I once saw King Jinrui Zhao personally supervising the training from afar.
It was a clear early autumn morning. The fog hadn't lifted yet, like a thin veil draping the training ground. Even the dew on the sycamore leaves felt cool, and when it fell to the ground, it formed small puddles.
She was clad in dark soft armor, and morning dew that had condensed in the gaps between the armor plates dripped down along the patterns, landing on the ground and leaving tiny wet marks. Her hair was also damp.
A few stray hairs clung to her temples, but she didn't look disheveled at all—on the contrary, they accentuated the heroic spirit in her eyes and brows.
Like a sword just drawn from its sheath, its sharpness cannot be concealed. A black jade token hangs at her waist, a "military garrison order" bestowed by her father, the emperor.
As they moved, the tokens gently tapped against the armor plates, producing a crisp sound. Upon hearing this sound, the soldiers would instinctively straighten their backs.
The spear in her hand was made of black iron, with a non-slip black cloth wrapped around the shaft, and the cloth still bore the marks of wear and tear from the battlefield.
Some parts were even worn rough, but they were kept clean and without a trace of rust.
With a gentle twist of her wrist, the gleaming silver tip of the spear traced an arc in the morning light, its brilliance like a silver snake dancing wildly.
First, he feinted a move towards his opponent's left shoulder, and then, taking advantage of the moment when the opponent raised his arm to block, the tip of his spear suddenly dipped down, gliding along the opponent's spear shaft, producing a soft metallic scraping sound.
Then it suddenly jerked upwards, the movement so fast that its trajectory was impossible to see.
With a loud clang, the opponent's spear was knocked away and landed heavily on the ground, the tassel still trembling slightly.
In just three moves, she took down three of the most elite light cavalry soldiers—the three were known as the "Iron Triangle" in the army.
They once joined forces to defeat ten skilled Imperial Guards during a training exercise; ordinary people would find it difficult to determine a winner within ten moves.
The cheers were so loud that the sycamore leaves in the training ground rustled down, and a few golden leaves landed right at my feet.
I huddled behind the weapon rack, my fingers gripping the gun barrels tightly. The sweat on my palms dampened the wooden barrels, but my heart pounded like a drum, and my breathing became rapid.
I wanted to rush out and ask her for a few pointers, to say the words I had rehearsed countless times in my mind: "Can King Zhao teach me spear techniques?"
I was also afraid that she would be like my elder brother, the Crown Prince, and scold me with a stern face, saying that "women should not wield swords and spears," thus extinguishing the faint flame in my heart.
They could only watch helplessly as that figure in black moved about the field, and when she instructed the soldiers, she would bend down to adjust their grip on the gun, and gently correct the angle of their wrists with her fingers.
There was no airs in his voice, and he would patiently say, "Try it again, pay attention to your center of gravity."
When she puts away her gun, she takes out a handkerchief from her waist and gently wipes the cold gleam of the gun tip, her movements full of the preciousness she holds for the weapon.
It was as if the gun was not a cold weapon, but a partner fighting alongside you.
He didn't even dare to breathe heavily, only daring to steal glances at her nimble back as she sheathed her gun through the gaps in the weapon rack.
When I saw her raise her hand to wipe the sweat from her forehead, I saw the determination and brightness in her eyes—a light I had never seen in the deep palace before, a light that carried strength and freedom.
The soldiers probably saw through my thoughts long ago, and always covered for me discreetly.
Ling Shuang was the captain of the spear team. Every time she saw King Zhao looking towards the weapon rack, she would deliberately shout, "Form ranks! Drill with spears!"
The loud voices made the air tremble, and the orderly ranks formed a moving barrier, firmly blocking King Zhao's view.
She would also secretly give me a look, with a slight upturn of her lips, signaling me to hide and not make a sound.
When not training, round-faced A-Tao is responsible for wiping weapons. Her cheeks always have two healthy blushes, and when she smiles, she reveals two small dimples, making her look friendly.
She would always take a plain handkerchief out of her bosom and slip it into my hand when no one was looking. The handkerchief still had the fresh scent of soapberry on it. She would whisper something in my ear.
"Your Highness, please wipe it slowly. If you make it too shiny, it will attract attention. Just wipe the rust on the spearhead. I've already rubbed it for you beforehand, so it won't give you away."
Sometimes she would secretly bring me a piece of sweet cake, hiding it in the cloth bag she used to clean weapons.
The saying "Practicing shooting is tiring, so let's have something to eat" and the sweetness of the sugar cake mixed with the fragrance of soapberry became my warmest memory of that period.
Only Yao Guang, the personal guard beside King Zhao, always wore a dark purple outfit and carried a short sword in a sharkskin scabbard at her waist, with a small pearl embedded in the scabbard.
Her gaze was always as sharp as a hawk's, as if she could see through all disguises—every time I had just hidden behind the weapons rack and hadn't even had a chance to catch my breath, her eyes would sweep over me precisely.
It seemed to penetrate the gaps in the wooden frame and land on the hem of my palace dress, which I hadn't had time to tuck in behind me, or on my fingertips, which trembled slightly with nervousness.
I was secretly sweating, my palms were so sweaty they soaked the handkerchief, my fingertips were clenched so tightly they turned white, and even my heart was beating faster, but I never saw her point it out.
She would only pause for a moment, a barely perceptible gentleness flashing in her eyes, before turning to follow King Zhao's footsteps, her back ramrod straight, as if she hadn't seen anything at all.
I suppose they understood my little secret that I didn't dare to say out loud, and they also understood my love for marksmanship.
At that time, I never thought about it in detail—King Zhao herself was a woman, and she led an army to conquer the Xuanyuan Kingdom when she was a teenager.
He once used a pair of double-edged scimitars to repel the barbarian cavalry at Yanmen Pass.
Even the barbarian chieftain once praised her on the battlefield, saying, "Women are no less than men. It is our misfortune that the Ning Dynasty has such a general."
Half of the soldiers she led were women. They could draw a bow with a draw weight of three stones, and their archery skills were even more accurate than those of the Imperial Guards. They once shot a deer in the eye from a hundred meters away while hunting.
He could wield a forty-pound black iron spear and was not at a disadvantage when fighting against foreign men on the battlefield.
Ling Shuang once killed three barbarian soldiers on the battlefield with a long spear.
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