The fire in the tent was burning fiercely.
Outside, the wind was howling mercilessly, making the tent canvas flap loudly, but inside it was warm and cozy. The charcoal fire made everyone's faces glow red. As soon as I sat down, my first act wasn't to obey orders—it was to stare at the meat on the table. Roasted mutton was piled on a platter; the fatty parts glistened with oil, while the edges of the lean meat were slightly crisp. Beside it sat a dish of salt and pepper, and another of spicy sauce. I was truly starving. Since the chaos began this afternoon, I hadn't had a proper meal. After squatting by the wounded for so long and then bandaging him, my hands had been shaking so badly I could barely hold the medicine bottle. Now, sitting by the fire, my stomach finally started growling.
"Stay," Zhu Di said. His voice wasn't loud, but everyone in the tent fell silent. Several generals who hadn't left yet stood on the other side of the table; they exchanged glances. Some sat down, while others remained standing.
"Okay," I said, reaching out to grab a piece of meat. The general who had just sat down wore a complex expression, likely thinkingThe Emperor hasn't touched his chopsticks yet, and you're already eating. I didn't care. I was genuinely hungry. The meat was warm, not scalding hot straight from the grill, but just right to eat. The fatty part melted in my mouth, while the lean part was fragrant with every chew. I dipped it in some salt and pepper, then in some spicy sauce—it was spicy, making me cough slightly, but delicious. I took another piece.
Just as I took my second bite, he suddenly spoke. "You said earlier... it costs too many men."
I nearly choked. The meat got stuck in my throat; I couldn't swallow it or spit it out. I quickly grabbed the tea bowl on the table and gulped down some tea. It was hot. I gulped again. Finally, I managed to swallow. I slowly set the tea bowl down, my mind racing:Oh no, oh no, oh no. This question couldn't be answered carelessly. But not answering would be even worse. Earlier, in the military tent, when I said "it costs too many men," I was angry, standing up for him, infuriated by his calm "I calculated it." Now, sitting by the charcoal fire with half a piece of mutton in my hand, my mind was clear—I was speaking to the Emperor.
I looked up. "Um... yes, a little."
The room fell silent. The wind howled outside, and the charcoal fire crackled once, as if nervous on my behalf. He looked at me, his face expressionless. "How does it cost them?"
I thought for two seconds. I couldn't say "You fight too ruthlessly"—that would be asking for death. I couldn't say "You should fight less"—that would be speaking without understanding the burden. But I couldn't stay silent either. Silence would imply guilt. I decided to speak plainly.
"It's just... there aren't enough men." Nearby, people were already starting to tense up. From the corner of my eye, I saw that general holding his tea bowl suspended in mid-air, unsure whether to drink. I added, "And you use them up quite quickly."
"..." The air grew a bit cooler. It wasn't my imagination—when everyone is wondering "Can this be said?", the air turns cold. The charcoal fire was still burning, but my back felt chilly.
I quickly lowered my head and continued gnawing on the meat, pretending I hadn't spoken. The meat had cooled down; the congealed oil surfaced, turning white. I took a bite, chewed twice, and swallowed. Then another bite. Only one thought remained in my mind:Eat. Eat until full, then deal with the rest.
After a while, he asked, "Then what do you think should be done?"
My hand paused. The skewer hovered near my lips; a drop of oil fell onto the table, staining a small spot.I'm just here to eat. Why am I being asked political questions? I looked up, very serious. "Try not to fight when you don't have to." I paused. "And when you do fight... let fewer people die."
The tent became absurdly quiet. Even the sound of the wind seemed to stop. Several generals kept their heads down; one looked at his tea bowl, another at the map, a third at his own fingers. No one looked at me, but everyone knew what I was saying.
I couldn't help but add in a small voice, "Although it seems you guys don't really listen to that."
Someone inhaled sharply. The sound was light, but in the silent tent, everyone heard it. I thought:I'm done for.
But then—Zhu Di smiled slightly. It was faint, not a "you are amusing" smile, nor a "you are seeking death" smile. It was just a twitch of the corners of his mouth, as if he had placed something on the tip of his tongue, tasted it, and found it acceptable.
"Somewhat interesting," he said.
I froze. I turned my head. Zhu Zhanji was looking at me. He didn't speak, but his eyes were clearYou got lucky. I lowered my head and continued eating. Only one sentence remained in my heart:I survived.
The meat had completely cooled; the oil had congealed, making it a bit greasy. But I finished it anyway. I put down the bamboo skewer, picked up the tea bowl, and took another sip. Hot. Just like every cup of tea he poured for me in the side rooms of the Eastern Palace.
Zhu Di didn't ask me anything else. He began discussing other matters with the generals—the northern defensive lines, the deployment of supplies, where to head next. I understood the words but not the meaning. Phrases like "left flank advance," "rear support," and "reports from the scouts" drifted past my ears; not a single word entered my brain. I was only thinking about one thing: When he said "somewhat interesting," did he meanI was interesting, or whatI said was interesting? Probably the former. Because what I said wasn't interesting at all. It was all nonsense. "Don't fight when unnecessary"—who doesn't know that? "Let fewer people die when fighting"—who doesn't want that? But saying it out loud made it different.
I didn't know what was different. I just felt that the way he looked at me was different from how he looked at me during the family banquet in the Eastern Palace. Back then, I was just "a matter of adding an extra pair of chopsticks." Now—it was hard to describe. Perhaps it was more like, "Let's see what dishes this pair of chopsticks picks up."
Zhu Zhanji sat opposite me, remaining silent throughout. The wound on his hand had been bandaged by me; his sleeve was down, covering the gauze, so nothing showed. His fingers rested on the edge of the tea bowl; he didn't lift it to drink, just left them there. I stared at his fingers for a moment, recalling how my own hands had been shaking while bandaging him earlier. Now, they weren't shaking anymore.
He seemed to sense something, raised his eyes, and glanced at me. I didn't look away. He didn't say anything either. He just pushed the tea bowl slightly toward me. I looked down—the tea was full; he hadn't taken a single sip.
"Drink yours," I said.
He withdrew his hand, lifted the bowl, took a sip, and set it down. Just like every time.
The wind was still blowing outside the tent. I sat by the fire, holding the tea bowl, listening to Zhu Di and the generals discuss things I didn't understand. Zhu Zhanji sat opposite me, occasionally glancing at me before looking away. The generals gradually relaxed; some started laughing, others began drinking. The atmosphere in the tent loosened, like a pot of water cooling from a rolling boil to a gentle warmth.
Leaning back on the low stool, I suddenly felt extremely tired. Not physically tired, but the kind of exhaustion that comes after being tense all day and suddenly relaxing. My hands weren't shaking, but my eyelids were heavy. I closed my eyes, thinking:Just nap for a bit. Just a moment.
When I opened my eyes again, there were hardly anyone left in the tent. The charcoal fire had burned lower; only the bottom layer remained red. Zhu Di was gone, and the generals were gone too. Only a few plates of unfinished meat and a pot of cold tea remained on the table. Zhu Zhanji was still sitting opposite me.
"Wake up?" he said.
"Did I fall asleep?" I rubbed my eyes; my throat felt a bit hoarse.
"Yes."
"For how long?"
"Not long." He stood up, took his great cloak from the back of the chair, and draped it over his arm. "Let's go. I'll walk you back."
I followed him out of the tent. The wind had subsided. The sky was filled with stars, dense and numerous, even more than what I had seen in Australia. He walked ahead of me, his pace neither fast nor slow. I stepped on his shadow, walking step by step.
"Zhu Zhanji."
"Hmm."
"When your grandfather said 'somewhat interesting'—what did he mean?"
He didn't answer immediately. After walking a few steps, he said, "It just means somewhat interesting."
"Isn't that nonsense?"
He stopped, turned around, and looked at me. Moonlight shone on his face; his expression was calm. "Probably that he thinks you... aren't too stupid."
"Are you complimenting me?"
"Stating a fact."
I glared at him. He turned back and continued walking. I followed him, stepping on his shadow.
"What about you?" I asked.
"What?"
"Do you also think I'm not too stupid?"
He didn't answer. After walking a few steps, he suddenly said, "You shouldn't have said that sentence today."
"Which one?"
"'Try not to fight when you don't have to.'"
I paused. "Was it wrong to say?"
"It wasn't wrong." He hesitated. "But it was too early."
I fell silent for a moment. "Then when would be the right time to say it?"
He didn't answer. The wind blew from the grasslands, carrying the scent of earth and withered grass. He walked ahead of me; the wind lifted his great cloak, making his silhouette appear very quiet under the starry sky.
"When you are qualified to say it," he said. His voice was very light, almost scattered by the wind. But I heard it.
I didn't ask further. I followed him back to my tent and stopped at the entrance. He stood outside, watching me go in.
"Sleep early," he said.
"Mm."
The curtain fell, blocking the wind outside. I stood inside the tent, listening to his footsteps gradually fade away. Then I lay down, staring at the tent ceiling.
When you are qualified to say it. This sentence circled in my mind again and again. I didn't know what "qualified" meant. But I knew that when he said this, he wasn't negating me. He was telling me—it's not time yet. But one day, it will be.
I turned over and closed my eyes. The wind was still blowing outside, but it was very gentle now, like someone humming softly in the distance.
(End of Chapter Eighteen)