Amidst the clamor of battle, a Tatar's axe cleaved down, splitting a scout's shoulder clean in two with terrifying force. A long spear thrust from behind, and the man screamed as he collapsed.

"Er Dan! Go!" the elder scout, already drenched in blood, shouted, tossing a leather pouch toward the youth scrambling out from beneath a fallen Tatar.

The youth, equally crimson with his own blood and that of his enemies, snatched the pouch as it flew. By now, the ground was littered with both Tatars and scouts, some dead instantly, others still drawing ragged breaths.

The boy, panicked, rushed to support a nearby comrade whose thigh was gashed open by an axe, blood erupting in a fountain, while a stray fei mao (flying spear) pierced his chest; his pupils were dilated, and though his body convulsed, he was beyond help. The fight had been brutally brief; in the blink of an eye, only the two of them remained alive.

The urgent pounding of hooves, accompanied by savage yells, echoed from the distance. The elder scout scrambled quickly to his feet, clear wounds visible on his leg and arm.

"Hurry, into the mountains, into the mountains!" he commanded. Finding their horses nearby, the two mounted and spurred them into a desperate gallop.

The sound of arrows whistling through the air followed them. With two dull thuds, both man and horse were struck.

The man pitched forward across the horse's neck, but the startled animal bolted faster, quickly disappearing into a dense thicket. The sounds of pursuit soon faded behind them.

After an indeterminate time, they burst through the woods back onto the open wilderness. The youth felt a creeping chill.

He touched his thigh, and the dull, aching throb intensified. "Er Dan, how are you?" the older man asked weakly from beside him.

Only then did the boy notice his companion struggling mightily to sit upright on his horse, an arrow lodged deep in his shoulder. "Uncle, how are you?" the youth asked, his voice laced with alarm.

"I'm fine, just an arrow in the shoulder. You?" the elder scout inquired, his face pale and his voice thin.

The youth withdrew his hand from his thigh. "I'm fine," he managed.

The elder scout let out a breath of relief. "Then hurry, we have too many wounds.

If we don't make it back quickly, we'll bleed to death," he urged. The youth nodded and fiercely urged his horse onward again.

After riding for what felt like an eternity, the boy felt increasingly cold, his consciousness growing hazy. He slumped over his horse's neck, one hand clamped over his leg.

That wet, slick sensation... He could even feel the edges of the wound, and the blood surging from it with increasing violence....

A heavy thud snapped his drifting awareness back. He turned his head and saw only one horse beside him, and the figure upon it...

The youth shot upright and looked back. The elder scout lay motionless on the ground.

"Uncle!" he screamed, wheeled his horse around, leaped off, and rushed over. The elder scout did not move; his face was ashen, his lips tinged blue, and his body was already cold.

The youth burst into deep sobs. How could he be dead...?

He touched the wound on his own leg, and it seemed the bleeding accelerated with the movement. At this rate, he would surely bleed out before they reached help...

He sat numbly on the ground. Dead?

Everyone was dead... His gaze drifted unconsciously to his waist—the white...

A tourniquet... The youth pulled it free.

This... could save his life?

"...Everyone watch me, this is how you use it..." A man's voice echoed in his ears, and blurry images swam before his eyes, mingling with the phantom shouts of his comrades. "...Above the wound...

twist this stick tight..." The boy, operating on hazy, residual memory, secured it, then, driven by instinct, scrambled back onto his horse, burying himself low over the neck as he fled across the wilderness. "Er Dan, Er Dan." Voices, sometimes near, sometimes distant, echoed incessantly around him.

"Administer the medicine..." The subsequent rush of choking sensation forced the boy to cough, clearing his scattered mind. He slowly opened his eyes.

Still alive! "He's alive!

Sir, he's still alive!" Exclamations of joy erupted as many small and large heads crowded over him. "Er Dan!" the officer pushed through the crowd, shouting with relief.

Alive! The youth suddenly raised his hand, then dropped it heavily against his chest.

"...Battle plan..." he mumbled, and as the words left his lips, as if his mission were complete, his head lolled to the side, and he fainted again. Someone retrieved the leather pouch from before him.

"Sir!" The man unsealed it, his hands trembling with excitement at the contents. "We got it!

We got it!" the officer roared with delight. In the midst of their jubilation, they did not forget the scout.

"Can he be saved?" he turned and asked. A military surgeon was meticulously examining the scout's leg wound, having just cut away the fabric.

"Good heavens, massive hemorrhage..." the surgeon cried out, staring at the wide gash. "But...

but how?" How was he not dead? Such a wide wound—even stuffing it immediately with clean cloth offered no guarantee of survival!

Let alone the distance the scout had ridden while injured... His gaze settled on the white strip of cloth above the injury, tightly bound by a wooden stick twisted taut.

"Is this... is this that thing, the tourniquet?" the surgeon murmured, his hand shaking uncontrollably as he reached out to touch it.

Qi Yue learned of the impending battle while at the casualty camp. This time, no surgeon accompanied her to the camp.

"Why would there be a surgeon? Everyone is at the front; they're expecting a major engagement," the auxiliary soldier left behind replied irritably, eyeing Qi Yue and her group with undisguised suspicion.

"Not like you lot have nothing better to do." These noble folk treated them like monkeys to watch, utterly useless. Even knowing this woman's identity meant they shouldn't offend her, the auxiliary soldiers offered no pleasantries.

Why should they be afraid? At worst, they would die.

Their lives were cheap as grass anyway. Qi Yue was greatly startled.

This was the first time Qi Yue had come to the government office since returning to the (Wei Cheng). However, Chang Yuncheng, upon receiving the news, felt no surprise; he knew the woman's intention without needing to guess.

"Perfect timing for a meal," he said with a smile, extending his hand. Qi Yue placed her hand in his.

The personal guards in the room flinched and quickly retreated. This time, Qi Yue had come alone, without even Ah Ru.

"Wonderful," she laughed. "I wonder how good your cook's skills are; perhaps I should cook myself." Chang Yuncheng smiled.

"By all means," he said, not releasing her hand, but drawing her toward the exit. "I want to see how you do it." "You fetch the vegetables," Qi Yue countered with a smile.

A rare spectacle unfolded at the government office kitchen that day: the two regular cooks stood anxiously just outside the door, drawing curious stares from passersby. "Old Deng, did you two lose your posting?" People asked with lighthearted teasing.

The two cooks dared not speak rashly, merely grunting and pretending not to hear, stealing occasional peeks through the crack in the doorway. Qi Yue playfully dabbed a spot of flour onto Chang Yuncheng's face and laughed, but before her laughter died down, Chang Yuncheng casually smeared soot from a fire poker onto her cheek.

"Hey, this is hard to wash off," Qi Yue protested. "I don't mind if you're ugly," Chang Yuncheng replied with a hearty laugh.

Their lighthearted banter did not hinder Qi Yue's culinary skill; soon, four dishes and one soup were set on the small table they quickly arranged in the room adjacent to the kitchen, where they sat close together to eat. Chang Yuncheng ate with gusto, his chopsticks never pausing.

"Slow down," Qi Yue remarked, smiling. "I dare not slow down; who knows if someone will try to steal my meal," Chang Yuncheng replied.

Qi Yue paused, remembering a past incident. She watched Chang Yuncheng eat heartily, his focus absolute, as if performing some profoundly serious duty.

Her heart felt a mixture of joy and sharp wistfulness. "Eat slowly.

This time, if anyone dares try to steal your meal, I will beat them off," she declared with grave sincerity. Chang Yuncheng couldn't help but laugh, a hint of mischievousness crossing his face.

"Really?" he asked vaguely. "Of course, really," Qi Yue affirmed.

Chang Yuncheng then leaned toward her and gestured outward with his head. Qi Yue paused, then heard a familiar, irate voice from outside the door.

"Where is Chang Yuncheng? Have you seen him?" Zhou Maochun demanded, his eyes wide with anger.

The two cooks stared timidly at the enraged old man. "No..." they shook their heads.

Zhou Maochun glared at them, as if trying to peer into their very souls. "They said he went to eat...

Where is your best eatery?" he pressed. When this question was asked, the two cooks breathed a sigh of relief, and inside the room, Qi Yue also relaxed, letting go of the hand she had placed over Chang Yuncheng's mouth.

Chang Yuncheng was bent over, laughing so hard he could barely hold his chopsticks. "So you only know how to speak sweet nothings..." he managed to say through his laughter.

Qi Yue playfully pinched him. "You scared me half to death teasing me like that," she laughed.

Chang Yuncheng laughed, wrapping his arms around her without a word, simply holding her. Qi Yue said nothing either, letting him hold her, watching him smile.

They remained locked in that quiet embrace for a moment. "Alright, we've eaten and drunk; it's time for us to leave," Chang Yuncheng said, patting her back.

Qi Yue nodded, looking up at him and smiling. "But one thing," Chang Yuncheng continued, extending his hand again with a solemn expression.

"You must come with me." This surprised Qi Yue greatly, but she nodded without hesitation and stood up to kiss his chin. When the main army contingent saw several additional carriages joining the column, especially the woman among them, every officer and soldier was terrified.

"Are you insane!" the Garrison Commander exclaimed in disbelief. "You're bringing your wife to the battlefield!" Before they knew her true status, it might have been understandable that this strong-willed woman might have been forced to come along out of pride; but now, what was this display?

"Chang Yuncheng, this is outrageous! A bit of sport now and then is fine, but how can you play at a time like this!" he shouted, stamping his foot in fury.

Chang Yuncheng, seated on his horse, watched the woman at the rear of the column giving final instructions to her disciples, and a smile touched his lips. "Play?" he looked at the Garrison Commander.

"Have you ever seen someone who plays with their life?" The Garrison Commander froze. "Which one of us who dares step onto the battlefield is playing?" Chang Yuncheng's expression turned grave as his gaze swept over the soldiers already marching forward.

"Sir, are you playing?" Playing your mother's head! The Garrison Commander stamped his foot again.

This was damn serious business! He stared at the woman near the supply wagons.

A disciple was raising a large banner inscribed with the clear character "" (Yi - Medicine). The first time might have been born of pique, but the second meant they were truly committed.

They were truly ready to risk their lives? The question remained: could this group, who usually engaged in lively, theatrical games, actually perform?

Life was not something one could simply toy with!