Damn it—how is it that everyone can tell I’m dressed as a man!
Cursing inwardly, Jiang Zhuo dodged with all her might as waves of sword strikes slashed toward her, retreating deeper into the layers of curtains.
The black-clad assassin’s sword moved faster than Jiang Zhuo could flee.
In just a few moments, the layered curtains in the room were all severed, and a sharp blade hovered at Jiang Zhuo’s neck.
“Everyone stand down, or I’ll kill her!” the assassin behind her shouted.
Jiang Zhuo sucked in a sharp breath.
“Damn you! Do you even know who she is, daring to take her hostage!” Jiang Lie snarled through clenched teeth as he yanked his sword out of a black-clad assassin’s chest.
“Brother Jiang, calm yourself,” Bai Feijun said evenly as he sheathed his sword. “We need a living witness, or this matter can’t be resolved.”
“You—and you! Both of you, put your swords down!”
Growing more frantic, the assassin’s gaze flicked between Jiang Lie and Bai Feijun. He tightened the blade at Jiang Zhuo’s neck. “Otherwise, no matter who she is, she dies here today!”
Jiang Zhuo felt a slight sting at her throat, followed by warm liquid slowly trickling down along the blade.
“You—”
Jiang Lie, furious, was about to step forward when Bai Feijun grabbed him.
The two exchanged a look, then both lowered their weapons and raised their hands.
“Since your target isn’t her, how about exchanging her for one of us?” Bai Feijun spoke up calmly. “Me, or General Jiang—choose whichever you like.”
Jiang Lie shot Bai Feijun a glare but said nothing.
Jiang Zhuo felt the blade at her neck turn slightly as the man behind her shifted to face Bai Feijun.
“Then you—”
Before the black-clad assassin could finish speaking, blood bubbled from his throat.
A throwing knife, flying at astonishing speed, had pierced straight through his windpipe.
Blood gushed out, splattering across Jiang Zhuo’s snow-white collar, dotting it with vivid crimson.
The assassin stared in disbelief at Jiang Zhuo before him, and at the supposed targets standing with their hands raised.
Then he collapsed.
Jiang Zhuo, her whole body trembling, lost her strength and sank to the floor.
“What happened?” Jiang Lie rushed over first, pulling Jiang Zhuo into his arms. “How did he suddenly die? Who did it?”
Hidden within her long sleeves, Jiang Zhuo’s hand was still tightly gripping the dagger Xie Guanlan had given her.
It wasn’t Jiang Zhuo who struck.
Nor was it Jiang Lie or Bai Feijun, both with their hands raised.
It was Black Eagle.
She just didn’t know where he had been hiding, nor when he had entered.
Had he come in when she did? Or had he slipped in through the window along with the assassins?
Jiang Zhuo didn’t know.
She was shaking.
Across both her past life and this one, this was the first time Jiang Zhuo had attempted to kill someone. Though she had failed, that person had nonetheless died right behind her.
“Who knows?” Bai Feijun’s gaze was dark and unreadable. “Perhaps their own organization silenced him.”
It was somewhat forced, but there was no better explanation.
Jiang Lie nodded and began checking Jiang Zhuo’s injuries.
“Fortunately, it looks worse than it is. It’s just a superficial wound.” He patted Jiang Zhuo’s head. “How is it? Scared senseless?”
“Brother—” Jiang Zhuo’s eyes filled with tears. “Who on earth did you offend to get chased down like this?”
“That’s not quite how it is,” Jiang Lie said, scratching his head. He glanced at Bai Feijun and saw that he was already practically searching for bandages and medicine. Helplessly, he added, “When you drift on the battlefield, how can you avoid getting cut now and then?”
“Your brother’s tough-skinned. A few cuts won’t hurt him,” Bai Feijun said reassuringly as he brought over medicine and a cloth. “Come, don’t talk for now. Lift your head—I’ll tend to the wound.”
Jiang Lie shot Bai Feijun a fierce glare, reached out to snatch the cloth from his hand, and was about to wipe the blood from Jiang Zhuo’s neck. Suddenly, his movement halted. He then handed the cloth back to Bai Feijun instead.
“You bandage my sister. I’ll go check the situation outside.”
What was that about?
Watching Jiang Lie nearly rush out the door, Jiang Zhuo was full of questions.
“…Jiang Lie fought his way up from the very bottom on the battlefield. When I first met him, he was already a centurion—he had killed around thirty Liao soldiers.”
For some reason, Bai Feijun began speaking of the past.
“In the army, if you have no inherited favor or recommendation, promotion is simple—kill people. Kill endlessly. Sometimes you slash off enemy heads with a blade, sometimes you hook their heads off with a halberd, but more often than not it’s bare-handed grappling—twisting heads off mangled corpses. Then the camp stacks up the collected Liao skulls, piling them higher and higher, and the superiors award merit accordingly.”
The cloth, dampened with water, was a little cold. Bai Feijun was extremely careful as he wiped the blood from Jiang Zhuo’s neck, doing his best not to let his fingers touch her skin.
“A noble youth barely in his twenties, only a year older than me, yet dressed like a beggar—blood in his hair seams and under his nails. All he spoke were crude curses and local slang.”
After cleaning the wound, Bai Feijun poured medicinal powder onto it and applied it little by little.
It hurt. Jiang Zhuo frowned and clenched her teeth, making no sound.
“He even invited me to drink. I truly couldn’t stand it. I sat down and asked him, ‘The Jiang family has produced officials for generations, and Chancellor Jiang stood at the pinnacle of court power. Is this really how your family teaches its sons?’”
Bai Feijun took out a small piece of silk and wrapped it around Jiang Zhuo’s neck, carefully bandaging the wound before tying a neat knot.
“Can you guess what your dear cousin said?”
Hearing no response for a long moment, Bai Feijun looked up and saw that Jiang Zhuo was covered in cold sweat from the pain.
“…Am I allowed to speak now?” Jiang Zhuo asked cautiously.
“Yes. Just don’t move the wound.”
Only then did Bai Feijun remember that he had told her not to speak earlier. He smiled gently.
“He must have called Father by name and said something like he didn’t have an uncle like Jiang Dun, or that Jiang Dun never considered himself part of the Jiang family.”
Jiang Zhuo thought for a moment and answered earnestly.
In her memory, Jiang Lie had always been rebellious—deliberately trying to draw her father’s attention, deliberately opposing him.
In truth, Jiang Lie probably liked her father very much. Jiang Zhuo sometimes guessed quietly that it was because he wanted Father’s approval too badly that things had turned into this complete estrangement.
“Close enough. He said, ‘Who the hell is Jiang Dun? I’ll become a general even greater than Jiang Dun, and someday I’ll suppress him at every turn in court!’”
Remembering how arrogant Jiang Lie had been when he first entered the army, Jiang Zhuo smiled.
Bai Feijun smiled as well.
But as she smiled, Jiang Zhuo’s smile slowly faded.
Her father was gone now. Jiang Lie, tempered and worn down by the battlefield, would never again be able to fulfill that youthful ambition. And even now—he hadn’t dared to bandage her wound himself. Was it because he feared he might snap her neck the way he had snapped the necks of Liao soldiers?
A wave of sadness welled up in Jiang Zhuo’s heart.