Hot flashes

The tent was deathly silent.

Xiao Jue's gaze swept across everyone's faces, like a dull knife scraping bone. Finally, it stopped on Shen Yu: "Sir."

"I am here."

"Has there been any unusual activity in Linchuan City recently?"

Shen Yu quickly recalled: "Since the Prince went south, Linchuan has been guarded by Lieutenant General Li, and the administrative affairs have been temporarily handled by the Chief Secretary. There are indeed spies from the Southern Capital active in the city, and three have been eliminated, but..." He paused, "If they could find such a secret route, it would be beyond the capabilities of ordinary spies."

"That's among us," Xiao Jue said, emphasizing each word, "There's something fishy going on."

As he uttered the last two words, a patch of bright red blood suddenly seeped through the bandage on his shoulder—the wound had reopened.

But he seemed oblivious, staring only at the blood-stained secret report on the table, at the words "missing".

Ah Heng.

His mind was filled with that name and that face—the one whose eyes crinkled when she smiled, whose cheeks puffed out when she was angry, who would snuggle into his arms when she was scared, and who would unconsciously kick off the blankets when she was fast asleep…

That person is probably lying somewhere in the cold mud, wounded, surrounded by people who want to kill him.

Or worse.

Xiao Jue suddenly stood up.

The sudden movement aggravated his wound, causing him to sway. He instinctively braced his left hand against the table. The table groaned under the strain, and a crack spread from beneath his palm.

"Your Highness!" the crowd exclaimed.

Xiao Jue raised his hand to stop them. He stood up straight, his face as white as paper, but his eyes were terrifyingly dark.

"Zhao Ting".

"Your subordinate is here!"

"Take three thousand light cavalry and head north immediately. Search every inch of the area from Heishi Post Station to Linchuan. Find them alive," he paused, his Adam's apple bobbing violently, "...dead..."

That word was never spoken.

"Yes!" Zhao Ting clasped his hands in a fist salute, turned around, and strode out of the tent.

"Wang Ben".

"Your subordinate is here!"

"Investigate the entire army thoroughly." Xiao Jue's voice was as cold as ice. "From the Imperial Guard to the supply train, anyone who has recently corresponded with Linchuan is to be detained and interrogated. Anyone suspected is to be killed."

Wang Ben's pupils contracted, but he still replied, "Yes, sir!"

"Mr. Shen."

"I am here."

"Draft two orders." Xiao Jue closed his eyes, and when he opened them again, all that remained was a desolate killing intent. "First, block the news of the great victory at Poyang Lake, and announce to the outside world that I am seriously injured and unconscious, and that Zhao Ting will temporarily take charge of the army."

Second, send a letter to the young emperor in Nandu—tell him that I will not spare any of the messengers he has sent.

Shen Yu was deeply shocked: "Your Highness, if we completely break ties with Nandu now, I fear..."

"Do as I say." Xiao Jue interrupted him, his tone leaving no room for argument.

The generals in the tent received their orders and withdrew, leaving only Xiao Jue alone.

The flickering lamplight cast inverted shadows on his face. He looked down at his trembling right hand—his palm had been pierced by a splinter when he supported himself on the table, and blood was slowly seeping out.

But he couldn't feel any pain.

The arrow wound on his shoulder didn't hurt, nor did the stab wound on his palm. The pain was elsewhere, deep in his chest, in the place called "heart," where it felt as if a hole had been dug open, and cold wind was howling in, pouring in fear—a fear he hadn't felt in many years, a fear that almost drowned him.

"Aheng..." Xiao Jue murmured the name, as if trying to draw strength from it.

He walked to the tent and lifted the curtain. The night was deep, campfires flickered in the camp, and the distant sound of Poyang Lake could be faintly heard. Spring should have been warm, but he felt a biting cold.

If Zhou Heng is really dead...

The thought had barely crossed his mind when he ruthlessly extinguished it. He couldn't think about it, he dared not think about it.

"Your Highness."

Chen Shen's voice rang out behind him. Xiao Jue turned around abruptly—Chen Shen was kneeling in the tent at some point, covered in dust, with wounds on his face and bloodshot eyes.

"Your subordinate is guilty." Chen Shen touched his head to the ground. "I failed to protect the young master. Please punish me, Your Highness."

Xiao Jue stared at him for a long time before finally asking, "Where's Chang An?"

"Seriously injured, unconscious, the army doctor said...whether he can wake up depends on fate."

"on site."

"Of the eight guards, six were killed in battle, and two were seriously wounded and captured, and committed suicide on the spot."

Chen Shen's voice was hoarse. "The other side had at least thirty men, well-trained and coordinated perfectly. They weren't ordinary bandits. They cleaned up the scene when they left, leaving no obvious traces. But..." He looked up, "My subordinates found this in the reeds."

He presented something with both hands.

It was a small piece of fabric, light blue, and soft in texture—the material of the outer robe Zhou Heng often wore. The edges of the strip of fabric showed signs of being torn by a sharp weapon, and it was stained with blood that had already turned black.

Xiao Jue took the strip of cloth, and his fingertips trembled violently when they touched the dried bloodstains.

"Young Master... should still be alive," Chen Shen said in a low voice. "If the other party wanted to kill, they wouldn't go to such lengths to clean up the scene. Taking a survivor is either for interrogation, or..."

"Either it's to blackmail me," Xiao Jue finished for him.

He gripped the blood-stained strip of cloth tightly, the rough edges of the fabric digging into his palm. The slight pain actually helped to clear his chaotic thoughts.

still alive.

This realization was like a lifeline, pulling him back from the brink of drowning.

"Chen Shen".

"Your subordinate is here."

"You investigate personally." Xiao Jue's voice regained its composure, a coldness hardened by ice, tinged with the stench of blood. "Starting from the Linchuan Prince's residence, everyone who has had access to the route information, leave no stone unturned. By any means necessary, I want to know who the mole is."

"Yes."

"Also," Xiao Jue walked to the desk, picked up a pen, quickly wrote a few lines on a blank sheet of paper, stamped it with his personal seal, and handed it to Chen Shen, "Give this to our people in Nandu. Have them use all their resources to investigate which forces have been secretly searching for unidentified young men recently."

Chen Shen took the letter, glanced at it, and was shocked—it was a secret agent that Xiao Jue had cultivated for many years, which he had never used lightly.

"Your Highness, this..."

"Go." Xiao Jue waved his hand.

Chen Shen said no more and bowed as he withdrew.

The tent flap fell, leaving Xiao Jue alone inside once again. He looked down at the blood-stained strip of cloth in his palm for a long, long time, then slowly clenched his fist, the cloth crumpling into a ball in his hand.

The wound on his shoulder began to bleed again, turning the bandage red. But he seemed oblivious, simply standing there like a frozen statue, only the swirling black vortex in his eyes betraying the almost frenzied storm within him.