Gu Anqi and Achen were assigned to a tent very close to Feng Qinghe’s camp.
The tent was small and simply furnished, with two camp beds and a tallow lamp casting a dim, yellowish light.
The tent was filled with the lingering smell of leather and dust, completely different from the faint medicinal and ink scents that wafted from the nearby command tent, which belonged to Feng Qinghe.
This was the pure atmosphere of a military camp.
The curtains fell, shutting out the outside world.
The world seemed to be instantly compressed into this small space, leaving only the two of them and the heavy, almost audible silence.
Gu Anqi walked to the simple wooden table, picked up the rough pottery pot on the table, and poured two cups of water, and the sound of the water flowing was particularly clear in the silence.
He pushed one of the cups to the other side of the table, then picked up the other cup and slowly sipped it, his gaze falling on the flickering lamp flame, as if he were examining everything that had happened that day through the flame.
Ah Chen didn’t touch the glass of water.
He stood with his arms crossed, his back to Gu Anqi, inside the tent entrance, like a frozen statue of a guard, or as if he were sensing everything outside the tent with his entire body—the footsteps of distant patrolmen, the fluttering of banners in the wind, and even the faint, almost non-existent breathing from the commander’s tent further away.
His back was straight, his muscles taut, like a fully drawn bowstring.
After a long silence, Gu Anqi spoke first, his voice very soft, as if afraid of disturbing the tense atmosphere: “Those generals…” Gu Anqi’s voice was filled with a complex sigh.
“In the Battle of Qingshan Cliff, she had already made up her mind.
Asking for advice was a pretense.
Her real intention was to use the words of the crowd to lay out all the possibilities and concerns of all parties in the open.
The final deployment was intricately linked, intended not only for the generals but also… for us.” He was telling Achen, and also himself, that Feng Qinghe’s decision to place them in the command tent and let them witness all of this was by no means unintentional.
It was a trust that was extremely risky and also a more severe form of bondage and testing.
The warning, “Keep it to yourself until you die,” now tasted bloody.
Ah Chen finally moved.
He slowly turned around, the dim light illuminating his sharply defined profile.
His eyes held no emotion, only a bottomless, icy pool reflecting the flickering firelight.
“She knows we’re trouble.” Achen’s voice was low and hoarse, with a metallic quality, stating a fact.
His words were concise yet to the point: Feng Qinghe’s taking them in was not only protection but also a catalyst for trouble.
What she displayed today was both a demonstration of her power and a warning—they were safe within her control; if they tried to escape her control or cause her unbearable trouble, their fate would be no better than that of the captain who crawled out.
Gu Anqi gently put down the water glass, his fingertips unconsciously stroking the rough rim.
“Yes…” He let out a soft sigh, his eyes showing weariness but more so a resigned clarity.
“These Thirteen Alliances are both a safe haven and… a den of dragons and tigers.” He looked at Achen, his tone returning to its usual gentleness, yet carrying an undeniable firmness: “Achen, from the moment we stepped into this camp, we had no way back.
At least for now, traveling with her is the only option.” Ah Chen gave a cold snort, which was taken as tacit agreement.
He walked to his camp cot, lay down fully clothed, faced the tent wall, and closed his eyes.
However, the aura emanating from him was more vigilant than when he was awake, like a beast in a slumber, ready to erupt at the slightest disturbance.
Gu Anqi blew out the oil lamp, plunging the tent into darkness.
Only the two of them breathed softly, their voices mingling with the dust and leather smell in the air.
On the edge of this absolute territory belonging to Feng Qinghe, two men, caught in the crossfire of fate, forged a silent, fragile alliance within the cramped tent.
Whether the road ahead held fortune or misfortune, no one knew, but they both understood that from this moment on, every step must be taken with extreme caution.
Outside the tent, the northern wind howled, whipping up sand and lashing against the tent like countless whispered probing voices.
At midnight, the army had long since rested in their tents.
Feng Qinghe quietly invited Gu Anqi and Achen into the tent.
No lamps were lit inside; only a few rays of cold moonlight filtered through the tent flaps, barely outlining their silhouettes.
The air still carried the lingering scents of ink and medicine from the daytime meetings, adding to the chill and secrecy of the late night.
As Gu Anqi and Achen were silently led in by their personal guards, Feng Qinghe stood in the tent with her back to them.
In front of her knelt a slender woman whose head was covered tightly with rough hemp cloth.
Even with her head covered, the woman’s posture exuded an unusual submissiveness and resolve.
Hearing footsteps, Feng Qinghe slowly turned around.
The moonlight illuminated half of her face, and her expression was unclear in the darkness.
Only her eyes shone brightly, carrying an undeniable chilling aura.
“Mr.
Gu, Brother Achen, I apologize for disturbing you so late at night.” Her voice was very low, but could be clearly heard in the quiet tent.
“There is a thorny matter that needs to be dealt with immediately.” Her gaze fell directly on Ah Chen, skipping all pleasantries and explanations, and she got straight to the point: “Brother Ah Chen, I would like to ask you to help me send someone away, avoiding everyone—my personal guards, sentries, spies, everyone—to a designated location.” She paused, her tone becoming more serious, with an almost cold emphasis, “During the process, I hope you will not see this girl’s true face.” This demand was extremely harsh, almost unreasonable.
It required not only absolute secrecy but also absolute “ignorance,” making Achen a purely blindfolded blade.
Ah Chen stood in the shadows, his figure almost blending into the darkness.
He didn’t answer immediately, his gaze sweeping over the hooded, trembling woman before returning to Feng Qinghe’s face.
The tent was so quiet that the footsteps of patrolling soldiers could be heard from a great distance outside.
A few breaths later, just when Gu Anqi thought Achen would refuse, he squeezed out a short, sharp syllable from his throat: “Can.” There were no questions, no conditions, only absolute agreement.
Upon hearing the sound, the hooded woman immediately kowtowed heavily in Feng Qinghe’s direction.
Her voice, choked with sobs yet filled with unwavering determination, came through the burlap: “Your subordinate…
swears to complete the mission to the death!
I will never fail Commander Feng’s trust!” Feng Qinghe stepped forward, bent down, and personally helped the woman up.
In the moonlight, her movements were unusually gentle.
She leaned close to the hooded woman, her voice low but clear, carrying a heavy entrustment: “Remember, when you’re alone in Oirat, be careful in everything you do.
It’s okay if the mission fails; I can send someone else.
But you only have one life, so come back safe and sound.” These words didn’t sound like a commander speaking to a subordinate; they sounded more like an elder sister admonishing a younger sister.
The woman visibly trembled and responded softly, “Yes.” Feng Qinghe straightened up, no longer looking at the woman, and instead simply told Achen a place name and the secret code for the rendezvous.
The place was located deep within the territory of the Oirat Mongols and was extremely dangerous.
After listening, Ah Chen said nothing more but stepped forward and accurately grabbed the woman’s arm.
The movement was not gentle, but it was firm enough.
“Go.” He gave a low shout, and with the woman, they slipped out of the command tent like ghosts, disappearing into the deep night without alerting any of the sentries.
Inside the tent, only Gu Anqi and Feng Qinghe remained, along with the seemingly frozen darkness.
Gu Anqi stood silently, his heart churning with turmoil: Was Feng Qinghe’s behavior tonight a test of Achen’s loyalty and ability?
Or was there truly an extremely urgent, top-secret mission that necessitated the use of someone like Achen and the need to ensure secrecy in such a decisive manner?
Who was that woman?
And what was the mission?
Feng Qinghe offered no explanation.
She stood silently, her gaze still fixed on the direction of the tent flap where Achen had disappeared, as if it could pierce through the thick felt carpet and trace the shadow that had blended into the night.
After a long while, she slowly turned around to face Gu Anqi.
In the darkness, her silhouette appeared somewhat blurred, but her eyes remained sharp, seemingly able to see through people’s hearts.
“Mr.
Gu, do you think it’s a bit inhumane of me to have that girl wear a hood and not let Achen see her true face?” She suddenly spoke, her voice exceptionally clear in the silence, calm and composed, as if stating a fact.
Gu Anqi bowed slightly, his tone calm: “Commander Feng’s actions must have a deeper meaning.” Feng Qinghe gave a soft hum, the tone unreadable, whether it was laughter or something else.
She walked to the table, her fingers unconsciously tracing the surface.
“It’s not a deeper meaning; it’s a rule, a lesson learned in blood.” She stopped, looking up at Gu Anqi, her gaze sharp.
“When carrying out this kind of mission, apart from a very few core members, all others who come into contact with the enemy must not see their true face.
This is an ironclad rule, a rigid rule that has been in place in the spy profession throughout history.” Her words carried an unquestionable authority and a heavy tone.
“Why?” she asked herself, her voice lowering slightly.
“Because people’s hearts are unpredictable and torture is unbearable.
The more people who see her face today, the greater the risk that her identity will be exposed and she will meet with misfortune in the future.
Sometimes it’s not about how powerful the enemy is, but about how our own people…
can’t withstand it.
The fewer people who see her, the safer she will be, and the greater the chance of the mission succeeding.” She paused, her tone turning cruelly indifferent: “Therefore, Achen cannot see, and neither can anyone he might come into contact with during the escort.
The less they know, the longer they live, which is better for everyone.” These words were less of an explanation to Gu Anqi and more of a silent declaration and warning.
She was telling Gu Anqi that the rules in the realm she controlled were absolute, with missions and survival as the highest principles, allowing no room for sentimentality or luck.
At the same time, she was also reminding Gu Anqi that he had now stepped into this realm, seen what he shouldn’t have seen, and heard what he shouldn’t have heard, so he had to abide by the rules here.
Gu Anqi listened quietly, his face expressionless, only nodding slightly: “Anqi has learned something.” He understood that Feng Qinghe was informing him of the cruel rules of covert operations and was also reiterating the prohibition of “keeping it to oneself until death.” She trusted their abilities to get things done but also drew a line in the most direct way.
Feng Qinghe looked at his calm reaction, a hint of satisfaction flashing in her eyes.
She then waved her hand, her tone returning to its usual indifference: “It’s late, Mr.
Gu, you should go back and rest.
Nothing happened tonight.” “Yes, Commander Feng, please rest early as well.” Gu Anqi bowed and calmly withdrew from the command tent.
Outside the tent, the night wind grew colder.
Gu Anqi looked up at the lonely moon, his heart as clear as a mirror.
Feng Qinghe’s world was more complex and cruel than he had imagined, and he and Achen were already trapped in it, each step as if they were walking on thin ice, facing an abyss.
Ah Chen completed the escort mission that night with astonishing efficiency, almost without a trace.
Before dawn, he had returned to the outpost like a ghost, carrying the chill of a northern night, yet his eyes remained calm and undisturbed, as if he had merely gone for a walk.
He remained silent about the details of the mission, and Gu Anqi never inquired.
There was an unspoken understanding between them; regarding that night, regarding the veiled woman, it was as if nothing had happened.