A Chatterbox Captive Drives the Enemy Commander Mad; a Mohist Girl's Nighttime Probe Runs into the Line of Fire
The curtain of the main tent slammed down, completely cutting off the chilling screams.
Zhaxi Dawa slumped in the commander's chair, panting heavily, a layer of cold sweat seeping from his forehead.
After a while, they arrived at the wooden cage behind the kitchen.
Chen Qing was locked in a drafty wooden cage, snowflakes falling all over his head and face, making him shiver from the cold.
But instead of being discouraged, he clung to the wooden fence, craned his neck, and loudly pointed at the Tubo cooks busy at the large pot next to him:
Hey! You idiot in charge of cooking!
"The mutton needs to be blanched first! And ginger! Didn't you add ginger? It has such a strong muttony smell, how can your general's stomach handle it!"
"And that pepper! Putting it in so early made it all bitter! What a waste, such a terrible waste!"
The Tubo cook, holding the iron ladle, froze on the spot, listening to the incessant chatter coming from inside the fence. His hand trembled, and half a ladle of scalding hot broth spilled all over his boots.
The watchtower outside the Tubo camp swayed in the wind and snow.
The rough animal hide curtain was blown open by the strong wind, creating a gap.
Large amounts of cold, snow-like foam, mixed with the smell of sheep dung, were poured directly into the large tent.
Zhaxi Dawa sat cross-legged on the large tiger-skin chair in the main seat, its fur worn thin.
Two thick arms were firmly braced on his knees, and the veins on his forehead throbbed.
The noise coming from the wooden fence behind the camp pierced through the wind and snow.
Chen Qing's thin body was squeezed tightly into the gap in the wooden fence.
He craned his neck and shouted loudly at the Tubo centurion who was passing by outside carrying a pottery jar.
"The cardamom must be cracked with the back of a knife before putting it in the pot, otherwise the earthy taste will remain in the soup, how can it nourish your general's body!"
The centurion, carrying the jar, walked away quickly, not daring to utter a single word.
Zhaxi Dawa's molars clenched painfully.
The burning desire in his chest could no longer be suppressed.
He gripped the chipped dagger on the table with his other hand and chopped down at the low pine table in front of him.
The sturdy pine table shattered into several pieces with a crack.
Wood chips flew everywhere, landing on the muddy ground.
This Central Plains spy, driven to such madness, is still allowed to remain in the Prince's palace as a staff member?
He must have suffered a great loss in a romantic relationship, turning a perfectly normal person into such an unyielding and unreasonable scoundrel!
The pleasures of love between men and women in this world are truly a poison that can rot even the very marrow of one's bones!
Zhaxi Dawa stood up, stepping on the wood chips scattered on the ground, and with a gloomy face, lifted the curtain and stepped out of the tent.
The wind and snow lashed against his stubble-covered face.
He raised his hand and beckoned to the trembling guards on either side.
"Drag that drafty wooden cage to the stables and leave it to freeze in the most windy corner."
Zhaxi Dawa swept the tip of his knife across the noses of the crowd.
"From this day forward, if anyone in the army dares to utter even a single word about women or love, regardless of whether they are Han or non-Han, I will cut out their tongue and feed it to the vultures on the spot."
Several guards, their necks hunched, responded repeatedly and quickly ran towards the rear camp, dragging ropes along.
The blood-red yak banners planted around the camp fluttered in the wind and snow.
At the south gate of Yi Prefecture City, the bluestone pavement gleamed from being washed by water.
Neatly hung octagonal paper lanterns in front of the shops on both sides of the long street, swaying warmly in the night breeze.
A figure wrapped in a thick black cloak huddled behind the eaves of the teahouse.
Zhen Meili removed half of her deerskin glove, held half a hardened piece of dough, and took small bites, crumbs flying everywhere as she chewed.
She puffed out her cheeks, swallowed the dry biscuit, and peered into the depths of the alley.
The night watchman walked past the street corner, banging his clapper. His cloth shoes trod on the smooth paving stones without splashing a drop of mud or water.
The hidden drains at the corners of the street-facing shops were all covered with neatly polished bluestone grates.
This peaceful scene in the city was like a completely different world compared to the desolate villages and displaced people she had seen on her journey south.
Zhen Meili stuffed the remaining dough back into the oil paper bag, and then lightly ran her fingers along the leather pouch at her waist.
The brass gears inside the bag made a soft clicking sound as the leather was rubbed against them.
She had studied in the Mohist School Valley for many years, hoping to return to her hometown and show off her ingenious mechanical skills to her elders.
Unexpectedly, her grandmother at the old house in Luoyang wiped away her tears and handed her two boxes of travel money, urging her to go to Anyang to see if her second uncle was doing well.
When she braved the blizzard to reach Anyang, she learned that her second uncle, Zhen Shizhong, had already packed up his valuables and fled to Sichuan.
As for her biological father, Zhen Daijin, he had just received orders from the Prince Yi's Residence half a month ago and led his elite troops south to quell the internal strife in Dali.
The elders in the family were all vying for the attention of this southwestern prince, leaving her alone to try her luck halfway through her journey.
Zhen Meili brushed the dust off her cloak, unable to suppress her curiosity.
She wanted to see for herself just how many heads this Prince Yi, who sat comfortably in his secluded mansion directing troops, actually had.
With a gentle push off the green tiles, his body slid silently out along the eaves.
In a few leaps and bounds, she had quietly slipped into the inner courtyard of Prince Yi's Residence in the center of the city.
The inner quarters of the Prince Yi Prefecture's Residence's residence were exceptionally quiet in the deep, dewy night.
Several glazed lanterns hanging under the eaves of the corridor cast yellowish halos on the bluestone brick floor.
Zhen Meili climbed over the towering outer wall into the courtyard, and when she landed, she used her knees to slightly bend to absorb the force of her fall.
The soft-soled deerskin boots made only a very faint rustling sound as they stepped on the pile of fallen leaves at the base of the wall.
She hunched over, her slender frame pressed against the shadowy recesses of the artificial rockery, peering out at the neatly arranged inner courtyard before her.
Zhen Daijin, the father of the family, who had such a bad temper that he dared to slam his fist on the table with his grandmother, actually obeyed the orders of a young junior in Yi Prefecture. Even his second uncle, Zhen Shizhong, came to seek refuge with him.
She absolutely refused to believe that there wasn't some kind of love potion hidden in this courtyard.
The wooden lattice windows of the east-facing warm chamber were illuminated by orange-red lights.
Behind the thin window paper, one could vaguely see a slender figure leaning against a large sandalwood table, turning the pages of a book.
Interspersed among the sounds were the crisp clinking of porcelain lids against tea trays.
Zhen Meili stepped on the protruding edges of the Taihu stones and climbed up the artificial mountain, which was more than two zhang high, in a few steps.
With her toes firmly planted between the holes in the stone, she reached down to her lower back and pulled out a palm-sized ebony cylinder. Pressing her thumb against the spring underneath, she skillfully turned it half a circle.
With a slight snapping sound, three extremely fine strands of refined black iron shot out from the mouth of the tube.
The three-edged barb at the front end bites into the hardwood carvings under the eaves of the heated pavilion, firmly wedged into the deep mortise.
Zhen Meili tugged at the wire twice to make sure the hook was firmly in place.
She casually rubbed her nose with her sleeve, already planning in her mind what strange tune she should use to scare the sickly young prince as she drifted away on the wind.
She grew up running around in the Mohist School Valley, and her bones were full of bandit spirit, always wanting to tear off roofs and climb trees. She had always been annoyed by rich young masters who were always coughing and panting while holding a hand warmer, not to mention the culprit who sent her own father to the front line to brave the wind and snow.
Zhen Meili pushed off the rocks with her back foot, and with the tension of the rope, she swung into the air.
The wide, dark cloak caught the night wind in mid-air as his figure glided past the blue stone courtyard, barely making a sound as he cut through the air.
However, just as she was about to cross the wooden railing of the corridor, a low, faint sound suddenly broke out from inside the closed window of the warm chamber.