The closer one came to the lands of Heqi, the fainter the signs of Daxia became.
A fierce wind swept up the fine sand, casting a curtain of yellow dust that stretched across the sky and earth alike. Even the sun seemed veiled in ash, its light dim and unclear.
This was the last village at the edge of Daxia's border.
He had passed this very place on this day in his previous life. But now, just like the six or seven villages before it, once the dust settled—what greeted them was the same: total slaughter by the Heqi.
He still had no idea where things had gone wrong.
"General…" a soldier following behind called out hesitantly, clearly waiting for his next order.
The Grand Marshal had instructed them to bring back a living prisoner, yet they had galloped for miles without spotting a single Heqi.
Xi Linchuan did not reply. His gaze was fixed on the nearest corpse, rage burning in his chest.
Just twenty li west lay the Jilian River, where the forces of the Western Heqi King were camped. In his past life, he had slain that king there and captured over two thousand soldiers. But everything he had seen along the road this time—
—made him want to double that number to avenge this blood debt.
"Any news from Changyang?" he asked, tension thick in his voice. He wanted to know if that person had tried to send anything out.
"There is." A rider came forward and handed him a sealed letter. Xi Linchuan held his breath, broke the wax seal, and read:
"No contact with outsiders. No letters sent from Changyang. Has been cleaning at night, sleeping until noon. Today began teaching music and dance to the Yining family girls."
He exhaled slowly—but his heart only grew heavier. In his last life, the one variable had been Hongyi. If she wasn't the source of trouble this time, then there must be another threat they didn't know about.
"Reach Jilian River before dark," he ordered, folding the letter and returning it for safekeeping.
Eight hundred cavalry thundered through the desolate village, their hoofbeats echoing hollowly through death-silenced streets.
"General, the Jilian River is just ahead," a soldier reported. Xi Linchuan reined in his horse. He was about to repeat the line he'd given in his past life—"Prepare to launch a night raid on the Western King's camp"—but swallowed it abruptly.
Too much had changed. He had to be cautious.
"Go scout," he said.
The soldier soon returned, quickly dismounting in front of him: "General, there's no one ahead."
Everyone paused in confusion.
Xi Linchuan gazed into the distance. Dread and doubt coiled tightly within him.
Not only did this contradict his past life's events, but it also didn't match the information they'd received that morning. According to scouts who had arrived earlier, the Western King's forces had definitely been stationed here the night before last.
So what had happened—within just two days?
Casting aside the dissonance between lifetimes, Xi Linchuan took a deep breath and said, "Yinya."
"Sir?" the soldier beside him blinked. "Yinya Cliff?"
"The Western King must've moved to Yinya," he replied firmly. "That's the most defensible point between here and the Heqi royal court—easy to hold, hard to attack. He wouldn't give that up."
"Then shall we…?" The soldier hesitated. "But the Grand Marshal ordered us to bring back a live prisoner. If they've gone to Yinya…"
"Set up camp," Xi Linchuan said with a grin. "Just for tonight. Everyone squeeze in. One less tent is one less burden. Feng Ji, take fifty men and sweep the nearest two villages—bring back any food you can find."
The orders were odd, but Feng Ji obeyed and rode off, bewildered. Xi Linchuan dismounted and walked to the riverbank. Peering past the Jilian River toward the hazy outline of Yinya Cliff, his eyes sharpened with murderous intent. "Set ambushes within a two-li radius."
No matter how circumstances changed, one fact remained: the Western King's forces were short on food.
In both lives, that had been constant. Heqi had been eyeing Daxia's borders for years, but the immediate cause of their full-scale invasion was a two-year drought.
Daxia managed with imperial relief efforts, but Heqi had no such luxury. Crops failed, livestock starved, and by the second year, their desperation turned into blades—pointed straight at Daxia.
Xi Linchuan, having lived through this once, knew how dire their shortage was. Last time, after the battle, a supply count revealed a shocking truth—even the Grand Marshal had been surprised: the Western King's army had less than three days of rations left.
The drought had not eased this year. And judging by the half-emptied houses they passed, it was clear they'd fled in haste, taking every last animal—but leaving grains behind.
So if word reached the Heqi that a small, well-provisioned Daxia force was nearby, they would not resist temptation.
The Western King had slaughtered so many civilians. Xi Linchuan intended to use the food they left behind to bait the king—and take his head.
The riverbank, with its lush vegetation, was perfect for laying traps.
By the time preparations were complete, the sun had sunk low in the sky. Xi Linchuan looked over the fully armed men and frowned. "Switch to crossbows."
"General?" a soldier blinked in surprise. "But we don't have enough bolts…"
"We have enough," Xi Linchuan replied coolly. "Enough for this battle. The Western King doesn't have as many men as you think."
The soldier hesitated again, then saluted and rode off to deliver the order.
At that same moment, under the last red-gold rays of daylight, Hongyi clenched her teeth in front of a mirror. Her face itched terribly, but she dared not scratch.
Both sides of her face were covered in red rashes—likely an allergic reaction. But to what?
She had only eaten a bowl of snow fungus and lotus seed soup. Its ingredients were usually mild. Still, to be safe, she borrowed a veil from Lǜxiu and went to the music hall's kitchen. She tested each ingredient—snow fungus, lotus seed, wolfberry—one by one, waiting between bites.
But none caused further reaction.
Helpless, she realized she couldn't even identify the allergen—how could she avoid it in the future?
After enduring a while longer, and seeing no improvement, she finally reported to Mistress Yu and asked permission to visit the infirmary, veil still on. Lǜxiu accompanied her.
On the way, Hongyi kept wanting to scratch but forced herself not to.
The physician took her pulse and examined her. His expression remained calm, and she exhaled in relief.
"These herbs," he said, scribbling a prescription, "take them for a month. If it doesn't improve, come back. Eat bland food in the meantime, avoid anything spicy."
She nodded, took the prescription, and headed to the pharmacy next door—only to pause at the door, startled by the loud bargaining inside.
A woman's voice snapped, "This price is too high! Sure, Jin Hong Pavilion is a big business, but don't think you can name any price."
Then came a raspy man's voice: "You won't lose money. Girls this age are the easiest to train—beauties, all of them. Think how much they'll earn you once they grow up."
Hongyi inhaled sharply and turned to Lǜxiu in a whisper: "Are… are a brothel madam and a human trafficker really bargaining over people right in a pharmacy?"
Before Lǜxiu could answer, the woman added coldly, "Don't pretend I don't know. Those orphans from the border—families slaughtered by the Heqi—you got them for free. Now you're charging top coin. What a windfall."
Both women inhaled sharply again.
Not just trafficking—profiting off war refugees. These weren't people "selling themselves to survive," these were children with no choice. Blood money.
"Absolutely heartless…" Hongyi gritted out. Lǜxiu sighed. "What can we do? These traffickers only need one big sale to disappear. With the war, the authorities can't catch them. I heard prices are fixed now—girls go for four taels, prettier ones five or six; boys are pricier, but no more than ten taels."
Hongyi's breath grew cold. She walked into the pharmacy, eyes down, ignoring the two speakers as she handed over her prescription.
Behind her, the conversation went on.
"Fifty taels for ten orphans? Sure, sounds reasonable. But I'll need to get them registered in Changyang. That takes connections and bribes, you know."
"Come on," the man laughed. "Not like you're applying for proper citizen records. Just slave registrations. Madam Nan, let a few of your top girls spend a night with the registrar—that'll smooth it over."
Slave registration.
Hongyi froze. For a moment, it felt like the pain from her old wounds—the arrow, the kicks—flared again. She took a breath, eyes full of restrained hatred, and stared straight at the man.
"You said what?"