“The young miss sent me back,” he said, stepping forward, staring intently at Chu Ling, his voice even somewhat choked. “The young miss is worried about the General.”
The military officer before his eyes—his form was still tall and large, his face still gentle, only his complexion was no longer the ruddy color from when Vice General Zhong had left, but showed a layer of frost-white pallor.
Hearing his words, the surrounding people’s expressions all became somewhat sorrowful.
Chu Ling smiled and gestured to everyone: “You all go attend to things first. We must not slacken at this time, especially regarding Xi Liang—we must keep close watch. In a while, have Changrong tell everyone about matters in the capital.”
Everyone responded affirmatively, bowed and withdrew. As they passed by Zhong Changrong, they all patted his shoulder.
When everyone had left and the door was closed, only the two of them remained in the room.
“Elder Brother,” Zhong Changrong stepped forward. “Are you alright?”
Chu Ling smiled: “Still alright. Won’t die just yet.”
That meant things weren’t good. Zhong Changrong’s tears nearly fell.
“How is A’Zhao?” Chu Ling asked.
Zhong Changrong was just about to speak.
Chu Ling asked again: “Was she injured?”
Zhong Changrong swallowed the words he had been about to say, shaking his head then nodding: “No, only a little superficial injury.”
Chu Ling quickly asked: “Injured where?”
Zhong Changrong quickly set aside all those thrilling events—how the young miss had rescued the young Imperial Grandson, how cleverly she had led them to attack the imperial city, how she had persuaded the two groups guarding the palace gates and met His Majesty, how the young miss had persuaded the Emperor and the Emperor had bestowed the marriage—all these stirring matters. For this father who only cared whether his daughter was injured and where she was injured, he earnestly recounted—
He raised his hand and pointed to places on his own body.
“There’s an injury on her arm, from a blade’s edge cutting across. A’Zhao wasn’t wearing armor.”
“A bit on the shoulder, from an arrow grazing past.”
“The foot also has some injury. This was from A’Zhao not paying attention while running and twisting it.”
“Elder Brother, A’Zhao was so capable, didn’t cry at all. However, she was still afraid of pain. When the imperial physician was bandaging, she held A’Le’s hand and didn’t dare look.”
Chu Ling listened carefully, attentively watching every place Zhong Changrong indicated on his body, as if his daughter were right before his eyes.
Zhong Changrong recounted in detail everything that had happened in the capital. His long speech finally finished as dusk shrouded the room.
Chu Ling sat at the table and reached to pour tea.
Zhong Changrong moved first to pour water for him. Shaking the water kettle on the table, only half the water remained. What poured out into the cup gave off a strong medicinal smell.
He was treating drinking medicine like drinking water?
Zhong Changrong’s nose stung with emotion, and he couldn’t quite stand steady supporting himself on the table.
“That was the situation at the time,” he said through gritted teeth. “The incident happened suddenly, but A’Zhao handled it appropriately. A’Zhao said this was the best outcome. She was worried you’d be anxious. She couldn’t trust anyone else either, so she urged me to come back.”
Chu Ling held the teacup and slowly took a sip. This medicine smelled nauseating just from the scent—who knew how difficult it was to swallow when drunk. Drinking it down in one gulp would have been better, but Chu Ling was as composed as if savoring fine tea.
“What hardship has A’Zhao endured,” he said, “that she would think this was the best outcome?”