The moon tilted toward the west, and the rhythm of the river slapping against the hull grew more frequent.
Amula’s arms were aching and numb. Just as he was about to call for someone to take over, he glanced back at the stern.
Gu Huaiyu was nestled deep in Pei Jingyi’s embrace, his slightly curled frame resembling a yawning cat. His face, deliberately darkened for his disguise, was partially hidden beneath scattered strands of dark hair that rose and fell gently with his breath.
Pei Jingyi was carefully draping an outer robe over his shoulders. Seeing Amula turn around, he pressed a finger to his lips, signaling him to keep quiet.
“I just managed to coax him to sleep,” Pei Jingyi whispered in a voice so low it was barely a vibration. “Wait until dawn to swap with me.”
Amula had no choice but to continue rowing. He held it in for a long time before finally whispering back, “Do all the men of your Great Chen… sleep while holding each other like that?”
Pei Jingyi acted as if he hadn’t heard a word. His fingertips idly brushed against the fake mustache at the corner of Gu Huaiyu’s lips—who said a cat’s whiskers couldn’t be touched?
Amula didn’t really care about the answer. He shifted the subject, his voice dropping further. “After this is done, how do you plan to retreat?”
Pei Jingyi wasn’t in any rush. He gazed at Gu Huaiyu’s tranquil profile and replied with an indifferent breath of air, “We’ll simply carve a path of blood out.”
Having witnessed the man’s martial prowess during the day, Amula didn’t press further. Instead, he murmured, “The scholars of your Great Chen are always droning on about loyalty, filial piety, and righteousness. It makes my head ache. You’re a warrior; that’s why I’m willing to be honest with you.”
“How high of an official can you really become in Great Chen? Your Emperor fears generals most. The moment you win a battle, he’ll worry your fame will eclipse the throne. He’ll watch you, suppress you. But things are different in Eastern Liao. We people of the grasslands admire Meng’an warriors above all else…”
“If you help Sabutai succeed, he could grant you a piece of the grasslands as a lord. Wouldn’t that be better than suffering under Great Chen’s thumb?”
Pei Jingyi rested his hand on Gu Huaiyu’s shoulder, cautiously pulling him closer into his chest. “I’m a sentimental man. I wouldn’t last long away from my homeland.”
Amula shook his head and sighed. “The Han people around here break their necks trying to become Eastern Liao citizens, yet a man like you…”
Gu Huaiyu’s calculations were precise. Ten days later, the trio arrived beneath the walls of Xijing(Western Capital).
The stone-carved walls from a century ago still stood, though the plaque had been replaced with the curving, winding script of Eastern Liao.
The pedestrians on the streets wore narrow-sleeved nomadic robes. The men all wore their hair in braids, while the women had silver bells hanging from their brows. If one didn’t examine their features closely, it was almost impossible to tell they were Han.
To pass through the gates smoothly, Pei Jingyi had personally removed Gu Huaiyu’s scholar’s hairpiece while they were still on the boat. He had pulled out several strands of ink-black hair to weave into small braids, tying the ends with rough leather cords. This look actually added a touch of exotic, heroic flair to his features.
With this disguise and Amula leading the way, the three of them successfully slipped past the city guards.
After all, no matter how suspicious Yelü Chi’s lackeys were, they would never imagine that the Chancellor of Great Chen would dare to storm into Xijing and walk straight into the tiger’s den.
That night, Gu Huaiyu finally met Sabutai.
During the day, Sabutai had to play nice under Yelü Chi’s watchful eye. Only at night, back in his private estate, could he meet with his trusted confidants.
High walls surrounded the compound, patrolled by city guards, but inside was a scene of grassland life that felt entirely out of place with the bustling market outside.
Felts tents were scattered like stars. The night wind stirred the tent curtains, accompanied by the occasional whinny of a horse or the bark of a dog.
Gu Huaiyu and Pei Jingyi followed Amula through the courtyard. Under the cover of night, the surroundings were silent, save for the warm glow of candlelight inside a central tent.
Upon entering, they saw Sabutai sitting upright on a low couch. Nearly fifty, he was a massive man—brawny, barrel-chested, with a full beard and eyes that shone with sharp intelligence. He was the quintessential grassland giant.
Sitting beside Sabutai was a refined-looking Han man—his trusted interpreter.
The moment Amula saw Sabutai, he dropped to his knees with a heavy thud, reporting urgently in the Eastern Liao tongue.
His fingers kept pointing back at the two men behind him, clearly emphasizing something with great intensity.
Sabutai’s eyes suddenly narrowed. A flicker of shock crossed his face; he clearly hadn’t expected Gu Huaiyu to possess such audacity.
“Does the Khan not wish to see Great Chen’s sincerity?”
Gu Huaiyu stepped forward at an unhurried pace. Without the concealment of wide sleeves and flowing robes, every step he took felt calm and deliberate.
As he reached the final word, he arrived at the low table. He suddenly hiked up his hem and sat cross-legged—a posture that would be considered reckless or even insolent in the grasslands, yet he performed it with elegant composure.
He leaned forward slightly against the edge of the table, his eyes locking onto Sabutai’s. “Does this count as sincerity?”
Pei Jingyi stood half a step behind him with his arms crossed, his tall frame blocking out most of the lamp’s light.
One sitting, one standing; though they were in the heart of an enemy camp, they radiated an aura of being the masters of the room.
Sabutai studied him for a moment before suddenly clapping his hands and laughing, his booming Eastern Liao speech rolling out like thunder.
The interpreter stared at Gu Huaiyu in a daze for several seconds before speaking. “The Khan says… truly, heroes emerge from the youth. You are a warrior of Great Chen!”
Gu Huaiyu accepted the compliment without hesitation. Time was tight, and there was no room for empty pleasantries. He cut straight to the chase. “Currently, how many troops does the Khan truly hold in his own hands?”
If even Amula’s personal guards contained Yelü Chi’s spies, the “rats” in Sabutai’s camp were likely even more numerous.
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