I am invincible, that's why I lie down. You're using your entire clan to rebel?

Qin Mu turned around.

He turned very slowly, like a tree that had been bent over in the wind for a long time finally straightening up.

Twilight streamed in through the doorway, falling upon him and gilding the outline of his grey robes with a cold, thin sheen.

His face was expressionless, but something was slowly settling in his eyes, like the water in a lake in the depths of winter slowly freezing beneath the ice, spreading from the edges to the center, silently but without any room for retreat.

He looked down at the Northern Mang woman kneeling on the ground, at the gentle smile that still lingered at the corners of her mouth, but whose features were beginning to stiffen, and at her eyes that were still trying to remain calm.

Her knees remained in the same position as when they were being pressed down, as if something unseen was pressing them down, leaving her no room to adjust her posture.

"You've made me realize for the first time," he said, "that the people of Northern Mang are so unteachable, so deserving of death."

His voice was very soft, so soft that it seemed to be half carried away by the wind in the twilight, but beneath that softness was a chill that he slowly pushed out from his chest, like a breath that had been suppressed for too long and finally found an outlet.

The words fell into the air like water droplets falling on a lake with a thin layer of ice. Each drop carried a delicate yet resilient penetrating force, not heavy, but enough to make the first fine crack appear on the ice from the thinnest part.

The Northern Barbarian woman looked up at him.

She opened her mouth, but no sound came out, because it felt as if something was gently choking her throat, not tightly, but just enough to prevent her from uttering the question she wanted to ask.

Her gaze lingered on Qin Mu's face, as if trying to find a trace of recognition in the contours of his eyebrows and eyes—whether he was a general from the Northern Border, a secret envoy sent by the imperial court, or someone from some force within the Northern Wilderness that she shouldn't offend.

But she couldn't find anything on his face. His face was as calm as a mirror that had been wiped clean repeatedly, reflecting no extra emotions. Only her own reflection was slowly distorting in that mirror.

She finally managed to squeeze out a voice, hoarse and trembling without even realizing it: "Who...who are you?"

When she asked that question, something she thought she hadn't seen in a long time appeared in her eyes for the first time—not fear, but bewilderment.

She had become accustomed to everything being within her calculations, accustomed to seeing how far everyone could go.

But now, looking at the person in front of her, she found that she could not see anything, like standing on the edge of a well and looking down, but not being able to see the bottom.

Qin Mu did not answer her question.

He looked at her, at her face that was still trying to maintain its gentleness but was already beginning to crack, and his voice was even lower than before: "I used to think that even if there were frictions at the border between the Northern Border and the Northern Barbarians, they would only be minor border troubles. Now it seems that I was wrong."

When he said this, there was no anger in his tone, only a calmness as if he were reassessing something.

But that calmness itself is more chilling than anger.

She knelt there, feeling for the first time that she was being re-evaluated by something she didn't understand.

He recalled the secret reports delivered to his desk when he sat on the dragon throne in the capital.

There were occasional skirmishes between the northern border and the Northern Barbarians, but none of them escalated into major troubles. The Northern Guardian King Xu Longxiang was adept at guarding the pass, and the Northern Barbarian cavalry never truly broke through it.

The words were written in a steady and methodical manner, as if they had been carefully considered before being put on paper. Every stroke told him that everything was under control, and that although the border was far away, it would not shake the foundation of the country.

He believed it. Or rather, he chose to believe it.

The North is Xu Longxiang's territory, and he has his own demands; he needs to demonstrate his value in defending the land.

The "steady improvement" described in those secret reports may not be entirely false, but they were certainly carefully edited.

He didn't see it with his own eyes.

He simply sat in that palace a thousand miles from the border, looking at the organized texts and placing them into the overall stable framework of the Qin Dynasty.

Standing in the dimly lit kitchen, looking at the huddled figures in the corner, at the Qin people who had once been treated as food, he suddenly realized that his previous composure and unhurried pace were like a tablecloth worm-eaten; it looked usable on the surface, but a light touch would reveal the countless holes underneath.

"I originally thought," he began, "that Xu Longxiang had guarded the northern border for many years, and even if he harbored rebellious intentions, he at least had a responsibility to defend the land. Now it seems that he has failed even in his duty to defend the land. It's not that nothing has happened on the border; he's just covering it up for you."

The Northern Barbarian woman's brow twitched slightly.

She seemed to want to say something, but before she could utter a word, Qin Mu's gaze pressed her back down, like a newly fallen leaf being pressed back to the ground by the wind.

She saw something in his eyes that she had never seen before—not anger, not murderous intent, but a kind of almost sorrowful confirmation.

“This isn’t the first time you’ve done something like this,” he said. “And it’s not the first time he’s found out about it.”

His gaze shifted from her face, as if she were no longer worthy of his second glance.

He turned around and walked towards the door.

His pace remained unhurried, but he stopped at the door without turning around, his voice echoing in the quiet twilight behind him: "Take everyone here back. Don't leave a single one behind."

These words were spoken to Yunluan, who had been standing quietly in the shadows outside the courtyard wall, and only now did she nod slightly.

She didn't ask "What should we do with this Northern Barbarian woman?" because she could already tell from Qin Mu's tone that the boundary had been drawn and no longer needed confirmation.

Qin Mu stepped across the threshold, and the night wind blew in from outside the courtyard wall, blowing the hem of his gray cloth robe.

He did not look back.

As he walked past the pomegranate tree, one of the few withered fruits on the branch was knocked off by the wind, landed at his feet, rolled twice, and came to a stop.

He didn't look down, but continued walking forward, like a tree passing through the night, with firm roots and outstretched branches.

He knew that his words were not only for the Northern Mang woman, but also for himself.

He is rediscovering this land, re-measuring the borders he once thought had been properly settled, and re-evaluating the cracks that have been obscured by words for too long.

He was walking forward, stepping on the edge of those cracks, each step heavier than he had anticipated.

The night wind blew across the open fields, carrying a dry, slightly astringent scent.

In the distance, the lights of Fenglingdu lit up one by one in the twilight, scattered like a string of beads blown away by the wind.

He walked along the edge of those lights, like a shadow passing through the night.

By the time Tuoba Yan entered the military camp gate, night had completely fallen.

The camp was brightly lit, with torches stuck in the fence, illuminating the entire camp as if it were daytime.

The light was a warm yellow, swaying slightly in the night breeze, casting the outline of the tents on the ground, making them appear long and crooked, like a row of tombstones slowly tilting.

The air was thick with the smell of barbecue and strong liquor, so strong it could almost cut through.

He paused for a moment as he passed through the village gate.

It wasn't because he saw anything, but because he smelled that scent.

The aroma was so rich it could almost cut through the air, like someone was stewing a whole sheep and half a jar of strong liquor in a pot. When the lid was lifted, steam rushed out, carrying the smoky aroma of grease and the spicy scent of spices roasted over a fire.

He frowned slightly, said nothing, and continued walking inside.

In the open space in the center of the camp, the campfire was burning brightly, its flames licking the dark night sky and illuminating the entire area as if it were daytime.

A dozen soldiers sat around a fire, and one of them was using a short knife to slice a roasted lamb leg, the oil glistening in the firelight.

Someone was holding a wine flask and tilting his head back to drink it, the wine dripping down his chin and into his collar, but he was completely unaware.

Someone was slapping their thigh and laughing, the laughter so rough it sounded like sand rolling down their throat.

Sitting in the very center was his lieutenant, who was poking at the charcoal in the fire with a stick, poking it once and then again, as if waiting for something.

Beside him lay the drawn scimitar, its blade still glistening with oil, left there carelessly after he finished cutting the roast meat, too lazy to even wipe it clean.

Tuoba Yan stopped a few steps away.

He stood at the boundary between firelight and shadow, neither moving forward nor speaking.

The firelight illuminated half of his face, giving his outline a warm orange-red hue, while the other half of his face remained hidden in the night, like a sword not fully drawn, half of its blade exposed and half still concealed in its sheath.

He stood there, like someone waiting to confirm certain images with himself, his gaze sweeping over the soldiers one by one, as if he wanted to mentally process each person's posture, their loose shoulders, and the fingers holding the wine bags.

Then he spoke.

The voice wasn't loud, but amidst the crackling of the fire and laughter, it was as clear as a pebble dropped into a pond: "I told you all to be careful."

The sounds seemed to be suppressed by a hand.

Some people were still holding wine jugs, some were still gnawing on lamb legs, and some were bending over to reach the dice that had rolled far away on the ground, but all their movements were frozen in mid-air, like a painting that had been suddenly frozen in time.

The laughter around the fire stopped, leaving only the faint crackling of the burning firewood, which was particularly clear in the quiet air.

The lieutenant was the first to react. He stood up abruptly, his knee nearly knocking over the wine bowl beside him. The bowl tilted, spilling some wine onto the ashes, which hissed and released a small plume of white steam.

He quickly wiped his mouth, swallowed the meat in his mouth, and said in a tense, suppressed voice, "General, the brothers have been traveling for several days and have only recently arrived at the camp. They were thinking of roasting some hot food to warm themselves up, so they dared not slack off."

Tuoba Yan's gaze fell on him, like a knife falling on a chopping board. It didn't cut in immediately, but just left it there, letting him feel the weight of it first.

He continued, "You've traveled for days, and the first thing you do upon arriving at the camp is drink and eat meat, filling the whole camp with its delicious aroma. If someone were to sneak in from the north at this time, would you throw wine jugs at them, or trip them up with roasted lamb legs?"

No one responded.

The soldiers by the fire lowered their heads in unison; some quietly hid the wine flask behind their backs, while others put the lamb leg back on the iron plate.

The person who had laughed the loudest was now even lowering their breathing, as if afraid that if they took another breath, they would become the next one to be called out.

The lieutenant's Adam's apple bobbed as if he wanted to say something, but he swallowed the words back down.

He stood there, like someone being re-weighed, his palms slightly sweaty, but he dared not wipe them.

Tuoba Yan did not look at them again.

He turned and walked toward the main tent, his steps neither hurried nor slow, yet each step carried a weight that seemed to have been repeatedly compacted. The soles of his boots stomped on the sand, making a steady sound, each sound clearer than the crackling of the fire.

The soldiers remained standing in place. Some slowly put down their wine flasks, while others looked down at their oily hands. No one dared to sit down first.

The lieutenant stood there, watching Tuoba Yan's figure disappear behind the tent flap of the main tent, before slowly loosening his fingers that had been clenched for some unknown time.

I opened my palm and looked at it; it was covered in sweat, which dampened the lines of the old calluses.

He turned around and said in a low voice to the people still standing by the fire, "Everyone, disperse. Put away the wine and put out the fire."

The lieutenant lowered his head, his Adam's apple bobbing up and down, but he did not back down.

He stood still, the toe of his boot grinding against the sand, as if using that action to encourage himself.

He raised his head, his voice lower than before, but still carrying a forced toughness: "General, the brothers have been traveling for several days, constantly on edge, without a good night's sleep. Now that we're finally in our own territory, a drink and a hot meal are essential to recharge. Besides, this is Northern Mang territory, our own land; nothing will happen."

As soon as he said this, several heads that had been lowered by the fire began to lift slightly again.

Someone nodded slightly, like a bird checking the wind direction.

Someone whispered in agreement, their voice barely audible, as if afraid of being overheard, yet also hoping to be heard: "Yes, General... the brothers have indeed been exhausted these past few days..."

Another, mustering their courage, spoke up: "Who would dare to provoke us in the Northern Wilderness?"

The voices were not loud, but they carried a weight that was slowly gathering, like several branches that had been bent for too long searching for a way to spring back.

Tuoba Yan stood still, without saying a word, but his gaze slowly swept over the raised faces, landing on their postures, on the corners of their mouths still stained with wine, and on their fingertips glistening with oil.

He saw someone still swallowing, as if savoring the taste of the meat they had just eaten, but no one dared to reach for it again, just like a dog frozen in place after being stopped by its owner.

He saw that the lieutenant was standing ramrod straight, but his Adam's apple was still bobbing slightly, clearly indicating that he wasn't entirely sure about what he had just said.

Tuoba Yan's gaze fell on his face, paused for a moment, and then he suddenly understood something.

He was too hasty.

He was eager to get everyone to act according to his planned rhythm, eager to straighten out every thread, and eager to keep everyone constantly on their guard.

But he didn't consider that those lines were being held by someone, and that the person holding those lines also needed rest.

He's too hasty, and he might break those threads.

He was silent for a moment, then slowly exhaled, a breath that was longer than he had expected: "What you said makes sense."

The soldiers' eyes lit up, like lamps that had been tilted by the wind suddenly regaining their flames.

The lieutenant's shoulders relaxed slightly, like a leaf that had been weighed down for too long finally being blown away from the water by the wind.

"It's good to rest for the night. We still have a long way to go tomorrow."

Tuoba Yan paused for a moment, "However, next time don't roast meat in the center of the camp. A fire can be lit, but not in the very center. If someone sneaks in, the firelight will illuminate your faces, you won't be able to see them, but they will be able to see you clearly."

The soldiers around the fire were silent for a moment, then one of them nodded slightly.

The lieutenant lowered his head, clasped his hands in a fist salute, and replied, "Yes, General. I understand."

Tuoba Yan waved his hand.

He turned around, preparing to walk toward the main tent.

But he stopped in his tracks.

A gust of wind blew in from the north, skimming the ground and seeping in through the gaps in the wooden fence of the camp.

The wind came without warning, like an invisible hand suddenly pushing the fence, causing the few pieces of firewood in the fire that hadn't completely burned out to flicker. Sparks were swept up and drifted into the night sky, shining for a moment before going out again.