The tent was cold and damp.
Hugging her knees to her chest, Lin Jiayan curled up in a corner. She had been locked in here for an entire day.
No one had come to see her.
No one had brought her food.
She had no idea what had happened to Lianxin. Since she herself had been imprisoned, she doubted the others would spare her maid.
At this rate, Lin Jiayan felt she would freeze or die of thirst before Chahar ever returned.
“Sigh.”
A voice suddenly sounded outside the tent.
At first, she thought she had imagined it.
“Sigh.”
This time, the chain on the door rattled.
Someone had really come.
Lin Jiayan hurried over to the entrance.
“Who is it?”
“It’s me—Ajina.”
A waterskin was pushed through the gap beneath the door.
Lin Jiayan quickly snatched it up and took a long drink, finally easing her thirst.
“What’s happening outside? How’s Lianxin?”
Pressing herself against the crack in the door, she tried to glimpse what was going on outside.
Silence followed.
For a moment, she thought Ajina had already left.
She shook the door latch anxiously.
“It’s bad,” Ajina replied quietly. “More and more people are falling sick.”
But he avoided answering her second question.
“Has Chahar come back yet?”
The situation was worsening by the minute. They couldn’t afford to delay any longer.
Instead of answering, Ajina asked a question of his own.
“Are you a spy?”
“No.”
Afraid he wouldn’t believe her, she repeated herself.
“Really, I’m not.”
Conflict was written all over Ajina’s face.
Before leaving, Chahar had specifically instructed him to keep an eye on the princess in case she got lost again or twisted her ankle.
But now she had been imprisoned as a suspected spy.
Chahar had never told him what to do in a situation like this.
“Taiji will be back soon.”
Leaving only those words behind, Ajina turned and walked away.
Once the Taiji returned, everything would be settled.
Chahar galloped back at full speed.
At the military camp, he had already organized quarantine measures and emergency treatment. For now, the situation there had stabilized.
But he didn’t know how things were unfolding in the tribe.
Cracking his whip, he urged his horse onward.
Knowing Chahar would return soon, Ajina waited for him at the entrance to the camp.
“Taiji!”
Seeing Chahar’s dust-covered figure, he rushed forward to take the reins.
“How are things?”
Chahar swung down from his horse and brushed the dust from his clothes.
Ajina didn’t know which situation he was asking about and froze, unsure where to begin.
“Cat got your tongue?”
“Taiji…”
Chahar turned to look at him.
A sense of unease rose in his chest.
Inside the great tent, everyone was still discussing how to deal with the rapidly spreading epidemic.
Bulehumu sat silently, rubbing his temples in exhaustion.
Chahar strode inside.
“Taiji is back!”
“That’s great.”
“How are things at the military camp?”
Everyone looked at him expectantly.
Ignoring their questions, Chahar dropped to one knee before Bulehumu.
“Khan.”
Bulehumu’s expression relaxed slightly.
If Chahar had returned, then the military camp must have been temporarily stabilized.
“What’s happening with the princess?”
Chahar had gone to Lin Jiayan’s tent first.
Now it was in complete disarray.
Tables and chairs had been smashed. The precious gemstones decorating her belongings lay scattered across the floor. Even her bedding and clothes had been destroyed.
“Hmph. The princess is a spy sent by the Southern Kingdom. This epidemic was brought here because of her.”
Chena spoke coldly.
“Once we survive this crisis, we’ll settle the score with her properly.”
Since the princess had been living alone at the foot of the mountain ever since arriving, Chena assumed Chahar must despise her as well.
“Do you have any evidence?”
Chahar’s sharp gaze cut toward him.
Chena froze.
He hadn’t expected Chahar to challenge him.
“Hmph. Southern people are naturally cunning. Do you think they’d leave evidence lying around? Once I have enough men, we’ll search her belongings thoroughly. We’re bound to find something.”
“So you have no evidence.”
Chahar rose to his feet and walked toward Chena.
Towering over him, he radiated a terrifying pressure.
Chena lowered his head involuntarily but still refused to back down.
“If you want evidence, Taiji, go ask her yourself.”
Chahar glared at him.
Without a shred of proof, these people had stormed into her tent, smashed her possessions, and thrown her into prison.
This wasn’t an investigation.
It was vengeance.
But now wasn’t the time to argue.
Turning sharply, Chahar strode out of the tent.
Lin Jiayan rested her head against her knees.
The cold had left her dizzy and numb.
She had no idea how much time had passed.
What was happening outside?
Had Chahar returned?
The chains outside rattled loudly.
Confused, she looked up.
“Princess.”
The tent was dark, damp, and nearly as cold as the outdoors.
Every breath turned to frost.
She had been imprisoned here for three days and three nights.
Wrapping her arms tightly around herself, she tried to preserve the last traces of warmth.
Chahar gently gathered her into his embrace.
She felt like a bundle of snow in his arms.
“Chahar…”
Finally rescued, Lin Jiayan felt her mind begin to relax.
For a moment, she nearly lost consciousness.
But a stubborn thread of awareness held her back.
There were still people waiting for her help.
She couldn’t collapse now.
Biting her tongue hard enough to taste blood, she forced herself to stay awake.
“Chahar, I know how to save them.”
She looked up at him.
“Take me to Cheren. Please.”
“All right.”
Chahar didn’t ask any questions.
He simply picked her up and carried her away.
Cheren sat beside a boiling stove, staring blankly into space.
Suddenly, Chahar burst into the tent.
Patients lay everywhere, groaning in pain.
Chahar sat down heavily beside Cheren’s low table and pulled open his cloak.
Only then did Cheren realize he was carrying someone.
“Taiji, this is…”
“What medicines do you have available right now?”
Lin Jiayan cut straight to the point.
Cheren glanced uneasily at Chahar before sighing and retrieving a small notebook.
“Everything’s listed here.”
Lin Jiayan quickly took it.
The moment she opened it, her vision darkened.
The pages were filled with Mongolian script.
She couldn’t read a single word.
“Give it to me.”
Chahar took the notebook and read each entry aloud.
Listening intently, Lin Jiayan committed everything to memory.
Before long, he finished.
There weren’t many herbs available, and most were intended for treating wounds or stopping bleeding.
“Can you find poria and licorice root anywhere in the tribe?”
Cheren’s face turned pale.
He shook his head.
“Those are the two most important ingredients,” Lin Jiayan muttered, thinking rapidly. “Neither can be missing.”
“There should be some in the mountains. Take me there.”
Chahar froze.
“It’s useless. It’s all useless.”
Cheren lowered his head and wiped away tears with trembling hands.
“We’re all going to die. We’re all going to die.”
During the previous epidemic, he had watched helplessly as his family writhed in agony and died before his eyes.
His fear of typhoid had become deeply rooted in his heart.
It was a shadow he could never escape.
“Pull yourself together.”
Lin Jiayan’s voice was firm, though weakened by exhaustion.
“There is a way.”
“Stay here. Gather all these herbs and prepare them. Boil a large pot of water and wait for me to come back.”
As she spoke, she marked several items in the notebook.
Chahar’s eyes widened in surprise.
He had only read the list once.
Yet she had remembered every herb.
Cheren stared blankly at the marked pages.
Then, finally, he rose to gather the medicine.
Even if it was a desperate gamble, it was better than sitting there and waiting to die.