"But I'm afraid."
During the night march, Song Zhiluan remained spirited as ever.
After setting up camp, she waited outside the Commander's tent for Xie Yujin to emerge.
She didn't know how he had explained her identity, but the soldiers here treated her with great respect, addressing her as "Young Master Song" each time—perhaps mistaking her for a distant relative of the royal family.
The generals finished their discussions and filed out one by one.
Song Zhiluan waited until everyone had left before lifting the tent flap and entering.
Xie Yujin had his back to her, writing something on paper with a brush. She suppressed her restless heart, drank two cups of tea to calm herself, and only then did she see him stuff the paper into a message tube and summon someone inside.
After finishing his tasks, Xie Yujin's gaze finally fell upon her.
Song Zhiluan walked over to him. The candle flames along the way flickered violently as she looked at him under the lampshade: "Xie Yujin, have you heard some strange rumors?"
"No."
Xie Yujin's expression remained unchanged, one hand braced lightly while the other continued writing without the slightest pause.
Song Zhiluan sat in a chair, her bright eyes reflecting the candle stands around her. The jade hairpin took on a golden hue in the twilight glow. No matter her age, she carried a unique childlike quality about her—like a well-cultivated pearl, always radiant whenever one looked.
But the young man before her remained entirely focused on the paper.
Song Zhiluan straightened up to grind ink for him, staring at his noble features. "Then why did you change your mind? Why let me follow you and even detour to pick me up?"
Xie Yujin glanced at her and set down his brush: "The detour wasn't my decision alone."
"You and General Qin decided?" Song Zhiluan was like a hunter waiting by a grass trap for birds to peck at bait—now that the bird had finally entered the trap, she naturally pursued relentlessly. "Then when you told me 'if you're afraid of dying, follow me'—surely no one forced you to say that?"
Xie Yujin picked up the paperweight beside him, originally intending to place it at the left corner. Hearing her words, he slowly turned around, leaning against the desk while tossing the weight and meeting Song Zhiluan's gaze.
A faint breeze seemed to flow through the tent, causing the interior candle flames to dance rapidly.
Song Zhiluan felt as if her heart were held in his grasp, rising and falling with that paperweight. "Why did you say those words to me?"
Silence.
She could clearly hear the chirping of insects from the wilderness outside.
Just then, a young officer entered: "General, the execution platform is ready."
Only after he finished speaking did Song Zhiluan realize she had forgotten to breathe.
Taking several deep breaths, she pretended curiosity: "What execution platform?"
The shouts outside grew increasingly fervent. When she arrived, she thought the military camp might be holding a banquet tonight, given how lively it was outside.
But an execution platform—this didn't seem like good entertainment.
Xie Yujin's gaze remained fixed on Song Zhiluan, not shifting even while listening to the soldier. He said succinctly: "Caught several spies. They'll be used to consecrate the banners tonight."
He looked at her: "Afraid?"
"Not afraid," Song Zhiluan snatched the paperweight from Xie Yujin's hand, playing with it in her palm. That paperweight—a wolf's head carved from a single piece of green jade—was something she had packed for him. Pleased to see him using it, she smiled and said: "Since I followed you to the battlefield, would I be afraid of seeing a few dead people?"
Xie Yujin neither affirmed nor denied. Taking his silence as acquiescence, Song Zhiluan waited until he had arranged the remaining affairs before leaving the tent with him.
Around the temporarily erected execution platform, tall warhorses paced and stamped their hooves. The soldiers serving as executioners had stripped off their upper garments.
The condemned knelt in a straight line upon the high platform, their faces numb and fearful.
Bonfires roared to life.
Song Zhiluan stood beside Xie Yujin before the platform.
Amid the roaring crowd, the blade-wielding soldier yanked the execution tags from the back of the prisoners' collars. As the long sword fell, one prisoner shouted in fury: "You are the Rebels, the traitors! What right do Song Dingyuan's lackeys have to judge me!"
Blood splattered. Heads rolled across the execution platform, one coming to rest beside Xie Yujin's boots.
The air grew thick and stifling, nauseating.
Yet the bloody scene vanished from his sight.
A soft hand covered his eyes.
Chaos reigned around them—no one came to collect the traitors' remains, flags stained crimson, cries of hatred and weeping endless—yet Xie Yujin saw only darkness.
In that darkness, only Song Zhiluan's voice from within his embrace remained: "Don't look."
Xie Yujin's gaze stiffened, a faint tremor flickering deep in his eyes.
"Are you afraid?" Song Zhiluan sought his hand to hold, while carefully lifting her other hand to study his night-dark eyes, her expression worried.
Deputy General Guo laughed heartily nearby: "Your Highness, what sort of man is our General? How could he fear this? Such scenes are far too ordinary for us."
Song Zhiluan ignored him, tightening her grip on Xie Yujin's hand.
Deputy General Guo awkwardly stifled his laughter and left with the other officers, chatting and laughing.
She watched Xie Yujin's calm expression as he looked at her with an indescribable gaze.
But it seemed like Song Zhiluan's illusion, for Xie Yujin's tone was exactly as Deputy General Guo had described—utterly normal, even carrying a lazy lilt: "What were you thinking? If I feared dead men, why would I ever step onto a battlefield?"
This vibrant youthful spirit was something Song Zhiluan had rarely seen in Xie Yujin since arriving in Jing. She stared at him unblinkingly for a long moment, then slid her hand down to intertwine with his, shifting her gaze to the bonfires.
"Oh, but I just realized I'm a little afraid. Could we come to the execution platform less often from now on?"
Xie Yujin fell silent.
Song Zhiluan moved her hand, interlacing their fingers.
Before the blade fell.
Xie Yujin seemed to have become one of the condemned on the high platform himself. Holding her hand, he tightened his grip slightly in that moment.
That slight motion instantly clenched her heart.
Song Zhiluan's body had reacted faster than her conscious thought—she hadn't wanted him to witness the falling heads.
His body was resisting.
Perhaps even Xie Yujin himself hadn't noticed.
But she could feel it.