Shuanglian’s eyes were misty. When the soldier reached to close the wooden cage’s lid, she obediently lowered her head.
The soldier called out toward the central tent: “Commander! We caught a suspicious Clam Spirit! Hiding under the grain cart!”
An adorable Clam Spirit? Nezha halted mid-stride, turned, and looked.
Commander Jiang Ziya ran out first, sizing up Shuanglian. She sat in the wooden cage, covered in dust. Seeing others staring at her, she timidly shrank back.
She didn’t look like a formidable character.
Shuanglian explained without any confidence: “I… I was hungry…”
In truth, she had suddenly fallen here, didn’t know where to go, and couldn’t use her Immortal Power. So she just hid first.
The soldiers on the left parted to make way. Jiang Ziya saw Nezha approaching, spear in hand, as if heading back to his tent—yet his eyes remained fixed on the little demon before him, never leaving, staring straight at her as if beholding something novel.
Jiang Ziya: “Nezha, can you tell anything?”
Nezha’s eyes stared at the Little Clam Spirit’s face. The Little Clam Spirit shrank her neck, using her rope-bound hands to cover her face.
“Just a little demon.” He withdrew his gaze nonchalantly, shook his head, the red cords of his twin buns swaying. The vertical line between his brows contrasted with his upturned eyes, like painted rouge. Nezha looked away, lowering his head to wipe his Fire-Tipped Spear. “Don’t mind me, Uncle-Master. Continue.”
That was what he said. But Nezha stood there—not leaving, not avoiding. His back leaned against a tree, loose strands of hair scattered across his forehead.
Jiang Ziya reached out his hand, about to probe her Spiritual Power. Nezha moved with lightning speed, grabbing Jiang Ziya’s wrist.
Nezha was the top fierce general of the Zhou camp; Jiang Ziya was frail and scholarly, his old bones could shatter at a touch. Jiang Ziya couldn’t move: “Nezha…”
Nezha looked at him: “Perhaps she’s a spy sent by the Shang army. Uncle-Master, don’t approach her—there may be treachery.”
Jiang Ziya found this reasonable: “Then what do you suggest?”
Nezha released his hand. Shuanglian in the wooden cage lowered her hands from her eyes, peeking out timidly.
Having been married to Nezha for a long time, Shuanglian instinctively wanted to call out “husband” twice and ask him to let her go. But this person before her appeared more youthful, lacking divinity, with even less humanity. This was the warrior from Investiture of the Gods who spoke sharply and constantly shouted “Dare to mess with me, and I’ll beat you to death”—without a care in the world.
She silently closed her mouth. Nezha said to Jiang Ziya: “After all, she’s a demon. Keep her here and see. If we let her out and she causes trouble outside, it’ll be hard to handle.”
Jiang Ziya nodded. But there were very few female officers in the Western Qi camp. Princess Longji and Deng Chanyu were both married, living with their husbands. Could this delicate, fair-skinned Clam Spirit really stay with the burly men?
He summoned a soldier: “Find her a separate place to stay. Don’t arrange her among those men…”
“She’ll stay with me.” Nezha spoke first, sounding quite serious. “I’m just a child.”
Jiang Ziya: ? He’d truly seen everything now.
Shuanglian finally couldn’t hold back: “General, aren’t you worried I’m a spy sent by the Shang army? What if I harm you?”
The Zhou camp’s people’s expressions shifted slightly at the mention of Nezha being ambushed by Yu Hua. When Nezha’s gaze swept over, Jiang Ziya, Yang Jian, and the others averted their faces.
Nezha opened the wooden cage and said to her: “I’ll watch over you. Nothing will go wrong.”
His words were high-sounding. But Jiang Ziya had lived for many years—he immediately understood seven or eight parts of it. He looked at Shuanglian, who was raising her eyes, gazing intently at Nezha. There was no disgust or fear in her eyes. Nezha, in turn, slightly turned his body, avoiding Shuanglian’s gaze.
Yang Jian wanted to dissuade him, but he knew Nezha’s temper.
Jiang Ziya subtly blocked Yang Jian’s hand, bent down, and asked Shuanglian gently: “Young lady, would you be willing?”
Shuanglian nodded. She had crouched too long; her legs had gone numb. Seeing Nezha’s hand resting on the edge of the wooden cage, she casually grabbed his wrist for support to stand up. She felt a little unhappy inside—Nezha didn’t even think to help her up. When they’d been together long enough and she’d made a fuss, he knew to carry her when going to bathe.
Just as she stood, Shuanglian noticed the person beneath her hand had gone stiff, frozen still. Only then did she remember—this Nezha was not that Nezha. Shuanglian withdrew her hand, and instead he grabbed her wrist.
Nezha’s hands were elegantly formed, yet carried thin calluses, and his strength was astonishing. He pulled her up. After pulling her to her feet, he reached for her collar, lifting her up to take a look.
Shuanglian pouted, kicking her legs helplessly: “Little general.”
Nezha released her, then turned to grab her hand, leading her toward his tent.
Nezha’s tent wasn’t far, with ample space—more than enough for one person. He gave her two blankets, and Shuanglian set up a makeshift bed.
She could have actually transformed back into her original form to sleep. But looking at his expression, Shuanglian swallowed those words and continued making her bed.
Nezha left once, and before going, only glanced at the dusty Shuanglian. The youth looked down from his height and left with the words: “Wash yourself clean. You look filthy and it’s an eyesore.”
Having entered the Zhou camp, she had to do something. Everyone tacitly assumed she was following Nezha, meant to serve the vanguard officer, so no work was assigned to her.
Shuanglian went to the kitchen to help boil some hot water, also asked for some, and had people help carry it to the entrance of Nezha’s tent.
When she returned, Nezha had just come back as well. Having trained all day, he asked breathlessly: “What is it?”
Shuanglian: “I don’t know where to go bathe. It’s all big men outside.”
Indeed, the camp was mostly men—it really was inconvenient. Nezha tossed her a thin rope and a strip of wide cloth.
Nezha: “Do it in here. I’ll block it off. I won’t look.”
Shuanglian placed the wooden tub in the corner of the tent, using the rope and wide cloth to fashion a curtain, just barely screening off herself and the bathing tub.
Nezha set down his weapons on the weapon rack and carefully inventoried them. Behind him came a rustling sound that disturbed his thoughts.
The Clam Spirit obediently took the items given to her, including a set of clothes, then pulled the curtain closed and began to bathe.
Her pink garments came off one by one—outer robe, skirt, undergarment… each hung on the thin rope in sequence, the other half of the curtain draping down in front of Nezha.
Heavenly court clothes were ornate, and Shuanglian had dressed up beautifully today to visit little Nezha, wearing many layers.
Nezha watched the clothes appear one after another, knowing what would come next. He didn’t understand the boundaries between men and women—he only knew that men and women should live separately. But Shuanglian had held him as a baby, and he’d seen everything. So this was different, wasn’t it?
Behind the curtain, Shuanglian’s skin was delicate, and she needed to wash carefully. She untied the ribbon of her bellyband, but before she could remove it, a hand reached over her shoulder, fingers pinching lightly, and whisked away the red fabric.
Shuanglian felt a chill across her chest: “Little general, what are you doing with my bellyband?”
“It’s just a bellyband. No need to rush, it’s not like I won’t return it.” Nezha touched it, his fingers brushing over the embroidered peonies. “It has your body warmth?”
Nezha brought it to his nose and sniffed. It smelled fragrant—the lotus scent on her body was somewhat similar to his own.
Shuanglian pleaded: “Give it back to me. It’s useless for you to keep it, little general.”
“When you held me, I was wearing a bellyband too.”
Nezha weighed it in his hand, found it pretty, and confiscated it. He could keep it for himself when he was younger.
Shuanglian was stunned, hugging her knees in the bath: “So you do remember.”
Nezha asked again: “Who was it that took you away? Who could bear to let you go alone?”
“…My husband.” Shuanglian cupped water in both hands and let it pour over her shoulders. She finished washing quickly, not answering the latter question. In Nezha’s eyes, everything took on a different meaning.
Someone from the Shang army—her husband was also one of them. …Their relationship wasn’t good, was it? Otherwise, how could a husband bear to let his wife enter a military camp alone?
Shuanglian dried herself off. With no clothes to wear, she put on her own inner garment underneath and Nezha’s clean clothes on top, then pushed aside the curtain.
Nezha toyed with the red ribbon between his fingertips, looking up at Shuanglian with a child’s cruel tone: “Your husband’s dead, isn’t he? You’re a widow?”
Shuanglian frowned and quickly shook her head. “He’s not dead.”
The air went still.
“Oh.” Nezha’s tall figure cast a long shadow in the candlelight. Expressionless, he folded the red bellyband neatly and tucked it into his robes.
“A general in the Shang army? When we reach the battlefield, point him out to me.”
Shuanglian thought he wanted to help reunite her with her husband. She couldn’t explain otherwise, so she nodded. “I’ll point him out for you.”
Nezha tucked the red bellyband deeper into his clothes, looking pleased: “I’ll beat him to death.”
Nezha felt she didn’t recognize him now, or perhaps she’d forgotten. He shook his head, the motion matching his twin buns, looking utterly adorable: “I am Nezha, reincarnation of the Spirit Pearl, disciple of Taiyi Zhenren of Mount Qianyuan. Do not underestimate me.”