Unyielding Spring Mountains - Chapter 39: Lovers

After listening to him, Zuo Ying remained silent for a moment. “The illness that the general speaks of—I have never treated such a condition before. It must be rather difficult.”

Qi Yan furrowed his brows slightly.

Zuo Ying said, “I need to review the medical texts. If it is convenient for the general, you may bring that friend next time.”

A voice from the distance called out, urging them.

The visiting time was almost over. Zuo Ying bowed and excused himself.

Qi Yan said, “Zuo Ying, come with me to the Jin Kingdom.”

Zuo Ying turned to look at him.

Before these words, his expression had been calm and unruffled, but after hearing them, he couldn’t help but smile—not in mockery of Qi Yan, but at himself.

“General, please do not jest. I am a criminal, a mere commoner. What worth do I have to be noticed by you…”

The young man on horseback approached.

“Do you truly not know your own worth? In matters of state, you could serve as prime minister in Jin; in matters of strategy, you could stir the winds of the world. A man of great talent should not be trapped in shallow waters, enduring humiliation here.”

From his elevated position, Qi Yan looked down at him, his gaze burning with intensity yet devoid of arrogance, making it impossible for others not to lower their heads before him.

Zuo Ying raised his hand slowly, pulling aside the collar at his neck. The tattooed character “prisoner” was exposed under the light.

“General, ever since coming here, my spirit has been worn away. These years, I have only prayed to survive. For me to leave this prison and head north is no different from taking my life.”

He bowed again and, with his injured right leg, limped away.

“But who determines who rules this world? And who decrees who is a criminal?”

Qi Yan’s voice sounded behind him.

Zuo Ying hesitated in his steps, and Qi Yan was already beside him.

“You have endured these years, lying low, waiting to avenge the Zuo family, haven’t you? You have never forgotten the humiliation you suffered, nor your foster sister who was sent to another kingdom as a concubine by the Chu King.”

“If the Chu King has wronged your family, then overthrow him.”

Zuo Ying’s body stiffened.

He slowly lifted his eyes and met Qi Yan’s gaze.

Qi Yan, clad in military attire, stood bathed in sunlight, his brows sharp and his presence commanding.

“I have never known fear. I only know that the times create heroes, and a man should throw himself into the chaos of the world to make his mark.”

“Join my ranks, become my strategist. What does the Chu King’s so-called kingdom matter?”

“Let’s go see the real world.”

His presence was as radiant as the sun, illuminating everything and allowing no darkness to hide.

Each word, firm and powerful, struck deep into Zuo Ying’s heart.

Zuo Ying believed that even if he refused, in Jin, countless others would be willing to follow Qi Yan without hesitation.

Someone like him should be like the sun and moon, surrounded by stars.

Qi Yan let go of his shoulder and said coolly, “I will take care of everything with the prison. I don’t have much time to waste. In half an hour, I’ll be waiting beneath the phoenix tree outside the Qi army camp. If you’ve made up your mind, come find me.”

Qi Yan straightened, turned his horse, and rode away.

Zuo Ying watched his departing figure as pain shot up from the wounds on his heel, reminding him of all he had suffered.

The fall of his family, exile to the frontier, the deaths of every last relative, his foster sister sold into servitude in the Chu palace—

For five years, he had been trampled into the dirt, his bones broken, his dignity crushed. He had crawled, struggled, and been humiliated.

But he had always been waiting, lying in wait, for the day he could rise again.

Now, Qi Yan was giving him a chance.

When Zuo Ying opened his eyes again, the ice that had frozen over them for years melted just a little.

Outside the Qi army camp, a towering phoenix tree cast dense shadows by the riverbank.

Qi Yan did not have to wait long. As he led his horse to drink, he heard the crisp sound of approaching hooves.

A chestnut-colored horse galloped down the hillside. The young rider reined in the steed at the lake’s edge.

Zuo Ying dismounted and knelt.

He pledged his loyalty.

Qi Yan knew he had not misjudged him.

“Let’s go. We need to catch up with the main army before nightfall.”

He mounted his horse and looked into the distance, where mountain ranges stretched endlessly.

Qi Yan galloped across the wilderness, leaving mountain after mountain behind him. The wind howled across the plains, and behind him, the sky shifted—from dawn’s glowing mist to a sky burning with sunset, then finally to a blanket of stars.

Under the moonlight, the young general’s figure stretched long, bathed in silver.

“The young general has returned!”

A shout broke the stillness of the camp.

The soldiers saw him riding in from the brush, swift as lightning.

After a day and night of travel without rest, Qi Yan returned to camp. The first thing he did was seek out Wei Zhen.

He sat astride his horse for a moment, gathering his thoughts, then knocked gently on the carriage door. “Wei Zhen.”

The bamboo curtain lifted, and the girl inside blinked in surprise before her eyes lit up with delight. “Where did the young general go?”

Qi Yan had many things he wanted to say to her, but when the words reached his lips, he swallowed them back.

At this moment, there were too many uncertainties—her lineage, the fate of her eye condition. He knew it was best not to give her hope, only to lead to disappointment.

“I made a trip back and brought someone along. He is skilled in medicine. You were unwell the other day—he can help treat you.”

He spoke and realized how hoarse his voice had become, as though something was stuck in his throat.

Wei Zhen, however, paid no heed to that. She only asked, “What happened to your throat?”

Qi Yan replied, “It’s nothing. The wind irritated it during the ride.”

He turned to leave, but she was sharp-witted and quickly pieced together the truth.

“You went to find someone to treat my eyes, didn’t you?”

Qi Yan paused.

She reached out from the carriage window and tugged at his sleeve. His heart pounded, afraid someone might see, so he stepped closer to the carriage.

She flipped his hand over. A deep red mark from the reins ran across his palm, with traces of broken skin.

“Your hand is all chafed… Don’t tell me you rode all day and night?”

Her fingers traced the wound, and she looked up at him, her eyes shimmering.

“A minor injury,” Qi Yan said lazily, attempting to pull his hand away, but she held on.

She had just bathed, and her long hair was loosely pinned with a jade ornament. Strands of black silk brushed against his wrist.

“You once told me that I don’t need to do anything for you. But it’s the same for me.”

The cool breeze ruffled her hair, and her gaze was clear and earnest.

“I don’t need you to get hurt for me. I don’t need you to go to such lengths. I just need you to ride beside my carriage.”

She leaned in slightly, hesitated, then finally whispered—

“Just like this, staying by my side is enough.”

Qi Yan’s heart stilled as he met her eyes. Then, it pounded violently.

In that moment, the brilliance of the heavens paled in comparison to the light in her gaze.

She turned to retrieve a medicine bottle from the cabinet, dipping her fingertip in the salve and gently applying it to his wound.

Qi Yan watched her lowered lashes as she focused, and for a moment, he was transported back to that night at the princess’s residence. He felt himself being drawn toward her, inch by inch.

From the moment he escorted her north, he had known that their statuses were worlds apart, that they should not and could not be entangled.

He had tried to sever their connection. But he was helplessly sinking deeper.

Her jade hairpin nearly slipped loose. Qi Yan reached out, fixing it in place. As he withdrew his hand, her face lifted, and his palm brushed her cheek.

He pulled back, and she, having finished applying the medicine, released his wrist.

Countless eyes in the camp were watching. They had only this fleeting moment.

Qi Yan glanced at his bandaged palm. “What medicine is this?”

Wei Zhen smiled. “A gift from the Jin envoy. It’s for healing scars. He was thoughtful—sent over a lot of skincare remedies, hoping I’d take care of my face.”

After all, her greatest leverage was her beauty.

If it were ruined, her path in the foreign court would be over.

Qi Yan said, “Rest well. In half a month, we will reach the Jin capital.”

Wei Zhen nodded. “Alright.”

The bamboo curtain fell, and Wei Zhen went to tidy up the ointments on the table.

Something between her and him seemed to have changed, yet also seemed unchanged. She treated him as she always had before, but both of them had, to some extent, come to understand each other’s feelings. It was more like the way lovers tentatively probed one another.

The bold thought made Wei Zhen’s throat tighten.

How could she and he be considered lovers? Clearly, apart from that first kiss, they had done nothing lovers would do.

And even that kiss had been as light as a dragonfly touching the water.

Yet she could feel it—how, time and again, her heart wavered for him.

The young general was so good to her. He made a luminous pearl lamp for her, traveled under the stars to find a physician for her, and stayed by the carriage every day to watch over her. How could she possibly harden her heart and remain unmoved?

Wei Zhen had always believed that falling for someone was not an instant event but rather something that happened bit by bit through repeated interactions.

And she seemed to be going through that very process.

A cool breeze blew past, clearing her mind of stray thoughts, and only then did Wei Zhen realize that her heart and mind had been entirely occupied with thoughts of Qi Yan.

She forced him out of her thoughts.

At night, Wei Zhen lay on her back on the couch, gazing at the string of luminous pearls hanging from the ceiling of the carriage.

In half a month, they would reach Jiangdu, yet her mastery of the zither was still incomplete. She would need to intensify her practice on the road ahead, not wasting a single day.

If only she could foresee the future events of the Jin Kingdom, then she would not have to feel so uneasy.

In her past life, Qi Yan had left Chu and become a great general of Jin, later ascending to the Jin throne. Just how much had he experienced in between?

Previously, when Wei Zhen entered dreams of her past life, she had mostly been concerned with her own fate and had paid little attention to the affairs of other nations’ courts.

If she could dream again, she must make sure to catch a glimpse of the situation in Jin.

But those dreams of past lives were too elusive—there was no telling when she would enter one.

Wei Zhen could only close her eyes and carefully recall her previous dreams.

As her consciousness sank, fragments of memory began to surface.

In the second year after she became the Queen of Chu, great turmoil erupted in the Jin court—

The King of Jin suddenly passed away. Qi Yan, who had gone to seek refuge with him, was accused of conspiring with the Ninth Prince, Ji Wo, to assassinate the King of Jin and was hunted by soldiers.

Enraged, the Jin royal family issued a decree ordering their capture, sentencing them both to be torn apart by chariots.

Qi Yan fled once again, leaving Jin and embarking on a life of exile.

No one knew how he survived. The next news of him came half a year later, from the southeastern border of Jin—Qi Yan had emerged out of nowhere, leading an uprising.

Qi Yan assisted Ji Wo in claiming the Jin throne, declaring that the royal family had falsified the edict of succession. He raised an army to confront the Jin forces.

The new king dispatched troops to suppress the rebellion.

Thus, Jin split into two factions—Eastern Jin, led by Ji Wo, and Western Jin, ruled by the new king. The two monarchs waged war against each other.

While fighting against Western Jin, Qi Yan also had to fend off the constant border raids from Chu, so he personally led an army south to invade Chu.

It was during this campaign that Wei Zhen, lost and wandering, ended up in Qi Yan’s army.

As fighting on two fronts required massive forces, Ji Wo died while leading troops. Before his death, he passed the throne to Qi Yan, urging him to continue the war against Chu and conquer Western Jin.

So, this was the perilous path Qi Yan had walked to seize the throne in her dreams.

But to say that he had assassinated the King of Jin—Wei Zhen found it utterly absurd.

She knew Qi Yan’s character. He had been a pure-hearted youth, and no matter what, he would never have done such a thing.

The only possibility left was that the Jin royal family had fabricated the edict of succession and falsely accused him.

Wei Zhen was trapped in the nightmare, cold sweat forming at her neck. She struggled to break free from the dream, but her limbs were bound tightly, and her consciousness was pulled ever deeper into the abyss.

Her chaotic thoughts suddenly stilled—because this time, in her dream, she saw through Qi Yan’s eyes.

The vast desert stretched endlessly, waves of heat rolling across the land. He was fleeing from Jin, embarking on his second exile.

The young man lay slumped over the horse’s back, his body covered in wounds, letting the horse wander aimlessly through the desert.

The star-marked colt had taken several arrows, bleeding heavily along the way, yet it still struggled forward, carrying him.

But beneath the scorching sun, it finally collapsed from exhaustion.

Hot winds blew, lifting grains of sand that slowly buried the youth’s body. He crawled up from the desert.

She had never seen such panic on his face before. He wept, prostrating himself before the horse that had grown up with him, calling its name again and again.

The horse closed its eyes and took its final breath, its blood seeping into the sand, swallowed bit by bit by the desert dust.

The surroundings were nothing but an endless expanse of yellow sand—no oasis, no water. In such a desperate situation, how could he possibly find a way to survive?

Wei Zhen woke from the dream, her eyes damp and sore.

A shaft of sunlight pierced through the carriage, stinging her eyes.

She sat up, her heart throbbing painfully. In her dream, she had shared Qi Yan’s pain, as if she had truly felt his sorrow.

He had left his homeland, seeking to establish himself in Jin, only to be exiled once more after the King of Jin’s death.

This time, even his only companion—the horse that had grown up with him—was gone.

Bearing the immense grief, he dragged his wounded body across the boundless desert.

The world was vast, yet there was no place for him.

Outside the carriage, someone heard her sobbing and lifted the curtain, seeing the girl sitting there with her hair loose, her dark eyes brimming with moisture and misty with tears.

Qi Yan asked, “What’s wrong?”

Wei Zhen lifted the quilt off her body and kneeled by the window. A thought welled up deep inside her—she suddenly wanted to embrace him. But in the end, she restrained herself.

Ahead, the Jin Kingdom awaited them, and it would not be an easy road.

Their journey was bound to be fraught with danger.

The girl lowered her head. The cool morning light shone in, washing over her dark hair, her jade-like skin, and the redness at the corners of her eyes, making her look fragile.

Qi Yan saw that she seemed to have had a nightmare and asked in a low voice. She kept her head down and remained silent, her shoulders trembling slightly.

After a long moment, she felt warmth on her body—it was Qi Yan reaching out, gently pulling her into his arms.

He sat on horseback, using the dense forest as cover, and embraced her.

The breeze drifted through the window. She widened her eyes and lifted her head from his shoulder.

His robes carried the warmth of the sun. Wei Zhen’s heart raced, half-afraid of being seen, half-aching with a longing to be close to him.

One hand of his gently rubbed her back, as if soothing her emotions, while his warm voice sounded above her hair, “Yangyang, what’s wrong?”

Yangyang.

Even back home, her grandfather had rarely called her by her childhood name.

Yet when he spoke it, his lips moved lightly, his Adam’s apple shifting with the sound. His deliberately softened voice struck her ears—and struck her heart.

At last, she pulled herself out of the nightmare.

She gazed into the boy’s bright eyes, and in the scorching summer breeze, her heart swayed.