Chapter 72 He Enters My Dream with a Thousand Lamps (Part 8) First published on Jinjiang! ...
The bitter taste of the medicine spread across her tongue. Ye Yixiang tilted her head back and drank the last drop, her brow furrowing almost imperceptibly. Dark brown dregs remained at the bottom of the bowl, like some kind of ominous premonition.
“Your Majesty,” Urozhu took the empty bowl, her voice filled with worry, “Isn’t this prescription… a bit too strong? I’ve noticed that your face has been frighteningly pale after you’ve taken the medicine these past few days.”
Ye Yixiang wiped the corner of her lips with a silk handkerchief, her movements slow and steady. Her vision was still blurred by a layer of mist, but she could at least make out the outlines of the doors and windows and the glow of the candlelight.
To hasten the Qingming Festival, she personally increased the dosage of several herbs in the prescription by nearly half. Her blood and qi surged like boiling water, her chest often felt tight, and at night, when she closed her eyes, all she could hear was the buzzing of her blood rushing through her veins. If this continued, it would inevitably shorten her lifespan and shorten her vitality.
But Yan Qing is now facing a predicament a hundred times more critical than her eyesight.
"No need for further words." She said calmly, placing the handkerchief on the table. "Prepare the medicine as usual."
Uluzhu's lips moved, and she finally bowed her head and replied, "Yes," before retreating with the tray. Just as she reached the door, the deliberately hushed conversation outside slipped in through the crack in the door.
“General Ming’s head is still hanging on the city wall.” A young voice trembled. “Prince Ke made a harsh statement, saying that he would make sure that anyone who dared to resist would see the consequences.”
"We've been besieging them for ten days," another sighed. "There hasn't even been a sign of reinforcements. If this continues, our food supplies will run out first..."
"Shh! Keep your voice down! Don't disturb Her Majesty!"
The conversation was interrupted by a series of heavy, hurried footsteps.
"Vice Commander Lin!" came the voice of the guard hurriedly saluting.
"Is Your Majesty here?" It was Lin Feng, his voice hoarse and tired.
"I just took my medicine and I'm resting now."
After a brief silence, Lin Feng seemed to be about to leave. Ye Yixiang spoke first, her voice clear and calm through the door: "Vice Commander Lin, please come in."
Outside the screen, Lin Feng's tall figure was indistinct. He didn't immediately walk around the screen, but stopped in the outer room, as if he could uphold some rules that should be followed even through the embroidered landscape.
"I have been disturbed by Your Highness's rest, and I deserve death." He clasped his hands in a solemn tone, "But this matter... I have no choice but to report it."
"The battle at the front is intense, and the deputy commander's arrival at this time must be for important matters." Ye Yixiang's voice was calm and even. "Speak freely."
"Your Majesty... received a secret letter today." Lin Feng's voice was even lower, tinged with an unspeakable difficulty. "After reading it, he was furious and smashed his inkstone on the spot. This humble general... this humble general dared to secretly copy the key parts." He paused, his head bowed even lower. "This matter is of great importance. This humble general is ignorant and at a loss. After much thought, I can only risk my life to ask Your Majesty... to review it and make a decision."
Ye Yixiang's heart sank.
Uluzhu quietly entered and offered Lin Feng a cup of tea. Lin Feng did not accept it, but instead took out a neatly folded piece of Xuan paper from his pocket and carefully placed it on the table. The edges of the paper were a little rough, and the ink did not seem to be completely dry.
Ye Yixiang's hand, resting on her lap, twitched almost imperceptibly at the fingertips. "Urozhu."
Wuluozhu understood, stepped forward, took the page, went around behind the screen, and gently placed it in Ye Yixiang's hand.
The Xuan paper was slightly cool, the ink still fresh, revealing the hasty and careless copying. She squinted, trying to focus. The handwriting sometimes overlapped, sometimes blurred, but the words still jumped menacingly into view:
"Annual tribute increased to 300,000," "Grain and fodder 100,000 shi," "Five markets opened"... As she read line after line, her fingertips grew cold. Until the last few lines, the blurred ink seemed to transform into red-hot needles, piercing her eyes.
My gaze laboriously shifted to the last few lines. There, the ink, seemingly hastily written due to the turbulent emotions of the copyist, still held a menacing, venomous meaning, like a venomous snake, ready to bite:
"...To demonstrate the sincerity of our two nations in seeking peace, we request that two imperial consorts from the Southern Dynasty be sent to marry our heroes. We have heard that Consort Zhao of your esteemed country is virtuous and resides temporarily in Chang'an; in addition, Lady Ye is accompanying the Emperor. If this proposal is accepted, our iron cavalry will immediately break through the siege and jointly attack Prince Ke..."
There were two imperial concubines.
With a sudden tremor of his fingertips, the edge of the paper was pinched into fine wrinkles.
Geshulin!
He actually dared to make such a demand! It wasn't just taking advantage of their misfortune; it was an attempt to utterly humiliate the Southern Dynasty and tear Yan Qing's dignity to shreds! Sending an imperial concubine for a political marriage had always been a national disgrace. And to specifically request her and Consort Zhao… Consort Zhao was trapped in Chang'an and unable to move, so right now, in Lintong City, the only one they could "send" out was her!
A surge of anger and shame rushed to his head, his vision went black for a moment, and the ringing in his ears intensified. The blood and qi that had been churning in his chest due to the drug's effects now surged wildly, and a metallic taste rose in his throat.
She bit her lower lip hard, forcing back the blood. When she looked up again, her eyes were a bottomless, icy pool.
Outside the screen, Lin Feng's voice rang out again, lowered even further: "His Majesty immediately tore up the official letter and threw it before the envoy. But... Her Majesty is well aware of the current situation. General Ming has just passed away, and the morale of the army is unstable; the siege has lasted a long time, and supplies are becoming increasingly difficult. Although the Northern Di cavalry numbers only thirty thousand, if they form an encirclement with Chu Xi's rebel army..."
He didn't continue.
Ye Yixiang slowly folded the paper, pinching the edges tightly. "What is His Majesty's intention?"
"His Majesty only said 'delusion'." Lin Feng paused, "But when I left, I saw several senior officials kneeling outside the study... their words seemed to waver."
Yes. In the eyes of those old ministers, the choice between power and beauty was never a difficult one. Ye Yixiang forced a smile, tasting the bitter aftertaste of the medicine.
"I understand." Her voice remained calm. "The deputy commander should return first; His Majesty cannot be left alone at this moment."
Lin Feng seemed to want to say something more, but in the end he only bowed deeply: "This humble general takes his leave. Your Majesty... please take care of your health."
The footsteps faded into the distance. Uluzhu immediately stepped forward, her voice trembling with anger: "How dare they! What does Vice Commander Lin mean by this? Does Your Majesty...?"
“Urozhu.” Ye Yixiang interrupted her, taking a deep breath to suppress the surging, metallic taste and dizziness in her chest. “Go to the small kitchen and get a bag of raw rice. It must be unhulled, with whole grains.”
"Your Majesty?" Urozhu asked in astonishment.
"Go quickly." Ye Yixiang stood up, supporting herself on the edge of the table. Her vision went black for a moment, but she steadied herself. "Also, clear everything off this table."
Although she didn't understand why, Wuluozhu quickly packed up the medicine bowls, candlesticks and other items as instructed, and then called two reliable maids to bring a whole bag of heavy raw rice from the small kitchen.
Ye Yixiang instructed them to pour all the rice onto the smooth, wide mahogany table. The white rice grains cascaded down like a waterfall, piling up into a small hill.
"You all go out and stand guard outside the door. No one is allowed to disturb you."
The palace maid withdrew, and Uluzhu glanced at her worriedly before closing the door and leaving as well.
She was alone in the room, facing a table full of white rice. She reached out her hand, her fingertips trembling slightly, not from fear, but from the weakness of exhaustion. She closed her eyes for a moment, and when she opened them again, her gaze was sharp and clear.
Lintong. She murmured the name.
There are no detailed sand table maps here, and after General Mingge's death, the remaining generals were probably far less familiar with the terrain than she was.
As a child, she would accompany her father to the hunting grounds near Lintong every autumn. The contours of the mountains, the depths of the streams, the paths through the dense forests, and the steep cliffs, all while chasing prey on horseback, were etched into her very being.
Her fingertips traced the cool grains of rice, and she began to gather and shape them. Here was Qixia Mountain to the west, steep and easily defensible; here was the Jade Belt River, flowing swiftly and narrowly through the east; here were the vast hills to the south, offering expansive views, ideal for cavalry raids…
The rice mountain gradually took shape, and the outlines of cities, mountains, and rivers appeared on the table. She was completely focused, sometimes frowning in thought, sometimes quickly fiddling with the rice grains to adjust their positions. Fine beads of sweat seeped from her forehead and slid down her pale cheeks, but she was completely unaware of it.
How can this stalemate be broken? Holding out in a besieged city will only lead to certain death. Chu Xi's rebel army excels in open field battles, but siege warfare is not their forte. His reason for besieging the city without attacking is to exhaust its morale and supplies.
If a portion of the elite garrison could be moved out of the city to occupy advantageous terrain, turning the tide of battle, it would not only boost the morale of the already collapsing army but also perhaps provide an opportunity for a counterattack.
But how to get out? Tens of thousands of rebels were blocking the city like an iron barrel.
Her gaze fell upon the winding lines of the Jade Belt River. The river flowed through the city, and in the northwest, there was a hidden tributary, concealed behind reeds—a place she had discovered by chance in her childhood. Perhaps, in the dead of night, a small boat carrying elite troops downstream could quietly circle around to the back of Qixia Mountain…
"By waterway."
A deep, familiar male voice suddenly sounded beside her.
A sudden inspiration struck Ye Yixiang, perfectly aligning with this idea, and she blurted out, "Yes! It's the waterway!"
The moment the words left her mouth, her blood seemed to freeze instantly.
That sound...
She turned her head very slowly, little by little.
The candlelight flickered, and through the hazy light, a tall figure appeared beside the table, barely an inch away from her. His brown robes almost blended into the dim background, but his deep, sharp eyes were fixed on her, silently observing her with a complex and unfathomable emotion.
The outline gradually became clear: the lines of the eyebrows, eyes, nose, and jaw... so familiar they were unsettling.
Time seemed to stand still. The air in the room seemed to vanish, leaving only the faint reflection of the rice grains on the table and the barely audible breathing between them.
After an unknown amount of time, Ye Yixiang finally heard her own dry, hoarse voice break the deathly silence:
"Geshu Che!?"
He looked at her without answering, his gaze slowly moving from her shocked face to the meticulously arranged "rice map" on the table, then back to her hand, still clutching a few grains of rice, her knuckles white. After a long while, the corner of his lips seemed to twitch very slightly, whether it was a sigh or something else, it was hard to tell.
“It seems,” he said, his voice steady, yet like a stone thrown into a deep pool, stirring up icy ripples in her heart, “that Lintong City, and you, are both in dire straits.”
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