Had it been a few years earlier, Su Shi Yilu would never have dreamed of this scene—not in his wildest dreams would he have imagined marching to the same battlefield as his enemy, with elite troops from the Wuzhou Zhechong Mansion among the army. He lowered his eyes and pondered for a few breaths, then couldn't help glancing up again.
As a Literary Scholar, Lin Feng had keen senses.
Naturally, she couldn't ignore his gaze.
But after this forced march, she hadn't the energy to care.
A nameless rage had been festering inside Su Shi Yilu. No matter how many gulps of cold water he drank, he couldn't quench it; his insides felt as if they were twisting into knots. At night, the order for the army to rest in place finally came. He planted his hands on his hips and exhaled, but it did nothing to ease the hatred licking at his insides. Already in a foul mood, Su Shi Yilu spotted a soldier in the ranks standing at ease.
Without a second thought, he conjured a long whip and lashed out.
The blow wouldn't seriously injure the man, but it would hurt enough to leave a lasting mark. Su Shi Yilu's expression turned sinister. "Who told you to stand like that?"
The soldier let out a cry of pain.
He was one of the troops from the Wuzhou Zhechong Mansion.
The long march had left blisters on his feet. They rubbed raw, only to form again, over and over. After several days of forced marching, both his body and spirit were nearing their limits, and he had let his guard slip for a moment. The searing pain of the whip brought him fully to his senses, but he didn't dare complain. He obediently took the punishment. The old