In the crowd, Mr. Feng didn't look back again.
The person sat on the horse, swaying as he passed through the grand Yongding Gate. This Mr. Feng, clearly wearing the armor of a Guerrilla General, was, at heart, still that aspiring Confucian scholar.
At this moment, the people followed behind the commander's flag for ten miles to send him off, some offering eggs they cherished, others freshly steamed cornbread.
Forty miles away by the Zhangjiawan Pier, literati from the Imperial Capital waited at a pavilion to offer a cup of light wine and write a beautiful poem. They would not care about the harshness behind this journey, nor would the distant war affect their romantic musings.
Chen Ji did not see Mr. Wang and Mr. Feng off again.
Upon seeing Mr. Feng, his anxious heart instantly calmed, as if the other was a stabilizing pillar; as long as he was in the expeditionary force, Chen Ji knew there was still a chance for things to turn around.
