Rising Phoenix

“Helian, Zhixiao was born in the south and her physique is not as strong as your steppe’s children; your physicians are not as experienced as Han doctors. If she really has smallpox, this is not something that should be overlooked. I think Mister Zong should make a quick trip there before returning.”

Helian Zheng did not reply; he could not refute her logic, so he just stood with a heavy frown. Young Master Gu was still shaking his head, but his eyes were still locked on the horizon. While the two men were frozen, Feng Zhiwei pushed Zong Chen off, and Helian Zheng finally sighed and offered his Yue Horse, saying: “Then we can only trouble Mister Zong, a speedy journey and a quick return.”

Zong Chen removed a bag of medicine and offered it to Feng Zhiwei, saying: “This is my Wan Ling Pill, and it can counter most poisons. Keep it close.”

The trio nodded and watched Zong Chen hurry off. Feng Zhiwei held Young Master Gu’s hand as the worried man tiptoed to keep Zong Chen in view, her voice soothing as she said: “It’s nothing. It might not even be smallpox, and even if it is, with Mister Zong there why worry?”

Young Master Gu thought for a moment before patting her hand, saying: “You are here, everyone is here, there is nothing to fear,:

Feng Zhiwei stilled before chuckling quietly and tightening her hand around his: “Relax, we are all here.”

Meanwhile, Yao Yangyu had left them to check on the army cooks and the beef sizzling in the giant army woks. The smell was a little too gamey for Central Plains’ taste, but the steppe men were already surrounding the fires and drooling.

Yao Yangyu frowned at the smell, suddenly thinking of General Wei struggling to swallow cheese; if the General could not stand the smelly cheese, then he would probably be unaccustomed to the beef as well?

“Why are you cooking the stored grain? Don’t we have new grain?” Yao Yangyu asked, eyeing the yellow millet in the pots. “This millet is damp from the heavy rains a few days ago, and it smells strange.”

“General’s orders,” the cook smiled as he explained. “Don’t waste, finish the stored grain first.”

“Then just cook a small pot of millet porridge.” Yao Yangyu said, hesitating for a moment as he looked over the new food. He exclaimed joyfully: “Vegetables and eggs! Pick some good ones and starry some dishes for the General’s tent. If he asks, just tell him it was my orders.”

“Alright.” The military cook moved quickly, chuckling as he replied, “Field Officer Yao is so considerate, but truthfully the General has worked hard…”

Yao Yangyu laughed, smelling the vegetables again before leaving to join the line of soldiers waiting for the lamb and beef.

When the dishes arrived at her tent, Feng Zhiwei frowned, but she glanced at Young Master Gu and did not comment.

Poor Dummy Gu disagreed with the lamb even more than she did, squeezing his eyes closed every time he needed to swallow. Since they had come to the northern borders, he did not even have a walnut supply, and Feng Zhiwei felt her heart sour every time she glanced at the empty bags hanging from his waist.

He could not hold his daughter, could not enjoy his walnuts, so if she still refused to let him eat vegetables, Feng Zhiwei really would not be able to forgive herself.

“You should go eat lamb,” Feng Zhiwei said, pushing Helian Zheng. “We’ll have this porridge.”

“Not a chance.” Helian Zheng replied firmly, sitting his butt by her side and taking a bowl of porridge, “You won’t be eating without me.”

Feng Zhiwei smiled, placing some vegetables in the bowl Young Master Gu had buried his head in. “You should return after dinner. King’s Court cannot spare you for even a day.”

Helian Zheng ignored her, taking some vegetables and maneuvering them into her bowl.

Feng Zhiwei pulled her bowl away.

Helian Zheng refused to remove his chopsticks, glaring at her with his forceful, gleaming dark amber eyes.

“Mister Zong has left, I cannot just leave you.” He replied. “I’m staying.”

“Your status is too high…” Feng Zhiwei tried to protest, but Helian Zheng had already turned to focus on his porridge.

Feng Zhiwei sighed, knowing that even eight oxen could not budge him from his decision.

The three ate quickly and the dishes were soon demolished. Young Master Gu had eaten the most, having deeply missed Central Plains’ food.

A fully armored Chunyu Meng walked in after the meal. “General, we’re departing first.”

“See you under White Head Cliff.” Feng Zhiwei replied, smiling.

“Under White Head Cliff.” Chunyu Meng answered firmly, his eyes gleaming as he turned. A powerful and deep trumpet filled the air, and nine thousand horsemen rode for White Spirit Lake.

“We should also prepare.” Feng Zhiwei found a private place to change into tight black clothes, and when she returned she was surprised to find both Helian Zheng and Young Master Gu in similar uniform.

Feng Zhiwei knew that the tight, scratchy material must be torture against Young Master Gu’s skin, and she hurriedly protested: “Brother Gu, you don’t have to change, your Kung Fu will not be detected…”

“Your safety, most important.” Young Master Gu replied evenly before disappearing into the night.

Three hundred handpicked warriors were assembled under Hua Qiong, waiting for Feng Zhiwei.

Feng Zhiwei looked to the sky. A Stygian darkness blanketed the night, and a slow mist was filling the air. Before Zong Chen had left, he had informed Feng Zhiwei that tonight’s rising mist would be the best time for her attack.

Through the tall and unruly grass was a small, treacherous mountain path plunging into the depths of the mountains.

Eyes burned expectantly as the assembled warriors awaited Wei Zhi’s battle speech, but Feng Zhiwei was silent, only letting her open palm fall in a cutting arch towards White Head Mountain.

Her move was filled with power and killing intent, and her black sleeves sliced through the night like a cold bolt of lightning!

Blood pounded in ears and silent determination soared!

Hua Qiong signaled to her men, dashing forward and taking the lead.

The three hundred soldiers formed a swift snake, black sheathes and black clothes and soft padded shoes, long ropes prepared in bundles around their waists as they moved forward almost soundlessly.

Black shadows faded through the grass, their movements through the night like quiet wind.

By White Head Cliff, Feng Zhiwei gestured for everyone to halt.

She lay on her belly by the edge of the cliff, examining the enemy camp below. Jin Siyu’s army was ten miles away with dim torches and never ceasing patrols. Every tent looked the same, with no command center distinguishable.

Feng Zhiwei shut her eyes and concentrated, a memorized map of the terrain unfolding in her mind. A moment later, she opened her eyes and pointed.