Chapter Sixty-Nine: Entering the Military Camp

Yu Hualiang took the steamed bun and recoiled, standing to hand it to Cao Zhiling to test for poison. To his surprise, Cao Zhiling took a bite without hesitation. Yu Hualiang exclaimed anxiously, “You’re really not afraid it’s poisoned!” But Cao Zhiling seemed unsatisfied with just one bite, snatching the bun from his hand and devouring it, then sticking himself to the roof of the carriage again.

Yu Hualiang sighed; evidently, there was no poison. After eating two buns, he lay down once more and drifted into sleep, comforted by the journey. Upon waking, he found Cao Zhiling gone. He stretched lazily and poked his head out to look around.

Unlike the walled city ringed with mountains he had seen before, the view here was far more expansive; the hills had grown gentle, and the emerald grass soothed the eyes. This was the plain, he realized, already outside the borders of Mo. Otherwise, Cao Zhiling wouldn’t have dared to leave.

Ye Fang glanced at him and said, “Master Yu, you’re awake?”

“Where are we?” Yu Hualiang asked.

“Where else? Vanhe. Up ahead is the encampment of the prince’s army.”

Yu Hualiang looked ahead, seeing only a sea of lush green grass. He estimated they would arrive by afternoon and quietly withdrew, peering out through the small window.

It had been years since he’d ventured out like this. The last time he saw such grasslands was five years ago, a scene like a painted landscape. The nomads there had been warm and welcoming, roasting lamb for him, singing and dancing for two nights straight. As he gazed at the grassland, memories surged within him.

Suddenly, a flock of white creatures appeared before his eyes—a herd of sheep. Yu Hualiang stared, realizing it was indeed sheep, and the shepherd boy watched them with curious wonder.

It wasn’t until Ye Fang’s cold shout that Yu Hualiang snapped out of his reverie, recalling abruptly that he had traveled back to ancient times.

He shook off his melancholy and watched Ye Fang stride straight toward the shepherd boy, shouting, “Drive your sheep away!”

The boy was frightened, bursting into tears. Yu Hualiang hurried to intervene, “Ye Fang! Let it be, he’s just a child.”

Ye Fang sneered, “Master Yu is truly compassionate. This little one doesn’t know yet that in a few days, his country will be destroyed and his family lost.”

Yu Hualiang frowned. How could Ye Fang say such things in front of a child? Yet, upon reflection, Ye Fang wasn’t wrong—war would break out in a few days.

He was just a humble painter, unable to save anyone. Seeing Yu Hualiang suddenly fall silent, Ye Fang ceased troubling the shepherd boy and mounted his horse to hurry toward the encampment.

Yu Hualiang’s estimate was correct; the carriage arrived by afternoon. Past the plain, hills began to rise, and from afar, he could see a patchwork of tents.

The soldiers were busy—some pitching tents, others gathering around fires, some cooking. Amidst their bustle, there was a lively spirit, as if the imminent war hadn’t dampened their mood.

He stepped off the carriage, attracting many gazes. Among so many men, he alone wore white, with refined features.

He didn’t look the part of a warrior at all. Nearby, several soldiers whispered, “Who’s that?”

A soldier who didn’t recognize him said casually, “Judging by his appearance, must be a military physician.”

“No, I think I’ve seen him before,” another soldier mused, squinting at Yu Hualiang. “He looks familiar… Isn’t he a painter?”

“A painter? What’s a painter doing here?”

“Who knows? Such a pretty face, he can’t fight.”

Suddenly, a soldier recalled, “Hey! Did you hear? The Seventh Prince seems to favor the painter in his manor. I heard the painter’s name is Yu Hualiang. Maybe that’s him.”

“Yu Hualiang? I know him—the one who attempted suicide, the lover!”

The words reached Yu Hualiang, and he froze. Can’t you people forget about that already?

“Master Yu, this way,” Ye Fang called.

He led the way, guiding Yu Hualiang through the tents. Noticing Yu Hualiang keeping his head down and silent, Ye Fang smirked, “No need to be upset, Master Yu. These soldiers can’t guard their tongues. Their words are blunt—don’t take offense.”

Yu Hualiang eyed Ye Fang’s “innocent” smile, sensing a hidden meaning, and replied, “I like bluntness. If someone beats around the bush, that’s what I find annoying.”

Ye Fang caught the jab, sneering, “Master Yu, always quick-witted.”

“Too kind,” Yu Hualiang retorted, refusing to back down. After leading him to a tent, Ye Fang left without another word.

Yu Hualiang chuckled to himself; this was just what he wanted. Ye Fang seemed to have a grudge, always quarreling with him when the Seventh Prince was absent.

The arguments wore on Yu Hualiang. The tent Ye Fang had brought him to was spacious, with a wooden bed and a desk. There were even some books; Yu Hualiang picked one up and flipped through it. Written in classical script, he squinted until he realized it was a military treatise.

Understanding dawned—this must be the Seventh Prince’s tent. It made sense; he was merely a painter, hardly worth a tent all to himself.

So he’d have to share quarters with the Seventh Prince for a while.

Yu Hualiang sighed, laid down on the wooden bed, and, after rolling over a couple times, found it rather comfortable.

Bored, he climbed off, grabbed the military treatise, and tried to read, but couldn’t focus. Driven by curiosity, he decided to go outside.

He slipped out and headed north, drawn by a patch of woods. After a few steps, he realized the hills only looked close—there was still some distance.

Unable to reach them, he turned back, only to face a problem—he couldn’t remember which tent was his.

It wasn’t his fault; all the tents looked alike. He wandered in circles, unable to find the right one.

Out of options, he decided to try his luck. He recalled the tent had two soldiers guarding it, but hesitated to approach, their looks predatory.

Night was falling, and he steeled himself, taking a step forward. The two soldiers swiftly pinned him to the ground.

“Hey! What are you doing?” Yu Hualiang struggled.

“We’ve been watching you! Speak! Are you a spy sent by the enemy?”

Alarmed to be misunderstood, Yu Hualiang hurriedly explained, “You’re mistaken! I’m no spy—I’m a painter!”

At that moment, the tent flap lifted, and the Seventh Prince’s voice commanded, “Release him.” Yu Hualiang was saved.

What luck—he’d stumbled right upon the Seventh Prince’s tent.

The Seventh Prince helped him up, concerned, “How are you, Ziliang?”

Yu Hualiang rubbed his nearly dislocated arm. “I’m fine.”

“Ziliang, why weren’t you waiting in the tent? What brings you here?” For the first time, the Seventh Prince showed anger toward him.

Yu Hualiang carefully explained. The Prince sent a guard to escort him back and returned to the tent himself.

As the Prince entered, Yu Hualiang glimpsed several armored men inside—likely his officers. They must have been discussing strategy, which he had inadvertently interrupted, explaining the Prince’s anger.

Truthfully, seeing the Prince angry made Yu Hualiang’s heart lurch. The Prince had never been upset with him before. Knowing he was at fault, Yu Hualiang still couldn’t shake the sense of loss.

He felt as if something precious had slipped away. He waited, not knowing how long, until someone entered and lit the oil lamp, casting the tent in a dim glow.

Yu Hualiang sighed and, by the lamplight, resumed reading the Prince’s military treatise. After a while, sleep overcame him, eyelids drooping.

Unconsciously, he fell asleep at the desk. When the Seventh Prince returned and found him asleep atop it, his heart ached.

He cared deeply for Yu Hualiang’s wellbeing. If he hadn’t recruited him at the Yu family’s painting exhibition, Yu Hualiang would likely still be living peacefully with his family.

Now, following him, he had come to suffer in the camp. The Seventh Prince gently woke him. Yu Hualiang opened his eyes and, seeing the Prince, felt warmth in his heart.

He smiled, “Zicheng, finished for the day?”

The Prince saw his smile and felt ever more guilty, suddenly pulling him into an embrace. “I’m sorry... I’m sorry.”

“Hm? What’s wrong, Zicheng?”

“This is the military camp. You can’t wander freely. If you’re angry with me, Ziliang, hit me a few times—don’t wrong yourself.” The Prince’s words moved Yu Hualiang.

How could he ever be angry with the Prince? To have someone treat him so well in this life—he truly ought to thank the heavens, for meeting the Prince was fortune thrice over.

Yu Hualiang said, “Zicheng, I’m not a girl. I understand everything you do for me, no need to explain.”

“Ziliang, truly a match made in heaven. How lucky I am to have you, Zicheng.”

“Zicheng, are you treating me like a girl again, saying such words to placate me?” Yu Hualiang laughed.

The Prince’s expression was earnest, eyes fixed on Yu Hualiang. “Yes. I wonder how many words it will take to win your heart?”

Yu Hualiang understood from his gaze—the Prince wanted him to prove himself with action. As night deepened, the chirring of insects filled the silence.

The tent’s dim light seemed to reflect the starry sky in the Prince’s eyes, inviting fascination that made it hard to look away.

Compelled by some inner urge, Yu Hualiang reached out to caress the Prince’s cheek. The Prince took his hand, holding it. Yu Hualiang smiled.

He leaned closer, pushing the Prince onto the wooden bed. The Prince let him, likely secretly amused.

For some reason, at that moment, the Prince seemed like a beautiful maiden in Yu Hualiang’s eyes.

He pressed atop him, kissing his lips. The Prince was overwhelmed with happiness, responding to the kiss. Suddenly, the world spun, and Yu Hualiang found himself beneath the Prince.

“Ziliang, are you seducing me?”

Yu Hualiang, pinned down, was dazed; his clothes were half removed. He pressed his hand against the Prince, anxious, “Hey! Zicheng, this is a military camp! You must restrain yourself!”

But the Prince wasn’t listening. He gripped Yu Hualiang’s hands, lowering his head to bite his neck.

“You started it, Ziliang. You must take responsibility.”

“Me? Ah? Hey, hey, hey! This isn’t right! Stop it now!”

Yu Hualiang meant to resist, but the Prince seized his other hand, leaving him helpless.

“Ziliang… you smell so sweet.”

Having kissed enough, the Prince finally rose and said this to him. Yu Hualiang’s face flushed, wishing he could sink into the ground. He protested, “Zicheng, that’s enough! Let go!”

At his words, the Prince suddenly stopped, his face reddening, eyes like a wronged child.

The Prince pulled him up, then drew Yu Hualiang close again, full of grievance. “Ziliang, I feel… uncomfortable here…”