“Are you cold?” Chang Yuncheng asked.

This was the fifth time he had asked since they dismounted.

“Freezing.”

Qi Yue rolled her eyes and called back.

Chang Yuncheng quickly untied his cloak and wrapped it around her.

The cloak enveloped Qi Yue, almost entirely covering her, trailing along the ground.

Chang Yuncheng couldn’t help but laugh.

“What are you laughing at?” Qi Yue glared, grabbing the hem of her skirt and taking a few shuffling steps.

Chang Yuncheng’s laughter boomed louder.

“Like a rat dragging a sack of grain.”

He roared with laughter.

Qi Yue was both annoyed and amused; he certainly had a way with words. Ignoring him, she quickened her pace, moving deeper into the plum grove.

Chang Yuncheng followed, still chuckling.

“This place is really something.”

Qi Yue breathed in admiration.

Chang Yuncheng stood beside her, smiling.

“No wonder Jiang Hai insisted I come see this place.”

Qi Yue nodded in agreement.

Chang Yuncheng reached out and took her hand.

“I thought of it first,” he declared, emphasizing the words loudly.

Qi Yue smiled at him.

“How could you have thought of it? I had nothing to do with you back then.”

She said, a faint, knowing smile playing on her lips.

Chang Yuncheng tightened his grip on her hand, his gaze fixed on the plum branches before them.

“I’ve always been thinking about it,” he said softly, leading her slowly forward by the hand. “I promised to take you shopping, to sightsee, to play music for you. Even after you were gone, I remembered it all. Wherever I went, I’d think, ‘What’s fun here? What’s beautiful? If she were here, I could bring her to see it.’ Here, in winter, we could admire the plum blossoms. In Zhangjiakou, in the summer, we could ride horses on the grasslands…” Chang Yuncheng seemed to see the wall of the Dafo Temple, that feeling of being so close yet impossibly far away. He thought that was how his life would always be.

He paused as he spoke, turning to look at her. Qi Yue stopped too, looking up and smiling at him.

She hadn’t expected such an opportunity.

Chang Yuncheng squeezed her hand again, tightly.

Qi Yue sensed the shift in his emotion. Though she didn’t fully grasp it, she smiled back and returned the pressure of his grip.

“When it warms up a bit, there are a few lakes nearby. They’re especially beautiful too,” Chang Yuncheng continued.

He kept talking as they walked hand-in-hand, leaving two sets of footprints in the snow.

Qi Yue deliberately walked clumsily, trying to step on Chang Yuncheng’s footprints, forcing him to hold her hand firmly to keep her steady.

Chang Yuncheng’s horse followed its master quietly, occasionally lowering its head to snort softly in the snow.

When they returned home, Zhou Maochun was already waiting, his face set in a grim expression. Seeing Chang Yuncheng escorting Qi Yue back, his expression softened slightly.

“If you dare bring Yue’niang anywhere near your quarters, I swear I’ll dismantle your official residence,” he grumbled, sharply ushering Chang Yuncheng away before he could even step inside.

Qi Yue quickly changed her outer clothes and shoes. Meanwhile, A’ru hurried over, carrying a stack of notebooks and papers.

“Tourniquets, stretchers, first-aid kits—everything is ready. It’s just that Dr. Liu’s hemostatic medicine still isn't effective enough,” A’ru reported.

Seeing the prospect of more tedious writing and sketching, Zhou Maochun stood up with a miserable look.

“Yue’niang, let’s return to the capital,” he pleaded pathetically. “If you want to play at drills or mock battles, I can find people for you to practice with back in the capital.”

Qi Yue set down the notebook she was holding.

“This isn’t play,” she said, smiling faintly.

“If it’s not play, then what is it?” Zhou Maochun retorted, his eyes wide.

“It’s practice. It’s acclimation. It’s preparation.”

Qi Yue looked at him seriously as she spoke.

“Preparation for what?” Zhou Maochun asked.

“Saving lives,” Qi Yue replied, her eyes shining.

Saving lives? Laughter echoed through the military surgeons' camp.

“You all heard about it?” one surgeon chuckled.

Scattered around him, seven or eight surgeons, dusty and travel-worn, were unbuckling their medical chests.

“With this much commotion, it’s hard not to hear.”

“Indeed, right around the New Year, making those soldiers pretend to be injured or dead… isn't that inviting bad luck? So inauspicious…” they muttered amongst themselves.

“Hey, since the Crown Prince’s wife is staying with you, do you really think she’s a miracle doctor?” the surgeons who hadn't been to Pengshan Fort inquired curiously.

Someone coughed deeply.

“Is that something you should be saying?” Qiao Minghua walked in, untying his own medical pack as he spoke.

The surgeons jumped, remembering themselves. The Emperor himself was said to be summoning this miracle doctor. If the Emperor called her a miracle doctor, who were they to doubt her? That would be inviting doom. Everyone quickly patted their chests reassuringly.

“In that case, let her play however she likes,” they mumbled, shaking their heads. What choice did they have, given her status? The former Crown Prince’s wife was still a lady of rank, and she had the support of the imperial physician from the palace. Forget staging mock injuries; what difficulty would it be to genuinely injure someone or command them to die? It was clear these people never truly valued life.

Qiao Minghua clenched the straps of his medical chest tightly. When this woman dared to remain in the rear during wartime, not only remaining but personally stepping forward to treat the wounded soldiers, he had thought she must be different from those doctors who only paid lip service to saving lives. But now, it seemed she was no different—she simply sought greater honor, and therefore, was willing to pay a greater price. Saving lives? Qiao Minghua gave a cold, cynical smile.

“Sir, Sir! Someone important is coming from upstairs!” a camp orderly rushed in shouting.

The noisy room instantly fell silent.

A military officer with a full belly and an arrogant bearing strode in, head held high.

“Lady Qi wants to inspect the wounded soldiers. You will all attend to her properly,” he announced loudly.

This declaration sent a wave of shock through the room. What? The smell of decay wafted from the wounded barracks even from a distance. Partly due to the injuries, and partly because they were all men, the sanitary conditions were not worth mentioning.

“Lady Qi, please,” a surgeon said coolly, stepping into the courtyard and casually pushing open the door to one of the rooms.

The sounds of howling and cursing drifted out.

“That’s terrifying!” Qi Yue looked back at her disciples.

“These men are extremely volatile due to their physical disabilities and pain,” she murmured. “For most, the result is essentially sealed once they are carried down. Therefore, they won’t be like the patients you usually encounter, who might show you reverence or beg. They have no hope or expectation left.”

The disciples responded with serious assent, their expressions growing grave.

The nearby surgeons curled their lips in disdain. The nobility certainly know how to talk. If they didn't, they wouldn't be nobility. We people really can’t learn that. It’s a pity that talking nicely is useless here. To come and observe the wounds of these soldiers—they really managed to think of that.

“This man’s leg was cut by a blade. The blade was contaminated with manure and filth, allowing the poison to easily seep into his system. Therefore, we must amputate the leg to save his life,” the surgeon said, pointing to one of the wounded men. He reached out to pull back the soldier’s blanket.

The wounded man clutched the blanket tighter, looking warily at the group. He recognized Qi Yue; he knew she had treated one of his fellow soldiers who was near death, which was the only reason he hadn't started cursing them out.

The soldier refused to cooperate, and the surgeon stood by silently.

“Let us examine your wound,” Qi Yue said.

“Examine my wound? Can you cure me?” the soldier asked.

Qi Yue shook her head.

“We cannot cure you,” she stated. “But perhaps we can prevent many more people from suffering the agony you are enduring.”

The soldier stared at her, astonishment on his face. No one had ever spoken words like that. Could a soldier avoid the torture of wounds? Someone actually dared to say such a thing! Qiao Minghua, standing outside the door, sneered and turned away.

Thanks to Qi Yue’s words, and the credibility she had established by saving that near-death soldier, the observation session at the Qianjintang disciples’ barracks proceeded smoothly. After observing the military hospital and giving the disciples a preliminary understanding of battlefield injuries, they immediately conducted another drill.

This drill was anticipated because the news had spread early, attracting not only soldiers but also many common people to watch. Naturally, the military surgeons also attended. Seeing the strange and chaotic scene, everyone laughed until they doubled over.

“What kind of mess is this?”

“I heard this is the Martial Strategist General’s wife.”

“No, it’s his ex-wife.”

“Ha! No wonder. Who would want such a crazy wife?”

“This is outrageous. How can she torment the soldiers like this? They still have to fight battles.”

“Right? The period right before and after the New Year, leading into spring, is the most dangerous time. What if something happens to these soldiers after all this fuss?”

Although no one dared to speak out directly due to the status of Chang Yuncheng and Zhou Maochun, such private discussions were growing more frequent. The Garrison Commander couldn't help but subtly remind Chang Yuncheng. He thought Lady Qi would quickly tire of this game and stop after one or two tries, but she seemed addicted. This was, after all, a critical border town. If something went wrong, these nobles would simply pack up and leave, and he would be the one left to clean up the mess.

“I hear Lord Zhou is eager to leave. Why don't you persuade Lady Qi as well? After all, the Emperor has issued a decree; we mustn't delay important matters,” the Garrison Commander suggested.

Eager to leave? Chang Yuncheng hated hearing that most of all. He never wanted Qi Yue to go.

“Then let’s send Lord Zhou away first,” he said cheerfully.

The Garrison Commander looked utterly helpless. Send him away? That Lord Zhou was guarding Lady Qi like a hawk; forget visiting others, he wouldn't even leave her side. They all understood: unless Lady Qi decided to depart, Lord Zhou absolutely would not leave.

“Oh, right. They’ve also prepared some tourniquets. Lord Commander, please distribute them to every soldier. When they receive them, Yue’niang and the others will explain how to use them,” Chang Yuncheng added.

The Garrison Commander deeply regretted making this visit. Tourniquets? What kind of demon artifact was that now? What rotten luck to encounter this troublesome deity! He was doomed. It was all his fault for not intercepting this Crown Prince’s wife at the city gate immediately, treating her well, and keeping her well-fed. Then none of this—treating people, encountering military doctors, making impulsive bets—would have happened! The Garrison Commander left, dejected and deeply worried.

The disciples of Qianjintang were certainly aware of the gossip. Along with those few drills, they had become local celebrities in Weicheng; people pointed and laughed wherever they went. They also noticed the cold indifference from the military surgeons in the camp, but they didn't care. Their Master didn't care, so why should they?

“Do you really think that by causing this ruckus, you can actually save lives?” one surgeon couldn't help but ask a few disciples.

The disciples looked at him with expressions of sheer strangeness.

“Of course,” one replied.

“Why?” the surgeon asked with a laugh.

“Because we are Qianjintang,” they answered in unison.

What kind of nonsense reason was that? The surgeon was stunned.

Qi Yue and her group didn't care about the criticism, but some people did—very much so. Although Zhou Maochun was present to keep order, reports detailing these controversial activities were swiftly written up and dispatched to the capital via express courier.

(To be continued) RT