It was almost noon when the bell rang again.
Sharp. Urgent. Dread curling through every echo.
Qiuli had launched a second attack.
This time, the number of enemy soldiers was doubled. Maybe more. The camp erupted into movement—metal clashing, orders shouted, the scent of steel and fear sharpening in the air like blood before a storm.
All four of them—General Luo, Lan Wangji, Shen Kexian, and Ming Yu—were already gearing up to join the fight. No more hanging back. No more observation. This was all-in.
I found them in the war tent, bent over maps and reports, voices low and clipped with urgency. Shen Kexian pointed out weak spots along the ridge. Lan Wangji said little, but when he did, everyone listened. General Luo's jaw was tight, gaze grim. And Ming Yu—he looked calm. Too calm. The kind of stillness that comes right before something breaks.
I stood at the edge of the room like a shadow—useless, untrained, watching gods plan a war.
I don't know anything about battle formations. Or siege mechanics. Or flanking strategies. All I know is what I've absorbed from dramas and the occasional poorly subtitled historical documentary.
But there's one thing I do know.
Every show, every movie, every war-themed fantasy arc has taught me one universal truth:
If you kill the commander, the army falls apart.
Simple. Clean. Final.
So I cleared my throat, stepped forward, and said—
"Okay, so… I know I'm not a general or anything, but in literally every drama I've ever watched, the battle turns when someone takes out the enemy commander. Morale breaks. Chaos spreads. The army collapses. Right?"
Four pairs of very elite, very ancient cultivator eyes turned to look at me.
I immediately regretted everything.
But I pressed on. "So… maybe we focus on that? Target their lead strategist? Their general? Cut off the head of the snake?"
There was a long pause.
And then, to my complete and utter disbelief, Shen Kexian actually nodded.
"It's not a bad idea," he said, straightening, fingers drumming thoughtfully against the edge of the war table. "Morale is a fragile thing. Kill the head, the body falters."
I blinked. Was I… being taken seriously?
Lan Wangji, ever the calm voice of reason, folded his arms and spoke in that quiet, steel-wrapped tone of his. "It will be risky. Their commander will be heavily guarded. He will not be at the front. Likely positioned at the rear, with multiple layers of defense."
"Of course he is," I muttered under my breath. "Cowards never like to get their hands dirty."
Shen Kexian's eyes sharpened as he leaned over the map. "Unless we create a diversion." He traced a finger along the eastern ridge. "Here. This path is narrow, but it leads behind their supply line. If we make them believe we're reinforcing the western flank, we could draw enough of their guard away."
General Luo grunted in approval. "A two-pronged strike. One to pull attention, the other to slip through the gap."
Lan Wangji frowned slightly. "We would need precise timing. If even one phase fails—"
"It won't," Shen Kexian said smoothly. "Because I will be leading the strike team."
I blinked again. "Wait. Whoa. You?"
He gave me a look, half-amused, half-infuriating. "You thought I'd let someone else take credit for your overly simplified but strangely effective idea?"
"I—well—maybe—" I spluttered. "Okay but also, you're injured."
"Only slightly bruised. Emotionally."
Ming Yu, silent until now, finally spoke, eyes still on the map. "I'll go with him."
"No," I said, too fast. Too loud. All eyes turned to me again.
"Someone has to make sure he doesn't do anything stupid," Ming Yu added, ignoring my outburst.
Shen Kexian smirked. "That's rich, coming from you."
"I'll go too."
The words flew out of my mouth before I could catch them.
And the moment they left my lips, I internally screamed.
What did I just say?!
What did I just say?!
Ming Yu turned to me instantly, eyes wide. "No."
"Why not?" I said, trying to sound brave instead of suicidal. "You know that when Shen Kexian and I combine our powers, it's… effective. You saw what happened last time."
Ming Yu's face contorted into something I couldn't quite name—part worry, part exasperation, part oh gods she's serious. He didn't answer right away, and I could see the war being fought behind his eyes.
Then, from across the table, Lan Wangji spoke quietly. "Then I'll go too."
Before the silence could settle, the tent flap flew open.
"I knew someone would suggest something dramatic without me," Wei Wuxian said, strolling in like he wasn't casually eavesdropping. "I'm in. How could I let you guys have fun without me?"
He grinned at me, then tossed a wink toward Shen Kexian. "Besides, someone has to keep this one from blowing himself up."
"Rude," Shen Kexian muttered.
Lan Xichen, who had been studying the map in quiet intensity, finally looked up—his calm veneer cracking as he turned to his brother. "Wangji, this will be very dangerous. Are you sure?"
Lan Wangji nodded once. No hesitation.
Lan Xichen's jaw tightened. "Then I will handle the diversion. I'll lead from the west. General Luo," he glanced toward the older man, "you'll hold the main line?"
General Luo nodded, fists clenched over the hilt of his blade. "We'll hold them as long as needed."
Lan Xichen looked around at all of us—his gaze resting on me a beat longer than the others.
"Then may the heavens have mercy," he said. "Because we're going to need every ounce of luck."
Right before we left, Shen Kexian approached me, holding something long and folded in his hand.
A piece of cloth.
I blinked. "What's this for?"
"To tie you to me," he said, completely serious, like this was a totally normal pre-battle logistical note.
My brain flatlined. "I'm sorry—what?"
He looked at me like I was the confusing one. "Little monkey, as much as I enjoy you clinging to my back like a particularly affectionate sack, this time is different."
I opened my mouth. Closed it. Somewhere in the back of my mind, the memory of that battlefield moment flashed—me on his back, gripping him for dear life like the world's least graceful backpack. Oh no. Right. That image.
"That would ruin my reputation forever," I muttered, horrified. "I'd become a cautionary tale for palace decorum."
"Exactly," he said, like we were in agreement. "So I'm tying you to me properly this time."
"That… doesn't sound better."
He smirked and kept talking. "Secondly, I'd rather have you in front."
I froze. "In front?"
"You know," he said casually, "so I can protect you."
My entire soul tried to ascend out of my body. Hugging him from the front? Like some kind of koala of inappropriate intimacy? In front of everyone?
No. Absolutely not. That wasn't just a scandal. That was a historical event.
"Shen Kexian," I hissed. "If you strap me to your front like some divine baby sling, not only will I die of embarrassment, you will die too—because Ming Yu is going to punch the beautiful off your face."
"Not like that," Shen Kexian said smoothly, eyes gleaming like he lived to cause problems on purpose. "Like this."
Before I could protest or flee or fake a medical emergency, he stepped in and grabbed me by the waist with one arm, the other guiding my arm up and around his neck in one fluid motion.
I yelped.
Suddenly, I was very much attached to him.
Not quite center, but definitely not far enough. My face was alarmingly close to his—one sharp movement away from cheek-to-cheek territory. I could see every infuriatingly perfect detail of his expression: that arrogant curve of his mouth, the barely restrained amusement in his eyes, the way his hair shifted as he tilted his head like this was all very practical and I was just being difficult.
"This," he said softly, "is better."
"Better for who?" I snapped, trying not to combust. "I look like I'm about to whisper sweet nothings into your ear!"
He had the nerve to look pleased. "That would boost morale."
"Oh my god—"
I tried to pull back, but the cloth was already looped, fastened with absurd efficiency. My arm stayed draped over his shoulder, locked in place like I had volunteered to be this close.
"If Ming Yu sees this," I muttered, "you're a dead man."
Shen Kexian smirked. "Then you better hold on tight, little monkey. It's going to be a fast ride."
I had no words.
Only shame. And impending homicide.
***
Do you know the fastest way to get around a battlefield?
Horseback, obviously.
Which sounds cool. Epic, even. Until you realize something very important: I have never been on a horse running at full speed.
Let me just say this now—every actor and actress who's done those elegant, wind-in-your-hair riding scenes in period dramas? I respect you. Deeply. You deserve awards. You deserve padded seats. You deserve ice packs.
Because for me? I was dying. Not metaphorically.
I was riding with Ming Yu behind me, his arm loosely wrapped around my waist like this was a casual stroll through the countryside, while I was holding onto the saddle like it was the last solid thing in the mortal realm. The horse thundered beneath us, a blur of muscle and speed, and all I could think was don't die, don't bounce off, don't scream.
Let's not even talk about my butt. Or the general situation between my legs. I didn't know leather could bruise. But apparently it can, and it did.
I could feel every bone in my body rattling like dice in a cursed game. This wasn't majestic. This wasn't noble. This was survival.
And the worst part?
Ming Yu was completely unbothered. Calm. Still. Like the wind just respected him too much to dare mess up his hair.
I hate him a little bit.
We finally reached the edge of the battlefield, though you wouldn't know it from the silence.
Thick trees surrounded us, the forest swallowing the sound of hooves as we dismounted and led the horses deeper into the shadows. The thundering pace was gone, replaced by the soft crunch of boots over pine needles, the steady rhythm of controlled breathing, the clink of weapons being checked one last time.
This was it.
No more bouncing. No more saddle pain. Just quiet. And tension so sharp, it could split bark.
We moved on foot now, weaving through the forest's underbelly. The deeper we went, the more the trees began to thin. In the distance, just barely visible through the undergrowth, the enemy's backline began to form—campfires, supply tents, soldiers with weapons resting casually against their shoulders, unaware of what was coming.
We crouched low near a cluster of rocks—our designated point.
This was where we'd wait.
The others shifted into position: Shen Kexian knelt with one hand on the hilt of his blade, eyes alert and almost too calm. Wei Wuxian was still for once, watching the horizon with a strange stillness that made him look far older than his grin ever let on. Lan Wangji stood like a shadow beside them, unreadable. Ming Yu… he was beside me.
The stillness stretched, broken only by the occasional snap of a twig underfoot or the rustle of fabric brushing against armor. Every breath felt loud. Every second, longer.
Then Shen Kexian straightened, hand resting lightly on the hilt at his waist. "I'll scout ahead," he said, voice low and calm. "We are too close to strike blindly. I'll take the silent path, assess the enemy's rotation, and return before the signal."
He turned to move, already ghosting through the brush like he was the wind.
But Ming Yu stepped forward, intercepting him with a quiet firmness. "I'll go."
Shen Kexian arched a brow. "You?"
"As much as it wounds me to say this," Ming Yu said, glancing briefly at me before continuing, "you need to stay by her side. If something happens before the signal, and she's alone, it will be harder to protect her."
A pause. Then he added, a little too casually: "Besides, I'm faster than you. I didn't get blasted the last time."
Shen Kexian rolled his eyes so hard I could feel the sarcasm radiating off him. "Once. That happened once."
"And I plan to keep it that way," Ming Yu replied smoothly, already adjusting the wrap of his sword.
I looked at him, heart doing something inconvenient in my chest. "Be careful," I said softly.
He nodded, gaze lingering just a second longer than necessary—something unspoken moving between us.
And then, without another word, Ming Yu vanished into the trees.
Silent. Swift. Gone like mist.
By the time Ming Yu returned, it felt like forever.
Every minute without him gnawed at the edges of my composure. I tried not to fidget. Tried not to imagine the worst. But the forest was too quiet, and my thoughts were too loud.
When he finally slipped back through the trees, I exhaled so hard it hurt.
His expression was calm, focused—but I could see the edge of adrenaline in his eyes.
"I saw them," he said, voice low. "The commander's group is stationed near the third ridge, just past the supply tents. Heavily guarded, as we expected—but fewer cultivators than we feared. Most of their elites must be pushing the front."
He glanced toward the sky, then back to Shen Kexian and the others. "Once the diversion starts, we'll have a clear window."
"How long a window?" Shen Kexian asked.
Ming Yu hesitated. "Not long."
We all turned our attention back to the trees, waiting.
Then—
A flare of golden fire arced into the sky from the north, brilliant and bright, painting the canopy in sudden flame.
The signal.
Lan Xichen's diversion had begun. Shen Kexian stood. Lan Wangji nodded once. Wei Wuxian grinned like he'd been waiting to unleash chaos all morning.
And me?
I swallowed the fear, and nodded too.
Because whether or not I was ready, the battle had begun.