Chapter 18

Qi Huan’s corpse was discovered during the battlefield cleanup. The enemy had launched a night raid, catching Qi’s army completely off guard. Communication broke down, and orders could not be delivered. At such a critical moment, if the commander could not assert control over his subordinates, the army would fall apart like scattered sand.

Clearly, Qi Huan lacked the ability and resolve to do so. The Inspector of Jingzhou had decisively shattered Qi’s camp; many soldiers either perished or fled. Within the darkness of that night, the army disintegrated utterly.

When the battlefield was being cleared, someone reported that the commander’s body had been found.

The corpse was discovered along the northern escape route, riddled with multiple stab wounds across the chest and abdomen, with his clothes torn away. If not for the private seal he carried, no one would have known this was the commander.

Neither the Inspector of Jingzhou nor Yang Zhijian had any intention of wiping out the enemy completely. It was evident Qi Huan had not died at the hands of the Jingzhou army.

“Although this was neither an order from the Lord nor my doing, since the man is dead, the blame will inevitably fall on someone,” Yang Zhijian said calmly, showing little emotion as he meticulously cleaned some oranges, removing the fibrous white strands before handing them to Yan Nanjing.

She took one, peeled it, and popped a segment into her mouth. The orange had been stored too long, its sweetness somewhat stale. Swallowing, she asked, “A commander usually has bodyguards nearby. How did he die so easily?”

Yang Zhijian shook his head. “Who can say? Perhaps he couldn’t bring many with him during the escape, or was attacked by fleeing soldiers or unlucky bandits.”

In any case, the man was dead.

“So, what does the Lord intend to do?”

Yang Zhijian picked up another warmed orange, peeled it, and said, “Although he was the enemy commander, basic respect must be maintained. The body has been ordered to be prepared for burial, and a messenger has been sent to Ye City with the news.”

This was a proper handling of the matter. Even in victory, Jingzhou did not press too hard, allowing Qi Xun’s side to preserve some dignity.

Though the lords warred fiercely, they still observed fundamental courtesy.

“Does he know?” Yan Nanjing asked, pointing in a certain direction.

Yang Zhijian smiled wryly. “Do you think such matters can be casually spoken of?”

“If this were elsewhere, it might be said openly. In battles, casualties are common. A commander who leads from the front could fall anytime.”

His smile faded, brows furrowing. “But here, in his own home, if he finds out... it could be a bloodbath.”

“Don’t be fooled by his respectful demeanor towards me,” Yang Zhijian sneered softly. “That’s only because he doesn’t know yet. Once he learns his uncle is dead, no one can say how he will behave.”

Yan Nanjing knew Yang Zhijian spoke the truth. Words were easy to say, but how many could be truly spoken before the grief of an uncle’s death overwhelmed all else?

She slowly chewed another orange segment. “Will my elder brother act?”

Resting her arms on the table, eyes full of questions, Yan Nanjing’s query startled Yang Zhijian.

“You mean, is he worried that upon learning this, he might rage and harm his own family?”

Yang Zhijian indeed harbored such concerns. Qi Hou’s eldest son appeared poised, but there was no certainty that, upon hearing the news, he would keep his family safe.

“How have you found him, after spending these days together?”

Yang Zhijian chuckled wryly.

Even the most gentlemanly souls draw their swords and fight furiously when kin die. He understood this impulse, but it was fleeting.

After all, without him, only Zhishan and A Yuanbai remained — who knew if they could survive?

This was a debt he must acknowledge.

Yan Nanjing reflected. “He’s hard to read.”

“On the surface, he appears upright and noble, but upon closer thought, his emotions rarely show.”

“What kind of temperament he truly has, I do not know.”

Yang Zhijian was not surprised; he had only conversed briefly with Qi Yun, yet shared Yan Nanjing’s impression.

“Elder brother probably doesn’t want to act, right?” Yan Nanjing asked.

Seeing Yang Zhijian silent, she whispered, “The best way is not to know at all.”

That was the ideal solution. He neither wished to shed blood nor to seem ungrateful.

“Well then,” Yang Zhijian shook his head, “as long as he doesn’t know, all will remain peaceful.”

“He told me he came to our home out of necessity and will leave once the time is right.”

Yang Zhijian exhaled slowly. “Fine. Let him stay through the New Year, and I’ll find a chance to send him away afterward.”

He noticed Yan Nanjing nearly lying face down on the table, looking uneasy. Not blaming her for her lack of composure, he asked gently, “Are you unwell?”

He remembered her childhood illness left her vulnerable to cold, especially in winter.

Yang Zhijian had learned medicine from his foster father, often preparing tonics to help her through harsh winters. Still, he worried.

Yan Nanjing shook her head, gesturing to her face. “Since elder brother has decided how to handle this, there’s no need for a furrowed brow.”

“Smile.”

“When Father was alive, he said maintaining a joyful spirit was the path to health.”

“Emotions like anger and sorrow disturb the mind and disrupt the flow of qi and blood.”

She pressed her fingers to the corner of her mouth, pulling a smile. “Elder brother, smile. Don’t look so troubled.”

Yang Zhijian couldn’t help but laugh and tease, “Where did you learn all this?”

“I’ve been this way since childhood. You know that.”

She lowered her hand and studied him carefully. “Better to smile. You’ve achieved much away from home, now you return with success. Why be so glum?”

“Achievements?” Yang Zhijian’s smile faltered. “I only seek a place to stand in this world.”

His foster father, Chen Yun, was learned and talented, yet he refused the governor’s invitation to serve, choosing instead to treat villagers. In the end, he gained nothing but disgrace in old age.

His knowledge, skills, and reputation meant nothing to the great families, who valued wealth over all else. Without inquiry, they jailed and tortured him.

Yang Zhijian was only fifteen then, rushing about to help, witnessing the coldness of the world.

Good deeds and a noble reputation crumbled before power. Even those helped feared association. He endured countless slights.

From that time, he understood that even to live with dignity, one must wield some power and fame.

“Thinking of the past again?” Yan Nanjing asked.

“After Father passed, you left home. Though your letters assured all was well, no one lives without hardships.”

She looked at Yang Zhijian. “You don’t want me to worry, but I know.”

He shook his head. “Just trifles.”

“Things are looking up now.” He smiled faintly but, seeing Yan Nanjing, his expression softened with guilt. “Leaving you here alone was my fault.”

“Yes,” she nodded, then smiled. “So you must make it up to me.”

“I plan to stay home until spring,” Yang Zhijian said.

“This defeat of Qi’s army brought much loot, and many eyes are watching for faults. Better to wait at home until spring, then we’ll go to Jingzhou City together.”

He had left her behind out of necessity, but after this, keeping her close felt safer.

Yan Nanjing nodded in agreement.

With Qi Yun and Zheng Xuanfu—these two “honored guests”—Yang Zhijian intended to treat them well upon his return.

Winter in Wuchu was rainy and snowy, especially the winter rains, which were more troublesome than snow. People rarely ventured out unless necessary.

Qi Yun was actually a decent guest, without airs, using whatever the host provided.

Zheng Xuanfu sneered at this attitude but dared not confront him.

“Finally, no rain today,” Zheng Xuanfu observed, glancing outside and speaking to Qi Yun.

Since they had taken over this place, Yang Zhijian had given them his entire house, moving elsewhere.

Cui Ti, who had been squatting there before, had not left but settled in. Zheng Xuanfu was often displeased by him.

Qi Yun was roasting some small oranges, no bigger than half his hand, over a charcoal brazier. He recalled seeing someone use copper chopsticks to stir hot embers, burying the oranges deep in the charcoal.

It seemed simple then, but was not so easy to replicate.

Hearing Zheng Xuanfu’s words, Qi Yun glanced toward the half-open window.

Indeed, the rain that had lasted two days had stopped, and a few scattered rays of sunlight peeked through.

Northern winters offered little warmth. In Ye City, water froze and vegetation withered. Even with sunlight, the cold was biting and lifeless.

But Jingzhou was different. Even in deep winter, the ancient tree in the courtyard remained verdant.

Footsteps sounded outside, and Zheng Xuanfu turned irritably. “Here we go again.”

Cui Ti, living alongside them, ran errands for Yang Zhijian and came to relay messages.

Zheng Xuanfu despised Cui Ti’s veiled mistrust and turned away with annoyance when he saw him.

Qi Yun ignored Zheng Xuanfu’s agitation, opened the door, and came face to face with Cui Ti, who had just knocked.

Seeing Qi Yun’s face at the door, Cui Ti’s heart nearly stopped.

“Master Cui, is there something you need?” Qi Yun asked with a smile.

Holding his breath, Cui Ti flushed deeply. “Master Yang requests the two of you come to the main hall.”

Qi Yun nodded, signaling he understood, then closed the door. The aroma of burnt orange peel spread through the room.

The smell was unpleasant; Zheng Xuanfu covered his nose in disgust.

Qi Yun picked out a charred orange from the fire and tossed it to Zheng Xuanfu.

Zheng Xuanfu reflexively raised his hand but immediately yelped in pain from the heat.

He clumsily threw the burning orange aside, pointing at Qi Yun while cursing, “You’ve been doing this for days! Even dogs won’t eat your burnt things! Are you doing it on purpose?”

Qi Yun looked at the blackened orange on the floor, ignoring Zheng Xuanfu’s outburst, his face full of regret as he sighed, “It really would be better if the young lady did it herself.”