WSMTATMC C175

Chapter 175

The hat in Lin Sui’s hand slipped to the ground with a soft thud. The next moment, the world before him spun wildly, and he nearly collapsed to the floor.

Wang Ying reacted swiftly, catching him before he fell. “I’m sorry, shopkeeper,” he said hastily. “We won’t be buying the hat after all.”

He led Lin Sui out of the shop and sat him down on the steps outside. It took a long while before Lin Sui finally gathered himself and stammered, “Sister-in-law, that man just now… he said…” His words caught in his throat, choked by emotion, and hot tears began to stream down his face, one after another.

“Don’t panic just yet,” Wang Ying said quickly. “That man could have been raving nonsense. Matters of the army are state secrets—even court officials may not know the full truth. How could an ordinary person possibly know such things?”

Lin Sui nodded, though his face remained pale. “You’re right, Sister-in-law. It must be nonsense! It has to be!”

“Let’s go home and wait for proper news. If something truly happened, we’ll hear official word in a few days.”

“Alright.”

The two returned home in anxious silence, the excitement for their outing completely gone.

That night, as they ate dinner, Yuanbao chatted eagerly about what food they would bring for tomorrow’s trip. Wang Ying said softly, “Father has something important to do tomorrow, so we may not be able to go.”

“What? But you promised…”

“I know,” Wang Ying said gently. “Next time, I promise I’ll take you out to play.”

Yuanbao pouted but said nothing more. To make it up to him, Wang Ying decided to take his son to play in the Spirit Field that night instead, hoping to soothe his disappointment.

Qing’er, too, looked downcast. After dinner, she sat quietly beside Lin Sui. Seeing her so subdued, Lin Sui’s heart ached even more. Tears welled up again, his eyes growing red.

Startled, Qing’er hurried to wipe his tears away with her little hands, but the more she wiped, the more tears fell, leaving her flustered and unsure what to do.

Lin Sui pulled her into his arms, holding her tightly. A grim thought flickered through his mind—if the Marquis truly had met his end on the battlefield, then he would live the rest of his life depending only on this child.

After dinner, Wang Ying took his son into the Spirit Field. The level-up earlier that day had clearly been related to Chen Qingyan’s success—but what rank had he achieved?

They waited from early evening until late night, yet Chen Qingyan did not appear. Yuanbao grew drowsy, yawning over and over, but stubbornly refused to sleep.

“Why don’t you rest for a bit?” Wang Ying suggested. “When your father comes, I’ll wake you up.”

Yuanbao shook his head. “No. I’ll wait for Father.”

Wang Ying pinched the boy’s soft cheek affectionately. Though they had not spent much time together, the bond between them was instinctive—blood ties truly were a mysterious thing.

Another half hour passed. The Spirit Field’s active time was nearly depleted, and experience points were being consumed just to keep it open—no one else could enter.

“Maybe we should call it a night and—” Before he could finish, Chen Qingyan appeared.

“Ah Ying! Yuanbao!”

They turned at the sound of his voice. Chen Qingyan stood there, dressed in a crimson robe and wearing a floral coronet, his cheeks flushed from wine and his steps unsteady with excitement. As he ran toward them, he accidentally tripped on his robe and nearly fell.

Wang Ying and Yuanbao both rushed to catch him. “You’ve been drinking?” Wang Ying asked.

Chen Qingyan grinned foolishly. “I passed! I’m the zhuangyuan.”

“What? The zhuangyuan?!”

He nodded, eyes shining. “Tonight was the Qionglin Banquet. I drank a cup of wine with His Majesty himself.”

Chen Qingyan had no tolerance for alcohol—just one cup and his face turned as red as a monkey’s bottom, which amused the Emperor so much that he laughed heartily. Before parting, the Emperor had even instructed the others not to make the zhuangyuan lang drink anymore, sparing him from further intoxication.

The palace wine was strong; by the time he returned home, his head was still spinning. He quickly bolted the door and entered the Spirit Field, only to find his husband and son already waiting for him.

“I still haven’t come to my senses,” he said, laughing breathlessly. “It all feels like a dream. I didn’t even top the provincial or metropolitan exams—who would’ve thought the Emperor himself would choose me as zhuangyuan in the final round?”

Wang Ying’s eyes brimmed with tears. “I knew you would make something of yourself one day, but I didn’t expect you to shine this brightly!”

Chen Qingyan sighed softly and pulled him into an embrace. Half of this success, he knew, belonged to Ah Ying. If not for marrying him, he might have long been buried beneath the earth.

Ah Ying had saved him from despair time and again. Now, at last, he had lived up to the faith placed in him.

“I must stay in the capital for a few days to receive the imperial rewards,” he said gently. “Wait for me to return.”

“I will.”

Just then, a little bundle of energy jumped between them. Yuanbao flung his arms around their legs. “Father, Papa—don’t forget me!”

Laughing, Chen Qingyan scooped him up, holding him between them. The three of them burst into joyous laughter together.

Since it was a day of celebration, Wang Ying didn’t mind letting father and son play a bit longer in the Spirit Field. Only when Yuanbao could barely keep his eyes open did they finally settle down to rest.

As Wang Ying rocked his son to sleep in his arms, the joy on his face faded slightly, replaced by concern. “Did you hear any news from the frontier while in the capital?”

Chen Qingyan shook his head. “I’ve been staying at Lord Liu’s residence to prepare for the exam—I didn’t dare go out freely. Did something happen at the border?”

Wang Ying told him about the rumor they’d heard in town that day. “Lin Sui and I both believe it’s just wild talk. There’s no way Marquis Wuping could have fallen in battle.”

“Still,” Chen Qingyan said gravely, “the situation at the frontier is dire. Many officials have been visiting Lord Liu’s residence recently, and there’s been much discussion.”

“Discussion about what?”

“Not everyone agrees on continuing the campaign. War is no small matter—ten thousand soldiers fall each day at the border. Even beyond casualties, there are pensions and compensations to consider. The expenses can be borne for now, but in the long term, the burden on the state will be immense.”

Wang Ying understood all too well. In his previous life, he had lived in a land untouched by war, but he had studied enough history to know the devastation it wrought—entire nations reduced to rubble, people displaced, economies collapsing for decades. The toll of war was immeasurable.

“The Emperor’s decision to name me zhuangyuan sends a clear message,” Chen Qingyan continued. “This war must be fought to the end. If we sue for peace now, the Turks will demand territory as tribute. Yielding land would only embolden them, feeding a tiger that will one day devour us whole. Such a peace is no peace at all—it is the beginning of annihilation.”

Wang Ying felt a quiet pride that the Emperor had the spine not to choose appeasement like the Song Dynasty from his history books. If Great Wu yielded now, its destruction would only be a matter of time.

It was growing late. Watching his experience points slowly drain, Wang Ying winced. “You should rest. We’ll go to sleep too. It’s a pity we can’t share this joy with family yet—when you return, we’ll celebrate properly.”

“Alright,” Chen Qingyan said, exhaustion overtaking him. After a day of tension and excitement, his body finally gave in. The moment he left the Spirit Field, he fell fast asleep.

Wang Ying, on the other hand, was too thrilled to sleep. He paced the room restlessly, glancing at his son sleeping soundly on the bed.

A zhuangyuan! Since ancient times, those who achieved such glory were few and far between—and now his husband was one of them! The joy he felt was like winning the grand prize in the lottery—only better, because it was real.

Yet amidst his happiness, worry crept in for Lin Sui. What if the rumors were true? What if the Marquis really had perished? How would Lin Sui and his child survive?

Across town, Lin Sui too lay awake. Since hearing that dreadful rumor, his thoughts had been in turmoil.

He recalled Li Mu’s parting words—and that brief, cold embrace before he left. The faint scent of iron on his armor still lingered in his memory, making his heart skip a beat.

It wasn’t that he loved Li Mu deeply—they had barely spent any time together. If not for Qing’er, two people as unconnected as they were would never have crossed paths.

Yet even so, the thought of his death tore painfully at his chest. He turned to look at his sleeping daughter, one of the few people left in his life. If Li Mu were truly gone… what would become of her?

Would he even be able to keep her by his side?

He stayed awake until dawn, drifting into a brief, uneasy sleep—only to plunge into a nightmare.

In the dream, Li Mu lay on the ground, covered in blood, crawling painfully across the earth.

Panicked, Lin Sui knelt beside him, pressing his hands over the gaping wounds, but the more he pressed, the faster the blood flowed, until it dyed his own clothes crimson.

Li Mu’s eyes stared up at him, glassy and full of pain. His lips trembled as he whispered, “Take care of Qing’er for me…” Then he exhaled one last breath and went still.

“Ah!” Lin Sui jolted awake with a cry. Qing’er sat beside him, her face pale with worry.

He must have been muttering in his sleep—no matter how hard she’d shaken him, he wouldn’t wake. Now, finally conscious, he saw her trembling lip and threw his arms around her, holding her close.

His whole body trembled. Thank heaven—it had only been a dream.

One month earlier.

Outside Yumen Pass, the Turkic cavalry had surrounded the fortress for four days. The defenders could only hold their ground—they dared not charge out recklessly. The plains beyond were open and flat, perfect terrain for cavalry assaults. If they ventured out, defeat was certain.

Inside the command tent, General Zhao Yi stood before a sand table, his brows deeply furrowed. The lines etched between them were grooves of worry carved over years of hardship. He was only thirty-six, yet life on the frontier had aged him beyond his years—his temples were already streaked with white.

Beside him sat his strategist Guan Shiqian and Lieutenant Lang Ping, both grave-faced; the atmosphere was heavy with tension.

“By now, the Marquis should have reached this position,” Guan Shiqian said, planting a small flag near Lishan.

Lang Ping studied the map and nodded. “Perhaps a little farther. The Marquis leads three thousand elite troops—their march would be much swifter than the main army’s.”

Zhao Yi asked, “And the men sent to spread false reports?”

“All arrangements have been made, General,” Guan replied. “The rumors have already circulated.”

The ruse of Li Mu’s fake death had been a desperate measure. There were spies within the ranks—traitors who had sabotaged several campaigns.

At Jiahe, they had lost more than three thousand men because the spies had leaked their departure time and route, allowing the Turks to set up an ambush that caught them completely off guard.

Forced to retreat, the army fell back to Yang Pass—only to find it already occupied by the Qiang forces, who had circled around to cut them off at Lishan.

Ordinarily, the Qiang could never have blocked an army of such scale, but their interference had delayed them just long enough for the Turks to seize the advantage. Yang Pass was lost, and they were forced to withdraw once more—this time to Yumen Pass.

Each defeat not only weakened morale but fueled bitter criticism in the capital.

Four months of grueling warfare had drained their supplies and silver reserves. War was a furnace that devoured both men and wealth, and now, with court factions sabotaging logistics, the next shipment of provisions had yet to arrive. With spies within and enemies without, they were cornered.

Under such pressure, they had no choice but to take a gamble—spread false news of Li Mu’s death and send him secretly around the rear to strike the Turks from behind.

To make the deception convincing, Lang Ping had arranged for trusted men to spread the rumor widely, ensuring that even enemy spies would believe it. The Turks would never expect an ambush from the rear.

If the plan succeeded, it would deal a devastating blow to their enemies.

Zhao Yi drove the Wu Dynasty’s flag back into the west side of the map. “All we must do is hold this position for ten days. When Li Mu reaches the rear, we’ll crush them between hammer and anvil—leave not a single man standing!”

“Understood!” his officers answered in unison.

Footnotes

 

1. Zhuangyuan (状元) – The top scholar in the imperial examination; the highest academic title in the empire. 
2. Yumen Pass (玉门关) – A crucial fortress in northwestern China guarding the Silk Road route.