Shen Yuewei's slender fingers gripped the edge of the letter tightly, her knuckles turning slightly white from the force. She read the line "The plan to escape is already in place" over and over again, her heart pounding violently in her chest, a mixture of disbelief and a faint yet burning hope. He... he really was plotting something? For her and An'an, he was willing to give up that readily available position of supreme power?

She abruptly stood up, walked to the window, and took a deep breath of the moist, slightly cool air of Jiangnan, trying to calm her turbulent emotions. Her gaze fell on the courtyard, where her daughter, An'an, was squatting on the wet bluestone slab, her little hands carefully touching a newly sprouted blade of grass, her face full of focus and joy, completely oblivious to the turmoil in that golden cage thousands of miles away.

Shen Yuewei's gaze softened and hardened. She pressed the letter carefully to her chest, as if trying to absorb the promise and strength within its words. He wanted her to rest assured, to take care of herself and An'an. So, she would stay here, guarding their little world, waiting for him to fulfill that earth-shattering promise.

Meanwhile, in the northwestern border region.

Two days ago, she sought lodging at a deserted inn in a remote village. Several drunken thugs, seeing her alone (though dressed as a man, she was thin), made lewd remarks and even tried to grope her. In a moment of panic, she pulled out her hairpin and stabbed the leader's hand. Amidst the chaos and shouts, she slipped out of the back window under the cover of darkness and stumbled into the cold wilderness, barely escaping. Her ankle was sprained and still throbbed with pain.

The only thing keeping her going was the small, warm jade ring tucked into her sleeve, a trophy Lu Zheng had casually tossed to her on her birthday, calling it a "little trinket." She clutched the jade ring tightly, her knuckles white. Her gaze, peering through the swaying carriage curtain, was fixed on the seemingly endless, gray horizon to the north. That was the direction he was heading.

After traveling for several more days, they finally saw the majestic, weathered outline of the border town of Suzhou in the distance. The city gates were heavily guarded. Luo Qingrou's heart leaped into her throat. She lowered her worn felt hat and, mimicking the traveling merchants ahead, tried to walk forward naturally.

"Travel permit!" the city guard shouted gruffly, his suspicious gaze sweeping over her overly delicate (despite being covered in dust) face and slender frame.

Luo Qingrou's palms were sweating with nervousness. Forcing herself to remain calm, she pulled out a forged travel permit and handed it over. The soldier examined it closely, then looked her up and down, his brow furrowed. "What's your name? Where are you from? What brings you to Suzhou?"

“Luo…Luo Qing,” she tried her best to make her voice sound hoarse, “I’m from Luzhou in the south. My hometown was flooded, so I came to the north to seek refuge with relatives and find a way to survive.” She hunched her back slightly, trying to make herself look more humble and pitiful.

The soldier's gaze lingered on her slender wrists and overly clean neck. Just as Luo Qingrou felt like she was suffocating, a gentle yet slightly hoarse voice came from beside her: "Chief Wang, what's wrong?"

A man in his forties, dressed in a faded blue robe and carrying a medicine chest, approached. He had a gaunt face, but his eyes were unusually gentle and bright, revealing a compassionate understanding of the world. His gaze fell on Luo Qingrou's face, lingering for a moment on her clear and stubborn eyes, which were filled with tension and exhaustion.

The soldiers guarding the city clearly respected this man: "Doctor Qin, you're back? This kid's travel permit looks a bit unclear, and he's thin and small; he doesn't seem like someone who does manual labor."

The man known as Doctor Qin approached, examined Luo Qingrou's travel permit carefully, and then looked at her gently: "The flood in Luzhou is indeed severe. Young man, can you read? Do you know anything about pharmacology or how to identify herbs?"

Luo Qingrou's heart skipped a beat. Although she wasn't an expert, as the daughter of a prime minister, her family had a vast collection of books, and she herself enjoyed reading miscellaneous books, so she did have some knowledge of medicine and herbs. She quickly nodded, her voice still hoarse: "Replying to you, sir, I recognize a few characters, and... I also know a little about herbs."

Doctor Qin smiled warmly and said to the soldier guarding the city, "Chief Wang, the camp is short of some young apprentices to help out with medicine. I think this young man has clean eyes and is an honest person. Let him come with me to the camp; it's better than him starving to death in the city."

Seeing that Doctor Qin had vouched for her, and glancing at Luo Qingrou's frail appearance, the soldier waved his hand and said, "Since she's the person Doctor Qin wants, then go in! Kid, following Doctor Qin is your good fortune, do a good job!"

Luo Qingrou suppressed the overwhelming joy and bittersweet emotions in her heart, bowing her head deeply: "Thank you, General Qin! Thank you, Mr. Qin!" She followed behind Doctor Qin, stepping into this formidable border city, thick with the scent of sand, sweat, and the faint stench of blood. The massive city gates slowly closed behind her, blocking her path. She subconsciously touched the jade ring hidden in her bosom, her gaze passing through the low, cluttered houses of Suzhou City, turning towards the north—where lay the sprawling military camps, the direction of his presence. The road ahead remained uncertain, but at least she had stepped into his territory.

In early spring, the winds and sandstorms in the borderlands were still harsh. The newly established camp flags fluttered in the wind. The fatigue from days of forced marches, coupled with the unfamiliar climate and the sudden chill of early spring, had caused many soldiers to fall ill. The makeshift medical tents were filled with the bitter smell of herbs and suppressed groans.

A thin figure, dressed in an ill-fitting old military uniform, his face covered in dust and sweat, moved nimbly between the makeshift wooden beds. His movements were exceptionally efficient, distributing medicine and changing bandages. Though taciturn, his eyes were focused and steady, displaying a composure beyond his years and stature. This was Luo Qingrou, using the alias "Luo Qing."

"Hey! New guy! Luo Qing!" A rough, anxious voice rang out, "Over here! Come quick! Wang Laowu has fainted again! He can't breathe, and his face is all purple!"

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