The snow stopped before dawn, ceasing abruptly, like a wail cut short, leaving only icy tear stains frozen across heaven and earth.
In the third watch of the yin hour, the camp breathed laboriously in the lingering night.
Shen Yuzhu stood in the shadow cast by the command platform, uncloaked, wearing only his ordinary blue robe. The cold wind cut like a blade, leaving a faint sting on his cheeks, yet he kept his eyes closed—not meditating, not regulating his breath, but listening.
The Mirror Seal operated at its lowest frequency, azure light flowing sluggishly in the depths of his eyes, like a subterranean river forced to slow beneath the ice. He deliberately suppressed the Night Raven Division's trained "instantaneous analysis instinct," delaying his judgment by a fraction of a second. This subtle adjustment degraded his perception from a "torrent of spiritual information" to mere "human sounds."
The cracks he heard were more fragmented than he had anticipated:
At the third western sentry post, the sound of a young soldier stomping his feet was laced with the faint chattering of teeth. Frostbite from last night still unhealed, yet on early watch again today.
From the direction of the infirmary tents, intermittent moans like the final gasps of a broken bellows: "Water… cold…"
From the cook tents came a hushed yet sharp argument—
"Li the Limper, feel your conscience! This half-scoop of millet was specially allocated by Physician Wang for the feverish wounded!"
"I guarded the wall all night! I'm so hungry my vision's darkening! What's wrong with one more mouthful?!"
"Rules are rules!"
"Can rules fill your belly?!"
Shen Yuzhu opened his eyes.
The Mirror Seal marked three sound-source coordinates at the edge of his vision, accompanied by simple deductions: [Western Wall Post 3 | Accelerated Body Heat Loss | Risk: Low][Infirmary Tent 3, Bed 7 | Dehydration Symptoms | Intervention Required][Cook Tent Dispute | Resource Allocation Conflict | Emotional Fluctuation: High Risk]
He did not approach any of them.
He merely turned his head and spoke in a low voice to the bodyguard standing as still as a statue beside him—a veteran with a scarred face and iron-hard eyes whom Chu Hongying had assigned to him this morning. His tone was as steady as if commenting on the weather:
"Western Wall Post Three, change the watch in one ke. Have the relief guard bring a flask of strong liquor—not much, just three mouthfuls to warm the body."
"Add one more person to the infirmary night watch. Make rounds every half-hour with warm water—don't ask, just bring it to their lips."
"The two men arguing in the cook tent: one is Li Shuan, the other Zhao Shi. Note their names. Transfer them to the wall-building team tomorrow—assign them to the same group, to carry the same beam."
The bodyguard looked up at him, a flicker of surprise in his eyes, but he said nothing, only nodded: "Understood."
As the bodyguard turned to leave, Shen Yuzhu closed his eyes again.
The Mirror Seal automatically recorded: [Decision Delay: 0.28 breaths | Resisting Instant-Control Method: Active]
He knew what the Night Raven Division's training demanded—detect conflict, intervene immediately, suppress efficiently, ensure absolute obedience to order. That was the way of a "tool."
And the "slowness" he was choosing now was a silent act of rebellion.
At chen hour, dawn light struggled to pierce the clouds, staining the camp from ink-black to ash-grey.
Shen Yuzhu stood before the newly redrawn defense map—ox-hide spread out, the lines sketched in charcoal now flanked by many azure annotations projected by the Mirror Seal: watch rotation times, resource flow, personnel status fluctuation curves. He chose to shorten the western wall sentry shifts from the "two-hour watches" set by Chu Hongying to "one and a half hours."
When the order was issued, veteran Wang Wu stepped forward.
He was an old subordinate Chu Hongying had brought from the Youzhou border army, missing half his left ear—a mark left by the arrow-storm at Snow Wolf Valley years ago. Now he stared at Shen Yuzhu, his eyes holding not reverence, but a coarse, offended challenge:
"The General's established rule—what gives you the right to change it?"
The tent fell instantly silent.
Several squad leaders who had been receiving the day's passwords halted their movements, their gazes converging. The air shimmered with something taut, waiting to snap.
Shen Yuzhu did not touch the Tiger Tally against his chest—that bronze talisman pressed cold and hard against his heart like a second spine. Nor did he invoke Chu Hongying's name.
He merely raised his eyes, sweeping his calm gaze over Wang Wu, over every face filled with doubt and scrutiny, then spoke. His voice was not loud, but in the deathly stillness of the tent, it fell as clearly as an icicle striking the ground:
"Because last night at Western Wall Post Three, someone's fingers froze stiff."
He paused, his pace still steady:
"If another man falls tonight—"
His gaze fixed on Wang Wu's face.
"Tomorrow, General Chu will come personally to stand your watch."
As his words fell, even the sound of breathing vanished inside the tent.
Wang Wu's face changed several shades under the dim oil lamp—from anger to stunned confusion, from confusion to something more complex, almost sheepish realization. He opened his mouth, as if to retort something, but in the end only his Adam's apple bobbed. He lowered his head and rasped two words:
"… I obey."
Not convinced from the heart.
It was a cessation of resistance—he suddenly realized that all the calculations and adjustments made by this seemingly aloof strategist ultimately, in a roundabout way, served to spare Chu Hongying one more burden of risk.
Shen Yuzhu looked at him no longer, turning instead to the defense map, his fingertip hovering over the next node:
"The eastern wall arrow slits need reinforcement. Requires six men. Who volunteers?"
After a brief silence, a hand rose.
Then a second. A third.
Shen Yuzhu's gaze fell on the third volunteer—a young soldier with frostbite on his face, his left hand wrapped in cloth, yet his gesture was firm.
"Your left hand is injured, no need to force yourself," Shen Yuzhu said calmly.
The young soldier blinked, then straightened his spine: "Overseer, my right arm can still work! If I can't lift a beam, I can still pass stones!"
Shen Yuzhu regarded him for two breaths, then gave a very slight nod. "Then you join the fifth group, responsible for passing stone materials."
"Yes, sir!" The young soldier's eyes brightened, warmth entering his voice.
The cracks remained, but at the edges of the fissures, people began tentatively stepping forward.
At si hour, Chu Hongying stood at the highest point of the eastern wall.
She wore no armor, only bound her sleeves. Her Lie Feng spear leaned beside her, the thick hemp cloth wrapped around its tip trembling slightly in the morning wind. From here, she could see most of the camp's movements—the flow of changing guards on the western wall, the line forming outside the infirmary tents, three columns of cooking smoke rising from the cook tents.
And that figure in blue before the command tent.
She saw Shen Yuzhu's posture when questioned by Wang Wu—his back straight as bamboo, not retreating a half-step, yet revealing no sharpness. He simply stated facts calmly, as if solving an arithmetic problem.
Then she saw, after the order was issued, soldiers on the western wall automatically covering for each other: a young boy who looked like a herdsman silently stepped beside his frostbitten comrade, murmured something, and took the other's spear.
She saw Shen Yuzhu turn toward the grain tent, only to be stopped on the way by an old woman carrying firewood—the woman gestured excitedly, pointing at several children huddled by a distant tent. Shen Yuzhu stopped, listened, then took out that Mirror Seal jade token from his robe, his fingertips tracing lightly in the air as if recording something. Then he nodded to the old woman.
The old woman's eyes instantly reddened. She bowed deeply, still clutching the firewood.
Chu Hongying watched all this quietly.
The hand gripping her spear relaxed unconsciously.
The bloodlock patterns on her arm transmitted a sluggish sense of flow—no longer the seething, violent heat of past crises, nor the rigid, cold dormancy of suppressed emotions. It was a… gentle, almost weary pulse, like a traveler who had finally found a cave to rest in after a long journey, allowing herself to set down her pack and lean against the stone wall to catch her breath.
She suddenly became aware of one thing:
From dawn until now, for two full hours, she had not descended from this wall.
She had not gone personally to mediate disputes, had not barked orders at lazy soldiers, had not inspected every potentially neglected detail of the defenses.
She had simply stood here, watching.
And the camp still functioned.
Was it even more… orderly than before?
A strange, almost absurd awareness quietly surfaced:
He is not helping me share the burden.
The rough wooden shaft of the Lie Feng spear pressed against her palm. Her fingertips traced the fine, accumulated scars left by years of use.
He is blocking for me—
The wind whipped up snow-dust, stinging her face, icy and biting. It shifted direction then, swirling around her before streaming westward, as if the very air were making way.
She closed her eyes. In her mind flashed the image from last night of Shen Yuzhu accepting the Tiger Tally, the glimpse of near-shattered azure light deep within his Mirror Seal.
—the fastest, most hurtful blade I would have chosen.
The bloodlock patterns warmed faintly at this moment.
Not losing control. Not a warning.
It was a kind of… confirmation.
As if some deep-seated instinct, always taut as a bowstring, had finally permitted itself to take half a step back.
In the afternoon, Gu Changfeng passed through the camp carrying two freshly caught snow hares.
As he passed the infirmary tents, Lu Wanning was crouched outside, melting snow in a copper basin. The water inside was already half-full. She tested the temperature with her fingertip, then added two more handfuls of snow.
"Physician Lu." Gu Changfeng stopped, holding out one of the hares. "This, for the wounded to supplement their meals."
Lu Wanning looked up at him with her heterochromatic eyes, not immediately taking it. "You hunted these yourself?"
"On the way." Gu Changfeng grinned, the smile appearing somewhat stiff on his wind-reddened face. "The woods to the west have fat hares. A litter of four or five, I only took two, left the rest to breed."
Lu Wanning then accepted it. The hare was still warm, a clean, sharp cut across its neck, the blood already congealed. She examined the wound's direction carefully and nodded. "Precise blade-work. It didn't suffer long."
"Of course." Gu Changfeng turned to leave, then paused, half-turning his face. "That… how is that Shen fellow today?"
Lu Wanning placed the hare on clean snow and continued stirring the snow-water in the basin. "Are you asking about his health, or his work?"
"Both."
"The cold poison isn't cleared. Forcing the Mirror Seal open all day—it will flare up tonight for sure." Lu Wanning's tone was flat. "His work… passable. Shortened the western wall sentry shifts by half a shichen, recalculated grain rations three times, added a person to the infirmary night watch."
Gu Changfeng was silent a moment, then snorted softly. "Really acts like an Overseer now."
"You're not convinced?"
"Convinced or not, I have to accept it." Gu Changfeng wiped snow-dust from his face. "The General gave him the Tiger Tally. That's a military order."
Lu Wanning said no more. She merely poured the melted snow-water into another earthenware jar, then took a small packet of Li Silver powder from her robe, shaking out a tiny amount with utmost care. The powder dissolved upon contact with the water, emitting a faint, moon-white glow.
Watching her movements, Gu Changfeng suddenly asked, "Do you trust him?"
Lu Wanning's hands didn't stop. "Trust or distrust, he is there, doing the work. Rather than guessing his thoughts, better to see what he does."
"What has he done?"
"Made the camp quarrel three fewer times today, eat two more hot meals, and kept anyone from losing a finger to frostbite." Lu Wanning capped the jar and raised her eyes. "Isn't that enough?"
Gu Changfeng was left speechless.
After a long pause, he waved a hand and walked toward the cook tents with the other hare. After a few steps, he turned back, his voice very low: "Then… if he can't hold on, keep an eye on him."
Lu Wanning didn't respond, only gave a very slight nod. After Gu Changfeng walked away, she took a small porcelain vial from her robe—inside was a medicinal powder she had specially prepared last night to alleviate Mirror Seal overload backlash.
At wei hour, the sun briefly showed its face, glaring off the snow-covered ground.
Shen Yuzhu was beside the infirmary tents, assisting Lu Wanning with a fresh inventory of medicinal herbs—the Mirror Seal could quickly identify herb quality and quantity, many times faster than manual weighing. His fingertip traced lightly in the air, azure light flowing over bundles of dried Tranquility Blossoms, the spiritual information automatically compiling into Lu Wanning's ledger.
Just then—
The core of the Mirror Seal abruptly shuddered!
Not an attack from outside, nor backlash from within. It was a more concealed, more precise probing—as if an invisible finger had brushed extremely gently over the spiritual vein field surrounding the camp, not damaging, not invading, merely "touching lightly," then withdrawing.
The lingering sensation held a familiar, coldly opulent texture:
Dark gold.
The aftertaste of law.
Coming from the direction of Blackstone Valley.
Shen Yuzhu's movements didn't falter; his fingertip continued steadily over the next bundle of herbs. Yet the Mirror Seal had already completed its deduction in an instant:
[Non-Aggressive Probe]
[Target: Collective Spiritual Vein Resonance Frequency of Camp]
[Intent Deduction: Confirm Identity & Status of Current "Rhythm Controller"]
[Danger Level: Low | Potential Threat: High]
Lu Wanning sensed something, raising her heterochromatic eyes to look at him. "What is it?"
"Nothing." Shen Yuzhu withdrew his hand, tone flat. "Tranquility Blossom stock is sufficient for three days, but the Li Silver powder must be used sparingly."
He turned and walked out of the infirmary tent.
Wind and snow struck his face.
He opened the Mirror Seal fully.
Azure light spread out silently like a tide, but instead of chasing the dark gold aftertaste outward, he guided it inward to settle—following the camp's earth veins, along the poles of every tent, clinging to the residual warmth of every campfire, pressing the entire camp's spiritual vein resonance frequency down by one level.
From a "military fortress on high alert," down to a "refugee settlement struggling to survive."
From a "precisely controlled stronghold," to a "chaotic, spontaneous gathering of the living."
This adjustment was extremely subtle, undetectable to anyone without exceptionally keen spiritual vein perception. But for that probe of dark gold law, it was enough to cause misjudgment—
What it touched would no longer be a unified whole governed by some powerful will or precise formation, but a scattered, exhausted community of lives held together only by survival instinct.
Shen Yuzhu stood in the wind and snow, letting the snowflakes pile on his shoulders.
Deep within the Mirror Seal, azure light flowed silently in spirals, completely recording that moment of "frequency-lowering manipulation" and imprinting it with a mark:
[Countermeasure: Hide Sharpness in Bluntness]
[Difference from Target "Helian Sha" Operational Logic: -87%]
[Risk Assessment: Acceptable]
He knew how Helian Sha would act—establish patterns with absolute pressure, use piercing cold as a blade, forcibly shape a territory to conform to his will.
That was the way of a king.
And what he chose was to make this land "appear to be nothing."
Just living.
That was all.
At you hour, twilight pressed down on the snowy plains like iron.
When Chu Hongying descended from the eastern wall, her legs were slightly stiff from long standing. She habitually pressed her knee—the old injury always ached faintly in cold weather, like a stubborn reminder.
Passing the command tent, her steps didn't pause.
Only her peripheral glance caught the dim, yellow oil-lamp glow seeping from within, and that figure bowed in writing beneath the light.
She continued forward three steps.
Then stopped.
Remained silent for three breaths.
Turned. Walked back to the front of the tent.
The tent flap wasn't fully lowered. She saw Shen Yuzhu kneeling on a felt mat, the newly revised grain ration ledger spread before him. The Mirror Seal's azure light illuminated his profile, also revealing an extremely faint furrow between his brows—a crease born of intense focus.
He hadn't noticed her arrival.
Chu Hongying reached out, taking something from within her robe—not the Tiger Tally, not a command arrow, but a fragment of an old general's token.
Bronze, its edges smoothed round by years, tied with a faded reddish-brown cord. On the front, a blurred "Chu" character was carved; the back bore a deep chop-mark, left in some fierce battle years ago.
She gently placed this fragment on the small table by the entrance.
Beside the fragment, there was also a small object wrapped carefully in oiled paper—a flatbread specially saved today in the cook tents for the "Overseer," its edges crispy, still faintly warm.
No knock. No call. No words left behind.
She merely set them down, then turned and walked into the deepening night.
Inside the tent, Shen Yuzhu's brush tip halted.
The Mirror Seal captured the momentary residual spiritual imprint—the familiar aura, the subtle warmth of the bloodlock, the killing intent steeped from years of war, and… a faint thread of something nearly weary, a loosening.
He set down the brush, rose, and walked to the entrance.
On the small table, the old token fragment lay quietly in the dim yellow light, its edges glowing with a soft matte sheen. The oiled paper packet beside it emitted a simple aroma of roasted grain.
He reached out and picked up the fragment.
The bronze felt cool to the touch, but at its core, he could faintly detect Chu Hongying's residual body heat. His fingertips registered something more: the barest hint of worn leather and cold steel, the scent of saddle and battlefield that clung to her, intimate and unmistakable. The cord was rough, tied in the army's distinctive dead-knot style—unless cut, it would never come loose.
The Mirror Seal automatically reflected, recording:
[Item Category: Personal Token (Non-Standard Issue)]
[Spiritual Imprint: Chu Hongying | Bloodlock Sequence Match]
[Symbolic Meaning Deduction: Acknowledgment | Permission | Unspoken Extension of Entrustment]
Shen Yuzhu tightened his grip on the fragment.
Its edges pressed into his palm, delivering a clear, sharp pain. A tremor, fine as the vibration of a plucked string, passed through his fingers before he stilled it.
He lifted his gaze to look outside the tent—the camp had gradually lit scattered lamps, cooking smoke twisted upward in the twilight, the crisp calls of sentries changing watch cut through the air, suppressed coughs came from the direction of the infirmary tents, soon covered by comrades' low murmurs of comfort.
Everything was still rough. Still difficult.
Cracks still lurked in every shadow—fear of Blackstone Valley, suspicion of his origins, uncertainty about the future, anxiety over how many days the grain would last.
But now, upon these cracks—
People had begun to walk.
People had begun to cover for each other.
People had begun, in silence, to take on half the weight from another's shoulders.
Shen Yuzhu opened his hand. The old token fragment fell into his palm, slowly warmed by his body heat. He picked up the flatbread, broke off a small piece. The aroma of roasted grain spread between his teeth—the most basic warmth of the Northern Frontier.
He turned and walked back to the desk, picking up his brush again.
Azure light from the Mirror Seal flowed, illuminating a new line of small characters added to the ledger, the ink still wet:
"You hour, three ke. Old token, one piece. Flatbread, one. Unspoken, yet borne."
Outside the tent, night finally swallowed the last sliver of daylight.
The Crimson Heart Banner hung low in the north wind, the dark red patterns on its fabric unlit, merely drooping heavily, like a spine that had finally caught its breath yet remained unbent.
And in the sky in the direction of distant Blackstone Valley, a darkness settled like iron.
As if something, in the depths of the abyss, had opened its eyes.
[Chapter 93 End]