Soon, Feng Qinghe found an excuse that she was busy with military affairs and needed to go to the marching camp for medical treatment and protection.
She asked Achen and Gu Anqi to pack up and then went to the marching camp with her.
Feng Qinghe’s command tent was not as luxurious as one might imagine; on the contrary, it was unusually simple and practical.
The tent was filled with a mixture of leather, ink sticks, and a faint smell of blood.
The interior was cleverly divided, with the outer room for meetings and the inner room seemingly a place for rest and handling confidential matters.
Several generals were already standing solemnly waiting, the atmosphere heavy with tension.
Feng Qinghe walked straight to the main seat and sat down.
She casually pointed to a small stove and medicine pot that had been prepared in a corner of the tent and said to Gu Anqi, “Mr.
Gu, please.” She then raised her chin to Achen and said in a casual tone, as if she were assigning a close follower who had been with her for many years, “Achen, you stay here.” She didn’t even explicitly say what he was doing “here,” but her unquestionable demeanor made it clear that he needed to be there, within her sight.
Gu Anqi bowed silently and walked to a corner to skillfully process the medicinal herbs, his movements composed, as if he were merely a doctor invited to prepare medicine.
However, beneath his lowered eyelashes, his gaze keenly swept over the expressions of every general in the tent, the layout of the tent, and even the subtle changes in the airflow.
Ah Chen stood with his arms crossed, neither too close nor too far from the main seat, just at a distance where he could react instantly to any unexpected situation, yet not too close to make anyone uncomfortable.
He was like a silent statue, but all his senses were heightened to the extreme.
The breathing and heartbeat of everyone inside the tent, the footsteps of the patrolling soldiers outside, and even the neighing of horses in the distance all clearly fell into his ears.
He coldly observed the military council that was about to begin.
Feng Qinghe seemed completely unaffected by the two men, quickly immersing herself in military affairs.
She listened to reports, issued orders, and spoke with precision and clarity, the “exhaustion” she had shown in the study earlier vanishing completely.
“…What is the status of the remnants of the Oirat forces?” “Reporting to Commander Feng, as you instructed, we have deliberately leaked information about the supply route to lure the enemy out.” “Okay, you can close the net now.
Remember, I want them alive.” “Yes!” At this moment, a messenger rushed into the tent: “Report!
Commander Feng, the patrol team has discovered suspicious individuals at the border between the seventh and eighth cities.
They are extremely skilled, and our men…
were unable to stop them.” The atmosphere inside the tent instantly tensed.
Feng Qinghe didn’t even frown.
She simply picked up the tea that her personal guard had just served, blew on it to cool it down, and said casually, “Oh?
If they couldn’t stop them, so be it.
Send the order to strengthen the sentries at all the passes and checkpoints, but keep them on high alert in the open.
Let’s see where they’re trying to sneak up on.” She put down her teacup, her gaze seemingly unintentionally sweeping over Gu Anqi, who was decocting medicine, and then over Achen, who stood as still as a rock.
The aroma of medicine gradually filled the air, masking the original smell inside the tent.
Gu Anqi added a piece of firewood, and the firelight reflected on his calm and expressionless face.
Achen’s gaze, however, was as cold as ice, fixed on Feng Qinghe’s back.
From the moment they stepped into this central command tent, it became the new center of the game, and the player holding the pieces sat calmly within, discussing and strategizing.
The tent was filled with the scent of leather, ink sticks, and a faint herbal aroma.
Gu Anqi sat quietly in a corner; the medicine pot on the small stove was bubbling, and the bitter medicine fragrance gradually spread.
Achen stood with his arms crossed in the shadows behind the main seat, as silent as a rock.
Feng Qinghe was writing furiously at his desk; the scratching sound of the pen tip across the paper was the only rhythm in the tent.
Suddenly, the curtain was lifted, and more than ten people, dressed in various styles and exuding a capable air, filed in.
They were the officials in charge of trade between the thirteen cities.
After a quick bow to the head of the table, they found seats and took out their abacuses and ledgers.
Initially, the discussions were relatively restrained.
“Wang Sibu, this year’s surplus in the fur trade is 30%, so you should prioritize supplying our three cities to help us get through the winter.” “Li Si Mai is mistaken.
Our Wucheng Iron Mine is increasing production and urgently needs furs to exchange for grain.
We should be the priority.” “Gentlemen, with the salt route newly opened, how should the profits be divided…” However, with interests intertwined and deeply entangled, the politeness vanished in less than the time it takes for an incense stick to burn, the arguments grew louder, and soon escalated into a heated quarrel.
“Bullshit!
If it weren’t for the concessions made by my Second City last year, would your Seventh City’s salt have even been able to get out of the market?” “Offering discounts?
It’s clearly because you have insufficient inventory and are begging me to sell them!” “You, surnamed Zhao!
You’ve been embezzling grain payments, and your accounts are unclear.
Do you really think I don’t know?” Suddenly, someone shoved someone, the abacus beads clattered to the ground, the account books flew everywhere, and the scene instantly spiraled out of control.
More than ten people were wrestling and kicking each other, shouting and cursing.
They looked nothing like important officials in charge of money and grain; it was no different from a street brawl.
Amidst the chaos, Feng Qinghe didn’t even flinch, remaining focused on reviewing the documents in her hands, as if the deafening noise inside the tent was merely a distant, indistinct sound of wind.
Achen’s gaze swept across the battle, precisely capturing the seemingly chaotic yet skillfully executed evasions, the occasional military-style power techniques revealed amidst the frenzied punches, a cold, hard line forming at the corner of his mouth.
Gu Anqi, meanwhile, focused intently on controlling the situation, his hand fanning himself with unwavering stability.
Only a fleeting glance was enough to distinguish genuine injuries from feigned ones among the cries of pain, inwardly sighing at the depths of this entanglement of interests, which necessitated such methods of venting and weighing power.
She didn’t know how much time had passed—perhaps a moment, perhaps longer.
Feng Qinghe finally finished grading the last book and gently put down her pen.
She didn’t look up but calmly said one sentence, her voice low, yet like ice water suddenly poured into a boiling oil pan: “You have half an hour left.” As soon as she finished speaking, she picked up another file and continued reviewing it, as if she had only casually reminded him of the time.
A deathly silence fell over the tent for a moment.
Then, the wrestling merchants froze as if struck by lightning, their eyes widening in terror as they looked towards the head of the table.
The next instant, they scrambled apart, ignoring their bruised faces and disheveled clothes, hastily gathering the scattered ledgers and beads.
In hushed tones, they began arguing, compromising, and dividing the spoils with utmost speed and conciseness, daring not to utter another word of physical conflict.
The efficiency was surprisingly high.
Gu Anqi gently fanned himself with a palm-leaf fan, allowing the medicinal fragrance to permeate the air more intensely, as if to dispel the lingering violence and scheming.
Achen, on the other hand, gave them a mocking smile that vanished in an instant: a bunch of foolish commoners.
Half an hour had passed, and the tent had returned to a semblance of calm, with only the soft clatter of the abacus and whispers remaining.
Feng Qinghe just put down her pen again, raised her head, and calmly swept her gaze over the group of silent, wounded, and injured shopkeepers.
“Has it been agreed upon?” she asked.
“Reporting to Commander Feng, it’s all settled!” the crowd replied in unison, their voices filled with the lingering fear of surviving a calamity.
“Okay, go down and follow the rules.” Feng Qinghe waved her hand, as if brushing away dust.
The merchants felt as if they had been granted a pardon and practically tiptoed out of the tent.
Silence returned to the tent, with only the scent of medicine remaining.
Feng Qinghe rubbed her temples and looked at Gu Anqi, her face showing just the right amount of fatigue: “Mr.
Gu, is the medicine ready?
I’m so sorry to trouble you with my qi deficiency.” Gu Anqi stopped holding the fan steadily, poured the filtered medicine into a bowl, and presented it with both hands.
The steam veiled his gentle eyes and brows: “General Feng, the medicine is ready.
Please take it while it’s hot.” Ah Chen remained silent, observing everything with a cold eye.
This farce, from beginning to end, was perhaps all within Feng Qinghe’s expectations and control.
As for whether this bowl of “qi-tonifying” medicine was to cure her “qi deficiency” or to cure the complex “qi” of the Thirteen Alliances, only the person who prepared the medicine and the person who took it knew the answer.
Feng Qinghe took the medicine bowl from Gu Anqi, her brows unfurrowed, and drank it all in one gulp.
The bitter medicine tasted like water to her.
She put down the bowl, stood up, and stretched her limbs.
The deliberate weariness she had just displayed seemed to have vanished with the medicine, and her eyes regained their sharpness and clarity.
“Red Pearl,” she called out.
The bodyguard Hongzhu entered the tent in response and stood silently.
Feng Qinghe pushed the stack of documents she had just finished reviewing onto the desk and said succinctly, “Immediately issue them to all cities and carry them out without fail.” “Yes!” Hongzhu took it with both hands, turned around, and left briskly; the curtain was lifted and then fell, bringing in the cold wind from outside.
Silence returned to the tent, broken only by the faint crackling of the embers in the medicine furnace.
Gu Anqi quietly tidied up the medical tools, while Achen remained standing in the shadows like a statue, seemingly blending into the tent walls.
Before long, heavy, orderly footsteps echoed outside the tent.
The curtain was lifted again, and thirteen heavily armored, imposing generals filed in, lining up in formation, the clanging of their armor plates ringing out.
They all bowed respectfully to the head of the tent, instantly filling it with a chilling, menacing atmosphere.
“General Feng!” Feng Qinghe had returned to her seat of honor, her gaze sweeping over her generals like a hawk’s, and she nodded slightly: “Let’s begin.” The military council proceeded smoothly.
The generals from each city stepped forward in turn, reporting on defenses, public sentiment, and border disturbances, their statements concise and to the point.
Feng Qinghe listened intently, occasionally asking incisive questions and sometimes issuing clear and decisive orders.
Throughout the entire process, she displayed none of her previous casualness, only the coldness and imposing authority of a commander.
Gu Anqi listened quietly to the reports.
From them, he clearly sensed that Feng Qinghe’s control over the Thirteen Alliances had penetrated to the core, and his evaluation of this female commander grew even stronger.
Achen’s gaze, on the other hand, lingered more on the generals, assessing their strength, demeanor, and the undisguised awe they held for Feng Qinghe.
Ultimately, the topic came down to the decree issued by the Great Zhou Emperor regarding the “Battle of Qingshan Cliff” in the Ming Dynasty.
The atmosphere inside the tent suddenly became even more somber.
A bearded general stepped forward first, his voice booming: “General Feng!
Qingshan Cliff is a natural fortress, and the Oirat people have been fortifying it for a long time.
It is easy to defend and difficult to attack!
This humble general believes that the Emperor’s decree is a waste of resources and manpower.
It would be better to argue with reason, explain the advantages and disadvantages, and earnestly request Your Majesty to withdraw the order!” Before he could finish speaking, another general with a fair complexion retorted, “General Wang, you are mistaken!
The Emperor’s decree is clear and cannot be disobeyed!
Qingshan Cliff is of great strategic importance.
If we can take it, we can ensure ten years of peace in the northern border!
Even if it is difficult, we should fight to the death to repay the Emperor’s grace!
This humble general advocates for war!” “Fight to the death?
That’s easy to say!
How much will we lose in terms of troops, supplies, and weapons?
Even if we win, how many soldiers will be buried far from home?” Another general joined the debate.
“Should we cower in fear of battle just because of the difficulties?
We, the thirteen sworn brothers, have no fear of death!” “It’s not that we’re afraid of death, but that we shouldn’t die!
We should jointly submit a memorial detailing our difficulties and beg Your Majesty to understand the hardships faced at the border…” The generals argued endlessly, some advocating war, others peace, and still others advising against it; their opinions were mixed, and the tent was filled with the smell of gunpowder.
Feng Qinghe listened in silence, her fingers tapping lightly on the table unconsciously, her face revealing neither joy nor anger.
Only when the argument subsided and all eyes were on her did she slowly raise her eyes.
Instead of directly commenting on either side’s viewpoint, she swept her gaze across the generals and asked a seemingly unrelated question: “At this time last year, how much grain did the granaries of the thirteen alliances hold?
How much can they support the army this year?” Several generals in charge of logistics immediately reported the precise figures.
Feng Qinghe nodded and then asked, “If war breaks out, how many troops will need to be mobilized?
How many gaps will appear in the defenses of each city?
How will the other Oirat tribes react?” Several frontline commanders used this to deduce the advantages and disadvantages.
She then asked, “If we make peace or offer advice, how will the court view our thirteen alliances?
Will it be seen as loyalty or cowardice?
Will the subsequent supply of money, provisions, and military equipment be affected?” This question caused a brief silence within the tent; it involved court politics, and no one dared to make a hasty judgment.
Gu Anqi nodded in approval.
Feng Qinghe’s far-sighted move had broken down what seemed like a simple choice between “war and peace” into a complex game involving military equipment, defense, diplomacy, politics, and even the will of the people, guiding the generals to see a more comprehensive and far-reaching picture.
Finally, Feng Qinghe stood up, and the tent fell silent instantly.
She walked to the huge border map and pointed precisely at the location of Qingshan Cliff.
“Your Majesty’s decree must be obeyed.
” Her voice was calm, yet carried an undeniable power.
“Qingshan Cliff must also be taken.” The generals held their breath.
“But, not a head-on confrontation.” She changed the subject, tracing a circuitous route on the map with her finger.
“The Oirat are not a monolithic entity.
The Qingshan Cliff garrison commander, Tuluhua, has a long-standing feud with their royal court.
A direct assault on this strategic pass would be a poor strategy.
The best strategy would be to incite internal strife within their ranks.” She looked sharply at the general in charge of intelligence: “Within three months, I need to know what Turuhua wants most, what he fears most, and who can replace him.” She then looked at the generals who advocated fighting to the death: “All troops, drill as ordered, adopt a strong offensive posture, and put enough pressure on them.” Finally, she looked at the general who advocated for remonstrance: “A memorial should be written, but the content should not be a complaint, but a detailed explanation of the strategy of ‘capturing Qingshan Cliff at the lowest cost,’ and requesting from the court…
people, money, and grain.” The plan was meticulously crafted, with each step linked to the next, seamlessly integrating the seemingly contradictory concepts of “receiving the imperial decree,” “seizing the spoils,” and “avoiding a direct assault,” demonstrating a shrewd and ruthless approach.
“Did you all understand?” Feng Qinghe scanned the generals.
“Understood, sir!” the generals replied in unison, their voices echoing through the camp.
Their eyes held no more doubt, only complete trust.
“Go, proceed according to plan.” Feng Qinghe sat back in the main seat and waved for the generals to leave.
The tent flap fell, cutting off the last general’s departing footsteps, and the vast command tent suddenly fell into a heavy silence.
The lingering scent of medicine, mixed with the invisible yet intense atmosphere of tension and intrigue left from the previous military meeting, weighed heavily on the air.
Feng Qinghe didn’t speak immediately.
She slowly leaned back in her chair, gently rubbing her temples with her fingertips.
She closed her eyes for a moment, and for the first time, a deep weariness flashed across her face without any attempt to hide it—a weariness that emanated from her very bones after strategizing and controlling the entire situation.
But when she opened her eyes again, that weariness had vanished, replaced by a chilling, icy aura that neither Gu Anqi nor Achen had ever seen before.
Her gaze first fell on Gu Anqi, then shifted to Achen in the shadows.
Without beating around the bush, her voice was steady and clear, resonating distinctly within the silent tent: “Mr.
Gu, Brother Achen.” She paused, making sure every word reached their ears.
“From this day forward, until the day you die,” her tone was flat, yet carried an undeniable, almost cruel absoluteness, “in this tent, whatever you hear, whatever you see,” her gaze sharp as a knife, swept over the place where the generals had stood and argued, and over her own desk covered with maps and documents, “even…whatever you smell.” She deliberately emphasized the last three words, as if the lingering scent of medicine, the smell of sweat, and even the invisible aura of killing intent in the air had become secrets that had to be sealed away.
“It will rot inside me until I die.” This was not a discussion, not a request, but a declaration.
It was a red line drawn that could not be crossed.
This was the first time she had so directly and nakedly demonstrated to them her absolute authority as the commander of the Thirteen Border Alliances and the formidable defenses beneath it.
She allowed them to step into the core and witness the most confidential military and national affairs, at the cost of eternal silence.
Behind this “trust” lay rules and a heavy price.
Gu Anqi’s hand, holding the pestle, paused slightly before returning to normal.
He raised his eyes to meet Feng Qinghe’s gaze, the usual gentle smile on his face vanishing, replaced by a deep calm.
He put down the pestle, cupped his hands slightly, and performed a very solemn bow, his voice clear and steady: “Anqi, I understand.
I will keep this a secret for the rest of my life.” He offered no further explanation, no feigned anxiety, only the simplest yet most solemn promise.
This is consistent with his usual style: calm, yet committed to his word.
In the shadows of the tent, A-Chen’s aura had plummeted to freezing the moment Feng Qinghe spoke.
His arms remained crossed, but his back seemed even straighter.
His eyes, always brimming with arrogance, now resembled two bottomless abysses, staring directly back at Feng Qinghe without flinching.
Unlike Gu Anqi, he didn’t respond immediately; silence spread through the tent, carrying an invisible pressure.
A few breaths later, he moved his jaw and let out a low, yet exceptionally clear, sound from deep in his throat: “Um.” There was only one syllable.
No guarantees, no vows, yet it carried more weight than any words.
This “hmm” was his characteristic, ascetic acceptance, imbued with his unique, life-risking ruthlessness and resolve.
Once he agreed, it was a promise kept until death.
Feng Qinghe’s gaze lingered on their faces for a moment, the extreme seriousness slowly fading, replaced by an indescribable complexity—a mixture of scrutiny, relief, and perhaps the loneliness of being “participants” in the same situation.
She let out a soft breath, leaned back in her chair, and spoke with her usual casual tone, yet still with undeniable authority: “Good.
Go and rest now.
We’ll continue tomorrow…” Gu Anqi gave a slight bow, calmly packed up his medical supplies, and slowly withdrew from the tent.
Achen remained standing in the shadows for a moment, taking one last deep look at Feng Qinghe, who was resting with her eyes closed behind the table, before turning around and silently disappearing into the night outside the tent.
Inside the tent, only Feng Qinghe remained, along with the lingering, slightly bitter scent of medicine.
She slowly opened her eyes, gazing at the swaying shadows on the tent ceiling, her gaze distant, as if piercing through the leather curtains and reaching into an even more unpredictable distance.
Whether dragging these two into the center of the vortex is a blessing or a curse, she cannot say for sure.
When she first heard that “Xiaoyao Ke” was full of wisdom and “Demon Sect Leader” was unparalleled in martial arts, although she had the intention to recruit them, it was more of a strong person’s assessment and calculation of usable talents.
Now that they are under her command and within reach, the word “subdue” is as heavy as a mountain.
Gu Anqi’s gentle exterior conceals a deep pool, while Achen’s silence reveals a sharp edge—neither can be controlled by ordinary means.
Favor?
Intimidation?
Enticement with profit?
Emotional appeal?
The winds and snows of the borderlands and the swords of war can wear away many impurities, but they may also harden certain cores.
How to truly harness these two sharp weapons in the future, preventing them from turning against one another while also preserving their sharpness, is a far more complex matter than winning a hard-fought battle.
But now that they had stepped into this command tent, and now that she had drawn them in, there was no turning back.
From this moment on, the fates of the three of them were more closely and more dangerously intertwined amidst the turbulent winds and clouds of this frontier, like three grasshoppers on a rope or a flock of geese soaring through the sky.
Whether the future held thunder or light, they could only bear it together.