Volume 1, Chapter 38: Tonight, the Blade Pierces the General's Manor!

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Though called a pass, Zhenbei Pass is truly a city standing tall in the northern frontier. The cobblestone streets wind and stretch ahead, flanked by rows of shops with signs flapping wildly in the cold wind. There are fox fur and sable pelts from the northern steppes, as well as tea leaves and silk from the south... The liveliest spots are the taverns lining the streets, where the rough voices of northern men clash in a game of finger-guessing, mingling with the lilting strains of the pipa played by courtesans.

Despite being the frontline constantly battling the Northern Yan and the Rong tribes, this place bustles like a prosperous trade hub in peaceful times.

“This place is much livelier than Sifang County,” Zhang Xiaobei said, leaning on his saddle, eyes wide. “Even the barbarians trade here?”

The commander leading the group was a stern-faced camp officer named Fan Hu, subordinate to Vice General Zhou Chong. He sneered, “The pass guards the frontier, not livelihoods. The Northern Yan want our tea, salt, and millet; we want their furs. It’s just mutual exchange.”

Zhang Muyang asked, “Commander Fan, isn’t such trade risky? Couldn’t it be used against us?”

Who dares say that?

Fan Hu scoffed, “Why fight? Isn’t it always for what we lack? War lets us seize it; trade lets us exchange it. No difference. Making money comes first.”

“Commander Fan is right. The north is harsh; some things we must acquire by trade,” Wu Kexiong chimed in, laughing to smooth over the tension and signaling Zhang Muyang not to press further.

Is that really the case?

Zhang Muyang narrowed his eyes. The prosperity of Zhenbei Pass carried a strange balance, as if both warring sides tacitly understood: battling fiercely on the field while haggling in the market. This involved more than mere commerce—imperial court, the Border Pacification Army, Prince Beijing... each seemed like a chess player hidden in shadows, moving silently but stirring the northern frontier’s fate.

If so, could he also secure a place for himself in this game?

“Here we are. This is your camp.”

Fan Hu reined in his horse and pointed down a narrow alley lined with dilapidated homes—their walls peeling, faded New Year couplets pasted on wooden doors, winter firewood stacked outside. These had been temporarily converted into barracks.

Tian Chong grinned, “Not bad—spacious enough for our five hundred men. Quite comfortable.”

“Five hundred?”

Fan Hu sneered, “Over three thousand will be housed here. Reinforcements from various prefectures have settled in. This is the northern custom; newcomers must learn hardship.”

What?

The soldiers immediately erupted in discontent.

More than three thousand squeezed into these residences, even more cramped than the camps in Sifang County. Many murmured complaints, their earlier excitement fading.

Zhang Muyang’s smile turned cold. Clearly, Fan Hu harbored no goodwill toward these “outsiders,” deliberately making things difficult.

Wu Kexiong barked, “What’s all the noise? We’re here to fight, not to enjoy comfort! Settle quickly. Anyone causing trouble will face military law!”

“Yes, sir!”

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The soldiers dared not complain further and began unloading their gear, flooding into the various courtyards.

Fan Hu glanced greedily at the over five hundred warhorses but said nothing, mounting his horse and riding off.

Chen Xiucheng frowned, “Commander, Fan Hu’s eyes look ill-intentioned. I fear he’s coveting our horses.”

“So what? Can he just steal them?” Wu Kexiong shrugged. “Get settled first. When there’s time, I’ll treat everyone to drinks.”

“We should be the ones treating you!”

“I insist!”

Wu Kexiong waved them off. “We all came from Sifang County and now guard Zhenbei Pass together. We must look out for each other.”

Zhang Muyang led his men into a courtyard deep within the alley. According to military organization, a captain commands fifty men, so although cramped, at least there was shelter from the snow—much better than camping outdoors.

People from Zhangjia Village and Wangjiatun were settled here. Zhang Xiaobei, Gousheng, and Su Ying had been promoted to squad leaders for their merits, while Wang Yi and Wang Da were still corporals for now.

“Brother Yi, sorry for the hardship. Once this is over, I’ll make sure you get your due,” Zhang Muyang said.

“That’s best. Too much attention brings trouble.”

Zhang Muyang nodded. Wang Yi was formerly under Prince Beijing’s command; if his identity were exposed, it could invite suspicion.

“Muyang, you probably don’t fully understand the situation in Daliang and the north. Three years ago, the war cost Daliang two hundred thousand elite troops; their strength was shattered. Emperor Liang Wen has long lost his vigor, hiding in the harem while corrupt officials run the government.”

“And Prince Beijing is even worse. The court’s heavy taxes and frequent arrears in military pay and supplies have left him resentful. The sixteen northern prefectures are strong, but what he lacks is an opportunity to break free.”

Zhang Muyang’s heart skipped: “You mean... General Xiao Lie?!”

Wang Yi’s voice dropped, “General Xiao holds immense prestige in the north. As long as he’s around, Prince Beijing dares not act rashly.”

Zhang Muyang suddenly understood: Prince Beijing wanted Xiao Lie gone but couldn’t afford scandal. The best way was to use Northern Yan. That letter—“the medicine is given, awaiting effect”—likely concealed a darker deal... Prince Beijing and Northern Yan might already have conspired in secret, even sacrificing the entire Border Pacification Army.

No wonder Fan Hu treated trade with Northern Yan as routine. No wonder General Xiao’s illness was so suspicious. The clues all pointed to a chilling truth.

Wang Yi stared at Zhang Muyang in shock. After five years under Prince Beijing, he had only just pieced these puzzles together. Yet Zhang Muyang, just a captain from Sifang County, saw through it all with a single phrase.

He nodded with newfound respect. “If you can see this far, I’m relieved. Remember, trust no one easily. We must quickly build our own core group to survive.”

His own core group?

Zhang Muyang’s gaze burned bright as he clapped Wang Yi on the shoulder and turned back inside.

By military rules, captains had single rooms; five squad leaders shared one room; ten corporals shared another; ordinary soldiers crowded into large rooms. When he opened the door, Bai Zhi was squatting, wiping a table, while Su Ying sat by the kang bed, meticulously cleaning the bloodstains from her Yanling knife sheath.

Zhang Muyang loosened his inner armor and drew out his triangular military dagger, carefully wiping it. The Flying Tiger Claws lay on the table; he checked the cords for wear. Unfortunately, the steel needles were all used up—he’d have to make a trip back to Zhangjia Village soon.

Thinking of Yang Wenxiu, Yang Wenjuan, and Han Li, his heart warmed.

“Captain, any action tonight?” Su Ying suddenly leaned closer, eyes shining with excitement.

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“No,” Zhang Muyang replied without looking up.

“Liar.” Su Ying poked his arm. “Why are you cleaning the Flying Tiger Claws? You’re definitely sneaking into the general’s mansion! I’m coming with you.”

“No.”

Zhang Muyang refused without hesitation, “The general’s mansion is heavily guarded. Too dangerous.”

Su Ying suddenly grabbed his arm, gently shaking it. “Husband, please let me come. If you say yes, tonight... I’ll sleep with you.”

Zhang Muyang’s Adam’s apple bobbed, but he maintained a stern face. “No means no.”

“Then... Bai Zhi and I will sleep with you?”

“Sister Su! D-don’t say such things...” Bai Zhi blushed fiercely.

“Don’t lead her astray. But Bai Zhi does need to sleep here.”

After all, she was the army medic surrounded by rough men. Who else could she stay with? If anyone asked, Zhang Muyang would say Bai Zhi was his wife, which would ease her troubles.

Bai Zhi whispered, “Then... I’ll sleep at the end of the kang, Sister Su in the middle.”

“No objections!” Su Ying readily agreed.

“All right, you come with me, but no acting on your own. During the day... practice the Flying Tiger Claws well.”

“Yes, sir!”

Su Ying mimicked Zhang Muyang and snapped a military salute.

Bai Zhi watched them, a smile tugging at her lips.

The fire crackled, casting their shadows on the wall, flickering and swaying—a rare warmth of home.

Is General Xiao Lie alive or dead?

What conspiracies lie behind the Wolf King’s secret letter?

What deal has been struck between Prince Beijing and Northern Yan?

Zhang Muyang stared at the darkening sky outside the window, gripping the Cold Feather Blade.

Tonight, he must make a move.

Whatever awaits him, the truth must come to light.