The Northern Frontier Administrative Office had already been busy, but over the past few days, it had been spinning like a top whipped into a frenzy.
Everyone working there wished they could grow three heads and six arms, using one person as several.
Naturally, that included the uninvited Military Adviser Su.
From the first hint of dawn, Su Muchen stepped into the council hall to participate in the morning briefing.
Immediately afterward, he headed to the side hall of the administrative office to teach the military physicians and Mu Li.
As soon as the lesson ended, he rushed without stopping to Guichen Studio to inspect and receive the supplies.
At noon, he hurriedly wolfed down a few bites of food before burying himself in the mountain of case files and account books.
In the afternoon came another round of military council.
As soon as the military council ended, he put on his white gauze veil hat and hurried to the wounded soldiers’ camp outside the city, personally leading the military physicians through hands-on training in wound cleaning, injections, and emergency treatment.
His entire day was packed from beginning to end.
By the time everything finally came to an end, it was already completely dark.
When Su Muchen dragged his leaden legs into the warm hall, the faint bitter smell of medicine still clung to him.
And Xiao Yuan had also “coincidentally” finished dealing with military affairs and entered the warm hall, sitting down beside him.
The moment Xiao Yuan arrived, Mu Li tactfully withdrew.
Steaming dishes were brought to the table. Without saying a word, Xiao Yuan first picked out the fattest, most tender piece of meat and put it into Su Muchen’s bowl.
When his gaze landed on Su Muchen’s slightly pale complexion and the dark circles beneath his eyes that he could barely hide, Xiao Yuan’s brows furrowed.
“Military Adviser Su,” Xiao Yuan said in a slightly stern tone, his concern and seriousness impossible to conceal. “You sent everyone else off to sleep, yet you don’t practice what you preach yourself. Is that really appropriate?”
Last night, Su Muchen had stayed awake the entire night waiting for Xiao.
This morning, he had ordered Xiao to go rest, yet he himself hadn’t closed his eyes at all.
Su Muchen took a bite of rice and raised his head. His tone was calm but carried a hint of protest. “I got plenty of sleep over the past few days. I’ll make up for it tonight. Besides… aren’t you doing the same?”
Xiao Yuan had also stayed awake all night and then remained busy the entire day.
“I took a short rest whenever I had a break,” Xiao Yuan replied without changing expression.
Their eyes met in midair. Both knew perfectly well that the other was making excuses. Neither of them had any standing to lecture the other, and the corners of their tense lips simultaneously curled into helpless smiles.
“Let’s not talk about that anymore.”
Su Muchen put down his soup bowl, his expression becoming more serious. “From now on, whenever you have some free time, tell me more about the Northern Barbarians and the imperial court.”
Xiao Yuan occasionally mentioned the situation in the Northern Frontier in the past, but he usually only touched on it briefly.
Su Muchen wanted to understand it more deeply because he knew very well that to know oneself and one’s enemy was the only way to remain undefeated in a hundred battles.
Xiao Yuan pondered briefly before slowly speaking.
“As I mentioned before, ‘Northern Barbarians’ is simply the general term used by the Great Sheng for the nomadic peoples of the north. Their main power is the Cangyuan Khanate, beneath which are several subordinate and independent tribes. Farther north than the Northern Frontier, the land is colder and more desolate than here. Aside from the grasslands, there are mostly the Gobi and snowfields. Winter lasts for half the year, while summer is extremely short, with almost no arable land.”
“Three years ago, the climate beyond the passes began behaving abnormally. Last year, there was an exceptionally rare blizzard, the likes of which had not been seen in a century. The Northern Barbarians called it the ‘White Calamity.’ More than sixty percent of their livestock froze to death, their crops completely failed, and epidemics spread afterward.”
Hearing this, Su Muchen stopped his chopsticks, his gaze lowering slightly.
He had originally thought that the Northern Barbarians repeatedly invading the border was purely driven by greed and territorial ambition.
But now it seemed that the essence of this war was a “fight for survival” forced upon them after they had been driven into a desperate corner.
He understood that both sides had their own positions.
He could understand the cruelty of the disaster, but he could not bring himself to sympathize.
Because now, he was the military adviser standing at Xiao Yuan’s side.
Su Muchen silently picked up a piece of crispy fried potato.
This was one of the crops he had brought from the modern era.
To bring about an early harvest, Xiao Yuan had mobilized manpower to build insulated greenhouses. Now, this extremely early-maturing variety had produced its first crop in the Northern Frontier, barely easing some of Linbei City’s food and fodder shortage.
But he knew that once a real war began, this amount of food would be a drop in the bucket.
The imperial court was still deliberately delaying the delivery of grain supplies, and they had plenty of problems of their own to solve.
“According to past intelligence, the old Khan’s condition is unclear. The Cangyuan Khanate is currently divided into two factions.” Xiao Yuan’s voice pulled Su Muchen back from his thoughts. “The faction currently in power is the pro-war faction. Its leader is the Son of the Azure Wolf—Helian Cang.”
Su Muchen keenly noticed that the moment Xiao Yuan mentioned the name “Helian Cang,” his gaze became extraordinarily sharp, like a blade being drawn from its sheath.
“What kind of person is this Helian Cang?” Su Muchen asked.
Xiao Yuan was silent for a moment, his chopsticks coming to a stop as well, before finally giving his assessment.
“A man who is extremely calm, ruthless, and decisive. A born military commander.”
He gazed into empty space, as though looking through the candlelight at his old nemesis.
“He has a blade called ‘Shattered Fang.’ It is said to have been forged by dismantling and melting down the sabers of successive Khans. After each Wolf King dies, his saber is not placed in the imperial mausoleum. Instead, it is literally melted down and forged into the next blade. The edge is tempered from layers upon layers of hammered black iron, with the blood and will of generations of the Cangyuan people hammered into its blade.”
Xiao Yuan turned his head, his gaze heavy as it met Su Muchen’s.
“That blade… has taken the heads of countless Great Sheng soldiers.”
Su Muchen’s breath caught slightly.
Suddenly, the countless wooden memorial tablets on the incense altar in the Northern Frontier Martyrs’ Shrine appeared in his mind, stretching almost endlessly into the distance.
Many of those names belonged to people Xiao Yuan had once known, or even fought alongside.
Su Muchen looked at the food in his bowl and suddenly felt his throat tighten, making it difficult to swallow.
As a physician, his hands were accustomed to stitching wounds and snatching lives back from the hands of death.
Even though he could calmly formulate strategies and make calculations during military councils, he had never truly faced the cruelty of war.
He knew this world was not gentle. Sometimes it was even cruel enough to make a person break down.
But at this moment, he couldn’t help asking himself:
Was he really prepared?
He suddenly remembered something Xiao had once said to him—
“If you have the resolve to kill, you can open the door.”
Back then, he had forced the door open in order to save Xiao.
But perhaps the true meaning of those words was being fulfilled now.
From the moment he accepted the Military Adviser’s token, from the moment he decided to stand beside Xiao Yuan and plan the entire situation, every line he drew on the map and every decision he made would ultimately come at the cost of hundreds or thousands of lives.
He had never personally raised a blade, but the pen in his hand was sharper than any blade.
Seeing that Su Muchen still hadn’t moved his chopsticks and that his expression was dark and unreadable, Xiao Yuan immediately realized that he had spoken too heavily.
“Looks like this really isn’t an appropriate topic to discuss during a meal.”
Xiao Yuan reached over and placed another helping of light vegetables over Su Muchen’s rice, his voice softening.
“Eat. Don’t feel burdened. I am the one who makes the final decision on every military strategy you propose. I am the one who actually carries it out and kills. Not you.”
Su Muchen understood the reassurance in Xiao Yuan’s words.
He lowered his eyes, put the vegetables into his mouth, and slowly chewed and swallowed before speaking calmly.
“Don’t worry. I know the situation clearly… and I also know exactly what it is I’m protecting.”
He raised his head, his gaze clear and resolute as he looked directly at Xiao Yuan.
If he hadn’t thought it through completely, he would never have resolutely stepped into this deadly game in the first place.
Looking into those determined eyes, Xiao Yuan felt as though something had slammed hard against his heart. There was pain, but also an indescribable shock.
Selfishly, he had originally hoped that Su Muchen could remain forever in the cleanest, safest rear, without ever coming into contact with bloodshed.
Yet this man had walked into the very center of the storm without hesitation, using those same hands that saved lives to unhesitatingly shoulder half of the Northern Frontier for him.
The emotions in Xiao Yuan’s chest surged violently. For one moment, he desperately wanted to pull the person before him into his arms, kiss him deeply, possess him, and use all his strength to confirm that he was truly there.
But Su Muchen merely lowered his head slightly and seriously ate two more bites of rice, seemingly completely unaware of the almost overflowing tenderness and possessiveness radiating from the man beside him.
Xiao Yuan silently sighed in his heart. In the end, he suppressed the impulse and transformed it into a piece of red-braised pork on his chopsticks, steadily placing it into Su Muchen’s bowl.
“Eat more… You’re too thin,” Xiao Yuan said softly.
Su Muchen actually had a good appetite and wasn’t picky, but whatever he ate seemed to disappear into thin air, without adding even the slightest bit to his frame.
Xiao Yuan remembered the feel of holding him before. That waist was so slender it seemed as though a little force would be enough to snap it.
And with all the day-and-night work lately, he seemed even thinner.
“Am I?”
Su Muchen lowered his head and looked at himself. “For my height, my weight is completely within the normal range by modern medical standards.”
“Modern medicine has no jurisdiction over the Northern Frontier.”
Xiao Yuan chuckled and added more meat to his bowl without allowing any refusal.
“If war breaks out, we may be so busy that we won’t even have time to eat. For now, I need to help you build up some reserves.”
Su Muchen was already about seventy percent full, but seeing the uncompromising look in Xiao Yuan’s eyes, he silently picked up his chopsticks and stuffed the mountain of meat piled in his bowl into his mouth.
After the meal, the two walked side by side beneath the covered corridor.
The spring nights in the Northern Frontier were still biting. The night wind carried remnants of cold as it brushed against their robes. In the night sky, a slender crescent moon hung like a hook, cold and tranquil.
When they reached the fork leading to the various courtyards, Xiao Yuan noticed that the person beside him was still walking straight ahead with his head slightly lowered, his mind obviously weighed down by thoughts.
He couldn’t help stopping and reminding him, “The road back to the West Courtyard isn’t this way.”
Only then did Su Muchen come back to himself. He looked around and replied matter-of-factly, “I’m going to the study in the main courtyard to organize some more materials.”
His laptop was still on the writing desk in the study.
Hearing that this man intended to continue working late into the night, Xiao Yuan frowned slightly and instinctively adopted the tone of a commander.
“Go back to the West Courtyard.”
But as soon as the words left his mouth, he remembered Xia Lanshi’s reminder from earlier that day. His tone immediately softened, carrying a hint of helpless coaxing.
“You stayed up all night last night. Go rest early. No matter how important something is, it can wait until tomorrow.”
Su Muchen hesitated before finally giving in and nodding.
Actually, he was also keeping in mind the task Xia Lanshi had given him—to keep an eye on Xiao Yuan’s schedule.
But then he thought about it. If he went running to the Prince Su’s bedchamber in the middle of the night every day, wouldn’t word get around and ruin Xiao Yuan’s reputation?
Even though he had already gone there twice.
As though he could see straight through all the twists and turns in his mind, a smile appeared in Xiao Yuan’s eyes, and he couldn’t resist teasing him.
“You should worry about yourself first. The person who declared last night that he would supervise me ended up sleeping more soundly than the person he was supposed to supervise. I wonder who was actually supervising whom.”
Called out on it to his face, Su Muchen’s ears immediately grew hot. He awkwardly looked away and muttered, “Th-then you need to go to sleep properly. Don’t stay up too late again.”
Looking at his reddened ears, the smile in Xiao Yuan’s eyes deepened.
“Got it.”
Xiao Yuan stood there, watching Su Muchen’s slender figure gradually disappear into the night. He silently sighed in his heart.
He really didn’t dare let Su Muchen stay overnight in the main courtyard again.
If he allowed this man to sleep defenselessly on his bed again, he truly wasn’t confident he could keep suppressing the beast roaring inside him time after time.
Just thinking of this morning, when he had opened his eyes and seen that person’s sleeping face so close to his own, his warm breath evenly brushing against his pillow…
Xiao Yuan had no idea how much self-control he had exhausted, or what kind of agonizing internal battle he had endured, to forcibly suppress the urge to pull him into his arms and kiss him fiercely, before awkwardly getting out of bed and going outside to practice an entire set of sword forms in the cold wind.
He looked up at the cold crescent moon in the sky, then turned and walked back toward the main courtyard.
His legs habitually carried him toward the study, but halfway there, the words Su Muchen had said before leaving suddenly surfaced in his mind, along with the faint blush in his voice.
Xiao Yuan stopped.
He helplessly shook his head, yet the corners of his mouth couldn’t help lifting slightly. In the end, he changed direction and headed toward the bedchamber.
◆◇◆◇◆
In the dim study, candlelight flickered.
Qu Detao had spread out the military registers, payroll records, death records, and compensation records of the Imperial Army across the large writing desk. The thick ledgers were covered with countless glaring red lines drawn in cinnabar ink.
The deeper he investigated, the more horrifying the depths of the Imperial Army’s corruption became.
“The Logistics Battalion should have a full complement of one thousand men according to military regulations.” Qu Detao’s fingertip rested on the final page of the military register, a cold glint flashing in his eyes. “This ledger says exactly one thousand…”
But he clearly remembered that the Logistics Battalion currently had only 887 men.
A full 113 extra men.
These 113 “shadows” were receiving a military salary every month on paper—money that should never have existed.
Qu Detao did not immediately turn the page. Instead, he marked each of the 113 names one by one.
Some of these people simply could not be found.
Some had already died but had never been removed from the registers.
Some had fled but had never been removed.
Some had duplicate registrations.
Some names were still listed in the Right Army camp, while the people themselves had already been transferred to other battalions.
For several others, their salaries had been split into different categories on the records, and their whereabouts after disbursement were unknown.
In other words, these 113 vacant positions were not simply “someone taking 113 extra salaries every month.” They were a “black hole” that different people could use for different purposes.
Someone… was deliberately maintaining a fixed pool of false military positions.
Qu Detao opened the corresponding death and payroll records. Comparing the two, the cold smile at the corner of his mouth became even more pronounced.
Keeping the names of dead soldiers on the rolls was common throughout the various armies.
Embezzling their salaries had always been the favorite trick of parasites within the military.
And the person responsible for the Logistics Battalion’s military registers and payroll distribution was Deputy Battalion Commander Du Youde.
“What a corrupt deputy battalion commander. A textbook parasite in the military.”
Qu Detao had already judged Du Youde in his mind.
But he did not close the ledger.
As an experienced investigator, his instincts told him that things could not be this simple.
These 113 vacant positions had accumulated gradually over the past three years—deaths that had never been removed, transfers that had never been updated, deserters who had never been removed.
Qu Detao’s fingertip stopped on that page.
These 113 people were only in the Logistics Battalion.
What if the other battalions had the same problem…?
Qu Detao couldn’t help realizing that what he needed to investigate was probably not these 113 people.
And if someone had gone to such lengths to maintain a stable system of “vacant positions,” had all that black money really gone into Du Youde’s pockets alone?
Qu Detao once again turned his attention to the most inconspicuous book of all—the compensation records.
His eyes settled on two names.
These two men were recorded as having “died suddenly” in the death register, and their families had received generous compensation according to regulations the previous month.
However, Qu Detao had checked the transfer orders for the Central and Left Armies earlier.
Neither of these men had died.
Half a year ago, they had been secretly transferred to the Left Army’s Crossbow Battalion.
Even stranger, when Qu Detao checked the Left Army’s subsequent actual roll calls, neither of their names ever appeared.
Their transfer orders were genuine.
The transfers had really happened.
The only false thing was their “death.”
In other words—
It wasn’t simply a matter of someone leaving dead men on the military register.
Someone was capable of making the military registers, transfer orders, roll calls, death records, and compensation records present different versions of the truth at different times.
Each book looked perfectly reasonable when examined on its own.
But once they were placed together…
There would be a dead man, a living man, or even the absurd situation of the same person existing in two different battalions at the same time.
Qu Detao’s fingertip slowly came to a stop.
This was no longer the work of one person falsifying accounts.
There were at least several hands involved.
This was not something a single deputy battalion commander could accomplish alone.
Someone in the military records office had to help him enter the information into the master registers. Someone in the payroll office had to make the excess salary allocations appear legitimate. There had to be intermediaries responsible for laundering and transferring the money. There even had to be people outside handling forged signatures from the soldiers’ families.
He had thought that once he tore open the surface, he would find nothing more than rotten flesh underneath.
But in reality, the corruption had already rotted all the way into the marrow. The entire system was terminally diseased.
Qu Detao slowly leaned back in his chair, his fingertips tapping against the desk with a dull sound.
Suddenly, he remembered Wei Chongwu’s military merit record.
Those twelve enemy heads were fake.
The list of soldiers who had participated in the battle was fake too.
And now, in the Logistics Battalion, he had found another situation where the records of dead soldiers, transfer orders, and military registers contradicted one another, yet the contradictions had been perfectly concealed.
Could these two things… have used the same method?
No. It should simply be a coincidence.
One was a lieutenant in the Right Army fraudulently claiming military merit; the other was a deputy commander in the Logistics Battalion embezzling military salaries. They had nothing to do with each other.
But… what if it wasn’t a coincidence?
If he ordered Du Youde and Wei Chongwu arrested right now, what would he get?
A “deputy battalion commander corruption case” and a “lieutenant falsely claiming twelve enemy heads as military merit case.”
At most, Du Youde would confess to a few low-level accomplices. Then the entire hidden chain of funds would be severed instantly.
The intermediaries would immediately become alert. The deeper mastermind behind everything would pull in the lines ahead of time and might even silence everyone involved.
Arresting them would be easy.
But once he did, this real “web” would be buried forever beneath the Imperial Army camp.
“My lord,” his trusted subordinate asked quietly after seeing him remain silent for a long time, “now that we’ve confirmed Du Youde has been embezzling military salaries and compensation, should we arrest him immediately?”
“No. We can’t touch him.”
Qu Detao suddenly opened his eyes, his gaze sharp as an eagle’s.
He couldn’t merely refrain from touching that man. He also couldn’t let those people realize that anything was wrong.
He stacked the ledgers together and issued his orders in a deep voice.
“Go. Secretly retrieve all of Du Youde’s military registers, payroll records, and disbursement records from the past three years. In addition, send our most discreet operatives to investigate Du Youde’s personal accounts, the land registered under his relatives’ names, and… the ‘merchant firms’ he regularly deals with.”
His trusted subordinate froze.
“Merchant firms?”
“Yes. He can’t swallow such a large amount of black money by himself, nor would he dare keep all of it close at hand. There must be channels through which the money flows out.”
Qu Detao stood and walked to the window, gazing toward the deep darkness hanging over the Imperial Army camp.
“No one is to touch Du Youde’s line. Have people watch him around the clock. Record everyone he meets, everywhere he goes, even what he gives to others.”
He paused, his voice dropping very low, yet carrying a chilling clarity.
“The bait has already been taken. If we arrest Du Youde now, all we’ll get is a dead fish. What I want to see… is who is pulling the line for him beneath the water.”
Who exactly was Wei Chongwu’s fake military merit concealing?
And who exactly were the 113 vacant positions left behind by Du Youde being reserved for?
For the first time, Qu Detao felt that perhaps he had never really been investigating two separate cases.
He was investigating the same web, with two knots visible above the surface.
◆◇◆◇◆
In the study of the East Courtyard, candlelight flickered softly.
A shadow was half-kneeling on the floor, quietly reporting to Xia Lanshi.
“Understood. Keep watching,” Xia Lanshi said calmly, as though he had already known.
“Yes, sir.”
The shadow silently withdrew.
Almost immediately, the door was pushed open again.
Xiao stepped through the night, a heavy black metal box held steadily in his hands.
He walked to the writing desk and placed the black box in front of Xia Lanshi.
“What’s this?” Xia Lanshi raised an eyebrow slightly.
“Everything I could bring from ‘that side.’ All my belongings.” Xiao looked steadily at him, a smile in his eyes. “I told you before I left that I would give them to you. Now I’m entrusting them to you.”
Xia Lanshi reached out and took it. The weight made both his hands sink slightly, and he couldn’t help teasing him with a smile.
“It’s quite heavy. Looks like you were pretty wealthy over there.”
Xiao said nothing, only giving a silent smile.
He raised a hand to his neck, removed the luminous-silver necklace he had been wearing close to his skin, and gently placed it in Xia Lanshi’s palm.
The metal still retained the warmth of his body.
Xia Lanshi lowered his eyes and saw that the pendant was an exquisite silver key, with a lifelike owl carved into its handle.
“Open it.”
Xiao’s voice was soft, as though guiding him to uncover a secret.
Xia Lanshi inserted the silver key into the lock.
Click.
The lock sprang open.
However, when he lifted the heavy lid of the black metal box, the smile at the corner of his mouth suddenly froze.
There was no gold or silver, no precious treasures, nor any secret capable of overturning the situation.
Resting quietly on moisture-proof velvet was a stack of ordinary letters.
The edges of the papers had been carefully smoothed until not a single crease remained.
They were every letter he had written to Xiao, stroke by stroke, in the past.
And carefully placed on top of the letters was a plum-blossom pressed-flower bookmark he had made himself.
Xia Lanshi’s breathing paused almost imperceptibly.
He had crossed life and death to arrive in this dangerous world.
This man had brought no property with him at all, yet he regarded these light, weightless sheets of paper as his only—and entire—“fortune,” treasuring them so deeply.
Simply because these letters represented him.
A rush of warmth slammed into Xia Lanshi’s chest, and astringency and indescribable tenderness spread through him in an instant.
Xia Lanshi was just about to touch the bookmark when he suddenly noticed a small dark crimson velvet box hidden beside the thick stack of letters.
It clearly wasn’t something from Great Sheng, nor was it something he had given Xiao in the past.
Xiao extended his slender fingers and picked up the little box.
With a soft click, the velvet lid opened.
Inside lay a gray-silver ring.
Its design was extremely simple, without elaborate carvings. It had only been polished to an exquisite perfection, the metal’s sheen cold and restrained.
At the very center of the ring was a small gemstone cut into an inverted triangle.
Under the candlelight, the gem reflected a brilliant yet gentle glow.
It was a translucent pale red.
Just like the color of Xia Lanshi’s eyes.
Without saying a word, Xiao gently yet firmly took Xia Lanshi’s left hand.
He lowered his eyes and positioned the ring over Xia Lanshi’s slender middle finger, then gently pushed it all the way down.
The cold hardness of the metal fit perfectly against the warmth of his finger bone without the slightest resistance, as though it had been meant to grow on that hand from the very beginning.
Xia Lanshi raised his hand. His pale-red eyes reflected the faint shimmer of light from the ring.
His gaze shifted, meeting Xiao’s deep, night-dark eyes. His tone carried a hint of slyness, as though he already knew the answer.
“What do they call this in your homeland?”
“A ring,” Xiao replied in a low voice.
“Here, I call it a ‘pledge ring.’” Xia Lanshi gently rubbed his fingertip along the cool band, his voice soft and slow. “To make a promise with a finger—it means declaring your love and pledging to spend a hundred years together.”
“It means roughly the same thing where I come from.”
Xiao gazed deeply at him before leaning down slightly. His hot breath brushed against Xia Lanshi’s ear, his low, husky voice carrying a possessiveness that was impossible to miss.
“Wearing it on the middle finger of the left hand means—‘This person is already claimed. No one else is allowed to touch him.’”
His lips almost brushed the pale earlobe.
“This is my mark.”
Xia Lanshi suddenly found it both infuriating and amusing.
This man had said nothing before, yet now he hadn’t even bothered to ask and had simply tied this symbol of “claiming” firmly around his finger.
But instead of feeling even the slightest bit annoyed, a tender smile capable of drowning someone spread through his eyes.
He lifted his head slightly, naturally wrapping both arms around Xiao’s neck. With a little force, he pulled him closer and lightly kissed his thin lips.
“If that’s the case, then I suppose I’ll have to prepare one soon too.”
Xia Lanshi looked directly at him, his pale-red eyes filled with an equally undeniable possessiveness.
“I’ll make sure you’re firmly claimed too. No one else will be able to take you away.”
Silently, he added in his heart:
Not even the Ten Halls of Yama could take this man away from his side.
Hearing this declaration of possession, Xiao gave a low laugh, his arm tightening around Xia Lanshi’s waist and pulling his supple body firmly against him.
His usually cold, deep eyes were now filled with unreserved love and tenderness.
“You once told me that once a snow owl recognizes its mate, it stays with them until death, faithful for life…”
Xiao gently brushed aside the loose strands of hair beside Xia Lanshi’s cheek. His voice was low, yet carried a determination as heavy as a thousand pounds.
“I couldn’t give you an answer back then. Now I’m giving you one.”
He gazed deeply into those pale-red eyes and spoke slowly, every word as though he were engraving his soul into a vow.
“Not only in this life and this world. In every life, in every existence, I will have only you.”
“A Gatekeeper cannot have wishes…”
His hoarse voice lingered as he continued slowly.
“I can give up every other wish. But as for spending my life with you and keeping you safe, that is one thing I will never give up.”
This long-delayed answer, so weighty that it made him tremble, suddenly made Xia Lanshi’s eyes redden slightly.
Someone was willing to love him so completely, even claiming him for every lifetime to come.
To have this one person, what more could he possibly ask of this life?
“So am I…” Xia Lanshi’s throat tightened slightly, but his voice was resolute. “Wherever you are, I’ll be there. Whether in life or death, I’ll follow you. There will never again be anything in this world that can separate us.”
Before he had even finished speaking, Xiao had already kissed him deeply.
This kiss was completely different from the light peck just now. It was an inescapable desire, as though he wanted to merge the person in his arms completely into himself.
Xia Lanshi obediently allowed the other man to forcefully claim his breath.
The fingers originally resting around the back of his neck tightened unconsciously, sinking deeply into Xiao’s hair, while Xiao’s large hands firmly held the back of his head and his waist, completely erasing the final sliver of distance between them.
It was a deep kiss that seemed capable of burning both their souls to ashes, carrying the absolute devotion born from having survived life and death together.
Only when the air in Xia Lanshi’s lungs had almost been completely drained did Xiao finally pull back slightly. Yet the tips of their noses remained intimately touching as they exchanged their slightly breathless air.
However, this intoxicating tenderness did not last long.
Once their breathing gradually settled, the tenderness in Xiao’s eyes slowly receded, replaced by a hint of gravity.
He gently rubbed the corner of Xia Lanshi’s slightly swollen lips with his thumb and said quietly,
“Starting today, for the next two-plus months… I’ll be staying in the East Courtyard.”
Xia Lanshi remembered Xiao’s highly unusual request at the military council—the request that all military arrangements and transfer orders, as well as exactly whose hands each piece of intelligence had passed through, must be additionally copied into a separate record for him to review.
Such meticulous precautions were clearly not merely intended to guard against spies.
Xia Lanshi froze slightly before realizing that this statement was not simply the result of affection or a whim.
Ever since returning from his infiltration of the Northern Barbarians, he had keenly sensed that Xiao’s mental state was more tense than it had ever been.
That anxiety was not entirely caused by the grim situation revealed by their investigation.
There was a deeper worry beneath it.
“You’re worried about the ‘variables’?”
Xiao’s brows drew tightly together. His arms tightened slightly, holding Xia Lanshi’s somewhat slender body against his chest. A rare unease could be heard in his voice.
“There are too many variables… The situation before us is becoming increasingly uncontrollable. Even I can’t predict how many developments different from ‘before’ will appear in this game of chess from here on.”
Xia Lanshi listened quietly, understanding immediately.
He knew better than anyone how difficult this war would be. Even with the cross-era supplies brought through the “Gate,” they still had to face the enormous war machine the Northern Barbarians had spent twenty-five years building, as well as the overwhelming disparity in troop numbers between the two sides.
Even if they took ten thousand steps back and actually won the war, what awaited them afterward would still be the deeper suspicion and murderous intent of the current emperor.
But he simply raised his hand and gently stroked Xiao’s back.
“Don’t worry. As long as a problem exists, there will always be a way to solve it.”
Xia Lanshi’s fingertips slowly slid through Xiao’s silky black hair, his voice gentle yet utterly resolute.
“I don’t want to hand you over to anyone. That includes the next ‘me.’”
He couldn’t imagine how Xiao would endure it if there really were another time—if after finally making it this far, everything were lost again in an instant.
He didn’t want that.
And he absolutely would not let Xiao experience the pain of that cycle again.
Feeling the affection and determination of the person in his arms, Xiao’s gaze shifted slightly, and he quickly suppressed all those heavy emotions.
He hadn’t forgotten Su Muchen’s repeated instructions about the recuperation plan. Supervising Xia Lanshi’s sleep schedule and diet was now one of his priorities as well.
“You should rest.”
Xiao extinguished the candle in the study. With one long arm, he directly scooped Xia Lanshi up into his arms and strode toward the main bedchamber.
Xia Lanshi didn’t struggle. He simply rested comfortably against his shoulder and protested with some amusement, “It’s not like I don’t have legs.”
He lowered his voice, concern evident in his tone.
“Besides, you’re still injured…”
In the darkness, Xiao raised an eyebrow. His low voice carried an almost imperceptible hint of suggestiveness and amusement.
“It’s only a minor injury. At most… it’ll hurt a little more later.”
The door to the main bedchamber closed behind them, shutting out the night wind and the unknown fires of war beyond, leaving the two of them alone in their own world.