Chapter 49: The Military Advisor Part 2

“You just prattle this—won’t let me kill this, won’t that. Give me a way, then!” Fu Chi shoved him aside, paced the command tent irritably. “Yan Xinfeng’s about to lop off my head—give me a good plan to retreat!”

He panted, chest settling.

The advisor eyed the cowering messenger, who scrambled out. Then he straightened his robes, stepped before Fu Chi, and bowed deeply:

“General, we’ve clashed dozens of times with the Profound North Army here—few wins, many losses. Supplies scarce, troops weary; not the time for a fight to the death!”

“No need to tell me!” Fu Chi glared, itching to stab. “That sickly ghost was half-dead two years ago, but now he’s better every day. Failing to crush him at Pancuo Pass was my life’s greatest mistake!”

He drew his longsword again, pointing it straight at the military advisor: “What do you say we should do!”

The icy sword tip pressed against his throat, and beads of cold sweat instantly broke out on the military advisor’s forehead. But he forced himself to steady his mind, his voice carrying a faint tremble: “General, calm your anger! It is not entirely impossible to make Yan Xinfeng withdraw his troops!”

Fu Chi took a step closer, narrowing his eyes: “You have a way?”

“There… there is one!” The military advisor swallowed hard, his heart pounding even faster. “Yan Xinfeng has an arch-enemy. If we offer that person to him, we might be able to persuade him to retreat.”

Fu Chi frowned, clearly not expecting this approach: “He has enemies everywhere. Which one are you talking about?”

With the conversation reaching this point, the military advisor grew even more panicked and dropped to his knees with a thud: “This person is currently in the army!”

“You bastard!” Fu Chi flew into a rage in an instant and kicked over the nearby low table. He had not understood at first whom the military advisor meant, but as soon as he mentioned that the person was right here now, Fu Chi immediately understood.

“I went to so much trouble to snatch him from the capital just to deal with the Profound North Army cleanly. I haven’t even used him myself yet, and now you want me to send him back! Are you mad, or am I?”

“General!”

The military advisor was on the verge of tears. “The greater cause comes first! Although Wei Tingxia is clever and quick-witted, he is now nothing more than a sickly invalid who struggles to take two extra breaths without collapsing! In the few days following the army, he has fainted three or four times! How can such a figure help the general achieve great things? Keeping him is useless, discarding him would be a pity—better to use him to resolve the urgent crisis! General, think twice! Think twice—!”

After the hoarse shout, the tent fell into dead silence, save for Fu Chi’s heavy breathing and the occasional crackle of sparks from the brazier.

The military advisor prostrated himself on the ground, cold sweat soaking through the back of his robe. He could almost hear his own heart pounding like a drum.

Fu Chi’s bloodshot eyes stared fixedly at the kneeling military advisor, or perhaps through him, toward the Profound North cavalry pressing in step by step outside the tent, toward Yan Xinfeng’s face—cold as frost, inescapable even in nightmares.

Fu Chi’s hand gripping the sword trembled slightly from the force, veins bulging on the back of his hand.

He abruptly turned away, his back to the military advisor, shoulders tense like stone. He slammed the longsword back into its sheath with a harsh scraping sound.

His furious rage nearly shattered and burst forth in that instant.

Fu Chi suddenly drew a deep breath, his chest heaving violently, as if to expel that pent-up frustration, only to forcibly suppress it again.

“Get up!”

The military advisor felt as if granted a great pardon. He shakily climbed to his feet and stood with hands at his sides, not daring to look at Fu Chi’s face.

Fu Chi slowly turned around. The violent flush on his face had faded, leaving only a cold iron-gray hue, his gaze ominously sinister.

“Go,” his voice was low, carrying a meat-carving resolve, “fetch Wei Tingxia. Get him some clean clothes and make him presentable. Don’t let that consumptive wretch croak right now—he wants a live one.”

The military advisor hurriedly bowed: “Yes! This subordinate will go handle it right away! I will be most careful—”

“Careful?”

Fu Chi’s lips twisted into an extremely ugly arc, cutting him off. “No need to be too careful! Just keep him breathing enough to make it to the front lines so Yan Xinfeng can see clearly!”

He paused, his gaze sweeping toward the vaguely visible direction of the Profound North Army outside the tent, his voice laced with ice: “Tomorrow, when that bastard Yan Xinfeng issues another challenge, push the man… out!”

…

Wei Tingxia woke to a world spinning around him, his entire body limp and powerless.

[Please do not move around casually,] System 0188 said. [Host’s physical condition is extremely poor. The system is activating the auto-repair program. Estimated repair time: 168 hours. Countdown commencing.]

[Three… two… one.]

A chill prompt sounded, and Wei Tingxia felt like ice needles were stabbing into his brain. He endured the pain for a long time before suppressing it, then System 0188 spoke normally: [Are you clear-headed?]

“More or less…” Wei Tingxia managed to say. “Am I dead?”

System 0188: [Not by much. This body of yours has suffered chronic illness for years—being able to stay clear-headed is already quite impressive.]

Wei Tingxia: “…”

He was too exhausted, and his whole body ached. He did not want to speak.

System 0188 continued: [Your current situation is very bad, but I suggest not overthinking it for now. It will be much better in a few hours.]

Along with its words, an especially overwhelming wave of drowsiness surged over him, and Wei Tingxia was about to pass out again.

But he forced his eyes open: “Tell me first how it’s bad.”

[…]

System 0188: [You are about to become a hostage.]

Oh, that was indeed very bad.

Wei Tingxia’s eyes rolled back, and he fainted.

On the other side, in the Profound North Army’s command tent.

When Pei Zhou entered, he brought a gust of wind and sand. He stamped his feet on the spot and happened to see Yan Xinfeng standing in front of the battle map.

“Fu Chi’s army has had no grain supplies for five days already,” he said. “At this rate, they won’t hold out.”

A soldier brought hot wine. Pei Zhou drank it down and tossed the cup back, then moved to the battle map to look at it alongside him.

“Any reinforcements?” Yan Xinfeng asked without lifting his head.

Pei Zhou shook his head: “The Shuo Kingdom is in the midst of internal strife. If Fu Chi seeks aid now, returning to court would mean a huge loss, and he’d have no hope left afterward.”

So unless absolutely necessary, he would grit his teeth and hold out here.

Pei Zhou added: “As per your plan, we’ve completely cut off their rear. They can’t go anywhere now—they can only endure.”

Enduring would not lead to survival, so Fu Chi had only one path left.

Yan Xinfeng said: “Got it.”

He tossed the long rod in his hand onto the battle map. As he turned, a soldier reported: “Marshal, we’ve captured two enemy scouts.”

As the words fell, two men trussed up like dumplings were thrown at the entrance of the command tent. Their faces were those of Central Plains folk, but the terror in their eyes was genuine.

Before Yan Xinfeng could speak, Pei Zhou let out a surprised “oh” and walked over to inspect them from front and back, stroking his chin: “Fu Chi really seems out of tricks, sending just anyone this way.”

What could sending them accomplish? Unless they actually lopped off Yan Xinfeng’s head, the deadlock remained.

Pei Zhou chuckled mockingly, about to taunt them, when he heard Yan Xinfeng calmly order: “Cut off their left hands and send them back to Fu Chi.”

The soldiers acknowledged and withdrew. The command tent fell silent again, with only the occasional soft crackle from the brazier and the wailing wind outside.

Pei Zhou watched Yan Xinfeng walk toward the main seat. The flickering candlelight clearly outlined his profile.

Compared to the pale and frail invalid of a few years ago, Yan Xinfeng was indeed much more robust now, his heavy aura of authority not diminished but increased in his movements. Yet under the candlelight, his complexion appeared an inhuman pallor, utterly bloodless.

He had even more of a commander’s bearing than two years prior, but at certain times, looking at this young friend, Pei Zhou felt an inexplicable tremor in his heart.

Cutting off a left hand and sending the men back was the ultimate humiliation for Fu Chi, far beyond the bounds of normal warfare—it was clearly personal vengeance.

A chill crept up Pei Zhou’s spine.

He suddenly stepped forward, his voice pressed extremely low: “You can’t push Fu Chi any further, General. You…”

Yan Xinfeng sat down behind the command desk, his knuckles unconsciously tapping the icy surface.

Hearing Pei Zhou’s words, he raised his eyes, his tone flat and emotionless: “That’s exactly what I intend to do. I want him to see clearly that surrender is his only path.”

Every word seemed squeezed through clenched teeth, resolute and ruthless. To Pei Zhou’s ears, it carried a scalp-numbing eeriness.

The air in the tent froze instantly, the brazier’s crackles sounding distant.

Pei Zhou’s throat bobbed, the chill on his back nearly turning to ice. He probed: “Yan Xinfeng, give me a straight answer… Are you doing this to win, for revenge, or…”

He stopped, his heart racing, a ridiculous yet increasingly clear thought seizing him—two years.

“…for something else?”

Yan Xinfeng did not answer.

He merely turned his head extremely slowly. Those bottomless eyes fell quietly on Pei Zhou’s face. No anger, no refutation, just a dead, silent obsession.

That one glance answered all of Pei Zhou’s questions. An icy fear stabbed into his heart.

He cried out in shock: “You’re mad! Even if you slaughter Fu Chi and all his soldiers! Wei Tingxia isn’t here! He’s in the Shuo Kingdom’s capital right now! He has no idea—and even if he knew you were fighting bloody battles outside Profound North Pass, how could he possibly come?! He’d avoid you at all costs!”

Yan Xinfeng’s expression did not change in the slightest, as if Pei Zhou’s shout were merely a breeze blowing through the tent flap.

He blinked, as if pondering the question himself, then slowly spoke, his voice low and clear, each word deliberate, carrying an absurd calm: “I know he won’t come. So what?”

“If he doesn’t come, I’ll keep fighting.”

“I’ll fight all the way to the Shuo Kingdom’s capital.”

“Until…” He paused slightly, flames leaping in his eyes, nearly burning away all reason, “…until he deigns to come out and see me, or someone can’t hold back and sends him to me.”

As the words fell, the command tent was deathly silent. The brazier’s glow illuminated his paper-white face and those bottomless eyes, filled with a love that bred malice.

Outside the tent, the winds of Profound North Pass howled like ghostly wails.

He’s gone mad, Pei Zhou thought. This man has gone mad with hatred.