Yan Pass, the Western Chu army camp.
After leaving Suotu, Yang Qing returned to his own Military Tent.
As he watched the sky outside darken little by little, his earlier air of complete confidence gave way to unease.
In his view, dealing with Zhong Sun De should have been as easy as turning over a hand for someone of Jiang Zhizhou's abilities.
Yet the sky was steadily darkening, and there was still no sign of Jiang Zhizhou.
Could something have gone wrong on Jiang Zhizhou's end?
"Young master, Young Master Jiang knows what he's doing. Please set your mind at ease."
Seeing Yang Qing holding a cup of tea that had already gone cold without even noticing, Bu Er hastened to speak.
Only then did Yang Qing come back to himself and set the teacup aside. Still, he said nothing.
"Young master, Guard Suotu sent over some game just now. It's still hot. Why not try some while it's warm?"
Yang Qing looked where Bu Er pointed. Sure enough, a food box sat on the campaign table inside the tent, its aroma wafting out in a steady stream.
"No need," Yang Qing said. "Some plain congee will do."
"But how can you live on congee alone?"
Bu Er was busy urging Yang Qing to eat some meat when an exceedingly faint sound came from outside the Marching Tent.
It sounded very much like a dry branch, blown about by the wind, striking the entrance flap.
Bu Er's feet paused, then he shot toward the flap like an arrow.
The instant someone lifted the flap slightly, the sword in his hand thrust straight out.
The blade surged like a dragon breaking from the water, its movement flowing like drifting clouds and running streams, without the slightest hesitation.
But Bu Er suddenly