” Some time later, the north wind at the border was no longer so fierce.
One afternoon, a servant respectfully came to announce that Commander Feng had returned to the mansion and invited Mr.
Gu and Young Master Chen to the study for a chat.
Gu Anqi and Achen exchanged a glance and followed the servants as instructed.
They passed through several simple yet meticulously guarded courtyards and arrived at a heavily guarded compound.
Stepping into the study, they immediately sensed a different atmosphere—it was less a study and more a miniature military headquarters.
The walls were covered with detailed maps of the border regions and even beyond, clearly marking the terrain, passes, and troop strength.
Several sand tables in the center depicted the topography of different areas, interspersed with small flags representing various forces.
The room was bustling with activity; several guards were carrying heavy boxes in and out, their steps steady, the atmosphere solemn.
The moment he stepped into the room, Gu Anqi caught a sharp glimpse out of the corner of his eye of the two boxes that had just been carried out.
The boxes bore brand-new seals, the ink still thick and wet, reflecting the light streaming through the windowpanes.
A box of letters—Gu Xunfeng.
The inscription on the other box reads “Yan Jingchen.” Gu Anqi paused slightly, her gentle and humble smile, characteristic of “Gu Anqi,” still perfectly present, as if merely affected by the somber atmosphere in the study.
However, a chilling feeling suddenly swept through her heart, quickly replaced by a sense of “I knew it.” Gu Xunfeng… Yan Jingchen… She not only knew but had already investigated thoroughly, categorizing and archiving everything.
What exactly was contained in these boxes?
Was it all the past documents and evidence, the connections between the martial world and the imperial court, or… something deeper?
His mind raced, but his face remained impassive.
His gaze casually swept over the two boxes as if they were any insignificant object in the room before he calmly looked into the depths of the study, awaiting the appearance of its master.
Achen, standing beside him, reacted even more directly and coldly.
His gaze lingered on those two names for less than a moment before, like a hawk locking onto its prey, closely following the trajectory of the box being carried away.
The aura that had been restrained around him suddenly became sharp and cold, like a sword drawn half an inch from its sheath in an instant.
Only after the box disappeared around the corner of the corridor did he slowly withdraw his gaze, exchanging a very brief glance with Gu Anqi.
Without a word, they both saw the clear solemnity in each other’s eyes.
This was no longer a hint but an almost explicit showdown.
Feng Qinghe calmly told them in this seemingly “unintentional” yet absolutely deliberate way: I know everything about your origins, your old names, and even your deeper secrets.
At this moment, a subtle yet clear consensus was silently established among the three of them—she knew who they were but did not intend to expose the thin veil between them; they also understood that she already knew, but there was no need for further futile concealment or confession.
This was a peculiar “tacit understanding” built on the foundation of overwhelming strength and intelligence, a balance of “I know who you are, but allow you to exist under a new name; you know that I already know, but you can enjoy this peace for now.” However, beneath this balance lay an unfathomable power of control, and the unknown weight hanging overhead was represented by those two boxes.
Gu Anqi wondered to himself: Was Feng Qinghe giving a light tap, a confident warning, or a beginning with a deeper meaning?
The study was filled with somber maps and densely packed sand tables, as if they were entering a new game of chess, far more complex than a simple refuge.
At that moment, Feng Qinghe was engrossed in writing at her desk, not even raising her head.
She simply waved her hand casually, indicating that they should sit down first.
The documents on her desk were piled up like a mountain, but she wrote with lightning speed.
Her brows showed fatigue, yet they appeared even sharper.
A moment later, she put down her pen, rubbed her temples, and then looked up at the two of them with a slightly apologetic smile: “I’ve been busy with trivial matters and have kept you waiting.
Please sit down and try the newly arrived Snow Peak Green Tea.” As soon as the tea was served, the steward Xin Shou hurried in, looking troubled: “Commander Feng, Mr.
Xie has submitted another proposal, still insisting that naming the city with numbers is inelegant, and earnestly requesting that you grant permission to propose a new name for the city.” Feng Qinghe picked up her teacup, blew on the floating leaves, and smiled nonchalantly: “Mr.
Xie is learned; if he wants to change it, let him think about it.
I’m not that particular.
I think one, two, three, four, five is fine; it’s clear and easy to understand, and not easy to get confused.” Her tone was relaxed, even a little lazy, as if she were talking about a trivial matter.
After dismissing Steward Xin, Feng Qinghe turned her attention to Gu Anqi and Achen, her smile becoming more sincere: “Mr.
Gu, Brother Achen, have you been living here for the past few months?
If the servants in the manor have been negligent in any way, please feel free to speak up.” Gu Anqi poured her half a cup of tea with a leisurely gesture and smiled.
“General Feng’s rule is excellent, and everyone in the manor is very considerate.
Ah Chen and I feel very safe here.
We must thank General Feng for his thoughtfulness.” His words were double-edged, thanking her for both the hospitality and the protection she received for “cleaning up the little bugs.” Ah Chen sat upright, giving only a slight nod in response, but his gaze was sharp as a knife, never leaving Feng Qinghe’s side, as if scrutinizing her every subtle expression, trying to see through the true intentions beneath her cheerful smile.
An invisible contest permeated the air in the study.
Feng Qinghe seemed completely oblivious to the subtle atmosphere.
She took a sip of tea, then suddenly looked up at Gu Anqi with clear eyes, her tone casual as if she were chatting: “Mr.
Gu, do you think my method of naming cities with numbers is, as Mr.
Xie said, too crude and uncultured?” This seemingly ordinary question instantly thrust Gu Anqi into the eye of the storm.
Gu Anqi paused as he poured tea for Achen, but the water still flowed steadily from the spout, filling the cup exactly halfway, no more, no less.
He put down the teapot, the smile on his lips unchanged, but his mind was racing.
Feng Qinghe’s question was by no means a genuine concern about the debate over “vulgarity” versus “refinement.” This seemingly casual conversation actually placed him in a dilemma—if he agreed with what Mr.
Xie said, it would mean rejecting Feng Qinghe’s governance strategy; if he directly refuted Mr.
Xie and praised the method, it would appear opportunistic and smack of flattery and might even inadvertently drive a wedge between him and “Mr.
Xie,” whom he had yet to meet but who was clearly Feng Qinghe’s representative of the literati.
In a flash, he had already made his decision.
“Whether it’s crude or not depends on what the viewer values,” Gu Anqi said in a gentle, unhurried voice.
“If judged by elegant language, the numbers one through four certainly lack the ancient poetic sentiment of ‘Yumen Pass’ and ‘Yangguan Pass.’ However…” He changed the subject slightly, his gaze meeting Feng Qinghe’s clear eyes with a frank expression, as if he were genuinely discussing a practical matter.
“As I traveled along the way, I briefly observed the situation of the soldiers and civilians on the border.
The rotation of soldiers, the transportation of provisions, and the transmission of military intelligence all required extreme speed and clarity.
If soldiers who were not familiar with the affairs of the newly transferred city were suddenly exposed to intelligence such as ‘the granary of the seventh city is in dire need of supplies’ and ‘Youyun City needs reinforcements,’ the former would be immediately clear, and the location and order could be determined instantly; the latter, however, would require checking the map first to know that Youyun was the ninth city and then considering the route.
In military matters where every second counts, a slight difference could lead to a huge error.” He paused slightly, his tone taking on a more pragmatic quality befitting a doctor: “Moreover, not all border residents and soldiers are literate, much less knowledgeable in literature and classical allusions.
The names ‘Third City’ and ‘Fifth City’ can be identified by both the young and the old, and merchants can describe them clearly.
Names are secondary to reality.
If we seek ‘reality’—strict enforcement of orders, smooth communication, and unity of purpose—then using numbers as names, clear and unambiguous, and reducing confusion, may actually be the greatest form of ‘culture’ and ‘elegance’ for important border towns.” He neither directly commented on Mr.
Xie’s views nor openly praised Feng Qinghe.
Instead, from the perspective of an observer and a pragmatist, he analyzed the practical effectiveness of this naming method in a specific environment.
This demonstrated his observation and thinking, avoided the trap of taking sides, and subtly affirmed that Feng Qinghe’s actions were not unfounded but based on considerations of the actual situation at the border.
Having finished his answer, he calmly picked up his teacup, took a sip, and acted as if it were merely a routine exchange of ideas.
However, the subtle atmosphere in the study seemed to have become even more tense because of his tactful yet subtly witty words.
He was waiting, waiting for Feng Qinghe’s reaction to his “answer.” Feng Qinghe listened to Gu Anqi’s words and simply smiled silently, not delving deeper into the topic of “numerical naming,” as if it had truly been just a casual question.
She put down her teacup, her gaze sweeping between Gu Anqi and Achen, her tone still casual, yet steering the conversation in a deeper direction: “Mr.
Gu is a man of great talent; his analysis of the pros and cons is incisive and to the point.” She paused slightly, a hint of unfathomable meaning creeping into her smile.
“Now that you two have arrived at the border, and with a long time ahead, we…
can be considered family.
I wonder what Mr.
Gu and Brother Achen’s plans are for the future in the Thirteen Alliances?” Feng Qinghe’s seemingly warm question about being “family” carried immense weight, directly impacting their future standing, roles, and even their lives within the Thirteen Alliances.
It was an invitation but also a test, an offer of choice but also a demarcation of boundaries.
Gu Anqi’s hand holding the cup was as steady as a rock, his fingertips feeling the warmth emanating from the porcelain.
He lowered his eyes slightly, his gaze falling on the emerald tea leaves floating in the cup, seemingly lost in thought, but in reality, he was refining the answer he had pondered countless times in his mind.
After a moment, he looked up, calmly meeting Feng Qinghe’s seemingly casual yet scrutinizing gaze, his smile as gentle as ever, his tone calm yet carrying an undeniable clarity: “I am deeply grateful for General Feng’s kindness.
I am a wanderer with no other skills, except for a smattering of medical knowledge, which I have learned from my master since childhood and can use to alleviate the suffering of the sick.
The Thirteen Alliances are vast and populous, and with the military campaigns and the laboring people, illness and injury are inevitable.
If you would not mind, I would like to find a quiet place within the Alliance to set up a medical clinic or travel with the army to treat the wounded and sick, doing my utmost.
In this way, I can not only fulfill my lifelong learning and heal the wounded but also find a place to settle down in this remote border region, and that would be enough for me.” His words clearly and humbly placed him in the position of a “physician.” His posture was extremely modest, focusing solely on medical skills and refusing to discuss anything else.
This clearly expressed his willingness to stay, abide by the local rules, and serve the Thirteen Alliances, while cleverly avoiding direct involvement in the core of military and political power struggles.
Practicing medicine and saving lives was the least likely way to arouse suspicion, gain widespread acceptance, and quietly integrate into the local community.
At the same time, the phrase “to settle down and make a living” subtly revealed his most fundamental need at that moment—a safe place where he could utilize his skills.
Upon hearing this, Feng Qinghe’s eyes flashed with an unnoticed admiration.
This Gu Anqi was indeed a wise man.
She nodded noncommittally, then turned her gaze to Achen, who stood silently to the side.
Achen sensed the gaze but didn’t answer immediately.
He slowly raised his eyes, his gaze like two solid ice spikes piercing straight at Feng Qinghe, his voice low and cold: “I have nowhere to go.” After a brief pause, he added through gritted teeth, with a defiant tone: “If your soldiers need training, I can help you ‘sharpen their knives.'” He made no attempt to hide his “uselessness” and “nowhere to go,” a self-destructive honesty that carried an intense sense of oppression.
The phrase “sharpening the knife” was particularly chilling, directly transforming the potential “recruitment” into a “transaction” or even a “contest.” He stayed not to seek refuge, but because he had nowhere else to go, and he possessed the strength to use as leverage.
He didn’t even bother to find a gentle excuse like Gu Anqi did.
Upon hearing this, Feng Qinghe was not annoyed at all.
Instead, she laughed loudly, her laughter hearty and with a touch of wildness: “Good!
Brother Achen is a man of few words!
The men of the Thirteen Alliance do indeed need some tough bones to temper them!
In that case, you two should stay here with peace of mind.
Mr.
Gu is a healer, and Brother Achen is honing his skills.
Both are a blessing to the Thirteen Alliance.” She picked up her teacup, offering tea instead of wine, and toasted the two of them: “As for being ‘one family,’ it’s not just empty words, but a promise for the future.
I’ve remembered what you said today.
I only hope that if our Thirteen Alliance ever faces hardship in the future, you two will not stand idly by.” These words were quite meaningful, both making a promise and foreshadowing something more; she did not force the two to immediately pledge their loyalty.
Gu Anqi raised his glass in response, his smile unchanged: “It is my duty, and I cannot shirk it.” He understood Feng Qinghe’s subtext—stability is not unpaid; when he needs to serve in the future, that will be the moment to fulfill his promise to “family.” Ah Chen simply stared coldly at Feng Qinghe without raising his cup.
After a long while, he finally managed to squeeze out a single syllable: “Hmm.” This was his way of acknowledging the unspoken deal.