An Jiu pondered which foreign country could be the enemy. Mei Jiu softly said, “Liao and Western Xia.”
An Jiu raised an eyebrow, surprised that the timid Mei Jiu hadn’t fainted from fear. It was quite unexpected.
As Mei Jiu recalled books she had read, An Jiu also gained access to the information.
In the early Song Dynasty, Emperor Taizong personally led two massive campaigns against the Liao to reclaim the Sixteen Prefectures of Yan and Yun, but both failed. During Emperor Zhenzong’s reign, Liao launched a major offensive against Song. Zhenzong led the defense, resulting in a stalemate and the Treaty of Chanyuan, which established a “brotherly” relationship between the two countries.
The Song agreed to pay annual tribute to Liao, recognize Liao’s control over the Sixteen Prefectures, and engage in trade. The Treaty of Chanyuan was essentially Song’s submission to Liao, despite not having been decisively defeated. That such terms were accepted revealed the weakness of Song’s rulers.
Since then, Liao and Song hadn’t gone to war for decades. While Song had increased military spending, it had only boosted quantity, not quality.
With Liao’s growing power, they might have aimed to invade and conquer Song.
Western Xia had long been a nominal vassal of Song, but beyond sending some gold and silver annually, they had little real connection. Their “subordinate” status was merely a facade, so it wouldn’t be surprising if they harbored intentions of rebellion.
Chu Dingjiang noticed the subtle changes in her expression but didn’t comment. He removed his face covering.
Half of his face was hidden behind a dark mask, while the exposed half-revealed sharp, chiseled features and tanned skin. He looked more like a battle-hardened general than an assassin lurking in the shadows.
“Rest here for the night. I’ll have someone escort you back to Meihua Lane tomorrow,” Chu Dingjiang said, setting down his teacup without rushing to discuss recruitment.
“Alright,” An Jiu rose to see him out.
Her manner suggested respect from a subordinate to a superior, rather than mere courtesy. Chu Dingjiang felt a flicker of confusion, then smiled slightly.
After watching Chu Dingjiang leave, An Jiu closed the door.
“Will the Mei clan be in danger?” Mei Jiu asked worriedly.
“With the Cui clan’s betrayal, all four major families are at risk,” An Jiu replied.
Without the Secret Manual, one wouldn’t know all the Konghe families. However, anyone involved with the Konghe Army knew of the four major families. The Cui clan’s betrayal meant the four families were now exposed to the enemy.
“What should we do?” Mei Jiu felt afraid yet slightly hopeful. Without the Mei clan, could she escape the world of killing? But thoughts of her mother quickly extinguished that hope. Without the Mei clan’s backing, she’d be more vulnerable if she joined the Konghe Army.
An Jiu didn’t see Mei Jiu’s concerns as significant problems. She hadn’t considered that angle, believing one could survive just fine alone. She was more concerned about Cui Yichen’s pursuit. “You have the luxury of worrying about others? Why not worry about yourself?”
An Jiu entered the inner chamber and sat in a chair by the bed.
Thinking about Cui Yichen, Mei Jiu felt even more at a loss.
They sat in silence for half an hour.
Though exhausted, Mei Jiu couldn’t move due to An Jiu’s control. Eyeing the soft, thick bed, she hesitated before asking, “Can we lie down? I can’t hold on much longer.”
Both souls felt the body’s fatigue. An Jiu, unaccustomed to sleeping deeply in unfamiliar territory, had planned to sit in the chair all night. But feeling guilty towards Mei Jiu, she relented.
An Jiu relaxed her mental grip, ceding control of the body to Mei Jiu.
Currently, An Jiu held absolute dominance, able to suppress Mei Jiu’s subconscious control over the body at will. Mei Jiu found herself completely passive. An Jiu didn’t know the exact level of her spiritual power, only that it grew stronger and more perceptive as she suppressed Mei Jiu.
If this trend continued, the outcome would likely be as Elder Qi had predicted: the stronger spiritual force would consume the weaker. And An Jiu had lost the will to fight against this.
Finding she could move, Mei Jiu removed her damp outer clothes and crawled shivering under the covers.
Once her body felt warm, Mei Jiu could think clearly. “I feel like you’ve changed,” she said.
Receiving no response, she continued, “You never used to consider my thoughts before.”
An Jiu remained silent, suspecting Mei Jiu didn’t understand the implications of her ruined meridians, or she wouldn’t be so calm.
Mei Jiu had never explicitly stated her intention to join the Konghe Army, but her past thoughts and hesitations had revealed such inclinations.
After the trial, Mei Jiu’s avoidance led An Jiu to believe she had given up. Surprisingly, upon waking, Mei Jiu still harbored such thoughts.
Although An Jiu told herself that Mei Jiu had forfeited her chance to choose, she couldn’t help feeling guilty when Mei Jiu thought of Mei Yanran.
Suddenly, An Jiu got out of bed. Mei Jiu thought they were under attack, but An Jiu merely opened the window and stood there, letting the wind blow in.
Outside, snow fell heavily. Across the courtyard, another window stood open, a figure silhouetted against the light.
The crisscrossing light in the courtyard illuminated his half-masked face.
He leaned against the window frame, arms crossed. Though he saw An Jiu, he didn’t greet her, simply staring silently at the snow-covered ground, lost in thought.
It was Chu Dingjiang.
An Jiu found him intriguing. In the Konghe Army, promotions usually depended on completed missions. For someone as young as Chu Dingjiang to reach his current position, he must have been exceptionally fortunate in timing.
A person suddenly elevated to lead the Shen Wu Army without proper qualifications would inevitably face severe ostracism and isolation. The recent setback during the trial only compounded his difficult situation.
An Jiu wondered what he was thinking at that moment.
Reality is always harsher than imagination.
Not anticipating such a large-scale attack on the Konghe Army, Chu Dingjiang had brought many of his followers on this mission. Most of them had perished at the ancient temple, leaving him with a negligible number of supporters compared to his opponents.
No one could have imagined that he was now essentially fighting alone, facing enormous pressure from both internal and external forces.
The night deepened, lanterns along the corridor swayed in the wind, and the snow fell more heavily.
On the road north.
Lou Xiaowu and her group were in a dire state.
They had been pursued as soon as they left Bianjing. The guards who had sacrificed themselves to cover Lou Xiaowu and Mo Sigui’s escape were all but wiped out.
“Just four or five more li. We’ll be there in no time,” Lou Xiaowu said as if reassuring herself.