The rain weakened, and Xiao Chiye withdrew toward the gates of Duanzhou. The garrison troops immediately began clearing the battlefield without pause. The water in the moat had overflowed, soaking the road before the gates into a muddy mess. Horses stepped into it and splashed mud everywhere—everyone was filthy through and through.
Shen Zechuan stood before the city gate, watching Lang Taoxue gallop closer. Xiao Chiye leaned down from horseback; Shen Zechuan raised his right arm and lightly bumped against him. Xiao Chiye looked at Shen Zechuan and did not withdraw his arm. Instead, he turned his hand, lifted Shen Zechuan’s chin, lowered his gaze in the rain, and pressed his forehead against Shen Zechuan’s.
The two of them stood deeply immersed in the rain.
Shen Zechuan lowered his eyes; rain slid down his lashes and dripped onto Xiao Chiye’s nose bridge. He slowly smiled, then gradually let out a laugh.
At the hour of chen, the atmosphere in Duanzhou changed abruptly. Soldiers filled the streets and alleys. The garrison and the Imperial Army alternated patrols; the four gates were shut tight. Everywhere rang with the clank of boots and sabers. Inside the residence, the mood was heavy. The guards rested with weapons at hand, not daring to slacken in the slightest.
Xiao Chiye crouched in front of Li Xiong and asked, “You recognize them?”
Li Xiong’s face was injured and covered with medicine. He answered, “I recognize them. They’re four-legged snakes. They drink Gedale’s milk—it stinks.”
Xiao Chiye frowned. “Not scorpions?”
“They were before… before scorpions,” Li Xiong said urgently, stumbling over his words. “Later they became snakes.”
Shen Zechuan woke once at shen hour. Xiao Chiye fed him medicine. Shen Zechuan’s head burned with fever; he could hear Xiao Chiye speaking, but the voice drifted near and far.
“Lanzhou…” Xiao Chiye murmured, brushing aside the hair at Shen Zechuan’s cheek.
Shen Zechuan breathed lightly as if he couldn’t get enough air, holding the spoon in his mouth and swallowing the last sip. Xiao Chiye wiped his sweat with a damp cloth. Shen Zechuan tilted his head, the tip of his nose brushing Xiao Chiye’s bandaged palm, lips moving.
Xiao Chiye lowered his head to listen.
“My cloth,” Shen Zechuan said incoherently. “Mine.”
“It’s with me,” Xiao Chiye covered his damp hand. “I’ll give it to you when you’re better.”
Shen Zechuan, muddled with illness, whimpered faintly in pain.
Xiao Chiye leaned fully down beside him, coaxing, “I’ll really give it to you.”
“I want… candy…” Shen Zechuan murmured weakly.
Xiao Chiye’s suspended heart eased slightly. He got up to mix honey water.
Three days later, the rain stopped, and Duanzhou cleared.
Though the young monk Jiran was humble, Shen Zechuan could eat porridge on time again. The small monk stood by the window, devoutly chanting “A-ni-tuo-fo.” When Xiao Chiye asked what reward he wanted, he didn’t hesitate—he pointed at Li Xiong’s jar of sweets.
Everyone let out a breath of relief.
Shen Zechuan leaned against a cushion, listening as Fei Sheng finished speaking.
“If they were spies, there’s no need to leave such obvious tattoos,” Shen Zechuan said, holding the report written by Yuan Zhuo in his left hand. “You mean they kept the four-legged snake tattoo to distinguish themselves from ordinary scorpions?”
“Four-legged snakes all belong to Amuer,” Qiao Tianya said. “They consider themselves a branch of the Fierce Snake tribe. For Zhuoli, having tattoos makes sense. But infiltrators still keeping them? They must be afraid of being mistaken.”
Xiao Chiye asked, “What does You Jing say?”
“The household registration documents are real,” Fei Sheng replied. “These people did exist in Fanzhou, but were likely replaced.”
Xiao Chiye knew the eastern military terrain by heart. “Duanzhou is far from Gedale, even farther from Amuer. No horse could deliver news instantly. Hasan’s falcon never returned. These two four-legged snakes weren’t sent by Amuer.”
Yao Wenyu’s expression shifted. “If they weren’t sent by him, then someone must have issued orders in Amuer’s name.”
Fei Sheng frowned. “Then there’s still a spy among us—someone who knows Duanzhou’s movements.”
Shen Zechuan set down the report and said calmly, “Give the Qing Shu tribe’s land to Hai Rigu.”
Xiao Chiye raised a brow slightly.
“Hai Rigu incited the four-legged snakes hidden among his scorpions to assassinate,” Shen Zechuan said, exhaustion laced with cold ruthlessness in his eyes. “He wants land. Then let him earn it. Let him go deal with the Youxiong tribe for me.”
He would not kill Hai Rigu. Killing him would only remove one exposed scorpion. Instead, Shen Zechuan would give him exactly what he wanted—land—and force him into a position where he could no longer turn back.
Everything must be used to its fullest.
Shen Zechuan grew tired and leaned back.
“Rest after you return, Yuan Zhuo,” he added before the others left. “Jiran will come to examine you later.”
Days later, sunlight finally spread across Duanzhou.
Shen Zechuan lay beside Xiao Chiye, both facing upward. He said, “A war can last a lifetime. But what about the next lifetime?”
“The next lifetime…” Xiao Chiye covered his face with a letter and sighed. “Better to be born in Libei again.”
“You don’t understand why Amuer never unified the twelve tribes,” Shen Zechuan turned his head. “I can tell you secretly.”
Xiao Chiye removed the letter and lazily responded, “Mm?”
“It’s because Libei has Xiao Ce’an.”
Xiao Chiye suddenly covered Shen Zechuan’s eyes and leaned closer in the heat, murmuring, “My wife understands me well.”
Shen Zechuan’s lips curved slightly, a hint of pride showing.
Xiao Chiye liked looking at him like this. Lowering his gaze, he couldn’t help but kiss him.