When Feng Qinghe saw the old man, the playful look on her face faded slightly, replaced by a more respectful one.
She smiled and introduced him to Gu Anqi and Ah Chen: “Perfect timing, gentlemen.
This is Mr.
Xie Daoan, the old master beside me, and also the “Stabilizing Star” of the Thirteen Alliances.
Her tone was casual, but the words “Stabilizing Star” already revealed the old man’s pivotal position in the Thirteen Alliances.
Xie Daoan smiled and bowed to Gu Anqi and Ah Chen, his attitude humble: “I am Xie Daoan; greetings to Mr.
Gu and Brother Ah Chen.
I have long admired your names, and it is an honor to meet you today.” When his gaze swept over Gu Anqi and Achen, it was with the gentle scrutiny of an elder.
Gu Anqi quickly bowed and replied, “Mr.
Xie, you are too kind.
I am Gu Anqi, a junior, and I do not deserve such praise.” Achen simply nodded slightly as a greeting, but his sharp gaze lingered on Xie Daoan for a moment.
This old man gave him a sense of a deep pool, seemingly calm but with an unknown depth.
Feng Qinghe stopped exchanging pleasantries, clapped her hands, and a personal guard presented her with a sandalwood box, the lid of which was carved with simple cloud patterns.
“It’s almost the end of the year, and according to the old custom, it’s time for the patrols to check on the preparations for the New Year in each city.” As she spoke, she opened the wooden box, inside which were thirteen identical, rolled-up little slips of paper.
“Come, come, let’s see how lucky we are this year.
Which city should we start our patrol from?” She pushed the box forward and glanced at the people in the tent, including Xie Daoan, Gu Anqi, Ah Chen, and several core generals such as Hongzhu who had come in after hearing the news.
“Same as always, each of us grabs one.
Whichever city we grab, that’s where we’ll start.” Everyone stepped forward as instructed and took turns drawing a paper roll from the box.
The atmosphere became somewhat subtle.
This seemingly childish lottery seemed to have a deeper meaning for Feng Qinghe.
Gu Anqi unfolded his scroll, which had the number “5” written on it.
Achen opened his palm, revealing an “eleven.
“Hongzhu drew a “two.” Finally, Feng Qinghe also randomly picked one, unfolded it, and with a slight smile, showed the paper to everyone—it was an “eight.” “Good, not bad luck, the Eighth City.” Feng Qinghe tossed the note back into the box.
“Pass down the order: set off tomorrow to patrol the Eighth City.” She then looked at Gu Anqi, her tone carrying an unquestionable authority: “Mr.
Gu, this patrol has been arduous, and it’s inevitable that some soldiers and civilians will fall ill.
Your medical skills will come in handy.
Mr.
Xie is familiar with the customs and stories of various cities.
The two of you should get to know each other better so you can look out for each other on the road and avoid getting bored.” These words, seemingly caring, actually bound Gu Anqi to this key strategist.
Gu Anqi understood and replied with a smile: “Commander Feng has considered everything carefully.
I will certainly consult with Mr.
Xie more.” Feng Qinghe nodded in satisfaction, her gaze falling on Achen.
A provocative, lazy smile reappeared on her face.
She even strolled over to Achen’s side, extended her index finger, and lightly flicked the ancient scabbard that he never parted with, producing a soft “clang” sound.
“As for Brother Ah Chen…” she drawled, her eyes sharp, “Get your knife ready.
At the end of the year, all sorts of demons and monsters are most active.
Who knows…
there might be some fools who want to test the strength of my Thirteen Alliance’s knife.” Ah Chen remained expressionless, but his grip on the knife tightened slightly, and a fleeting glint of fighting spirit flashed in his eyes.
He didn’t need an answer; his actions spoke volumes.
Xie Daoan observed all of this, stroking his beard and smiling, his eyes deep and thoughtful.
Patrolling the eight cities may seem like a routine task, but with the addition of this unfathomable strategist and Feng Qinghe’s meaningful reminder before her departure, this journey is destined to be anything but peaceful.
The city walls of the Eighth City cast long shadows in the afterglow of the setting sun.
Feng Qinghe’s inspection that day was like a gust of wind sweeping away winter leaves, carrying away every bit of slackness and discord.
From the moment she stepped through the city gate, her steps never stopped.
“Who adjusted the elevation angle of this ballista?” Feng Qinghe stopped beside a ballista and tapped the mechanism lightly with her finger.
The city’s garrison commander, Wang Huan, hurriedly stepped forward, his Adam’s apple bobbing: “Reporting to Commander Feng, it’s set up according to…
according to old precedent…” “The old practice?” Feng Qinghe’s voice was not loud, but it made Wang Huan’s scalp tighten.
“The terrain outside the city has changed since last autumn’s flood.
The old practice has lowered the angle of elevation by an inch.
With that inch, the arrow’s landing point will be ten paces off, enough for the enemy vanguard to rush across half the trench.
Change it back.” “Yes!
This subordinate will summon someone immediately…” “Now,” Feng Qinghe interrupted him, her gaze already shifting to the next position, “you make the adjustment.
I’ll be watching.” Reaching a crenellation, she reached out and stopped a young soldier who was about to salute, hooking his breastplate strap with her fingertip.
“The strap is loose.” Her tone was calm, but it made the soldier’s face turn pale instantly.
“If the enemy attacks now, an arrow hitting this spot will penetrate three-tenths of the way, putting you in greater danger.
Retighten it!” Sweat beaded on Wang Huan’s forehead as he stepped forward: “Commander Feng, it’s my fault for not supervising properly…” “Is his life something your supervisor can take responsibility for?” Feng Qinghe glanced at him sideways.
“He accepted five strokes of the military rod, a dereliction of duty on his part.
He deserves ten strokes for not taking responsibility for his own life.
Now, tighten the reins!” Outside the granary, she grabbed a handful of lime spread in the corner and rubbed it in her palm.
“General Wang,” she spread her hand, fine white powder slipping through her fingers, “moisture-proof lime, spread to this thickness, how many days do you think it will last?” Wang Huan’s lips were dry: “It…it should last for half a month…” “Three days.” Feng Qinghe brushed the dust off his hands, his tone resolute.
“This place is near water, and the night dew is heavy.
After three days, the lime will be saturated with moisture, its effectiveness will be halved, and the grain bags at the bottom of the warehouse will begin to mold, doubling in thickness.
Another ventilation duct will be opened in the outer wall.
I will conduct a follow-up inspection before noon tomorrow.” “Your humble servant obeys!” Wang Huan practically forced the words out of his throat.
Reprimands, orders to rectify, and the sounds of military beatings being carried out on the spot echoed throughout the day.
Wang Huan, the city’s garrison commander, followed behind Feng Qinghe, his armor soaked with sweat, his face deathly pale, barely daring to breathe.
The entire Eighth City had been thoroughly purged from top to bottom by this female commander in a single day, scraping away a layer of “rust.” The air seemed to grow heavier, yet it also faintly exuded a sharp, honed edge.
As the sun set and the lanterns were lit, Feng Qinghe finally stepped into the private room of Zuixianlou, which had been cleared out and was waiting for her.
She removed her dusty cloak and tossed it to her personal guard, revealing the unchanging soft armor beneath.
Her face showed obvious fatigue, but her eyes remained bright and alert.
She walked straight to the main seat, sat down, let out a long sigh, and smiled at Gu Anqi and Xie Daoan, who entered after her: “Finally, I can sit down and catch my breath.
My lips are practically worn out from talking all day.
Someone bring out the dishes and heat up a few more pots of good wine!” Feng Qinghe’s tone was much more relaxed, carrying the relief of having accomplished something major.
Gu Anqi sat down with a smile, his movements still composed.
However, as observant as he was, he could see the lingering weariness between Feng Qinghe’s brows.
He said gently, “Commander Feng has worked hard, and the reorganization of defenses is related to the safety of the entire city.
It cannot be taken lightly.” Xie Dao comforted Xu and said with a smile, “Commander Feng is decisive and efficient.
After this reorganization, the defense of the Eighth City should be as solid as a rock.
When I passed by the city, I saw the soldiers who were punished today.
Although they were afraid, they had no complaints.
On the contrary, there was a look of determination in their eyes.
This is because Commander Feng is good at managing his subordinates.” Ah Chen entered last, silently choosing a seat by the window, arms crossed, gazing at the deepening night outside, as if the daytime hustle and bustle had nothing to do with him.
Only when the waiter brought the steaming food and wine did his nostrils twitch slightly.
The table was quickly filled with dishes: roasted whole lamb, hand-pulled mutton, and various wild game, the aroma filling the air with the rugged flavor of the frontier.
The liquor was the local famous strong liquor “Shaochun,” which, though not as strong as “Shaodaozi,” had a powerful aftereffect.
Feng Qinghe personally poured wine for everyone, then raised her glass and said, “Come on, you’ve had a hard day; let’s fill our stomachs first.
The roasted lamb leg in the Eighth City is absolutely delicious, so don’t be shy!” She took the lead, raised her glass, and drank it all in one gulp with a bold gesture.
After a few drinks, the atmosphere became more lively.
Feng Qinghe seemed to relax completely and even started teasing the crossbowman captain who had been punished the most severely that day.
She imitated his flushed face and stammering explanation, which made Xie Daoan stroke his beard and chuckle.
Even Gu Anqi’s eyes were filled with laughter.
Although Ah Chen remained silent, the food and wine in front of him were being consumed quite quickly.
After several rounds of drinks, Feng Qinghe used a dagger to cut off a piece of tender lamb leg, put it in her mouth, and chewed slowly.
Her gaze swept across the myriad lights of the Eighth City outside the window, and she suddenly sighed softly, her tone carrying a subtle complexity: “Sometimes, I really wish I could just have a peaceful New Year’s Eve dinner like an ordinary person, without having to think about which section of the city wall needs to be reinforced or which pass might be in danger of the enemy.” The voice was very soft, as if talking to oneself.
The private room fell silent instantly.
Gu Anqi’s expression froze, Xie Daoan’s eyes flashed with a penetrating wisdom, and Ah Chen’s gaze, which had been looking out the window, returned to Feng Qinghe’s profile.
But only for a moment.
Feng Qinghe shook her head, as if shaking off that trace of weakness, and her face once again revealed that all-controlling, slightly unruly smile.
She even tapped the plate in front of Achen with her dagger, making a crisp sound.
“Hey, Ah Chen, what are you daydreaming about?
Eat some meat!
I’ll need you to keep an eye on things tomorrow.
I noticed those kids in the west of the city weren’t behaving themselves today.” Ah Chen glanced at her coldly, without saying a word, but reached out and tore off a larger piece of mutton.