055 is acceptable, but do not give up halfway. Notification of publication.

Ouyang Ke’s eyes lit up, his spirit stirred, and he no longer paid attention to Tuolei. With a bright smile, he said, “Who am I, Young Master Ouyang? Once I say something, how could I ever go back on my word? However, he may leave, but Miss Huazheng, you must stay behind…”

“Alright.”

Cheng Lingsu had anticipated that he wouldn’t let matters drop so easily. Yet this was for the best—she alone could still hold her own against Ouyang Ke and seek an opportunity to escape. With Tuolei present, she would inevitably feel some restraint. So, without waiting for him to blather further, she directly agreed.

Unexpectedly, Ouyang Ke was taken aback by how quickly she consented, laughing heartily, “That’s more like it! Without that troublesome and distracting one, we can have a proper conversation.”

Ignoring him, Cheng Lingsu turned her back and took from her bosom a handkerchief embroidered with blue blossoms. She lightly shook it in the air before tying it around the shattered tiger’s mouth on Tuolei’s hand, then placed the two blue flowers back inside her bosom. She then briefly explained the situation to Tuolei and told him to return first.

Tuolei’s face darkened like iron. He stepped back two paces, suddenly drawing the single-edged sword at his feet. His eyes fixed on Ouyang Ke’s direction as he slashed fiercely at the empty air before himself. “Your martial skill is supreme; I am no match for you. But today, in the name of Temujin Khan’s son, I swear before the sky god of the grasslands: once I have exterminated those who conspired against my father, I will face you in battle! I will avenge my sister and show you what true heroes of the steppes are!”

As the son of a Mongol tribal leader himself, Tuolei was humble and loyal, unlike Dushi’s arrogant disregard. Yet his pride was no less. He was Temujin’s favored son, well aware of his father’s grand vision—turning every corner beneath the blue sky into Mongol pastures.

For this purpose, he had trained in the army since childhood without pause. Yet after years of rigorous practice, he had fallen into enemy hands and now could not safely bring his sister to rescue. Tuolei knew Cheng Lingsu was right; his priority should be his father’s safety, and he should swiftly return to marshal forces to aid his father, who had been ambushed. But the thought of his sister being forcibly detained here filled him with such shame that it almost choked his breath.

Mongols valued trust above all, especially when swearing oaths to the sky god revered by all on the steppes. Although aware he was no match in martial skill, Tuolei’s solemn vow was full of sincere determination. His words were filled with heroic passion. Though no martial arts master, his broad shoulders, tempered by years in the army, radiated the same kingly aura as Temujin himself, commanding and imposing. Even Ouyang Ke, who did not grasp the full meaning, secretly felt a chill.

Cheng Lingsu felt a warmth in her heart. The fiery blood that belonged solely to Temujin’s daughter seemed to resonate with Tuolei’s resolve and unwillingness, surging through her like a tidal wave, kindling a faint heat in her eyes. Without showing it, she turned slightly aside, placing herself between Ouyang Ke and any possible attack. She whispered, “Go quickly, return swiftly. I will find my own way to escape.”

Tuolei nodded, stepped forward, and embraced her briefly. Without another glance at Ouyang Ke, he turned and ran toward the camp gate.

Along the way, a few remaining soldiers tried to stop him as he burst forth from the camp, but each was cut down with a single stroke of his sword.

It was only when Cheng Lingsu saw Tuolei seize a horse at the camp’s edge and gallop away that she relaxed, letting out a soft sigh.

In her previous life, her master—the Poison Hand Medicine King—used poisons to make medicines and heal the sick. Yet he firmly believed in retribution and reincarnation, ultimately embracing Buddhism in his later years to cultivate his mind, reaching a state beyond anger or joy. Cheng Lingsu was his late disciple and deeply influenced by him. Now, though she had died in the past cycle of this world, she had been sent here once again. She could not help but believe that perhaps, fate had other designs.

Originally, she wished to avoid entanglement with the people and affairs of this world, even hoping to find a chance to flee far away—to return to the shores of Dongting Lake, to see what the White Horse Temple looked like centuries later. Perhaps open a small clinic to treat the sick, to live out her days quietly with her lingering feelings for one man.

Yet if Temujin were in peril, the Mongol tribe where she had lived for ten years would suffer as well. Her true-hearted mother and brother who raised her, and the tribe members she saw daily, would share the hardship. Having spent a decade among them, how could she stand idly by?

With these thoughts, Cheng Lingsu sighed softly once more.

Seeing her lost in thought while watching Tuolei’s departing figure, Ouyang Ke raised his chin slightly and sneered, “What’s the matter? Are you really that reluctant to part?”

Catching the implication in his words, Cheng Lingsu frowned and pulled herself back to reality. She blurted out, “I’m worried about my brother—shouldn’t I be?”

“Oh? He’s your brother?” Ouyang Ke raised an eyebrow, amusement flickering briefly at the corner of his eye. “Then… was that fellow before him your lover?”

“You’re talking nonsense!” Cheng Lingsu stopped abruptly and then realized, “You mean Guo Jing? You already knew when… we just arrived?”

“It wasn’t them, it was you! From the moment you came, I knew,” Ouyang Ke said proudly, clearly pleased by her reaction.

Though Cheng Lingsu had dismounted far away, his profound inner power and keen hearing were no ordinary Mongol soldiers’ equal. He had discovered her almost as she infiltrated the camp, just as she was about to reveal herself, but then saw Ma Yu act to escort both her and Guo Jing away.

Years ago, his uncle Ouyang Feng had suffered a major defeat at the hands of the Quanzhen Sect. Because of this, the Western Venom faction harbored bitterness and caution towards Quanzhen Taoists. Recognizing Ma Yu’s Daoist robe, Ouyang Ke recalled his uncle’s warnings and decided not to reveal himself. Instead, he lurked in the shadows, watching their exchanges.

He had thought Cheng Lingsu might persuade Ma Yu to storm the camp in rescue. Unaware that Ma Yu was the Quanzhen Sect’s head, Ouyang Ke imagined that with the camp’s thousands of soldiers and Wanyan Honglie’s elite fighters, they could detain Ma Yu long enough—and perhaps even eliminate him, reducing the Quanzhen Sect’s strength. Yet to his surprise, the Daoist neither raided the camp nor lingered, but left with Guo Jing, leaving Cheng Lingsu behind.

Gradually, Cheng Lingsu pieced it together: Wanyan Honglie’s secret arrival was meant to sow discord between Sangkun and her father, forcing the Mongol tribes into endless conflict so that the Jin Empire would be free from northern troubles.

Ouyang Ke had no interest in such strife but nodded as she spoke seriously and praised her, “Your insight is truly sharp, drawing conclusions from a single example.”

Brushing back strands of hair scattered by the wind, Cheng Lingsu’s gaze was as clear as the cold waters of the Onon River. “You are Wanyan Honglie’s man, yet you let Guo Jing escape to warn others, and now you let Tuolei go to rally troops. Aren’t you afraid this will ruin his grand scheme?”

Ouyang Ke laughed heartily, reaching out to gently tap her chin, “Afraid? What concern is his plan to me? If I can win a lady’s favor, what does anything else matter?”

Cheng Lingsu did not smile. Instead, her brow furrowed slightly as she stepped back and evaded the thin, teasing fan lightly hooked under her chin. She reached out suddenly and snapped the pitch-black fan’s tip into her palm with a sharp “snap.” A chill surged from the fan’s iron ribs through her skin deep into her bones, nearly forcing her to drop it. She realized the fan’s frame was forged from black iron, cold as ice.

“Like this fan, do you?” Ouyang Ke flicked his wrist casually, brushing aside her hand and reclaiming the fan. With a flick, he opened it and lightly waved it before himself. “If you fancy something else, I’ll gladly give it to you. But this fan…” He paused thoughtfully, then suddenly smiled softly, “If you like it, just stay by my side, and you’ll see it whenever you please…”

Author’s note: I must say, Ouyang Ke, isn’t Lingsu really just fond of your fan? Yet you’re so stingy, unwilling to give it away! How petty!

Ouyang Ke: That fan was given to me by my father… ahem… uncle.