ATTENTION!

[If you are one of the several people that had sent me an email since… well, since I first opened this blog, and I hadn't replied, I am very, very, very sorry. I genuinely forgot I had set up a contact box and wasn't checking my email. At all. I do this c.r.a.p in real life too with not answering people's texts. I'll do better and check it every Sunday. Anyways, thank you for reading!]

In the capital during the sunny spring of the third month, the leaves of willows sway gently, the peach blossoms burn bright, the breeze billows, and white b.u.t.terflies dance in the air; it's what poems and paintings are made of, its beauty unsurpa.s.sed.

Yet the overgrown and freezing Northwest had just been the scene of a great battle. The nomadic peoples are natural-born cavalry; with livestock as these barbarians' main staple, each and every one of the Xirong therefore has the back of a tiger, the waist of a bear, the height of an ox and the width of a horse, causing one to be intimated just looking at them. The soldiers on this side are mostly from impoverished backgrounds, and weren't previously able to get a meal of meat all year round, so their thighs probably aren't even as thick as the other side's arms. Them fighting… really isn't an effortless endeavor.

Thankfully, not many men came this time, and they ended up eliminated.

Zhongli Luo was covered all over in bloodstains as she limped to the barracks, almost too exhausted to lift her eyelids. An arrow had gotten to her left shoulder; those Xirong… were seriously good at shooting from horseback. She tore a piece of cloth from her clothes and bound it simply, but it's just that once the shoulder gets injured, the whole arm is affected, leaving her unable to move her left hand.

There weren't many casualties this time, but a few people under her command were still lost. She might not remember clearly how they even looked, yet she's still aggrieved at this time. She's already experienced a good number of these so-called military campaigns, and she knows that they're completely incomparable to what her dad had experienced long ago, but it's tragic enough as it is. She also doesn't know how many skeletons of Xirongs she's stepped on only to get everyone calling her one thing: Officer Zhongli.

Several lower soldiers saw that she was injured and rushed to come and try to help her, but she avoided them on conditioned reflex.

Looking at the awkward expression of the soldier before her that had just grabbed air, she can't help but think of how this seems to be a habit she formed in the Rong family. She's honestly extremely afraid of her own discrepency being discovered, so she's been careful with everything. Even if Marquis and Madam Zhenguo have been extremely good to her, she's always set a bit of distance between them, and as she thinks about it, only Rong Jiahui isn't the same. She liked how Rong Jiahui's round face looked when her eyes curved up in a smiled, liked listening to her sweetly call her big brother, admired her aristocratic background that made her thoroughly refined in all aspects; whe she wasn't talking and only sat quietly, she looked just like a painting of a n.o.blewoman, but once she opened her mouth, she was just the amicable little sister of the family next door.

“Officer Zhongli!”

She immediately returned to reality, find that she'd already entered the place she was staying at. The soldier next to her smiled at her fawningly, saying, “Officer Zhongli, you're injured. Do you want this small one to ask a field doctor to wrap it up for you?”

Zhongli Luo still shook her head. “No need. I'll do it myself.”

To be wounded in a place like the shoulder, how could it be alright to have someone else tend to it?

After she instructed him to fetch two buckets of water and washed away the blood coating her, she felt refreshed all over. She dons her clothes, gathers her damp hair, and uses the water as a mirror. Seeing the beautiful, pale yet brave-looking person reflected in the water is somewhat strange. She really isn't used to her own frail, exceedingly pitiful appearance, making her dislike seeing it.

One hand being injured made the originally very easy task of wrapping up the wound very difficult, and when she sprinkled medicine on the wound, she very nearly teared up from the pain. Gritting her teeth, she suffered through bandaging it up.

At vague intervals, she seems to hear miserable screams, probably from killing prisoners of war. This is typically when they have the most fun; the Xirong have no sort of designated civilization, pillaging and killing and looting, not above any sort of evil, as if everything in this world is only there for them to rob. Should they not die? They should die! Yet she still doesn't quite have the heart for it. She doesn't have the heart when her blade has no option but to cut others down, either, but life is cruel. If she didn't cut them down, then they'd hack her to death…

Thoughts like this can't be shared with anyone. A woman's benevolence will be mocked regardless of where it is. After all, to be merciful to these Xirong is to be cruel to the Northwestern citizens who have been slaughtered by Xirong.

She then rummages out the letter Rong Jiahui sent her. It's as intact as it was when it was first sent, with brightly-colored patterned paper in graceful Zanhua script. It's only through them that she seems to be able to see that dimpled smile of the la.s.s worried for her.

She really wanted to write a letter like so; telling Rong Jiahui that she'd been injured, nearly having her shoulder shot through by the Xirong, and that the medicine here is rough and can't compare to the high-quality stuff over in the capital, and that it hurts a frightening amount, and then she'll reap a harvest of several pages of warm and gentle words.

However, she doesn't want the other to worry. She can practically see the horrified expression on Rong Jiahui's face, followed by precious medical ingredients being sent with the entire Rong family's overflowing concern. According to Marquis Zhenguo's mannerisms, he'd probably write a book and send it to have Prince Ning take good care of her. She came to fight battles and defend the country, not to be an Eldest Young Master.

She sighed, shut her eyes, and slept deeply. When she was awake once more, her head wanted to split open from pain, a fiery heat burning her all over.

How could someone living in this world not experience a burning headache? This sort of feeling is what she remembers a fever being; her body would be fine, a bit soft, but she'd sleep a few times and it'd be alright. If it was serious, then she'd take a few doses of medicine and be better.

But this feeling of being powerless from head to toe told her that this time it was somewhat severe.

Her military rank isn't high, but she was still an officer, and someone very quickly sent for a medic.

The medic went to take her pulse, and she pushed the 40-year-old slim man's hand away, mumbling, “I'm only feverish. Just give me some medicine and I'll be fine.”

The doctor looked at her shoulder that was seeping blood and can't help but knit his brows. “Officer Zhongli, you sustained injuries yesterday?” He questioned.

Without waiting for her to reply, a soldier piped up, “Yes, he was shot by a Xirong. Tsk tsk tsk, that Xirong was really strong, he almost took Officer Zhongli off his horse with that arrow.”

Even though she was weak, Zhongli Luo didn't hold back from sending him a vicious glare, scaring him into immediately retreating.

Watching Zhongli Luo waste away her health like this, the doctor gave her a reproachful look, then reached out his hand to seek out her own hand (that was somewhat too slender when compared to many other people). Zhongli Luo was too weak now and simply had no way of blocking him.

After a short moment, the medic stared at her in a daze, his expression complex. He released her hand, sat to the side, and sighed, seeming to be slightly pained.

Zhongli Luo guessed that he'd already grasped a few things, and she closed her eyes, all her hopes turned to ash.

A long time later, the medic sent everyone away, then slowly began to speak. “Officer Zhongli, I knew your father.”

Zhongli Luo startled, tiredly opening her eyes and looking at him without comprehension, appearing to not understand what he was getting at.

The doctor touched her head. “You don't look very much like your father. You're much more charming, so you probably look more like your mother, but your eyes are very much like his, one and the same. I noticed that as soon as I first saw you, and then I learned that your surname is Zhongli… but your temperaments are completely different. Your father was candid and casual. He was a bit older, and likely had a lot of people eating meat and drinking alcohol together with him, and yet you're so introverted, always being a lone wolf. I didn't really understand before, but now I do.”

Zhongli Luo spoke cautiously. “Doctor…”

She hadn't yet stated her request when the doctor cut her off. “My wife, Mrs. w.a.n.g, is also proficient in the art of medicine. I'll have her take care of you, yes? There's an arrow in you and yet you're acting reckless, what's to be done if you're dead? You can be at ease, I won't say anything. You truly are father and daughter, having the same piece of obsession.”

The faintly dizzy Zhongli Luo faintly smiled, but it wasn't an obsession. She didn't know if it was due to her father educating and raising her as a boy, she just knows that that didn't want to be raised deep in the lady's quarters, never pa.s.sing the biggest gate nor even crossing the second gate, being a pampered young lady who only knew how to embroider and play the qin. She might occasionally envy the girls' feminine clothing, jewelry, and cosmetics, and think about how if she'd look good or not if she was dressed up like that, but she's clear from the bottom of heart that it's not what she wants to be like. Compared to the softness of fair, delicate hands that likely haven't held anything heavier than a paperweight, she really likes her own somewhat rough pair that are thinly callused from wielding weapons.

Zhongli Luo's wound was genuinely not light. Medic Luo's wife, Mrs. Luo-w.a.n.g, was welling up with tears having to properly care for the injury on this partially-conscious person. Mrs. Luo-w.a.n.g is a middle-aged woman, after all, and in her eyes right now, Zhongli Luo is no longer one of those random combatants on the battlefield, but just a 17-year-old girl who's even a few years younger than her own son. She ought to be beautiful, but her face is currently completely lacking in color, as soulless as a painting of a beauty. How could this not make her feel pity?

Zhongli Luo dizzily fell asleep as she did before, and seemed to engage in a very long, long dream. She dreamed that she had returned to the Rong family, and saw the one she was always thinking of, Rong Jiahui, only… Jiahui is that curved-brow Jiahui she was before, who loves to act spoiled, coaxing all the elders the love her dearly, and spoils her little brother, with Jiaze never leaving his big sister and following her like a shadow. Only… Jiahui's tender expression and smile were never a part of her dream. Towards her, Dream Jiahui is always detached and estranged. Sometimes, her dream self senses that someone seems to be secretly looking at her, only… whenever she looked back, she just saw Jiahui haughtily turning her face away, even the look in her eyes being stingy towards her.

In the dream, Rong Jiahui and Yu Yixiang seeming to have a very poor relations.h.i.+p, and didn't go for annulling the engagement. Jiahui still dressed up in her long wedding gown and married the Liu family's prettyboy. She was far off in the Northwest at the time, but she found out the news from a letter Marquis Zhenguo sent. She watched as an unnatural bit of despondency flashed past her own face. In the blink of an eye, it's eight years later, and she had just barely stepped into the capital when she heard that Rong Jiahui had died. It was an extremely ridiculous way to die, but she really had gone like that…

She looked at her dream self's sad appearance and didn't really understand. She'd clearly been treated so indifferently, so why was she still so grieved?

She suddenly felt light all over as she changed direction to float over to the Liu family, catching sight of Rong Jiahui's appearance in her death. Though it's not as far as to say that what's a beautiful woman in the morning is dried-up bone by the evening, Jiahui's withered appearance is really hard to look at. This is a 24-year-old woman, and hasn't been that immature, round-faced young girl for many years now. This little sister-esque maiden is now lying here, ice-cold and stiff, and looking at it causes people heartache…

Her heart ached. Just as she thought to pull at Jiahui's hand, she ended up suddenly feeling a burst of a strong force attacking her…

She woke with a start, feeling cold all over. On further inspection, that was because she was in a cold sweat, so much so that she soaked through her clothes. Turning her head to look, she noticed Mrs. Luo-w.a.n.g smiling gently at her as she was before, and she sighed in relief. Following her becoming completely clear-headed, the dream slowly slipped out of her memory, and when she went to recall it, she could only catch Rong Jiahui looking down upon her condescendingly, as if she were the Empress of the world looking at her from the corner of her eye.

Jiahui definitely wouldn't look at her like that. She thus thinks that it was merely a nightmare, and if she doesn't remember it, she doesn't remember it.

At that time, Mrs. Luo-w.a.n.g held out an envelope to her. “Here, Officer Zhongli. This letter is for you.”

Zhongli Luo took the letter and opened it; apart from the bright yellow decorated paper, there seemed to be something else at the side of the envelope. She overturned it into her hand, catching a few peach blossoms that had dried up long ago.

Mrs. Luo-w.a.n.g asked with a smile, “Is that a letter from home? It's such nice writing paper, is it a young lady?”

Zhongli Luo gently smiled and nodded. “My little sister.”

Mrs. Luo-w.a.n.g laughed. “Your little sister must be as good-looking as you are.”

Hearing that, Zhongli Luo's smile immediately went slack, and some confused and complicated feeling arose in her mind. Before this, she had always been distressed at how no matter what she said, no one around her had ever regard Rong Jiahui as her little sister. Now, for the one time someone really does regard her as such, why is she unexpectedly unsatisfied with that?

The translator says: The answer to that is that you're gay idiot, Luo'er. Join the club.

The author says: Just for a second, I found that the central idea I wanted to convey was that back in the day, Jiahui was a purely proud and pampered destructive life!