.
“Go home,” she said at last, her tone turning cold. “Leave the camp, and we fall back into the same trap as before. Hasen won’t run forever. Don’t give him the chance to regroup.”
…
In the snowstorm, another force approached—foot soldiers trudging through drifts, their hair whitened by frost. They moved with silent cohesion, dropping instantly at the sound of hooves.
They were the best ambush infantry in the world.
They were the Border Command Army.
Qi Zhuyin dismounted, staring through the snow at the man leading them.
He pulled down his face covering, revealing a weary, stubbled face. After so long away, he looked almost like a stranger.
“…Marshal,” he said hoarsely, managing a faint smile. “I’m the reinforcements.”
It was Lu Guangbai.
The Border Command Army rested at Sand First Battalion, gathered around the fire, devouring food like wolves. Qi Zhuyin noticed their spears had changed.
“They’re longer,” Xiao Jiming observed.
“And fitted with barbs,” Qi Zhuyin added.
Lu Guangbai carefully took back his spear, running a hand over it. “I’m infantry. In the borderlands, we relied on terrain to ambush cavalry. But in the desert, there’s nothing but dunes. I had to face them head-on.”
At first, he lengthened the shafts to keep distance—but they became unwieldy. So he shortened them again, extending only the spearhead.
“If the formation is tight and the spearheads point outward,” he said, “we become a moving battering ram. Their charge runs straight into our blades.”
But cavalry adapted, circling instead of charging directly.
“So I added barbs,” Lu Guangbai continued. “Even if the thrust misses, it can hook a rider off the horse.”
…
Later, when the conversation turned to war strategy, tension rose.
“We must unify the northern and southern fronts,” Lu Guangbai said. “Even Que Du must stop its internal strife. Amuer is becoming a giant—he wants to rule both sides of the Chashi River.”
“That’s impossible,” Xiao Jiming replied calmly but firmly. “Making peace with Que Du means giving up our advantage.”
“If Libei refuses to compromise,” Qi Zhuyin countered, “Que Du won’t help at all.”
“I will never,” Xiao Jiming said, his voice cutting like steel, “hand over my family again. Not my brother. Not my wife. Not my son.”
His usual elegance could not hide the iron beneath.
“Our faith isn’t in my father,” he continued coldly. “It’s in the ground beneath our feet. He may have been defeated—but Libei will not be.”
…
The next day, under falling snow, Lu Guangbai sat beneath the eaves with Xiao Chiye.
“You’ve grown stronger,” Lu Guangbai said.
Xiao Chiye didn’t answer.
“Let me tell you something,” Lu Guangbai continued. “You know your brother’s past—but not hers.”
He spoke of Qi Zhuyin’s youth—how she had been mocked, excluded, underestimated. How no one would follow her. How she had been dragged through sand, humiliated, rejected.
“How can I be unworthy?!” she had once screamed, breaking down in despair.
But she had wiped her tears and returned, again and again.
“She changed her blade because someone said she couldn’t lift it,” Lu Guangbai said with a bitter smile. “Back then, I thought she was foolish. I didn’t understand—it wasn’t her ability they doubted. It was that she was a woman.”
Yet she never saw it that way.
She fought, endured, learned—and when the moment came, she rode alone through the night, begging every camp for support, until she turned the tide and rose to prominence.
“She wasn’t forced into greatness,” Lu Guangbai said quietly. “She belongs on the battlefield.”
He looked at Xiao Chiye.
“So do you.”