Once, the tip of her gun almost touched my cheek. I was so scared that I took a step back, but she just laughed and said...
"The battlefield won't give you a chance to retreat. If you dare to hide again next time, I'll really poke you." Although it was a joke, it made me take every training session more seriously.
Once, I was careless and was hit in the arm by Ling Shuang's gun barrel. I fell to the ground, scraped my elbow, and bled. It hurt so much that I grimaced.
The dirt on the ground stuck to my outfit, and some small pebbles were poking my back.
I thought she would apologize to me, but instead she smiled and reached out to help me up.
She was holding a clean strip of cloth in her hand, her own sweat towel—which she used to wipe the blood from my elbow.
"Yuanhe, you've improved so quickly! Your reactions are much sharper than last time! If you had been just a little faster, you could have dodged my attack."
If you keep training like this, in a few more days, I really won't be a match for you!
She was very strong and pulled me up in one go.
The warmth of her palm seeped through the fabric, much warmer and more genuine than my brother's casual "Imperial Sister," filling me with a warm feeling.
Looking at the scars on her arm, I suddenly realized that this is what I should look like in the future.
Instead of being confined to a boudoir embroidering, she is able to hold her own gun and protect those she wants to protect.
During breaks, they would occasionally stare at me, lost in thought. Ling Shuang would hand me a ladle of cool water that had just been drawn from the well.
The water ladle was made of coarse pottery, with some wear on the edges, but it was very clean and still carried the coolness of well water.
I tilted my head back and drank heartily, water droplets dripping from my chin onto my clothes, wetting a small patch and feeling cool.
Ling Shuang looked at me, and finally sighed softly, her voice very gentle: "Yuan He, you have been protected too well by His Majesty and the Empress, and you still have this pure innocence that has not been worn down."
At the time, I didn't understand the deeper meaning of her words. I just thought she was praising me for being simple-minded and not having many hidden agendas.
He smiled and replied, "Practicing martial arts should be enjoyable and exhilarating. Thinking about all that scheming and backstabbing is exhausting!"
"I just want to practice my marksmanship so that I can help my father protect this empire and also share the burdens of my elder brother, the Crown Prince."
Ling Shuang smiled after hearing my words and didn't say anything more, but there was a layer of mist in her eyes that I couldn't understand.
Like the morning mist in the Imperial Garden, hazy and slightly cool, it's hard to guess what's going on.
Later I realized that they had seen the border littered with corpses—some of the dead soldiers were only teenagers, still clutching their knives.
I have witnessed life and death on the battlefield—I had an older sister who sacrificed herself while pacifying the southern barbarians, and her remains were never recovered.
I have also witnessed the intrigue and bloodshed in the court. King Zhao was impeached by court officials several times because his achievements overshadowed the emperor. Although it had no real impact, it was still unpleasant.
They had long seen through the treacherous nature of the imperial court and knew that every step they took here was fraught with danger, and that the slightest misstep would result in their annihilation.
They knew how fragile, rare, and dangerous "innocence" was in this cannibalistic place.
My sweaty smile at that time, in their eyes, was perhaps like a flower in a greenhouse that had never experienced wind and rain—well protected by my father and mother.
Unaware of the complexities of human nature, unaware of the terrifying power, their naivety is chilling.
What alarmed them was how long this naiveté could last in the treacherous imperial palace.
Will I be destroyed by a sudden storm in the next second? Will my naivety cost me dearly?
The wind in the training ground is always strong, making my battle robe flutter and blowing the stray hairs on my forehead to stick to my face, revealing my smooth forehead and determined eyes.
I gripped the gun barrel tightly, the red tassel on the tip swaying in the setting sun like a burning flame, making my eyes sparkle—a determination I had never felt before.
I watched as the setting sun stretched my shadow very long, all the way to the stone wall of the training ground, where it overlapped with the shadows of the soldiers, becoming indistinguishable from each other.
Some of them were cleaning their guns, some were stretching, and others were talking in hushed tones. Their laughter drifted on the wind, as clear and melodious as silver bells.
The scene was like a painting imbued with warmth, so beautiful it made my heart tremble, and it made me even more certain: no matter how my brother sees me, no matter what others say.
I, Ning Yuanhe, will live my life as I am—able to wield a gun, understand political strategies, protect my family, and safeguard my country. This is the kind of person I should be.
The martial arts training ground deep within the Forbidden Garden is always shrouded in a chilling aura that outsiders cannot see through.
Before dawn, the wind here was already strong—it swept over the archer's taut arm muscles and swept away the hot sweat from his forehead.
The spear tip, gleaming coldly, grazed the blue brick floor, leaving a fine, cool residue on the stone surface.
Even the soft sound of a female guard's clothes brushing against the bricks when she climbed the ten-foot-high wall seemed to be knocking on the boundary of the word "ordinary".
On the sycamore trees by the field, the morning birds were still asleep. They would only flap their wings occasionally before being startled away by the shouts of the soldiers, leaving a few dewy leaves to drift down.
Male and female soldiers were mixed together in formation, and their genders could not be distinguished by the crisp sound of their armor plates clashing. During training, they were divided into three teams based on their specialization: crossbowmen, spearmen, and light cavalry.
When the archer nocks the arrow, his knuckles turn white, the fletching on the arrow fletches trembles sharply in the morning light, and the fully drawn bowstring is taut as a straight line.
It seemed as if it would pierce through the fog at any moment, and even the air felt tight.
When a spearman thrusts, he lowers his center of gravity extremely low, and the marks left by the soles of his boots on the ground are as deep as engravings.
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