Inside the central command tent on Yan Gui Plain, several large candles illuminated the vast space until it was bright as day.
The night wind howled across the open plain, tearing at the heavy tent until its canvas walls flapped and rattled. Beside the enormous sand table, the faces of those gathered flickered in and out of the candlelight, their expressions unusually grave.
The commander-in-chief, Xiao Yuan, stood at the center. Xiao, Xia Lanshi, Su Muchen, Qin Feng, and Chi Banyue, who had only just arrived at the front lines, stood around him, their eyes fixed on the pieces and flags representing the various forces on the sand table.
The war, which had been given a three-month deadline, had quietly entered its second month.
Beneath the seemingly calm stalemate, probing maneuvers and struggles for advantage between the two sides were already churning like undercurrents.
“General Pei is currently keeping Baishui Pass occupied according to plan.”
Xia Lanshi was the first to break the silence. His fingertip traced the mountain ranges on the sand table.
“The enemy has neither reinforced its troops nor shown any signs of advancing or retreating. It seems they haven’t fully believed that our first attack was aimed at Baishui Pass. For now, they’re still watching and waiting.”
Xiao Yuan raised his eyes, his expression cold and clear.
“Tell Pei Yi to maintain the pressure. Increase the intensity of the attacks moderately, but remember—no killing and no taking prisoners.”
His gaze settled on the black flag marking Baishui Pass, and his voice turned low and cold.
“Let those wounded soldiers escape back inside the pass.”
As soon as Xiao Yuan finished speaking, Chi Banyue placed a neatly organized stack of intelligence reports on the table.
“These are what the covert guards and I have uncovered over the past month.”
Chi Banyue took out the first report and placed it precisely over Baishui Pass on the sand table.
“The garrison commander at Baishui Pass is Tuoba Lie, around forty years old. He’s guarded the pass for more than a decade. He’s steady by nature, dislikes pursuing retreating enemies, and rarely leaves the pass without good reason. General Pei has tried to lure him out several times this month, but he hasn’t taken the bait once.”
Xia Lanshi gave a slight nod.
“No wonder he’s stayed put.”
“It’s more than just caution.” Chi Banyue’s expression grew solemn. “He’s also very sensitive to casualties. He’d rather stay inside the pass and fight fewer battles than trade his troops for a victory.”
Xiao Yuan replied indifferently, “Then let him keep playing it safe.”
Chi Banyue continued without pausing, taking out a second report.
“The garrison commander at Duanyun Fortress is Chimu Han, a little over thirty years old.”
She pointed to the granary on the sand table.
“He was originally responsible for his tribe’s livestock and provisions. Helian Cang promoted him later. He’s extremely sensitive to numbers and personally checks the movement of provisions in and out every day. Recently, the number of wounded soldiers and horses at the front has increased, while transportation has suffered repeated delays. He’s begun demanding a fresh inventory.”
She paused briefly before continuing.
“His greatest characteristic is that the moment he discovers even the slightest discrepancy in the accounts, he doubles his checks and increases security. He won’t tolerate the slightest ambiguity.”
Su Muchen looked up.
“He’s starting to notice something?”
“He only suspects that the accounts don’t match the actual consumption,” Chi Banyue explained. “He hasn’t traced anything back to us yet. To him, this is still a ‘management problem,’ not an ‘enemy attack.’”
Xia Lanshi glanced at Duanyun Fortress.
“That’s good news, then.”
“Not necessarily.”
Chi Banyue continued, “The relationship between Chimu Han and Helian Cang is also worth watching.”
“What do you mean?”
“Helian Cang cares about the state of the battlefield. Chimu Han cares about the grain accounts.”
Chi Banyue analyzed the situation calmly.
“Helian Cang thinks some provisions can be used ahead of schedule. Chimu Han, however, believes that every shi of grain must be accounted for, down to where it goes.”
Su Muchen said, “One manages the men, the other manages the grain.”
Chi Banyue nodded.
“Which means Duanyun Fortress may not be the hardest place to attack.”
She drew out the final report. This time, she placed it over Yanqi Ferry.
“The one we truly need to watch is Helian Cang.”
Xia Lanshi’s expression tightened slightly.
Chi Banyue explained, “We’ve confirmed his whereabouts several times over the past month. He rarely leaves Yanqi Ferry. All military reports from Baishui Pass and Duanyun Fortress eventually reach him.”
She pointed toward the winding river.
“He controls more than Yanqi Ferry itself. He also controls the fleet, the bridges, the docks, and the movement of troops between the two other strongholds.”
Qin Feng frowned. “So he’s the overall commander of all three defensive positions?”
Chi Banyue studied the sand table and replied in a grave voice, “At the very least, he’s their de facto operational hub.”
Helian Cang had led invasions southward for years, and Xiao Yuan had clashed with him many times before. Xiao Yuan knew very well that while the other Northern Di commanders might only care about securing grain, Helian Cang had never been after grain alone.
Everyone’s gaze converged on the sand table once more.
The intelligence gathered over the past month had allowed them to uncover part of the enemy’s true situation.
It also confirmed the effectiveness of the strategy Su Muchen had proposed earlier: slow suffocation.
During several localized clashes last month, they had deliberately allowed some wounded soldiers and horses to retreat back into the Northern Di camp. This wasn’t an act of mercy. Their goal was to preserve the appearance of an intact fighting force while ensuring that the enemy’s logistics were continually drained.
The Northern Di had only just endured three years of famine, and until recently, they had relied heavily on secretly purchasing grain from Great Sheng to sustain themselves. Now that this covert supply route had been completely shut down, every portion of their stored provisions they consumed was a portion they could never replace. From this point onward, they could only requisition supplies from the rear.
But the civilians and troops stationed in the rear needed grain, too.
Xia Lanshi furrowed his brows slightly, his gaze settling on the marker representing time.
“The biggest problem right now is that we don’t have time to wear them down. If there were no deadline, a war of attrition would certainly favor us. But there are only two months left in this campaign. Based on our current estimates, even at their present rate of consumption, they should be able to hold out for the remaining two months without much difficulty.”
Su Muchen picked up the thread.
“If we continue dragging things out like this, we may end up running out of time before they run out of supplies. Since Chimu Han is so sensitive to numbers, we can’t rely solely on increasing the number of wounded soldiers and horses to exhaust them. His very ‘sensitivity’ is a weakness we can exploit.”
Xia Lanshi nodded.
“We also need to make their logistics system run faster in its attempt to ‘protect itself’ than their supply system can keep up with.”
Xiao, who had remained silent at the side for some time, suddenly spoke.
“Then let the Su Guards interfere with their logistics.”
Su Muchen looked up at him. “Burn their grain?”
“No.” Xiao shook his head, his gaze deep and inscrutable. “It’s not time to burn their grain yet.”
Qin Feng raised an eyebrow.
“Why not?”
In his view, burning the enemy’s grain was undoubtedly the quickest way to see results.
Xiao turned and pointed to the map of the Northern Border on the table.
“The Northern Di can no longer buy grain from Great Sheng. They’ll certainly guard their granaries several times more strictly than before. If a granary burns, they’ll know they’re losing grain and intensify their demands for supplies from the rear. If transportation is disrupted on a large scale, they’ll immediately shift into a state of combat readiness.”
He raised his eyes, his gaze as sharp as an eagle’s.
“We don’t want them to know where the problem is. We want them to start wondering—whether there’s even a problem at all.”
Xiao spoke calmly.
“As long as we sow even a trace of uncertainty, the front lines will begin drawing on their reserves ahead of schedule, while the rear will start stockpiling supplies for emergencies and hesitate to move anything freely.”
Xia Lanshi continued, “Eventually, they’ll still have supplies in their hands, but they’ll be too afraid of a genuine shortage to use all of them.”
The corner of Xiao’s mouth lifted slightly.
“That’s what suffocation means. Just give the Su Guards the order, and they’ll certainly come up with plenty of other ways to toy with the enemy’s logistics.”
Su Muchen looked at him.
“So the Su Guards aren’t going to destroy their provisions directly.”
“They’ll force the enemy to consume more grain on defense, use more grain for transportation, and keep more grain in reserve at the rear,” Xiao replied indifferently. “By the time they finally realize something is wrong, the remaining two months won’t be enough for them to reorganize their entire supply chain.”
Xia Lanshi pondered this for a moment, then picked up several game pieces and rolled them between his fingers.
“If that’s the case, transportation, supplies, and intelligence can all become part of the logistical war.”
He tapped the pieces against the tabletop one by one.
“But there’s one principle we must follow: we can’t disrupt things too heavily all at once. The more deliberate the sabotage appears, the easier it will be for the enemy to figure out what we’re really trying to do. We only need to leave a few ‘abnormal traces’ and let Chimu Han investigate them himself.”
He set down one of the pieces.
“We don’t need to cut off the grain routes. We only need to make their transport repeatedly suffer delays, detours, and unnecessary return trips. The same goes for the salt routes. We don’t need to create an actual salt shortage. As long as the rear begins to suspect that the next shipment of salt might not arrive on time, that alone will force them to increase their reserves.”
Su Muchen nodded, calmly analyzing the model of resource depletion.
“Military rations are distributed according to fixed quotas, so we can’t expect individual soldiers to suddenly start eating an extra bowl of rice. What we can increase is the system’s overall additional consumption. Wounded soldiers need food and medicine. The additional civilian porters and soldiers guarding the granaries need to eat, too. Repeated inventories cause delays and increase losses. And if we make them lose confidence in their logistics, they’ll gradually become less willing to maintain the level of rationing they originally imposed to guard against supply shortages.”
Qin Feng nodded slightly.
“In other words, as long as we get the logistics system running in circles trying to ‘confirm that everything is safe,’ consumption will rise on its own.”
“That’s only the consumption generated by the logistics system itself.”
Xia Lanshi gathered the pieces together.
“Intelligence is another excellent weapon. An effective intelligence war doesn’t necessarily require making the enemy believe something false. Sometimes, all you need is to make different people interpret the same situation differently, causing them to make contradictory decisions.”
Su Muchen spoke softly.
“As long as they can’t agree on whether the grain they have should be distributed and eaten or held back as a reserve, the same batch of grain will simultaneously take on three identities: ‘military rations,’ ‘reserve provisions,’ and ‘lifesaving supplies.’”
Xiao added without warning, “In their minds, they’ll count the same sack of grain three times.”
A sharp, icy glint flashed through Xiao Yuan’s dark eyes, carrying a deep chill.
“But what can actually fill a stomach…”
He paused briefly, his tone calm yet laced with the air of a ruthless commander.
“…is still only that one sack.”
The tent fell silent for a moment.
Everyone understood just how insidious this strategy would be once it was set in motion.
Their true objective wasn’t to make the Northern Di run out of grain right now. It was to make them lose confidence in whether their grain would be enough.
Xiao Yuan withdrew his gaze from the supply routes on the sand table and followed the winding river until his eyes finally settled on the strategic waterway of Yanqi Ferry.
His voice was calm, but his decision left no room for argument.
“Next, we pin down Yanqi Ferry.”
Xia Lanshi stepped forward and took out several intelligence photographs that Xiao had brought back earlier, spreading them across the table.
“Based on the photographs Xiao brought back, the warships in the Northern Di fleet are of different designs and ages. Some are quite old. The Northern Di were originally a nomadic people, and most of these vessels were gradually seized from Great Sheng over the past twenty-five years.”
His slender fingers tapped lightly on the details of the ships’ hulls in the drawings.
“In other words, the ships came from different sources and have different specifications, so their parts aren’t interchangeable, making maintenance difficult. For them, every ship that breaks down is one less ship they can use. Moreover, Yanqi Ferry lies downstream. If the enemy wants to transport troops south by boat to reinforce Baishui Pass or support the rear, they’ll have to travel against the current.”
Xia Lanshi then took out drawings of two permanent bridges built of wood and stone, along with a temporary pontoon bridge.
“These two fixed bridges, the temporary pontoon bridge, and their makeshift fleet constitute their entire arsenal of assets here. Yanqi Ferry wasn’t naturally a formidable Northern Di fortress. Over twenty-five years, they’ve poured resources and spoils of war into forcibly transforming a crossing that was never suited to a permanent military garrison into a strategic base for their southward invasions.”
“And the more chaotic their rear becomes, the harder it will be to maintain Yanqi Ferry.”
Xia Lanshi’s gaze was profound.
“The ships, bridges, watchtowers, and garrison all consume manpower and supplies. Once their logistics tighten, this stronghold will become a burden first.”
Xiao Yuan studied the sand table, a trace of icy ruthlessness flashing through his eyes.
“Then we’ll make it a burden.”
He reached out and pulled the black flag representing Yanqi Ferry from the sand table.
“Twenty-five years ago, this place was nothing more than a seasonal crossing whose fortunes depended on the weather.”
“Now it has two permanent bridges, a pontoon bridge, watchtowers, docks, and dozens of warships. All of this is the flesh and bone they’ve built up over twenty-five years. What truly makes it difficult to attack isn’t the number of troops stationed here. It’s that, over those twenty-five years, they’ve turned this river into their own road.”
Xiao Yuan drove the black flag firmly into the outer edge of the sand table. His eyes were as cold as ice.
“First, pin it down. Cut off its claws before surrounding its body. Our task is to reduce this artificially constructed military stronghold to what it was twenty-five years ago—to turn it back into an ordinary crossing where people can pass, and nothing more.”
Xiao Yuan surveyed everyone. His voice rang like cold iron as he issued his tactical orders.
“First order: No troops are to be transported across. Notify every outpost to keep Yanqi Ferry under strict surveillance. Do not allow the Northern Di to transport a single soldier to any location along the Northern Border.”
“Second order: Disable their fleet. Have the covert guards take action. There’s no need to destroy every warship. Just make some of them unreliable for navigation. They only need to be ‘fit to look at, but not to use.’ Let those expensive warships rot into piles of wood at the docks.”
“Third order: Keep pressure on all three bridges. We don’t need to destroy them. We only need to make the enemy believe that any one of the bridges might come under ambush while they’re crossing. Then they won’t dare use both permanent bridges and the pontoon bridge simultaneously.”
“Lastly—”
Xiao Yuan’s gaze fell between the three bridges and the fleet. His tone was cold and decisive.
“Let them understand that the ships at Yanqi Ferry may be able to sail out onto the river, but they may not be able to return safely.”
As the plans and orders accumulated, the air inside the tent seemed to freeze.
Xiao Yuan stared at the Northern Di defensive line on the sand table, now divided and torn apart. His gaze was as keen as a blade.
“Duanyun Fortress is the heart of the Northern Di. Baishui Pass is their shield. As for Yanqi Ferry… it’s the claws they’ve extended toward us.”
“The heart can be slowly worn down. The shield can be slowly pressed back.”
“But those extended claws—must be pinned firmly in place first.”
“Once they can no longer reach out, we’ll take this ferry crossing back in its entirety.”
◇◆◇◆◇
Inside the central command tent, the curtains fell, shutting out the howling night wind and the commotion outside. Silence settled over the tent almost immediately.
The lamplight flickered gently, illuminating the tall, solitary figure standing at the desk.
After making a round of the military camp, Xiao Yuan returned to the central command tent.
He lowered his head to review documents. Even in the military camp, urgent official business from the various prefectures of the Northern Border and Linbei City continued to pile up like a mountain.
All the arrangements for logistics and the wounded soldiers’ camp had been handed over to Mu Li, who was impersonating “Military Adviser Su.” After the military meeting, Su Muchen unexpectedly found himself with some free time. He had originally planned to visit the wounded soldiers’ camp to check on its progress, but Xiao Yuan had previously issued an order requiring him to remain by his side at all times over the next few days.
Su Muchen walked over to the desk and asked tentatively, “Jingyuan, I’d like to go check on the wounded soldiers’ camp. Is that all right?”
Xiao Yuan didn’t even raise his head. The wolf-hair brush in his hand moved steadily as he circled and annotated the documents.
“It’s already late today. Go tomorrow. With Mu Li and several military physicians there, nothing serious will happen. As far as this prince is concerned, something happening to you would be the serious matter.”
Su Muchen pursed his lips slightly.
It looked like there was no way he would be allowed to leave the central command tent even for a moment today.
Then he thought of another tricky problem.
Although Xiao Yuan had arranged a separate military tent specifically for “Military Adviser Su,” his current identity was that of a junior military physician named “Shen An.” According to military regulations, Shen An should be sharing a large tent with the other physicians in the medical unit.
After all, if Shen An went into Military Adviser Su’s tent to spend the night, Su Muchen had no idea what rumors would be circulating through the camp by morning.
Su Muchen himself wasn’t picky about where he slept. But this man in front of him… He would secretly keep score even if Su Muchen smiled a little too much at someone else. Would he really let him go sleep among a whole group of military physicians?
As if he had eyes in the back of his head, Xiao Yuan saw right through his thoughts. Before Su Muchen could speak, he raised his eyelids and gave him a cool glance.
“For the next few days, you’ll sleep here with me.”
Su Muchen wore an expression that said, I knew it, and felt a little helpless.
“The medical unit is full of people who treat the sick and save lives. There’s no one there worth being suspicious of… Besides, aren’t you worried people in the army will gossip?”
Among Xiao Yuan’s closest confidants, the relationship between the two of them was already an open secret. It was simply that no one dared to discuss Prince Su openly.
But right now, he was using the identity of “Shen An”!
First, he had been unusually close to “Military Adviser Su,” and now he was going to share a bed with “Shen An.” Wouldn’t that make Prince Su look like a fickle, amorous prince who couldn’t stay faithful to one person?
Xiao Yuan remained completely composed and unconcerned.
“Let them think whatever they want.”
He set down his brush and raised his eyes slightly. His dark gaze was as deep as the night.
“Are you afraid of what they’ll think?”
Su Muchen sighed.
“Of course I’m not worried about myself. Where I come from, it’s perfectly ordinary for two men or two women to marry, and the law protects them, too. I’m worried about damaging your reputation—although I’ve already given up trying to fight this.”
If he had been worried, he wouldn’t have agreed to this relationship in the first place.
Besides, he had spent the night in Prince Su’s bedchamber more than once. There was no clearing his name now, and he was gradually giving up trying.
“Since you don’t care, there’s no need to dwell on it.”
Xiao Yuan’s tone was calm, his reasoning clear and orderly.
“Just tell them that Military Physician Shen is responsible for attending to this prince, checking my pulse, and treating my injuries, and that he isn’t permitted to leave the tent at night.”
As for the secret thoughts in his own heart, naturally, he had no intention of revealing all of them.
If the enemy had any “eyes” watching them, all they would see was “Military Adviser Su” living alone in one tent, with his daily activities completely separate from those of “Shen An.” Keeping Su Muchen right under his nose wasn’t an absolute guarantee of safety, but it was a hundred times better than leaving him somewhere else.
Besides, this army was full of soldiers who had spent years stationed at the Northern Border and fighting in its wars. They were ordinary men, with all the emotions, desires, and physical needs that came with being human.
Throwing someone as refined and delicate-looking as Su Muchen or Xia Lanshi into a military camp was no different from throwing a piece of meat into a pack of hungry wolves.
Xia Lanshi at least held the position of a senior secretary, and his personality was such that hardly anyone would dare lay a hand on him.
But “Shen An” was different.
Shen An was merely a military physician. In the eyes of those soldiers, he was someone they could pursue.
So before anyone else could make a move, Xiao Yuan had to firmly nail Shen An to the label of another person who belongs to Prince Su.
Su Muchen had absolutely no idea that Xiao Yuan was harboring such a long list of thoughts. But he understood that Xiao Yuan had a deeper purpose behind every step he took, so he didn’t argue any further.
Xiao Yuan glanced at him, his gaze softening a little.
“If you have nothing to do, come sit with me and help me review these documents.”
Su Muchen obediently pulled over a chair and sat beside him.
A thick stack of military reports and official documents from the various prefectures covered the desk. He casually opened the volume on top and immediately furrowed his brows.
The text was either full of stilted bureaucratic language or written in all sorts of obscure, cryptic code. Some documents were even written in such fluid, wild cursive that they might as well have been celestial script. Compared with them, his own “cursive writing” was practically on par.
Normally, he could ask Mu Li or Xia Lanshi about anything he didn’t understand. But neither of them was here now, and he didn’t want to keep interrupting Xiao Yuan. All he could do was grit his teeth, study the documents carefully, and help sort them according to urgency and importance.
Out of the corner of his eye, Xiao Yuan noticed him frowning in deep concentration over the official paperwork. The corner of his mouth curved almost imperceptibly.
“Give it a few more years, and in time, Military Adviser Su will be able to decipher all this bureaucratic prose, too.”
Without even looking up, Su Muchen replied, “Once you’ve secured the throne and everything has settled down, I’m submitting my resignation.”
Although he had always enjoyed palace-intrigue novels and history, he had absolutely no desire to enter the imperial court himself and become one of the people caught up in its struggles, living in constant fear and anxiety.
Xiao Yuan continued writing and let out a soft laugh.
He had never wanted Su Muchen to become entangled in the vortex of political power in the first place. This suited him perfectly.
“Fine. You can prepare your resignation in advance.”
For once, Su Muchen teased him.
“You’re not even going to try to persuade me to stay? That makes me look like I don’t matter at all.”
Xiao Yuan paused, gently placing the wolf-hair brush on the inkstone.
He turned his head, his burning gaze locking onto Su Muchen’s eyes.
“Because I never wanted you to be a military adviser in the first place.”
His voice was low and full of tenderness.
“What I want you to be is my wife.”
The sudden confession made Su Muchen’s ears burn, and the heat quickly spread to his cheeks.
He hurriedly looked away, trying to sound tough.
“F-Flirting with me again? Hurry up and finish dealing with all these official matters!”
The smile in Xiao Yuan’s eyes deepened. He picked up his brush again and resumed reviewing the documents.
Peace returned to the tent. As Xiao Yuan continued writing his responses, he began quietly telling Su Muchen about the history of this land.
“Every year, flocks of wild geese migrate north and south through this region. The people along the border have a saying: ‘When the geese return to this plain, autumn has arrived in the Northern Border.’”
Whenever he spoke of the Northern Border, Xiao Yuan’s voice lost some of its usual coolness and gained a rare tenderness, as though this was the place he had guarded for so many years and the place he truly called home.
“But for hundreds of years, there has never been a border here that both sides agreed upon. Great Sheng has its own maps of its historical territories, while the Northern Di has its own divisions of grazing lands. This plain of Yan Gui has always been at the heart of the dispute.”
Su Muchen nodded silently.
He naturally understood that nomadic and agrarian civilizations had fundamentally different ideas about what constituted a “border.” It wasn’t simply a matter of deciding where to draw a line on a map. They were two worldviews that could not easily be reconciled.
Moreover, the Northern Border’s lost territories had been occupied by the Northern Di for twenty-five years. A new generation of Northern Di people had grown up regarding this land as their home. To them, it was Great Sheng that had come to seize their territory and invade them.
In the world Su Muchen originally came from, there were similarly disputed regions that had remained unresolved for more than a century.
Therefore, Xiao Yuan’s decision to establish the central command tent directly on Yan Gui Plain was itself a silent yet powerful declaration: Prince Su was about to take action against the Northern Di. Helian Cang would inevitably receive this signal, and tensions between the two sides would tighten further.
“Helian Cang will make more moves. Whatever we can think of, he’ll be able to think of as well.”
Xiao Yuan looked at Su Muchen, his expression solemn.
“I’ve fought him many times. I understand him, and he understands me. But… this time is different.”
Xiao Yuan set down his brush and reached out, gently laying his hand over Su Muchen’s.
“What he knows is the old me—the one who stood alone, without anyone to rely on. But you, and Xiao, are variables he never anticipated.”
Su Muchen met Xiao Yuan’s deep gaze and tightened his fingers around that calloused, warm hand.
“Mm. This time, let’s show him what we’re capable of.”
He spoke in a deliberately casual tone, but deep down, he knew perfectly well that there was no room for error in this great battle. Even the smallest vulnerability could bring about total defeat. He had to help Xiao Yuan keep an eye on every detail. Nothing could be allowed to go wrong.
As though something had just occurred to him, Su Muchen lowered his voice and asked, “In a place like this… can you open the ‘door’?”
Xiao Yuan shook his head.
“Opening the door inside a tent is difficult, and the door is extremely unstable. Doing so outdoors is even harder. The only time I ever managed to open it outside was when I accidentally stumbled into Guichen Studio.”
Su Muchen remembered the night they had first met. At the time, Xiao Yuan had been gravely wounded and on the verge of death. Being able to open the door then had practically been a miracle.
Now, it seemed that on this battlefield, the “door” couldn’t serve as an escape route to save their lives.
Xiao Yuan knew what Su Muchen was worried about, but what concerned him even more was Su Muchen himself. In this place, Su Muchen couldn’t even open the door of his own accord.
Xiao Yuan’s expression darkened. His fingers tightened slightly around Su Muchen’s hand, and his voice carried a dangerous note of warning.
“Muan, from now on, you must strictly follow the rules. You absolutely must not take risks on your own. Otherwise… next time, I won’t let you off as easily as I did before.”
Su Muchen’s Adam’s apple bobbed.
He was reminded of the previous “punishment,” which had left him blushing and flustered. He obediently nodded.
“Understood. I’ll follow the rules.”
He unconsciously touched his collar, beneath which Xiao Yuan’s “punishment” was hidden.
He had already embarrassed himself enough today. Knowing Xiao Yuan, there was no guarantee the next incident wouldn’t be even more mortifying.
Xiao Yuan stared at him with some suspicion.
“Really?”
“Really. Why would I lie to you?”
“Fine. I’ll believe you one more time.”