Chapter 50: Yan Xinfeng!!! Part 2

No one could have imagined Wei Tingxia appearing on the Northern Border battlefield, just as no one thought they’d meet again.

The scene was too bizarre and eerie. Pei Zhou couldn’t help letting out an “ah,” but Yan Xinfeng showed no extra expression, not even a sound escaping his tightly pressed lips.

He just stayed silent.

Sometimes silence was more deafening than shouting.

Then he withdrew the troops. He said nothing on the way back. Pei Zhou felt the puzzled gazes of the soldiers behind him. They couldn’t ask directly, so the burden fell on him as deputy commander.

Looking at the tightly shut command tent flap, then at the soldiers occasionally glancing over, Pei Zhou sighed to the heavens, thinking his life was pretty miserable.

He tossed his whip back, slapped the dust off his armor, took a deep breath, and lifted the curtain with the resolve of facing death.

Inside the tent, Yan Xinfeng sat with his head lowered, looking at the documents on the desk.

Pei Zhou didn’t stand on ceremony. He strode up and demanded right away: “What the hell is wrong with you?”

Yan Xinfeng looked up at him. His face was as white as paper, lips pressed tight, saying nothing.

The silence only fueled Pei Zhou’s anxiety. He sat down boldly in a chair, words tumbling out fast and urgent: “Okay! I know him popping up like that is shocking! But withdrawing troops just like that? What are the brothers supposed to think? Are we still fighting this battle or not?!”

He grew agitated, leaning forward, staring hard at Yan Xinfeng, waiting for his response.

However, Yan Xinfeng remained unmoved by it all, as if Pei Zhou’s words had merely passed like wind over his ears. He leisurely finished reading the letter, then took three incense sticks, lit them, and walked to the White Porcelain Buddha Statue enshrined on one side of the command tent. He bowed deeply with utmost reverence.

Pei Zhou stared at him with his mouth agape.

“What are you bowing to it for?” He stood up, his voice rising in an eerie tone. “Are you thanking it for sending Wei Tingxia back? Has your brain finally flooded or what?”

Yan Xinfeng still ignored him. Only after inserting the incense into the censer did he turn around unhurriedly, took a cloth from behind him, stared into Pei Zhou’s eyes, and slowly spat out a mouthful of blood.

This blood had clearly been held back in his mouth for a long time. As soon as it came out, it was followed by heart-wrenching, lung-tearing coughs. Yan Xinfeng clamped the cloth tightly over his mouth, forcing the sound down to muffled, faint gasps, though his shoulders trembled violently.

Pei Zhou finally understood why he had not spoken since earlier and why he was in such a hurry to withdraw the troops.

If Fu Chi saw him spitting blood, he would naturally connect it to Wei Tingxia’s place in Yan Xinfeng’s heart. Whether it was love or hate did not matter—Fu Chi would exploit Wei Tingxia to the utmost. At that point, they would be blocked from both front and rear.

It was better to withdraw early and plan later.

He had misunderstood his good brother.

Once the coughing eased a bit, Pei Zhou awkwardly coughed twice himself, then tentatively took two steps forward and said, “Good brother, I misunderstood you.”

Yan Xinfeng wiped the blood from the corner of his mouth and asked, “How did you misunderstand me?”

“I thought you’d been dazzled by beauty and lost your head, not planning to fight anymore.” Pei Zhou said, “Turns out you saw your enemy, got furious, and spat up blood. No worries, we’ll call the army doctor to check you out later. Next time, I’ll lead the troops. You can wait here.”

Yan Xinfeng’s body had never been very strong. Two years ago, he had been on the brink of death—perhaps he had taken the chance to erase his impending death date with the King of Hell. After surviving, his body had gradually improved, but he still had lingering ailments.

It was also the first time Pei Zhou had seen him spit blood. It must have been seeing Wei Tingxia’s shameless face that made him so furious.

“But you really need to come up with a plan soon.” Pei Zhou furrowed his brows, his right hand unconsciously pressing on the saber at his waist. “That bastard Fu Chi is clearly trying to hold something over you. If you—”

“—Tomorrow, you personally lead men to go,” Yan Xinfeng interrupted him. His voice was not loud, but every word was clear. “Exchange him and bring him back.”

These calm, almost detached words, carrying the lingering rusty, metallic scent of blood in the tent, exploded in Pei Zhou’s ears.

He whipped his head around, his pupils contracting sharply. He almost suspected he had misheard. “What did you say?”

Yan Xinfeng’s face still showed no expression. He simply looked at him and repeated, “Help me. Exchange Wei Tingxia and bring him back.”

Pei Zhou would rather believe he himself had gone mad or that his ears were playing tricks.

“What if Fu Chi uses Wei Tingxia’s life to force you to withdraw the troops?”

He took a step forward, his voice suddenly rising, then abruptly dropping, as if afraid of alarming something. He pointed at the pitch-black night sky outside the tent, his knuckles turning white from the force.

“We’ve fought this far! You’re going to withdraw for Wei Tingxia’s sake? Fu Chi may be stupid, but not completely brainless! Letting the tiger return to the mountain now—who knows what massive waves he’ll stir up later? Can you and I bear that consequence? This isn’t even…”

“Not what of ours?”

Yan Xinfeng suddenly cut him off, a faint arc hooking at the corner of his mouth. The smile did not reach his eyes and instead made his face look even paler.

He slowly pushed himself up from the desk, his shadow swaying and twisting on the tent surface behind him, carrying a heavy sense of oppression.

“Not something we can decide?”

He tilted his head slightly, his gaze seeming to pierce through the thick tent curtain toward the distant direction of the capital.

Pei Zhou choked on his words, neck stiffening. His voice carried the straightforward bluntness unique to soldiers. “Of course not?! His Majesty wants us to expand the borders and open up new lands! You and I stand ready with drawn swords on horseback for exactly that! How can we give up halfway?”

As if finding it amusing, Yan Xinfeng let out a short, light snort. He paced two steps, his boots thudding dully on the rough carpet.

He stopped, his back to Pei Zhou, gazing at the hanging border map. His fingers unconsciously traced the cold edge of the desk.

“Did the Imperial Edict ever say we must fight to the end?”

Pei Zhou: “This…”

Of course not.

Yan Xinfeng nodded. “The war can be fought, or it can be stopped.”

Pei Zhou was stunned. “What do you mean?”

“Da Zhao has stood for eighty-nine years. The previous two emperors were generals on horseback, pacifying chaos, expanding borders, pushing Da Zhao’s frontiers all the way here. One reason was necessity, but also because they loved war.”

Yan Xinfeng said slowly, “Ping Shui, you’re my brother. I’ll tell you the truth. A few days ago when I returned to court to report, His Majesty summoned me and asked about the border situation. From his words, he seemed satisfied with the current territory.”

The Yongkang Emperor was Da Zhao’s third emperor. Unlike his father and brother, he was not fond of reckless fighting and placed more emphasis on allowing the nation to recuperate and prosper.

He might not wish for endless border wars. The current campaign had been Yan Xinfeng’s own idea.

Since it was not the emperor’s will, of course the war could stop according to Yan Xinfeng’s intentions.

Spare Fu Chi’s life, exchange for Wei Tingxia—it was well worth it.

Pei Zhou’s throat bobbed, his voice pressed extremely low, carrying a trace of barely perceptible bewilderment. “Then later… do we still fight?”

Yan Xinfeng shook his head slightly, his gaze toward the howling sandstorm outside the tent. His voice held little emotion. “I don’t know.”

He paused, then added, “Besides, whether we fight or not mainly depends on the Shuo Kingdom.”

If they harbored diehard evil intentions, Yan Xinfeng would naturally see it through to the end.

With that, he withdrew his gaze and fixed it back on Pei Zhou’s face. His eyes were unusually grave, carrying an entrustment that brooked no refusal. “I can’t show up personally for Fu Chi’s side, so I’ll trouble you.”

Pei Zhou met his gaze and involuntarily recalled last night’s scene. He somewhat wanted to ask Yan Xinfeng why he wanted to exchange for Wei Tingxia.

But the sandstorm raged outside, and after Yan Xinfeng finished speaking, he had already returned behind the desk.

Some things should not be asked.

The army doctor finished bandaging the wound and bowed as he withdrew. The tent was left with only the heavy scent of medicine. Wei Tingxia sat upright in the chair, his fingertips trembling as he held the rough clay bowl and sipped a mouthful of scalding hot water.

His body still felt heavy and burning hot. The fever had not subsided, his head throbbed and ached, yet his mind was clear, as if hanging on by a single breath.

The tent flap was lifted, and Fu Chi entered with a gust of cold wind.

That shout from Wei Tingxia during the day had repelled Yan Xinfeng’s army and also saved his own life. Fu Chi had never expected this sickly man, who had been unconscious for half a month, to have such capability. He was extremely surprised.

“Is the gentleman feeling better?” He asked with false concern.

Wei Tingxia ignored his question, lifted his eyelids for a casual glance, and said, “How come you never learn?”

Fu Chi froze. “What do you mean?”

“Two years ago, you were able to heavily injure Yan Xinfeng at Pancuo Pass not because you had the ability to face him—it was just coincidence.” Wei Tingxia took a sip of water. “And now you really think you’re somebody, stirring up trouble again.”

Someone had slashed his neck, and he felt deeply displeased, so his words were naturally not polite.

Fu Chi’s face instantly turned ashen, veins bulging at his temple. His right hand instinctively went to the saber hilt at his waist.

“I advise you,” Wei Tingxia’s voice was not loud, yet it pierced like an ice-quenched needle, precisely halting Fu Chi’s movement. “Don’t do it.”

Fu Chi’s action paused. In extreme anger, he laughed instead. “Do you know what I want to do?”

“I’m burning with fever right now, my five viscera scorching. If you punch me, I might just die. Yan Xinfeng wouldn’t exchange a withdrawal for a corpse.”

He had a clear grasp of his current situation and had accepted his fate.

Such an attitude instead made Fu Chi look at him with newfound respect.

“He really will withdraw for you?”

Fu Chi’s voice carried the last trace of struggling doubt.

Wei Tingxia tugged at the corner of his mouth. That pale, mocking smile pulled at the wound on his neck, making his brow twitch again.

“How would I know?”

He coughed lowly twice, the jolt making his chest ache. Then he half-reclined against the chair back, carefully recalling what he had seen and heard that day.

“He’s different from before.” Wei Tingxia said slowly, his tone light as a breath not yet exhaled. “Seems a bit crazier than before.”

There was clear bewilderment in his words, not understanding how Yan Xinfeng had become like this.

Fu Chi wanted to laugh upon hearing it.

“Don’t you know why he’s gone crazy?”