BEGW C96

Chapter 96

Ying Changchuan smiled and let his gaze settle on the person opposite him.

Though he said nothing, Jiang Yuxun could already read what he was thinking from the expression on his face—what else could it be for?

Surely it wasn’t meant for wiping tables.

While Jiang Yuxun was still lost in thought, Ying Changchuan reached out and took the bridal veil from the wooden box.

His movements were exceptionally careful, as though what he held was not silk, but a streak of red clouds that might scatter at the slightest touch.

A breeze slipped through the gap in the felt curtain, setting the copper lamp outside the tent swaying gently with the wind.

In the flickering light, Jiang Yuxun unconsciously held his breath.

The tent was so quiet that, although he had already lifted his hand, he failed to snatch the veil back into the box as he had planned.

The next instant, his vision was swallowed by a field of crimson.

—Ying Changchuan gently placed the veil upon Jiang Yuxun’s head.

“Your Majesty, what are you doing?”

At the moment he was lifted—caught at the bend of the legs—Jiang Yuxun instinctively wrapped his arms around Ying Changchuan’s neck to steady himself.

He deliberately stressed the words “Your Majesty,” trying to remind Ying Changchuan of his identity.

Yet the Son of Heaven seemed entirely unaffected.

Holding Jiang Yuxun, he slowly sat down on the nearby bed.

Unable to see anything, Jiang Yuxun let out a small cry and clutched the fabric beneath his fingers.

The silk veil slid down with his movement.

His vision finally cleared again.

And what he saw—

Those ash-gray eyes held not the slightest hint of teasing. Instead, they were serious to an almost unbelievable degree.

…Ying Changchuan was not joking. He truly meant it.

“Why give me this?” Jiang Yuxun caught the veil before it slipped to the floor and asked softly.

Ying Changchuan held him in his arms, idly stroking his long hair as he usually did.

After a few breaths, he applied a little more force and loosened the ribbon tying Jiang Yuxun’s hair once more.

His voice was faintly hoarse.

“I merely realized… that I’ve yet to bind hair with the one I love.”

The deliberately slowed words brushed past Jiang Yuxun’s ears like drifting sand, while Ying Changchuan’s fingers toyed with his black hair.

The one I love…

Jiang Yuxun’s eyelashes trembled.

Ying Changchuan lowered his gaze to look at him.

The hand resting on the emperor’s shoulder curled unconsciously, scratching lightly across the fabric.

That fleeting touch was like a spark landing on Ying Changchuan’s shoulder.

His eyes darkened instantly.

Ying Changchuan had never been interested in conventional marriage—he even found it vulgar.

But once he had someone he loved, he found himself wanting to see that person dressed in red, for his sake.

Though male love was common in Great Zhou, most people associated it first with the disreputable notion of male favorites.

As emperor, Ying Changchuan could have granted Jiang Yuxun any title or status he wished.

…But he did not.

He refused to let Jiang Yuxun become anyone’s appendage—not even his own.

And though he had once been utterly indifferent to reputation, he now cared deeply about how Jiang Yuxun would be viewed, unwilling to let him bear even the slightest stain or idle speculation.

Not today. Not in the future.

Ying Changchuan lowered his eyes and smiled faintly, then removed the dark jade crown from his own head.

Their black hair intertwined.

After a brief pause, Jiang Yuxun finally released the fabric clenched in his hand, letting the thin silk veil drift to the ground like fallen petals—

without making a sound.

The emperor said nothing. By the faint candlelight filtering through the curtain, he carefully twined their long hair together, his movements meticulous and reverent.

—If it could not be shown to the world, then Ying Changchuan would show it to himself.

Jiang Yuxun glanced once at their entwined hair, then lifted his gaze back to Ying Changchuan.

The emperor’s ash-gray eyes glowed warmly in the candlelight; never had the word “cherished” felt so tangible.

Once the knot was gently tied, Ying Changchuan finally—reluctantly—lowered his hand.

A faint trace of dragon-amber incense drifted in on the night wind.

…Jiang Yuxun understood then: Ying Changchuan, like himself, now carried something precious to protect.

Spring slipped into summer, and the weather grew fickle, the winds across the grasslands stronger than before.

Had the early grasses not already spread thickly across the land, erasing bare earth, storms even fiercer than those of early spring might have erupted.

Every corner of the Zhenbei Army’s encampment was marked by towering flagpoles.

At this moment, the battle flags atop them whipped wildly in the gale.

The wind had begun blowing the previous evening—

howling like ghostly wails throughout the night.

At dawn, Jiang Yuxun stepped out of the tent and headed straight for the flags.

He lifted his head to study them—the black banner was half-wrapped around the pole by the fierce wind, while the other half pointed faintly southwest.

Jiang Yuxun frowned, his breath catching.

The imperial battle flag not only stirred morale—it also served to indicate wind direction.

Today’s wind was far too strong.

The banner’s direction was unclear.

After hesitating, Jiang Yuxun drew a one-foot ribbon from his sleeve and cautiously extended it outward.

The ribbon flailed wildly for several breaths, then aligned itself with the banner, pointing southeast.

Jiang Yuxun’s heart leapt into his throat.

…The wind had truly changed.

“What are you looking at, my dear minister?” Ying Changchuan’s voice sounded behind him.

He raised his head to follow Jiang Yuxun’s gaze toward the banner.

Jiang Yuxun turned at once and handed him the ribbon.

“The wind direction is wrong today.”

Ying Changchuan took it and tested the direction himself.

Jiang Yuxun spoke rapidly.

“Last night the wind kept shifting, but this morning it seems to have settled into a northwesterly.”

As he spoke, his mood grew heavy.

Though Jiang Yuxun did not say it outright, Ying Changchuan—who had conquered lands on horseback and fought Zherou—understood immediately.

—If Zherou intended to set fires, today was the perfect opportunity.

The Zhenbei Army was stationed in the heart of Dingwumu Vast Grasslands.

High ground, abundant grass, clear sightlines—an excellent offensive position.

But every advantage had its cost.

Dingwumu lay wide open, exposed on all sides. No one could say from which direction Zherou would ignite the fires, or whether they would strike from multiple angles.

Waiting at the grassland’s edge for enemy soldiers would be like searching for needles in the sea.

Ying Changchuan slowly clenched the ribbon in his hand.

He nodded to Jiang Yuxun, then turned toward the command tent, issuing orders as he walked:

“Summon the General of Dingbei with his men.”

His voice was calm, but unusually grave.

The nearby soldiers immediately knelt and saluted.

“Yes, Your Majesty!”

Jiang Yuxun, still standing where he was, lifted his gaze once more to the banner.

The black flag thrashed violently in the wind, its thunderous flapping echoing like war drums in his chest.

The great battle was about to begin.

Late at night, on the northern edge of Dingwumu Vast Grasslands.

Mounted on a jujube-red warhorse, the Qiuqi King—clad in brown leather armor—ground his teeth together.

At this moment, his eyes held nothing but condensed, inescapable killing intent.

A soldier stepped forward, placed his right hand to his chest in salute, then cautiously raised his eyes.

“…Your Majesty, do we act now?”

“Not yet. Not yet,” the Qiuqi King narrowed his eyes toward Dingwumu and murmured, “Wait another incense-stick’s time.”

“Yes, Great King!”

Those who had followed him here were the same personal guards who had fled with him that day.

Ignoring them, the Qiuqi King lifted his gaze ahead.

The tall grass of Dingwumu Vast Grasslands bent southwest under the gale.

Seeing this, the Qiuqi King suddenly smiled and spoke hoarsely to those beside him:

“In the former dynasty, my Qiuqi tribe was the most prosperous among Zherou. We were farther south—lush pastures, vast grazing lands, able to herd year-round. Cattle and sheep beyond counting… and if disaster struck, we could even head south to Great Zhou to make a living…”

His voice rasped with nostalgia.

“How easy it was. How carefree.”

As he spoke, his eyes drifted shut, a faint smile appearing on his lips, as though he had returned to that golden age.

The younger soldiers nearby could not help but feel longing and anticipation.

In the roaring wind, the warhorse beneath him pawed restlessly at the ground.

The Qiuqi King suddenly opened his eyes and glared southwest.

—Now, not only did Dingwumu no longer belong to him, but he—once the strongest, most respected—had been reduced to living under another’s roof.

Worse still, he had become the vanguard of this war!

One misstep, and he would die here.

How could he not hate it?

He tightened his grip on the riding crop, wishing he could set the entirety of Dingwumu ablaze this very instant.

The incense-stick’s time passed swiftly.

The clouds above were driven southwest by the gale, blotting out the moon.

The once-bright grasslands plunged into darkness.

The Qiuqi King snapped his whip and barked sharply,

“Move out!”

“Yes, Great King—!”

The Zherou soldiers exchanged glances, dismounted, and retrieved tools from the sacks on their horses.

Besides torches and fire-strikers, there were numerous clay jars filled with liquid.

The pungent-smelling liquid was not water—

it was sesame oil.

The Qiuqi King’s lips curled upward as he stared unblinkingly toward the southwest.

After a brief pause, he lowered his voice.

“Go.”

The dismounted soldiers saluted swiftly and scattered soundlessly.

In early summer, the grass had grown tall, nearly reaching a horse’s belly.

The black-clad Zherou soldiers, bent low as they moved through the grass, soon vanished completely.

The Qiuqi King remained mounted, gazing southwest. After his last crushing defeat, he had grown far more cautious.

Though unaware that Great Zhou possessed telescopes, he still ordered his men to act discreetly and avoid detection at all costs.

The gale continued unabated.

Grass near the waterways lay flattened by the wind.

The clouds that had blanketed the moon like a quilt were scattered away.

The Qiuqi King glanced up at the sky, then tugged the reins and rode off toward the northwest.

Within Dingwumu Vast Grasslands.

Tall grass brushed bare skin, itching sharply—but the Zherou soldiers bent low among the grass did not so much as twitch an eyebrow.

They spread out in different directions, slowly pouring the contents of their clay jars—

sesame oil—

as they advanced deeper into the grasslands.

Several hours later, flames finally erupted.

Driven by the gale, they surged southwestward.

Firelight illuminated the soldiers’ tawny eyes.

They stared into the flames, their expressions eerily calm—yet threaded with madness.

If this battle succeeded, they would slaughter the Zhou and march south to Zhaodu!

And if it failed…

They would rather burn Dingwumu to ashes than let such fertile land fall into the hands of the other two kings.

 

The tall grass brushed against exposed skin, bringing with it a faint itch. Yet the Zherou soldiers who moved bent low through the grass seemed completely insensible to it—not a single brow twitching.

They fanned out in different directions, slowly tilting the clay jars in their hands, letting the tung oil spill out little by little—

and continued deeper into the grasslands.

Several hours later, flames finally erupted.

Driven by the gale, they surged southwestward.

Firelight illuminated the soldiers’ tawny-brown eyes.

He stared fixedly at the inferno before him, his expression calm—yet threaded with an indescribable madness.

If this battle succeeded, they would slaughter the Zhou people and march south to attack Zhaodu!

And if it failed…

They would rather burn everything to the ground than ever hand over a treasure like Dingwumu Vast Grasslands to the other two kings.

※

The white clouds in the sky had long been scattered by the raging wind, and moonlight bathed the grasslands in a brightness like day.

Though it was still the early hours before dawn, at least half of the soldiers in the Zhenbei Army camp had not fallen asleep as usual. Instead, they stood ready with weapons in hand.

Hundreds of watch posts had been erected outside the encampment.

Atop the wooden towers, soldiers peered into the distance through telescopes.

The orange-red sparks were unmistakable. The moment they spread along the horizon, the sentries spotted them.

“…There’s a fire in the north!”

After confirming the direction, the soldier immediately lowered the telescope and turned to grab the signal flags and horn stored in the watch post.

At the same time, another soldier rushed downstairs to ready the horses at top speed.

From the tower, the horn sounded.

A series of long and short notes relayed the direction to companions farther away.

Once the distant sentries repeated the same pattern and confirmed it was correct, the soldier finally gathered all his gear and left the tower at full speed—

riding with another soldier straight toward the Zhenbei Army’s main camp.

In no time at all, the mournful blare of war horns echoed across the entirety of Dingwumu Vast Grasslands.

The Zhenbei Army, already on high alert, immediately entered a state of war.

On the other side of the grasslands—

The Zherou cavalry, previously scattered across the plains, finally converged.

They gathered along the edge of Dingwumu Vast Grasslands, advancing rapidly forward together with the advancing flames.

The thick smoke produced by the burning fire poured upward into the sky.

It mingled with the clouds, staining them the same inky black.

In moments, the horizon was blanketed with dark clouds—

so heavy it seemed they would press down upon the earth at any second.

The black clouds overhead, the thick smoke, and the constant crackling of burning vegetation filled the mounted Zherou soldiers with rising excitement.

They pressed forward inch by inch, instinctively raising their weapons high, shouting or laughing wildly.

Their laughter rang across the grasslands, reaching every ear.

Although the Zhenbei Army camp was still some distance from the grassland’s edge,

Jiang Yuxun—neither a general nor someone required to fight—had no leisure at all.

Dressed in a clear-blue official robe, his long hair bound high behind his head, Jiang Yuxun rushed at top speed to the armory on the eastern side of the camp.

There, he assisted Zhuang Youli and the others in checking the firearms and inspecting the condition of various firefighting tools.

No sooner had he finished there than a soldier came to report:

“The herders on Dingwumu have learned of the fire and are evacuating south! As for their cattle and sheep… many have already perished in the flames.”

As Jiang Yuxun walked out of the armory with him, he issued orders swiftly:

“The herders’ livelihoods depend entirely on their livestock. Make absolutely sure they don’t rush into the fire to try to save the animals… and remember to arrange for the people to retreat behind the firebreak trenches!”

Unlike most, he did not regard the Zherou people as prisoners, but cared for them as though they were citizens of Great Zhou.

The soldier quickly memorized his instructions and turned to leave.

Before he could go, Jiang Yuxun called him back again.

“One more thing! Tell those closest to the fire to soak cloths in stream water before retreating—make sure they cover their mouths and noses and keep low. It’s not just the flames they must guard against, but the smoke.”

“Yes, Lord Jiang!” the soldier answered at once.

Jiang Yuxun finally let out a long breath.

It was still early. Since he was remaining behind at camp, he intended to return to his tent to review the nearby maps once more.

But after only a few steps, he suddenly stopped.

…

Rolling smoke was driven toward the camp by the raging wind.

The distant sky had already been dyed a blazing orange-red.

The sounds of hooves, footsteps, and even the cries of cattle and sheep mingled with the blare of war horns.

The Dingwumu Vast Grasslands—silent for centuries—had never been this alive.

“…Your Majesty.”

Several zhang away, Ying Changchuan stood clad in black battle armor, holding the reins of his warhorse and quietly watching Jiang Yuxun.

Firelight illuminated half his face, casting his features into even sharper relief.

When their gazes met, Ying Changchuan finally walked over and stopped beside him, looking deeply at the man before him.

The clamor of the grasslands seemed to fade at that moment.

He said nothing at first, merely reaching out to brush Jiang Yuxun’s cheek with his fingertips as he chuckled softly.

“There’s soot on your face, my dear minister. You look like a cat that crawled out of the stove.”

Smoke and dust filled Dingwumu, and Jiang Yuxun’s cheek was indeed smudged—a rare sight.

Several years ago, the state of Qiaoluo had presented a few kittens to Great Zhou as tribute.

Busy with affairs of state, neither the emperor nor Minister Jiang had time to care for pets, so the cats were handed over to the eunuchs and maids of Xianyou Palace.

Nominally the emperor’s property, the kittens were free to roam the palace at will—

and thus often appeared in the most unexpected places.

When the weather turned cold, they even crawled into the imperial kitchen stoves.

Come autumn and winter, the kitchen staff would always poke around inside the stove with a wooden stick before cooking, just to be sure no cats were hiding there.

Jiang Yuxun himself had seen them more than once—hauled out by the scruff of the neck, covered head to toe in ash.

—An utterly miserable sight.

He didn’t quite understand why Ying Changchuan brought this up at such a moment.

But hearing him mention Xianyou Palace, images of those ash-smeared kittens sprang vividly to mind.

Jiang Yuxun couldn’t help but smile, the tension in his nerves easing slightly.

“Why would Your Majesty compare me to them?”

He muttered under his breath and turned away a little, looking elsewhere.

In the distance, the flames were growing ever larger. By modern reckoning, it would have been around four in the morning—but the entire grassland was lit by fire, making it impossible to tell night from day.

The momentary lightness in Jiang Yuxun’s heart tightened again.

Although the herders had worked through the night to dig a long firebreak in the northwest,

as the saying goes, “water and fire show no mercy.” The course of history and what was unfolding now had already diverged completely from what Jiang Yuxun once knew.

Even as someone who had crossed over from the modern world, unease was unavoidable.

Still, at this moment he forced calm into his voice.

“Your Majesty, please go. Don’t let the battle be delayed.”

“Rest assured. I won’t.”

The emperor’s warhorse was far swifter than ordinary mounts, and Ying Changchuan could indeed afford to linger a little longer.

Seeing that he had no intention of leaving immediately, Jiang Yuxun lowered his voice and urged,

“Even with firebreaks in the northwest, Your Majesty must be careful to avoid the smoke—”

Before he could finish, Ying Changchuan suddenly turned and took something down from his horse.

It was a piece of black soft armor.

The leather was tough yet flexible—easy to move in and capable of deflecting blades.

More importantly… Jiang Yuxun’s constitution was weak. Wearing heavy armor for long periods would place a strain on his body.

From any perspective, soft armor was the best choice.

The only issue was—

If Jiang Yuxun wasn’t mistaken, this armor belonged to Ying Changchuan himself.

Sure enough.

Before Jiang Yuxun could ask, firelight revealed a faint “Ying” character etched into the black leather.

This armor did indeed belong to Ying Changchuan.

The emperor unfastened it and gently draped it over Jiang Yuxun’s shoulders.

“Raise your arms, A-Xun.”

With war imminent, Jiang Yuxun had no time to dwell on anything else.

He immediately complied, letting Ying Changchuan secure the armor on him as swiftly as possible.

“How is it?” Ying Changchuan asked, lowering his gaze, thoughtfully lifting Jiang Yuxun’s long hair free from beneath the armor.

Jiang Yuxun touched the armor, momentarily stunned.

“Isn’t this Your Majesty’s armor? How does it fit so well?”

Ying Changchuan was half a head taller and far broader in build.

Yet on Jiang Yuxun, the armor fit perfectly—neither loose nor awkward.

Ying Changchuan smiled faintly and murmured by his ear,

“It’s the armor I wore the first time I went to war. It was made by Empress Dowager Zhaoyi with her own hands.”

When the emperor first entered battle, he had still been young; the armor was lighter and less cumbersome than those of later years.

Hearing this, Jiang Yuxun was shaken.

Empress Dowager Zhaoyi was Ying Changchuan’s mother—this armor was a keepsake she had left behind.

Startled, Jiang Yuxun exclaimed, “That’s far too precious—!”

“If it’s precious,” Ying Changchuan replied seriously, “then you must be all the more careful. Don’t let yourself be harmed—and don’t damage the armor either. Will you promise me that?”

Firelight fully illuminated his eyes, his tone solemn.

The war horns grew clearer. It was time for the emperor to depart.

Jiang Yuxun clenched his fist, then finally nodded as he met Ying Changchuan’s gaze.

“I promise, Your Majesty. And you must be careful as well.”

“Good.”

The warhorse snorted eagerly.

Just as Jiang Yuxun thought Ying Changchuan was about to mount, the emperor reached out and lifted the hand Jiang Yuxun had been holding tightly at his side.

He bent and placed a careful kiss upon the back of it.

The hand that had been clenched so tightly relaxed at once.

In the next instant, Ying Changchuan vaulted onto his horse.

Gripping the sword at his waist, he laughed softly and shook his head.

“That veil slipped off on its own last time—it doesn’t count.”

—He would lift it himself next time, and finish what he had left undone.

With that, the black warhorse reared high—

then shot into the darkness like a bolt of lightning.

The sword at the emperor’s waist flashed coldly, cleaving through smoke and flame alike.

Jiang Yuxun unconsciously held his breath, resting his hand on the corner of the soft armor—

and gently tracing the carved “Ying” character with his fingers.

\