BEGW C99

Chapter 99

The four corners of the military tent were all driven deep into the ground with iron stakes. At times, soldiers would even lean blades and swords against the canvas.

In theory, its load-bearing capacity posed no issue—but that absolutely did not mean a person could casually lean against it.

Jiang Yuxun, who had only just been worrying about Ying Changchuan’s “injuries,” swiftly sidestepped and swept a scrutinizing gaze over him.

The sunlight of Dingwumu Vast Grasslands had tanned Ying Changchuan’s skin to a deeper honeyed tone. Compared to a month ago, the definition of his muscles was even clearer now.

More importantly—his movements were smooth and crisp.

There wasn’t the slightest hint of injury anywhere.

…Oh? So you were lying to me again?

I knew those later negative rumors weren’t all groundless.

For once, Jiang Yuxun silently blacklisted Ying Changchuan in his heart.

Though his hand was still trapped in Ying Changchuan’s grip, Jiang Yuxun suddenly straightened and shook his head with righteous solemnity.

“No, I don’t want to.”

His voice was loud enough to pierce through the felt curtain and reach outside the tent.

The change in expression was faster than flipping a page.

Yet today, Ying Changchuan clearly had no intention of reasoning with him.

At the exact moment the words “don’t want to” reached his ears, Ying Changchuan had already removed his battle armor with one hand.

Jiang Yuxun’s fingertips landed—without warning—squarely on the other man’s chest.

…It was already evening, and the air had begun to cool.

Unlike the cold metal armor, the moment his fingers touched Ying Changchuan’s chest, they tingled as if lightly scalded.

The tent was brightly lit. Jiang Yuxun could clearly see the smile in Ying Changchuan’s eyes.

No need to guess—he was definitely teasing him again.

It was already late. The soldiers, finished with their rest, were leaving the tents in small groups and heading toward the bonfires.

Their footsteps and chatter drifted clearly into Jiang Yuxun’s ears.

Though the feast tonight wasn’t grand, Ying Changchuan—as emperor and commanding general—was certain to attend.

Jiang Yuxun lowered his head slightly and couldn’t help letting out a quiet laugh.

—If Ying Changchuan struck first, he couldn’t blame Jiang Yuxun for striking back.

“…Since Your Majesty puts it that way, I suppose I can reluctantly help.”

As he spoke, Jiang Yuxun suddenly raised his other hand—the one not held—and pressed it against Ying Changchuan’s chest as well.

Please. He was a modern person.

There was no way he’d be scared so easily.

It was early summer now. Beneath Ying Changchuan’s armor, he wore only a thin inner garment.

Through the fabric, Jiang Yuxun’s fingertips brushed against the jagged scar left from a wound Ying Changchuan had suffered in childhood.

Years had passed, yet the scar remained unmistakably clear—even to the touch.

What had begun as playful retaliation turned instinctive. Jiang Yuxun unconsciously traced that long scar through the cloth.

Though he knew the wound had healed long ago, the stark mark made his movements soften without realizing it.

Like a feather brushing back and forth.

His lowered lashes hid those ink-dark eyes.

All Ying Changchuan could see now were Jiang Yuxun’s lashes, trembling faintly with each breath—

…as if they might turn into butterflies and flutter away the next instant.

The numb, tingling sensation at his chest spread like a weak electric current through his entire body.

Ying Changchuan recalled the feeling of Jiang Yuxun’s lashes grazing his palm, and his gentle breath.

The hand that had been gripping Jiang Yuxun loosened slightly.

Yet the gaze in those cool-colored eyes grew dangerously hot.

Jiang Yuxun had no idea what Ying Changchuan was thinking.

Sensing the loosened grip, he immediately pulled his wrist free.

—See? I knew this would work.

He let out a quiet sigh of relief, the corners of his lips lifting faintly.

Suddenly, laughter sounded from not far outside the tent.

Jiang Yuxun instinctively turned toward the sound, then quickly stepped back two paces.

He wiped his palm on his robe hem, then looked up and said,

“It’s getting late. The feast is about to start. Um… I’ll be heading out first?”

Before the other man could respond, Jiang Yuxun had already pulled open the felt curtain—

and vanished from Ying Changchuan’s sight in the blink of an eye.

A night breeze rushed into the tent as it opened.

The candle flames danced with the wind, and Ying Changchuan slowly clenched his hand.

As he clearly felt the heat pooling in his body, he finally understood—

what it meant to bring trouble upon oneself.

Though the Zhenbei Army camp was vast, it could hardly fit tens of thousands of people eating together.

With the feast about to begin, the soldiers spread out, sitting around bonfires across the camp.

Those seated with Jiang Yuxun were the main participating generals, along with court officials left behind to guard the camp.

The sun was sinking lower. Warm firelight glossed the meat on the tables with a rich sheen.

The generals who had marched all day with Ying Changchuan swallowed instinctively.

In the distance, other soldiers had already begun feasting—drinking and eating with abandon.

Hearing the laughter from all directions, one general finally stood, saluted Jiang Yuxun, and asked,

“Lord Jiang, does His Majesty still have military affairs to attend to? Do you require our assistance?”

Several others immediately turned their gazes to Jiang Yuxun.

…Staring so intently that guilt crept up his spine.

He turned instinctively, pretending to look toward the tent he shared with Ying Changchuan.

“His Majesty is likely still busy with military matters…” Jiang Yuxun said, lifting his cup to hide the stiffness at the corners of his mouth.

“It’s fine. Please eat first, everyone. We should all rest early tonight.”

With that, he took a sip of strong liquor and led by example, picking up his chopsticks.

Strictly speaking, a feast shouldn’t begin before the emperor arrives.

Yet once Jiang Yuxun spoke, everyone followed him smoothly, as if it were only natural that he could decide in the emperor’s stead.

The lamb, raised on Dingwumu’s unique grasses and wild onions, carried not a trace of gaminess.

Fresh off the grill, the meat was crisp outside and tender within—sweet and succulent beyond anything they’d tasted before.

Ying Changchuan had never shortchanged the generals who fought beside him.

Still, no matter how good military rations were, campaign meals prioritized filling the stomach over indulgence.

These generals had been craving real meat for nearly a month.

One bite was enough to send all thoughts of the emperor and other concerns flying straight out of their minds.

“Drink! Drink!” The Dingbei General raised his cup high.

“With such a great victory for Great Zhou, we should drink freely! Tonight, we don’t stop until we’re drunk!”

“Well said!” Another general echoed loudly, lifting his cup. “Let’s drink our fill!”

Caught up in the mood, even usually cautious Zhuang Youli drank cup after cup with them.

“Lord Jiang,” the Dingbei General—already flushed red—stood after making his rounds, speaking with heartfelt seriousness.

“Our army is formidable, but to defeat Zherou this swiftly was thanks to Lord Jiang’s proposal regarding firearms. For that alone, I, as a general, must toast you properly!”

His eyes even reddened as he spoke.

The bonfire area was already roaring with noise—drinking, eating, chatting.

Almost no one noticed that the Dingbei General was pressing Jiang Yuxun to drink.

Jiang Yuxun had no choice but to rise and return the salute with his cup.

“General, you’re too kind. Firearms alone were never my achievement. More important were the alchemists, craftsmen, and soldiers behind them.”

“Well said! Then let’s toast everyone!”

With that, the Dingbei General drained his bowl in one go—and even tilted it to show it was empty.

—He was truly drunk. Had he been even slightly sober, he wouldn’t dare pressure the emperor’s person to drink like this.

By firelight, Jiang Yuxun looked down at his own cup.

The cups here were far larger than those in Zhaodu—almost bowls.

Thinking of his terrifying alcohol tolerance and even worse drunken behavior, despair crept in.

…Where was Ying Changchuan?!

Where did he run off to instead of eating?

Seeing that Ying Changchuan still hadn’t appeared, Jiang Yuxun forced a stiff smile at the Dingbei General.

Then, like moving in slow motion, he raised the bowl and looked down at the clear liquid inside.

The strong liquor, warmed by the fire, carried an even heavier aroma.

Jiang Yuxun wasn’t good with alcohol—but he knew exactly how potent this was.

The Dingbei General’s enthusiasm was impossible to refuse.

Just as Jiang Yuxun braced himself to down it—

someone suddenly appeared behind him.

Before he could react, that person lifted the bowl straight from his hand.

Night had fully fallen; stars scattered across the sky.

The bonfire flickered with the breeze, its light dancing in the liquor.

Jiang Yuxun froze, then turned—

The emperor, who had missed the feast, stood there at some point unknown.

He wore a simple crimson gauze robe, holding the bowl taken from Jiang Yuxun’s hand.

“…Your Majesty?”

Another night breeze swept through, snapping the drunken Dingbei General back to awareness.

The moment Jiang Yuxun realized something was wrong, Ying Changchuan was already smiling and nodding at him.

In the next breath, he downed the strong liquor in one go on Jiang Yuxun’s behalf, set the bowl down, and walked calmly toward the table.

As he took his seat, Ying Changchuan laughed lightly and said offhandedly to the Dingbei General beside him,

“A-Xun can’t hold his liquor. I’ll drink for him.”

Heavens above.

The two words “A-Xun” struck the Dingbei General like a bolt of lightning.

The general—who had just been standing there steadily with his bowl—shuddered violently.

A sense of utter despair, as though both his career and his life had reached their end, surged up in an instant. His face flushed bright red.

Damn it all—what possessed him to forget that?!

…His Majesty and Lord Jiang were that kind of relationship!

And yet he had actually pressured Lord Jiang to drink right in front of the emperor.

He must have been tired of living.

After turning red, the Dingbei General’s face cycled through green and white. The man who had been drinking so heartily just moments ago couldn’t smile anymore.

The banquet was lively, and only now did the others notice that Ying Changchuan had arrived.

Fei Jinyuan of the Court of Revenue, who had been drinking, froze for a moment and looked at Ying Changchuan in confusion.

Only after a few breaths did he remember to stand and salute.

Seeing him about to rise, the emperor—already holding a cup—smiled and said,

“No need for formalities. Today, we’re keeping things casual.”

Then Ying Changchuan turned back to the still-standing Dingbei General and added lightly,

“General, please sit as well.”

“Y-yes, Your Majesty…”

Ying Changchuan’s presence was overwhelming, but before he arrived, everyone had already drunk quite a bit.

So even though the emperor had joined them, the atmosphere didn’t change much.

Amid clinking cups, a few people still cast puzzled looks at Ying Changchuan.

…Strange. All of His Majesty’s close ministers were already seated, eating and drinking.

How could he possibly have been busy with military affairs?

Ying Changchuan never arrived late. This unprecedented delay was impossible not to question.

Normally, Ying Changchuan wouldn’t care what these officials thought.

But today, he set down his cup, turned slightly, and asked Jiang Yuxun beside him,

“Does Aiqing know what Lord Fang is wondering about?”

His voice was neither loud nor soft—just enough for everyone to hear clearly.

Lord Fang stiffened instantly, sitting bolt upright and staring nervously at Jiang Yuxun.

Logically speaking, Jiang Yuxun should have covered for his colleague—or simply said he didn’t know.

But under the influence of a debuff, he tightened his grip on his chopsticks and answered reflexively,

“In reply to Your Majesty, Lord Fang is probably wondering why you arrived so late.”

Lord Fang’s eyes flew wide open in terror.

The liquor in his hand sloshed onto the table as his body shook.

Lord Jiang wasn’t wrong—but how could a court official dare ask the emperor such a private question?!

Wasn’t this courting death?!

He braced himself, ready to drop to his knees the instant Ying Changchuan’s expression changed.

The rest of the banquet turned quiet, all eyes drawn to this spot.

For a moment, all Jiang Yuxun could hear was the faint sound of wind brushing through grass.

The question was trivial—too trivial. Jiang Yuxun didn’t think Ying Changchuan would answer it at all.

Yet today, Ying Changchuan seemed determined to break expectations.

Not only did he show no displeasure, he smiled at the crowd and said,

“This question might be better answered by Lord Jiang.”

There was a distinctly meaningful undertone to his words.

Though Ying Changchuan dared to say so, no matter how curious the others were, none of them dared actually ask Jiang Yuxun in front of him. They immediately pretended nothing had happened.

“So that’s how it is.”

“I thought so…”

Jiang Yuxun, seated beside him, was utterly baffled.

…Ask me?

What did his being late have to do with me?

He frowned slightly and was about to look at Ying Changchuan—

when his face suddenly flushed red.

The scene in the military tent flashed back into his mind. He clenched his fist and guiltily looked away.

…Wait. Is it what I’m thinking?

If so, then maybe it does have a little something to do with me…

The war was not yet fully over. After the banquet, Ying Changchuan summoned Fei Jinyuan, who was staying behind and overseeing the storage and transport of firearms, to ask about related matters.

Having drunk a few cups, Jiang Yuxun wasn’t sleepy yet and decided to clear his head.

Not far from the tents was a small stream.

Though it was already summer and the nights were cooler, the water—warmed by the sun all day—still carried a gentle heat when touched.

Jiang Yuxun sat by the stream behind the tents, holding the report Qi Pingsha had just handed him.

—Although Gu Yejin had formally joined the Fulin Army and become a battlefield general, deep down he still regarded himself as an ordinary member of the Right Division of the Xuanjin Guard.

Whenever something major happened, he reported it to the emperor—and, with imperial consent, also wrote a separate report for Jiang Yuxun.

The bonfires nearby hadn’t fully died out. By their glow and the starlight above, Jiang Yuxun slowly unfolded the report.

The lingering buzz of alcohol vanished the moment he read the contents.

The information Gu Yejin provided was far more detailed than what Jiang Yuxun already knew.

—Though King Da’e himself was still trapped in the desert and attempting to reach Qiaoluo, he had apparently sensed danger and prepared a backup plan: secretly sending people toward the Zherou Royal Court to scout an alternative route.

The report wasn’t long. That was all.

After reading it, Jiang Yuxun pressed his lips together, his expression growing grave.

Though the Zherou King ruled more in name than in fact, he still commanded some troops.

More importantly, the Royal Court was the only true city in Zherou territory—surrounded by rich pastureland, capable of sustaining itself without nomadism.

It also had formidable rammed-earth walls, and beyond them, a stretch of desert that served as a natural barrier against Zhou forces.

Before this war, one might argue that Da’e didn’t fully grasp Great Zhou’s strength.

But now—having been chased like a rat into the deepest desert—how could he not understand?

Even if he managed to reach the Royal Court and hole up there, it would never be a long-term solution.

But Da’e had no luxury to think that far ahead. To him, surviving one more day was already a victory.

The night wind swept over the stream, bringing a chill.

After sitting there for a long while, Jiang Yuxun slowly stood up.

His gaze drifted instinctively toward the direction of the Royal Court…

In the darkness, everything was blurred.

In that moment, his world seemed reduced to endless grassland and softly flowing water.

The Zherou King had few usable troops—and he was still just a half-grown child.

After Great Zhou declared war, he had simply holed up in the Royal Court, making no move at all.

If Gu Yejin hadn’t mentioned him today, Jiang Yuxun might almost have forgotten he existed.

That was likely the plan he and the surrounding nobles were counting on.

For the safety of Zefang Commandery’s people alone, they could not allow such a massive hidden threat to persist.

Central Plains warfare placed great importance on legitimate cause.

Though this war was retaliation and self-defense after a century of humiliation, Great Zhou would not march on the Royal Court without justification.

Now that Da’e planned to retreat there, it presented an opportunity—

an opportunity to completely destroy Zherou, leaving no chance to recover or revive.

A birdcall sounded nearby.

Jiang Yuxun took out a silk handkerchief and carefully wiped the water from his fingers.

According to the History of Zhou, Da’e had done something similar.

On the brink of defeat, he retreated toward the Royal Court—but never reached it, dying by Ying Changchuan’s sword instead.

In the original history, the Yi River Rebellion had severely drained the Zhou heartland around Zhaodu.

Soon after, newly annexed regions like Shuolin and the former Twelve Southwestern States stirred with unrest.

For seven years, Great Zhou had fought enemies on all sides.

Nothing like the present.

Thus the final battle had been especially brutal.

Later historians inferred from sparse records that Ying Changchuan—besides chronic overwork—had likely suffered severe wounds in that battle, or an infection left untreated, and died months later in Yuyang Palace.

Thinking of what had just happened in the tent, Jiang Yuxun ground the grass beneath his toe and muttered resentfully,

“…Just keep scaring me, why don’t you.”

History had already taken a full 180-degree turn.

Ying Changchuan was still as diligent as the records said, occasionally dragging a random official into overtime work with him.

But he seemed naturally energetic, showing no sign of exhaustion at all.

Meanwhile, Jiang Yuxun—burdened by the original body’s frailty—looked pale as a ghost after just one late night.

Thinking of this, he let out a heavy sigh.

—Comparisons really did kill people.

The sigh wasn’t loud, but the area outside the tents was so quiet that it reached Ying Changchuan clearly as he stepped out.

“What is Aiqing sighing about?” Ying Changchuan walked over, brushed the grass from Jiang Yuxun’s sleeve, and gently pinched his earlobe.

“What are you thinking about out here alone?”

Soldiers stood guard nearby. Though they faced away, the fear of being seen still made Jiang Yuxun uneasy.

He stepped forward while Ying Changchuan loosened his grip.

Once he felt the distance was appropriate again, Jiang Yuxun exhaled in relief, smiled under the starlight, and answered bluntly,

“I was thinking about Your Majesty.”

His voice was low—just enough for the two of them.

After speaking, he even blinked at the emperor playfully.

The Milky Way reflected in the flowing stream and shone in Jiang Yuxun’s eyes, lighting up those dark pupils.

He had been thinking about Ying Changchuan—and given their relationship, after a month apart, there was nothing wrong with that.

Having just regained the upper hand earlier, Jiang Yuxun found his courage greatly increased.

At first, his words still carried a trace of habitual guilt.

But as he spoke, they grew increasingly confident.

Ying Changchuan’s gaze changed instantly.

He stepped forward, pulled Jiang Yuxun into his arms, and laughed as the man in his embrace trembled with tension.

Ying Changchuan showed no concern that curious or rebellious soldiers might turn around.

He kissed Jiang Yuxun’s ear, then murmured hoarsely,

“What about me were you thinking?”

Their bodies pressed tightly together.

Jiang Yuxun, cooled from sitting by the stream, felt especially comfortable in his arms.

Ying Changchuan couldn’t help tightening his hold.

To Jiang Yuxun, there was nothing unanswerable about the question.

He tried to turn and look into Ying Changchuan’s eyes, but under that restraint, he only managed an awkward shift.

…Alright then.

Unable to see his eyes—and still somewhat anxious from the History of Zhou—Jiang Yuxun answered sincerely,

“I was thinking… is Your Majesty’s body truly well?”

He didn’t see the man holding him frown.

The question was earnest, but the atmosphere was completely wrong.

Under the combined influence of the day’s events and the moment—

those words carried a dangerous double meaning to Ying Changchuan’s ears,

who knew nothing of his future recorded in history.