Chapter 1708: Shu Yu Perceives

 Chapter 1707: Death of Tao Feili

 Chapter 257.2: A Thousand Miles, Sharing the Same Wind (Part 2)

The dawn wind carried the lingering chill of the night. The camp’s banners, heavy with frost, fluttered faintly in the pale grey light.

The soldiers were already stirring awake. The sounds of horse hooves, armor clinking, and men calling to one another blended into a low, steady hum.

Yuan Xiang returned to the main tent, his boots dusted with frost. He lifted the tent flap and saluted.

“General,” he reported, “we found traces of disturbance along the northern road about ten li away. There were scattered arrows and marks of horse hooves. Judging by the signs, there had been a skirmish.”

Cui Jing’s expression darkened slightly. “Any remains of the messenger?”

Yuan Xiang shook his head. “None, General. But it seems the letter pouch was taken.”

Silence fell. The only sound came from the faint rustling of the tent’s curtain.

After a long pause, Cui Jing rose from his seat, his armor gleaming faintly under the dim morning light.

“Gather the captains,” he ordered. “We march within the hour.”

“Yes, General!” Yuan Xiang replied.

He turned and hurried out.

Cui Jing stood still for a moment, his gaze falling upon the folded letter lying atop the table. The edges of the paper trembled slightly under the draft, as though unwilling to remain still.

He reached out and pressed it flat, his fingers pausing on the name written at the end.

That familiar handwriting once again filled his sight.

For a brief instant, the heavy frost and the long campaign seemed to fade away, replaced by the tranquil scenery of Jiangnan—the river mist at dawn, the sound of oars cutting through water, and the soft laughter of a girl in white standing by the bridge.

It was an image buried deep in his memory, yet as vivid as yesterday.

Outside, Yuan Xiang’s voice came through the tent flap, announcing that the captains had assembled.

Cui Jing’s eyes moved, and he slowly rolled up the letter. He tucked it carefully inside the inner layer of his armor, close to his chest.

Then, without another word, he took up his sword and strode out into the cold light of morning.

The drums of assembly echoed across the plain. The horses stamped the ground, and rows of banners unfurled, their crimson edges catching the dawn sun.

Yuan Xiang mounted his horse and waited beside the General’s banner. When Cui Jing emerged, the men straightened in unison.

“Prepare to move!”

With that command, the column began to advance.

The sound of hooves thundered through the frost-laden air, stirring up clouds of white mist.

Cui Jing rode at the front, his cloak sweeping behind him, his eyes fixed toward the distant horizon—toward the unseen south.

That same wind that carried the scent of frost here in the northern plains would, by nightfall, sweep over the riverbanks of Jiangnan as well.

And perhaps, at that very moment, beneath the same sky, someone in that faraway land might look up and feel that wind brush past her face—just as he did now.

The world was vast, the distance uncountable. Yet the wind that crossed a thousand miles was the same.

 Chapter 257.1: A Thousand Miles, Sharing the Same Wind (Part 1)

Yuan Xiang had once served as a personal guard to Cui Jing. His position by Cui Jing’s side was not by coincidence, but by the latter’s personal choice and arrangement.

The reason Yuan Xiang could follow Cui Jing so closely was not because of any noble birth or background, but due to his remarkable abilities in both riding and archery, as well as his calm, reliable disposition. He never spoke unnecessarily, never overstepped his place, and handled every matter with steady composure.

Because of these traits, over the years, Cui Jing gradually placed greater and greater trust in him.

However, few people knew that Yuan Xiang was not from the north—nor from the capital—but from the distant southern lands of Jiangnan.

When Cui Jing had still been stationed as Commander of Jinling’s garrison, he had once encountered an ambush while traveling along the river. Yuan Xiang, who was then merely a soldier in the local defense battalion, had saved him amidst the chaos.

After that incident, Cui Jing personally transferred him into his own command, and later brought him along when he was recalled to serve in the capital.

Since then, Yuan Xiang had accompanied Cui Jing through countless battlefields—across plains and rivers, through snow and dust. From the misty waters of Jiangnan to the harsh northern frontiers, his loyalty remained steadfast, never once wavering.

In the barracks, everyone knew that though Yuan Xiang was not particularly talkative, his devotion to the General was unmatched.

That night, the army was stationed by the riverside. The campfires stretched far into the distance, flickering like stars across the dark plain.

The northern wind howled past the tents, carrying with it the chill of early frost. From time to time came the sound of horses stamping and neighing softly in the dark.

Yuan Xiang stood guard outside the main tent, his spear planted upright beside him, his figure unmoving. He kept his gaze fixed toward the dim horizon, listening to the faint rustle of flags and the distant cries of sentries exchanging calls.

Within the tent, Cui Jing sat at the table beneath a single flickering candle, reading over a stack of military dispatches that had just arrived from the Prefecture.

The candle’s flame swayed in the wind, its light falling across the ink-brushed pages and the pale outline of his hand. His expression remained still—neither joy nor anger discernible.

After some time, he set the letter aside.

Yuan Xiang, who had been silent all along, quietly stepped closer. “General,” he said softly, “has there been any word from the Prefecture?”

Cui Jing’s gaze lifted slightly, his tone calm but carrying a trace of fatigue. “Not yet.”

He tapped the table lightly with his fingertips, then added, “If no message arrives by dawn tomorrow, it can only mean something happened along the road.”

Yuan Xiang’s brows drew together slightly. “Shall I send another man to check the route?”

Cui Jing nodded. “Go ahead—but quietly. There is no need to alert the others.”

“Yes, General.”

Yuan Xiang saluted and withdrew, his footsteps vanishing beyond the tent flap.

Only the whispering of the wind remained.

The candlelight flickered, and the shadow of Cui Jing’s figure swayed faintly against the tent wall.

After a long silence, Cui Jing reached out once more and opened a folded letter that had been lying to the side.

It was written in delicate handwriting—each stroke steady, elegant, and full of grace. The ink was slightly faded from travel, yet the scent of the paper still carried the faint fragrance of orchids.

He lowered his gaze to the final line, where the signature read: Chang Suining.

At that sight, a subtle softness appeared in his eyes.

He sat quietly for a moment, reading each line again, as though her voice could be heard between the words.

When he finally closed the letter, he exhaled slowly, murmuring under his breath, “Suining…”

Outside, the wind swept against the tent. Somewhere in the far south, beyond rivers and mountains, perhaps the same wind was stirring the willows by the water’s edge, brushing past the eaves of her courtyard.

Though separated by a thousand miles, they both felt the same breath of wind that night.

 Chapter 894: The Stupid Spare Tire (4)  

Due to the status of the Marquis’s wife, Old Madam Zhao could only swallow her anger, awkwardly smiling as she said, "It’s good that Madam isn’t offended. I will certainly discipline this child and help her temper her nature."  

The Marquis’s wife glanced at the pleased-looking Fan Meijiao, silently cursing her stupidity. She kept her smile, saying nothing.  

Old Madam Zhao, feeling uneasy, continued to flatter, worried that if the Marquis’s wife was displeased, all the goodwill she had just garnered would be wasted.  

The Marquis’s wife, though full of anger, had already achieved her goal. She had no intention of staying any longer, so after sitting for a short while, she stood up to leave. She declined Old Madam Zhao’s offer to see her off, and with her entourage of maids and servants, she left the Zhao family in a grand procession.  

Watching the Marquis’s wife leave with such grandeur, Fan Meijiao couldn’t help but feel envious. Why had she never married into a noble family like that? Why had she ended up with a small, insignificant official who couldn’t even afford her lavish lifestyle and was so harsh on her, eventually abandoning her? Although she had gotten her revenge, the resentment in her heart still lingered.  

Old Madam Zhao, seeing her granddaughter in this state, couldn’t help but feel sorry for her. Remembering the earlier words of the Marquis’s wife, she sent the maids out of the room and turned to Fan Meijiao, "Jiaoniang, do you know why the Marquis’s wife came today?"  

Still lost in her own thoughts, Fan Meijiao casually asked, "Why?"  

Old Madam Zhao’s face showed pride as she gently patted Fan Meijiao’s hand, saying, "Jiaoniang, you are truly fortunate. The Marquis’s wife came to be a matchmaker for you!"  

Fan Meijiao’s eyes widened in disbelief. "A matchmaker? For whom?"  

Seeing her granddaughter’s impatience, Old Madam Zhao didn’t hesitate and happily replied, "It’s for the Marquis’s wife’s nephew. I hear his family is also very wealthy. If you marry him, you won’t have to suffer."  

Fan Meijiao was overjoyed, urgently asking, "Has Grandmother agreed?"  

Her eagerness made her fail to consider why the Marquis’s wife’s nephew, with such a prestigious family, would want to marry someone like her—abandoned and with no distinguished background.  

Old Madam Zhao scolded, "A noble lady like you wouldn’t just agree to a proposal after the first visit. How could you?"  

Fan Meijiao thought for a moment and felt her grandmother had a point, so she didn’t argue.  

Old Madam Zhao then reminded, "The man you liked before passed the imperial examination and has close ties with the crown prince. His future is certainly bright. Now there’s also the Marquis’s wife’s nephew. Both families are excellent, but which one do you prefer?"  

At the mention of the man she had once fancied, Fan Meijiao’s face darkened, and a deep resentment flickered in her eyes.  

Old Madam Zhao immediately noticed and asked, "Did something happen with that Mo family?"  

Fan Meijiao gritted her teeth and said, "Hmph, that slutty maid from the Mo family, the one who’s now a county princess, dared to slap my maid. It’s too much!"  

She then went on to embellish the grievances she had suffered at the teahouse, portraying herself as an innocent flower while painting the County Princess as a haughty, disrespectful woman who looked down on the Zhao family.  

Old Madam Zhao, who had raised Fan Meijiao and knew her temperament well, understood that her granddaughter was exaggerating. However, since Fan Meijiao was her own flesh and blood and the Mo family had no ties to her, she naturally sided with her granddaughter and blamed the Mo family.  

Old Madam Zhao angrily scolded the County Princess.  

Fan Meijiao felt pleased at this, and when the timing seemed right, she clung to Old Madam Zhao’s arm and whined, "Grandmother, my heart hurts. If I don’t vent my anger, I’ll go mad!"  

"Spit, spit, spit, what nonsense are you talking? Do you think I can watch you suffer?" Old Madam Zhao spat and smacked Fan Meijiao’s shoulder, scolding her.  

"Grandmother, don’t hit, don’t hit! Jiaoniang knows she’s wrong!" Fan Meijiao broke into a smile, rolling into Old Madam Zhao’s arms to beg for forgiveness. "But that nasty girl is a county princess. What can we do to deal with her?"  

Old Madam Zhao paused, then smirked coldly, "There are many powerful people in the capital. Someone will take care of her. Your aunt’s in-laws are much more powerful than a mere county princess. Once she enters your aunt’s family, who will dare to cross her?"  

Fan Meijiao felt reluctant. "My aunt’s family is more noble than the Marquis of Yongchang’s. Hmph, it’s really too good for her!" If she could, she would marry that slutty girl to the lowest, most despicable man in the world, so she would never rise again.  

Old Madam Zhao laughed coldly. "What does power matter? If a woman can’t find a good man, her life will be as bitter as gall."  

She then affectionately patted Fan Meijiao’s head and said with a smile, "Right now, the marriage proposal from the Marquis of Yongchang’s nephew is a good one. Let the Mo family wait for a while. When your uncle returns, I’ll discuss it with him. If things don’t work out with the Marquis’s family, we’ll see if the Mo family is a viable option. We must ensure your future is secure."  

Fan Meijiao nodded obediently and lay her head in Old Madam Zhao’s lap, a dark gleam flashing in her eyes.  

At this moment, high on the roof, a majestic bird stood, listening intently to the conversation below. Its human-like eyes showed disdain as it heard the two women’s secretive chatter.  

Hmph, daring to scheme against Yan Yan and use her father as a spare tire? They’re simply courting death!  

After hearing no further useful information, the bird flapped its wings, deliberately using its claws to tear off a tile from the roof. The loud noise and the women’s startled cries filled the air as the bird flew northward toward the capital.  

[End of Chapter]  

 Chapter 893: The Stupid Spare Tire (3)  

On the other side, feeling humiliated, Fan Meijiao returned to the Zhao family in a rage. The first thing she did was order that the green-clad maid be tied up and given twenty lashes.  

Looking at the maid who had been beaten half to death, Fan Meijiao was still unsatisfied and ordered that she be thrown into the firewood room, forbidding anyone from sending food or water to her.  

Once her anger had subsided a little, Fan Meijiao deliberately disheveled her clothes and hair, then, holding a handkerchief soaked in ginger water, she began to cry and ran to Old Madam Zhao’s courtyard.  

Without the maid’s announcement, Fan Meijiao barged in and knelt in front of Old Madam Zhao, crying in a loud voice, "Grandmother, you must stand up for your granddaughter! If not, I will have no face to live on anymore, woo woo—"  

Seeing her most beloved granddaughter crying like this, Old Madam Zhao’s heart ached, but she rarely helped Fan Meijiao up. Instead, she awkwardly turned to a wealthy middle-aged noblewoman standing to one side and said, "This child has been spoiled by me. She suffered a grievance today and forgot her manners. I hope the Madam won't be offended."  

The middle-aged noblewoman glanced at Fan Meijiao, whose appearance was now a mess, and barely furrowed her brows. She calmly replied, "This child is truly straightforward, Old Madam is fortunate."  

Old Madam Zhao breathed a sigh of relief and gently patted Fan Meijiao's shoulder, reproaching her, "You child, the Wife of the Marquis of Yongchang is here, and you're acting like a child. Why don't you hurry up and pay your respects?"  

Fan Meijiao, still sulking because Old Madam Zhao had ignored her, was momentarily stunned after hearing this. She quickly rose to greet the Marquis's wife. Unfortunately, her foot caught on her skirt, and she fell forward, crashing into the Marquis's wife.  

"Ah—"  

"Ah!"  

"Madam, be careful!"  

There was a flurry of chaos as people stumbled around in the room. The Marquis’s wife, being knocked over, staggered backward. If her maid hadn’t reacted quickly to steady her, she would have fallen, along with the chair, which would have been truly embarrassing.  

Fortunately, she avoided the fall, but her hairpin was askew, and her clothes were now in disarray—something she, always concerned with her appearance, could hardly tolerate.  

While comforting her frightened granddaughter, Old Madam Zhao turned to see the Marquis's wife’s displeased expression and felt a pang of worry in her heart. She hurriedly pulled Fan Meijiao forward to apologize, "Madam, this child has offended you, please allow her to apologize."  

She then glared at Fan Meijiao, who was still crying, and ordered, "Hurry up and apologize to Madam. You’re being too reckless!"  

Fan Meijiao, feeling wronged, didn't think she had done it on purpose. Why must she apologize?  

Old Madam Zhao could tell that her granddaughter was unwilling, but even though she felt heartache, she couldn’t indulge her this time. She gave Fan Meijiao a push.  

With no choice, Fan Meijiao reluctantly apologized without sincerity, "Madam, it was my fault. I hope you can forgive me."  

Seeing Fan Meijiao’s unwilling attitude, the Marquis’s wife, whose anger had just been suppressed, felt it rise again. However, this was Zhao’s household, and as a guest, she couldn’t lose her temper. She suppressed her feelings and, with a forced smile, said to Old Madam Zhao, "Earlier, I said your granddaughter was straightforward, and that was true."  

While her earlier compliment had some sincerity, now it was clearly a sarcastic remark about Fan Meijiao’s lack of manners.  

Old Madam Zhao could hear the underlying tone and felt her face burn with embarrassment, secretly blaming her granddaughter for being ignorant and dragging her down with her.  

[End of Chapter]   

 Chapter 1706: Twenty-Eight People Emerge