The central command tent glowed warmly, braziers lit and lamps burning.
As attentive as her elder sister Chen Danyan, Li Liang had already prepared ginger soup, along with two maids and a matron, borrowed from wealthy households in town.
With their help, Chen Danzhu bathed and changed into fresh clothes, also borrowed from those affluent homes. Her hair, however, was not dried by Li Liang. Though he had done so when she was a child—back when he married Chen Danyan at eighteen, and she was only eight. At that time, she was used to sleeping beside her sister, and even after the marriage, she insisted on staying with them, only breaking the habit a year later. Li Liang often joked that he had gotten an early taste of fatherhood.
“Our Ah Zhu has grown up,” Li Liang said with a smile, watching the maids dry her hair. “To think you could travel so far on your own.”
Chen Danzhu finished her ginger soup and told the maid, “Boil the medicine I brought.”
The army physician had already examined her. She was not ill, only weakened from the long journey through wind and rain. Medicine was optional—rest was the key. Normally, she disliked taking medicine, but this time she had sought it out herself, proof of how unwell she truly felt. Li Liang nodded to the maid. She picked up the packet of herbs Chen Danzhu had set aside—already mixed together when she distracted the doctor at the pharmacy. “Separate these,” Chen Danzhu instructed. “Half to be boiled, the rest for incense—it calms the spirit.”
The young girl had her own ideas. Li Liang chuckled and signaled agreement. The maids opened a bronze censer and scattered half the herbs onto the coals. Smoke curled upward, fragrant but not overpowering.
“Miss, is this amount enough?” they asked.
Chen Danzhu gave a soft assent. They then arranged the bed. Li Liang’s own pallet had been moved aside; in its place stood a fine couch, a painted screen, all borrowed furnishings fit for a lady. They knew well how to prepare for female guests.
A small bed, a screen, a censer, a girl with long hair spread across the carpet—suddenly the grim military tent felt like spring.
The maids withdrew to prepare the decoction, leaving only the two of them.
“The doctor said you should eat light,” Li Liang gestured to the porridge on the table. “I know you like meat, so I had them add just a little.”
Chen Danzhu nodded, eating slowly with a spoon.
“Ah Zhu,” Li Liang said after a pause, his voice gentle, “everyone grieves for Danyang. Your father most of all. Please, be patient with him—don’t lose your temper.”
She glanced at him. “Did sister write to you?”
Li Liang shook his head. “I asked her myself, worried about you. I know you want revenge for your brother. And I believe you could fight, even as a woman. But right now, your family needs you. Caring for your father is no less than slaying hundreds of foes.”
Chen Danzhu looked at him, torn between laughter and tears. Her sister was like a mother, and Li Liang had always been like a father—kind, indulgent. As a child, she thought he understood her better than anyone, even more than her sister, who only scolded.
Who would have thought his heart so cruel? To betray them, to trample her family’s lives—especially her sister’s…
She lowered her head, unwilling to hear more empty words. Instead, she said softly, “Brother‑in‑law, sister is with child.”
Li Liang froze, then rose in shock. “Truly?”
Chen Danzhu nodded. “Yes. Three months now. She conceived before you left.”
Li Liang burst into laughter, pacing the tent in delight, babbling with joy. “Wonderful! Truly wonderful! I never imagined—”
Chen Danzhu’s gaze followed him. Outwardly, he seemed elated, but her eyes remained calm. She saw no trace of the deep, long‑awaited thrill of a man finally gaining an heir. She lowered her head, watching the fragrant smoke curl up from the brazier.
Li Liang halted and looked at Chen Danzhu. “So your elder sister sent you to bring me this good news?”
Just as Chen Danzhu was about to reply, a maid outside the tent announced that the medicine was ready. Li Liang called her in, and the words were cut off.
Chen Danzhu cradled the bowl and drank it down sip by sip. She yawned. “Brother-in-law, I’m utterly exhausted.”
Li Liang said gently, “All right, sleep well, have a good rest.” He turned to leave, but Chen Danzhu called him back.
“Brother-in-law.” She glanced around. “I’m afraid to sleep alone here. Stay and watch over me.”
Li Liang chuckled. She claimed to be bold, yet this was the first time she had ever left home.
“Very well,” he said. “I have military matters to attend to. I’ll deal with them here and keep you company.”
Only then did Chen Danzhu nod and smile.
The maid helped her lie down and withdrew. Li Liang ordered his guards to keep quiet and not disturb the young lady. Then he turned back toward the small bed behind the screen. The girl lay motionless, faint snores already rising—she truly was worn out. He smiled, dismissed the guards, and the tent fell silent.
Extinguishing the lamp, Li Liang returned to his desk. He spread out maps and documents, his brow furrowing. Why had Chen Danzhu come? Was it Chen Danyan who sent her? If she were truly pregnant, Chen Danyan, who longed for a child, would never have traveled so far. But perhaps…
Li Liang thought: between the child and himself, Chen Danyan would care more for him. Yet it was possible she had persuaded Chen Danzhu. For the sake of avenging her brother, she had insisted on coming. Entrusting this matter to her was not impossible.
Chen Danzhu was easy to sway. Stealing her father’s seal—such a task might be easier for a child than for an adult. The younger one is, the less they grasp the weight of things.
But why hadn’t she spoken? Was she truly exhausted—or did she have another plan? Where was the token? Li Liang glanced toward the screen. Should he search her?
No, it would wake her. There was no hurry. He could wait until she woke.
He drew a deep breath to steady himself, but a sudden pain clenched his chest, nearly forcing the air from him. He pressed his hand to his heart. What was happening? Slowly, he inhaled again, and all seemed normal.
Li Liang gave a wry smile. He was weary. Bowing his head over the maps, he thought of the rain that had fallen for days. Commander Zhou’s arrangements were complete; even without the military token, the campaign could begin. His heart flared hot again—Wu would be the stepping stone to his rise.
The tent was hushed, save for the occasional crackle from the brazier, the curling fragrance of medicine.
Li Liang studied intently, but as time passed, his head began to droop. He jerked upright, eyes unfocused, shook himself awake—only to sag again. After several such struggles, his head sank once more, this time not rising. Lower and lower, until with a dull thud, he collapsed upon the desk, unmoving.
On the little bed, Chen Danzhu opened her eyes. Through the ornate screen, she watched Li Liang slumped over the table. A smile touched her lips. She pressed a hand to her mouth to stifle a cough, then lowered it—her palm smeared with blood.
The two herbs burning together were so poisonous that even after drinking the antidote, she still coughed up blood.
But it was worth it. Wiping her lips, Chen Danzhu thought: Li Liang would never wake again.
In her past life, she had waited ten years to kill him. This time, she would have him die at once.