Chapter 54

Under the shroud of night, Qin Xian lay sprawled across Xie Ci’s horseback, his face and lips stained with a soot-like darkness. His breaths were shallow, and each exhalation spewed copious blood, dyeing his cheeks, hands, and the entire front of his armor crimson. Pressing at his philtrum yielded not the slightest sign of consciousness. Soon, he began to convulse, retching another mouthful of blood directly onto Gu Wan.

Both he and Gu Wan were covered in blood, the stench thick and nauseating, leaving all who saw them aghast.

—And Qin Xian had already taken the antidote in advance, consuming it for two days straight, and before being summoned to the main tent, he’d even swallowed three heavy doses. With such preparation, everyone had believed that, if not invulnerable, he would at least avoid severe poisoning. What devilish toxin was this, to be so fearsome?

Gu Wan wasted no words. As Qin Xian began to cough up blood, she snapped her eyes and mouth shut, quickly scrubbing her face with her sleeve, wiping at every mucous membrane that might be exposed. Opening her eyes, she shouted, “Quick! Milk—!”

She swiftly checked Qin Xian’s inner eyelids, oral mucosa, and fingernails. His nails were cyanotic, his mouth ulcerated—such severe gastrointestinal bleeding! She needed milk to induce vomiting at once, and there were convulsions too—Qin Xian’s muscles jerked uncontrollably, a textbook sign of poisoning.

Gu Wan instantly recalled an ancient and deadly toxin known as “Foreign Soil Beetle”—an alkaline poison that began with dizziness and cramps, rapidly escalating to seizures and suffocation.

Her voice cracked as she shouted, “Quick! Bring my prepared water pouch No. 2, hurry, hurry, hurry—!”

It was clear Qin Xian had not been poisoned by one substance alone. This brutal compound toxin left Gu Wan to contend with each symptom as it arose. Sweat poured from her brow; if she made a single error tonight, Qin Xian might not make it.

“Damn it! What the hell is this poison?! Get him off the horse, lay him flat—!”

She ordered urgently. Xie Ci quickly dismounted and laid Qin Xian out. Gu Wan, utterly focused, wasted no time—after pouring boiled cow’s and goat’s milk down his throat, she forced him to vomit.

She repeatedly stimulated the root of his tongue, then had Xie Ci lift his upper body across her thigh, her knee pressing into his stomach. Qin Xian vomited up a large, oddly colored pool of milk.

Next came the emergency decoction, prepared after discussion with the military physicians—meant as a precaution, now fully deployed. For “Foreign Soil Beetle” poisoning, a decoction of dozens of herbs—milkvine, indigo, siler, licorice—could be used to induce vomiting and mitigate symptoms.

Qin Xian’s trusted physician immediately gave him a small porcelain bottle of white powder, which he swallowed down with liquid. More was sprinkled into his nostrils for inhalation, and then, in urgent succession, silver needles pierced his fingertips and various acupoints to stimulate bleeding and relieve the poison.

Gu Wan also administered powdered red-backed grass. In ancient times, the infamous “Blood-Sealing Throat” was indeed a poison, also known as arrowwood, one of the deadliest plants known—mere contact with a scratch could kill within hours. Modern analysis revealed that many legendary ancient poisons used it as a chief ingredient.

Yet, it had a companion antidote—a small grass growing right beside arrowwood: red-backed grass, the only known remedy. Qin Xian had taken some before, but Gu Wan, taking no chances, gave him another dose. Her own eyes stung, so she took a dose herself.

After a flurry of emergency measures, Qin Xian finally ceased convulsing, the bleeding and spreading darkness across his face abating. He lay motionless at Xie Ci’s side, his breath barely perceptible.

Gu Wan was drenched in sweat, she and the other surgeons nearly collapsing in exhaustion. For now, Qin Xian’s condition no longer deteriorated—but whether he would live, neither Gu Wan nor the most skilled doctors could say.

“We’ll observe for twelve hours,” Gu Wan said heavily. “That should be enough to know.”

“He must be moved somewhere clean and safe, kept entirely flat. They can’t march with the army.” But just then, a distant rumble rose, like muffled thunder.

It pounded the earth like drums, advancing swiftly, converging on the direction of the Four Prefectures Army. The ground trembled, and two immense cavalry forces, fierce as wolves and tigers, appeared out of nowhere, bearing down on the Four Prefectures Army with unstoppable might.

Within the ranks, everyone had witnessed Qin Xian collapse and spew blood; even Gu Wan, Qin Guan, Qin Yong, and Chen Luo were shaken. Chen Yan, too, had been poisoned and now lay side by side with Qin Xian, both receiving emergency care.

The army, halted mid-march, had seen the chaos unfold. Panic spread like wildfire.

At this most critical and unguarded moment, the two Northern Rong cavalry columns appeared. Xie Ci sprang up. “Get them out! Mount up! Form ranks—immediately!”

His voice was sharp as a whip.

News of the upheaval in the eastern army soon reached Lu Xinyi’s ears. His face changed drastically. “What did you say?!”

The Wei army had only just left camp in pursuit, and now the vast Northern Rong cavalry had wheeled around in an instant, charging straight back. One tug and the entire situation changed—suddenly, the eastern forces were surrounded, and the whole battlefield shifted, the situation plunging into chaos.

“How could Qin Xian be poisoned and fall from his horse?!”

Lu Xinyi’s eyes were bloodshot. But in a flash, he realized—the Northern Rong must have exploited a gap in their defenses!

The night was deep and still, the sky a black vault swallowing all light. Hearts pounded, boots thudded urgently on the ground. At last, Lu Xinyi broke into a run, faster and faster.

He’d once had a chance to turn the tide. His rise to power had never been by luck—he saw through everything in an instant. “Who’s had contact with outsiders these past days?!”

Chen Fen hurried back, soon discovering that a guard had gone missing. According to the other bodyguards, that man had vanished several times in recent days, claiming various errands, but the timings never matched up.

Lu Xinyi realized immediately—this must be a spy planted by Xun Xun! Without pausing to clean house, he drew his sword and cut down two officers on the spot—one of his own, the other under Liang Fen, governor of Xiang Prefecture. Both men were in key positions at that moment.

From this single thread, Lu Xinyi rapidly recalled several other suspicious personnel changes over the past year, all likely tied to Xun Xun. He didn’t bother with interrogations, nor did he care about the trouble of killing without trial. He executed them at once, shouting, “These two colluded with the enemy—executed on the spot!”

Xun Xun was nowhere to be found. Lu Xinyi, undaunted, personally slew several more officers likely to be his plants, then urgently regrouped the three armies to mount a direct defense against the Northern Rong onslaught.

He paused, then immediately issued orders: the Duke of England, Cheng Lizhang, Governor Liang Fen, as well as the Duke of England He Xin, and General Zheng Shoufang—these, closest to the Lingyun Four Prefectures Army, were dispatched to the eastern front for urgent reinforcement.

—For the Four Prefectures Army was in the east, and now the Northern Rong’s strategy was clear: to break through there and envelop the rest. But this redeployment immediately revealed its own flaws.

“General Lu, you can’t redeploy these troops,” objected a voice.

The Marquis Lin had sent two capital officers, Li Jin and Wang Zhang, to Lu Xinyi’s side. Seeing Lu Xinyi about to redeploy He Xin and Zheng Shoufang—both responsible for protecting the imperial princes—they protested. If these two left, most of the forces guarding the third prince would be gone. How could that be allowed?

Li Jin intercepted him without hesitation: “No matter what, He Xin and Zheng Shoufang cannot go!” The two sides were at an impasse. Wang Zhang said, “The Marquis is in Yingchi—send word to him?” Li Jin had already left to inform He Xin and Zheng Shoufang.

Their connections to the capital were deep. With official notification, neither would dare abandon the princes—they could not bear responsibility for their deaths.

The Marquis Lin, overseeing logistics, was at Yingchi some two hundred li away. Supplies and the main camp were never kept together, but stored in secure, easily defended towns. The first batch, not much, was in Yingchi.

Two hundred li was not far—a fast horse could make the round trip in half a day.

Lu Xinyi and Wang Zhang locked eyes, then Lu Xinyi turned away, ground his teeth, and penned a letter at top speed, handing it to Chen Fen: “Deliver this to the Marquis in person!”

Chen Fen galloped off and returned that night. His horse collapsed in foam, but Lu Xinyi tore open the letter to find only a single line: You must win, but you may not redeploy He Xin or Zheng Shoufang. The troops guarding the third prince must remain intact!

Blood rushed to Lu Xinyi’s head. Without He Xin and Zheng Shoufang, how could he win? Combined with General Xu Jinyong’s men, they numbered a full hundred thousand.

He laughed bitterly in his fury.

Across the oath-taking platform, boots struck the ground. Out of the darkness came Zheng Shoufang. He had already learned of the commotion, arranged his forces to meet the enemy, and now rode to the command tent.

Zheng Shoufang arched a brow. “Was it truly you who colluded with the Northern Rong to frame Xie Xinchong?”

The night was oppressive, the earth like a steaming cauldron. Only a handful of trusted confidants were present.

Lu Xinyi sneered coldly. “And you didn’t? Dare you deny it was intentional?”

Zheng Shoufang, he thought, wanted to see Xie Xinchong dead and the Xie family army broken, but would never act himself—he simply hinted at it through illicit dealings, knowing he was the princess’s son and had protection.

Their conversation ended in bitterness. Lu Xinyi was consumed with hatred—these damn royals! One after another, wielding power across the court!

Clutching the letter, Lu Xinyi’s face twisted with fury. “You forced my hand! You forced me!!”

He shouted hoarsely, his flushed face suddenly growing cold. “Chen Fen, return to Fanyang in person. Get my wife and children out!”

Chen Fen, startled, immediately obeyed, hurrying out. Lu Xinyi watched him vanish, the drumbeat of the approaching army growing louder in the night.

You forced me!

Lu Xinyi hurled the letter to the ground. “Contact Dunkyin. I want to see his master!” If he could not turn the tide, then he would have Xie Ci’s head.

Dunkyin was the confidant of Kuntur, chief of the Kuntu tribe, who, along with the Tuoedun, had long since thrown in with the Northern Rong’s King Hu Yande, now his staunch loyalist.

Officially, this had happened last year, but in truth much earlier.

Lu Xinyi offered to hand over the Changqin-Yuyin line in exchange for the deaths of Xie Ci, Su Zhen, and Kou Wenshao. That region was not in Yinshan, but to the northeast, within Lu Xinyi’s sphere of influence.

Hu Yande only laughed, “No. It must be south of Yinshan. Tell your master to give me the topography and defense maps of Yingchi.”

No tricks—he had informants in Yingchi.

Yingchi.

At once, Lu Xinyi thought of the damned Marquis Lin. His eyes flashed with venomous hatred. “Deal! Go to hell!”

You bastard!

In the span of half a day, too much had transpired.

In a small hollow among the outlying ridges of Mount Guzang, Qin Xian finally pulled through. Chen Yan, too, had survived—he had only sipped half a cup, so the poison was milder and abated sooner.

Qin Xian remained unconscious, and it was uncertain if there would be lasting effects. But after more than four hours of relentless effort, his breathing at last steadied. Though weak, his pulse no longer fluttered faintly.

Within the small tent, a cheer erupted—tears of joy and relief, with comrades embracing. Wiping her tears, Qin Wenxuan stood, parted the curtain, and stepped outside.

A dozen paces away, beneath a tree, stood a man. The wind in the night tugged at his gray cloak; his once tall frame now gaunt, nearly skeletal.

Qin Wenxuan gazed up at him, her heart aching. “You must have guessed things might turn out this way, didn’t you?”

Xun Xiao’s brow furrowed. “When is there ever no danger?” His expression darkened. “Do you blame me?”

It was Xun Xiao who had spirited Qin Xian away from the army, his skill second only to Xie Ci’s. Because of Qin Xian, he had not left.

Qin Wenxuan looked at him, but beneath the hood, she could no longer see his face. She smiled sadly, tears slipping down.

“Of course I knew there would be peril.” Danger was ever-present; any one of them could die at any time, her father included. Even without Lu Xinyi, war meant risking one’s life at every turn.

But it was not the same.

Perhaps only Qin Wenxuan truly understood Xun Xiao’s sharp mind and resourcefulness. Even Gu Wan saw only what was recorded in the chronicles, but Qin Wenxuan had shared years of intimacy with him.

You said it yourself: we knowingly take these risks together. Hiding things from us, watching indifferently—that’s not the same.

She smiled. “After today, whatever happens, you’ll find a way to destroy Lu Xinyi, won’t you?”

The secret dealings were unknown, but Lu Xinyi’s actions—clashing with Li Jin and Wang Zhang, killing two officers without regard for consequences—had all been reported. They suspected that, in his fury, Lu Xinyi might do something unspeakable. Even just the prior events, handled well, would be enough to bring him down.

Win or lose, live or die, Xun Xiao would make sure Lu Xinyi perished.

Tears glistened on Qin Wenxuan’s face, the first time she had felt disappointment in Xun Xiao. Before, she had only ever felt pity, even when Xie Ci had fought with him bitterly. Never had she seen things so clearly—Xun Xiao had truly changed.

The moment she spoke, Xun Xiao’s face hardened and he finally looked up at her. But Qin Wenxuan no longer met his gaze. “We’ve always worked as one. If we’re to take risks, let it be openly.”

Earlier, Gu Wan had asked Xun Xiao whether greater danger lay ahead—whether victory or defeat awaited, and whether the Four Prefectures Army would survive. Xun Xiao had replied succinctly, “Fifty-fifty.”

Yes, vengeance mattered. But other things mattered, too. What if they were utterly defeated by the Northern Rong—what then, if their country was lost and their families destroyed?

Qin Wenxuan let out a bitter laugh. “You don’t care whether Great Wei wins or loses, do you?”

She struck at the core of him. The fate of Great Wei meant nothing to Xun Xiao; family and nation’s fall he viewed with cold detachment. Danger was constant, but revenge mattered more. A flash of burning hatred could turn his eyes red.

Were you thinking, my father would probably be fine, and revenge was more important? Qin Wenxuan’s voice rose, choked with emotion. “But that’s my father! And Sister Gu, my brother Xie Ci—they matter, too! A fifty percent chance of survival!”

She sobbed, her voice cracking. “Xie Ci would never!”

He would never abandon a single one of them, never endanger everyone for his own desire, not even for half a percent chance of success.

Qin Wenxuan looked at him, wanting to say: That day in Guiyi Prefecture, everything Xie Ci said was true. But seeing Xun Xiao’s emaciated figure, she could not bring herself to utter it.

She wiped her tears fiercely, drew her sword. “Sister Gu and the others have already gone—they’re heading into the chaos.”

She glanced once toward the distant tumult, where the ground trembled under the rolling smoke of war.

She turned away from Xun Xiao, sword in hand, and ran toward the fighting. “If I am to die, then let me die with them!”