The commotion several hundred meters away quickly caught Wu Hong’s attention. He reined in his horse and focused, spotting a carriage rampaging through a crowd.
If this had happened inside the capital, the patrol soldiers would’ve already arrested the offender and dragged them to the prefect’s office.
But that carriage… looked terribly familiar…
In an instant, Wu Hong broke into a cold sweat.
“This is bad! That’s Lord Mu! Are those people assassins?”
They had barely left the city and already encountered assassins—right under his nose!
If anything happened to Lord Mu, how could he face General Yin and Elder Huang? He would be guilty beyond redemption!
He could already imagine returning to the capital within the next quarter hour with Lord Mu’s corpse, enduring the disdain and gossip of his old colleagues, and worse, the disappointment in Marshal Yin and Elder Huang’s eyes.
The former he might stomach, but the latter—how could he bear disappointing the commander he had followed through life and death on the battlefield?
But by the time he galloped over…
He saw assassins sprawled all over the place—wounded, broken, moaning on the ground—while Mu Qingbai stood atop the carriage, panting, his face ashen.
Wu Hong froze, then quickly rushed forward, “Lord Mu, are you all right?”
Mu Qingbai glanced at him with an icy gaze.
That look froze Wu Hong in place—it was the look of a general with his troops outside the city walls, full of killing intent and void of emotion.
Wu Hong licked his lips and was about to speak when—
“Urgh!!”
Mu Qingbai clutched his mouth, leapt off the carriage, stumbled two steps, and dropped to his knees vomiting violently.
Wu Hong listened as the little monk recounted everything that had just happened. He couldn’t help but admire him, “Lord Mu truly has unshakable spirit—unyielding to might, indomitable! A true model of the scholar’s character!”
When the soldiers caught up, Wu Hong immediately ordered them to escort the captured assassins back to the capital.
After vomiting, Mu Qingbai silently climbed back into the carriage and sat beside the little monk, lifelessly staring at the sky.
The little monk and Wu Hong exchanged glances.
“What’s wrong with Lord Mu?” Wu Hong asked, confused.
The little monk sighed and shook his head, “Young Master Mu is completely broken. Look, he’s expressionless now—he must be doubting himself.”
Wu Hong hurriedly encouraged him, “Lord Mu, please stay strong! You’re the Minister of Disaster Relief. You mustn’t collapse—you still have to complete the mission her majesty entrusted to you!”
Mu Qingbai suddenly jolted upright as if electrified—like that fruit fly in Mendel’s textbook, rallying in its final breath after defying the church.
“Let’s go! Sound the order! Forced march, full speed!” Get faster updates on g.com.
The two of them stared in confusion. Just like that, he was back to normal? Weren’t scholars supposed to be stubborn and stiff-minded?
He had just looked like he’d lost all will to live and was questioning his entire existence.
The little monk looked admiringly at Wu Hong, “No wonder you’re General Wu—you’re great at inspiring people!”
“Good heavens, how did I not realize I was such a good motivator?” Wu Hong exclaimed.
Mu Qingbai paid no attention. He laid back down again, closed his eyes, and pretended to be dead.
Originally, Mu Qingbai had planned for the little monk to drive the carriage full speed to the disaster zone.
But he gradually realized—between the carriage’s poor quality and his own fragile body—the pace stayed painfully slow.
Eventually, Mu Qingbai had to get off several times to vomit.
Wu Hong and his troops ended up marching faster than him.
So Mu Qingbai gave up resisting. If he couldn’t outrun them, so be it. Once they reached the disaster zone, he would dive straight into the starving masses and wait for them to rip him apart.
To prepare for this, he ordered Wu Hong to select skilled scouts from among the troops and ride ahead to the disaster area.
He told them to spread the news that the relief grains would be replaced with bran—livestock feed—so the officers managing the porridge kitchens would implement it per his instructions.
Even so, he didn’t let the little monk slow down.
The little monk glanced nervously at Mu Qingbai’s ghostly pale face, feeling increasingly unsettled.
He was terrified this 5th-rank imperial envoy would die right there in the carriage.
Even Wu Hong and his trusted men were moved by the sight.
In their hearts, they were in awe. Lord Mu was a good official.
To reach the disaster zone quickly and save the people, he was willing to completely ignore his own health.
Though Mu Qingbai looked awful, his mood improved the closer they got to the disaster area.
So he started chatting with the little monk to distract himself from the miserable roads and horrible suspension.
He spoke of that cursed monkey, of that damned driver, of disaster relief logistics, and detailed countless historical battles.
Before long, even Wu Hong joined in to listen.
Wu Hong found it fascinating. Mu Qingbai looked like a frail scholar—and indeed, he was so weak he vomited three times a day just from riding in a carriage.
Even if “armchair strategist” wasn’t a compliment, for a scholar, it was already impressive.
Yet as he kept listening, and as Mu Qingbai mentioned one obscure battle after another, Wu Hong began to realize something was off.
This wasn’t just basic military theory.
If he hadn’t seen Mu Qingbai’s pathetic physical condition for himself, he would’ve thought he was a seasoned commander with years of experience in warfare!
The little monk, meanwhile, was shaken. He cautiously asked, “Young Master Mu, did you really say you’re going into the disaster zone yourself, to see the people firsthand?”
Mu Qingbai snapped his fingers, “Exactly!”
The monk shivered, “And you said you’re switching the relief food to bran mixed with coarse flour?”
“Correct!”
The little monk trembled, face grim, “Is it still too late for me to get off the carriage?”
Mu Qingbai slung an arm around his neck, “Monk, for someone with such a delicate face, why are you so timid?”
The monk quickly peeled his arm away, “Young Master Mu, are you really not afraid of dying?”
Wu Hong also looked worried. “Lord Mu, the monk’s right! This is too dangerous!”
Mu Qingbai said calmly, “I want to see every single edible grain go into the mouths of the victims—not the pockets of those beasts who don’t treat them as human beings!”
The monk argued, “But Young Master Mu, in the eyes of the victims, you might be the one treating them like animals. You gave the order to cut the rations. You’re the imperial envoy for disaster relief…”
Mu Qingbai interrupted, “I know! But it doesn’t matter!”
Both the monk and Wu Hong stared at him in stunned silence.
“I may not see them as equals, but at least they’ll survive.”
“If the people can’t survive, this empire has no future!”
The monk was silent for a moment, then muttered miserably, “But I still don’t dare go. Young Master Mu, you haven’t lost your mind again, have you?”
Mu Qingbai patted his shoulder, “Monk, I think you’re someone destined for greatness!”
The monk quickly waved it off, “I’m just a brothel-hopper! I’m no man of destiny!”
“No!”
Mu Qingbai stared at him solemnly.
“You are a man destined for greatness. Whether you were in the past doesn’t matter.”
The monk blinked, confused, “Then what does matter?”
“What matters is that in the future—you will be a man who does great things!”