Fire. There was fire everywhere.
A sea of fire roared across the sky, like a monstrous, gaping maw turning the night into a frantic, blood-red blaze. No—it wasn’t light, it was flame. Flames floated in the sky—crimson red—and they burned, leapt, joined together, spreading like madness.
So hot. It was suffocating.
The flames surrounded him, stabbing into his eyes, searing his skin. Xing Muzheng felt like he was about to be burned alive. Sweat poured off him in sheets as he struggled to open his eyes and see the figure beyond the fire—but all he could see was a wash of red. He raised his sword and charged, slashing violently. The flames scattered at once—then revealed nothing behind them.
Pain. It was real pain.
Xing Muzheng gritted his teeth. Every inch of his body screamed with a sharp, tearing ache—worse even than the heart-piercing pain from when he’d once taken a poisoned arrow. It felt like someone was sawing through his skull, his ears thundered with a deafening roar—like drums, or thunder, or maybe even voices. The sounds dug into his head like curses, wrapping around his brain, making him want to smash his own skull apart.
Like a madman, he swung his sword wildly, slashing at the hovering red ghost-fires in the sky. They scattered—then reformed again, merging back into one. The noise drilling into his ears grew louder—dog howls, wolf cries, insect chirps—shrill and chaotic. Xing Muzheng covered his ears, but the noise only intensified.
He let out a roar and hacked off his own right arm. Blood poured onto the ground, pooling in a red slick that looked just like the flames surrounding him. Then suddenly, the blood shimmered—lifted into the air—and in a flash, transformed into fire, like a flaming arrow shooting toward his severed arm.
Xing Muzheng’s eyes widened.
It was blood red…
He jolted awake, eyes snapping open. His entire body burned as if scorched, muscles beneath the skin cracking like overcooked meat. Was it all a dream just now?
Before he could recall, the “ghost-thing” had already clutched its head and charged out of the room with a scream.
“Marquis! Marquis!” Wu Shunzi, who was on night duty outside, jumped in fright at the commotion.
The ghost-thing shoved Wu Shunzi aside. The house was pitch black—no lights lit—and the ghost-thing tripped over the door threshold, cried out, scrambled up, and staggered forward. Ah Da and Wang Yong lived in the two side rooms of the west wing. At the sound, they shot up like trained soldiers and joined Wu Shunzi in pursuit.
The ghost-thing was now rolling around the central hall floor, clutching its head and howling like a wild beast. In the moonlight, its twisted face looked monstrous. Bloodshot eyes wild, it scrambled up and grabbed everything it could see—smashing it to the floor, again and again, like a cornered animal thrashing in rage.
Ah Da and the others stood at strategic positions around him, too afraid to approach. No one dared to light a lamp, worried that even a single flame could ignite disaster—but they watched Xing Muzheng’s every move with tense focus.
Xing Muzheng caught a glimpse of their eyes in the dark—eyes full of pity. So, in their hearts, he was already no different from a lunatic.
No… He was a lunatic now.
He had been sabotaged. No madman could be so clear-headed and yet unable to control his body. But he didn’t know how his enemies had done it—or how they continued to control him. Yet tonight’s dream had offered a sliver of a clue. Those ghostly fires, those haunting sounds…
“How is the marquis?” A soft voice pierced through Xing Muzheng’s ears—it was Jiaoniang, awake.
Like a taut string being cut, something trembled within Xing Muzheng’s chest. She had clearly begged him not to cause a scene at night, but now, he had failed even this simple request.
The ghost-thing grew even more frenzied, and Xing Muzheng felt as though his very soul was being scorched in the fire.
So what if he knew he’d been sabotaged? He couldn’t speak, couldn’t write, couldn’t tell anyone that his consciousness was still intact inside. One day, everyone would see him as a madman beyond saving. No longer the great general who once led armies—they would let him waste away, forgotten.
He was already a ruined man. Other than eating, drinking, and waiting to die, he could do nothing.
The ghost-thing let out a monstrous scream, suddenly threw away the broken chair leg in its hands, and rushed toward the wall—slamming its head into it with all its might.
“Commander!”
“Commander!!”
Ah Da and the others rushed forward, each grabbing an arm to pull Dingxi Marquis back. But the Marquis struggled with all his might and actually flung the two grown men off. Ah Da hit the ground hard, Wang Yong slammed into the wall, and Wu Shunzi rushed in from behind, wrapping his arms tightly around the Marquis’s waist. “Commander, Commander, please calm down!”
Qian Jiaoniang spoke as gently as she could. “Marquis, are you hungry? There’s still goat milk—would you like some?”
But the Marquis didn’t seem to hear. Blood was running down from his forehead, smearing his face, and he twisted Wu Shunzi’s wrist so hard it was on the verge of snapping. Ah Da scrambled up from the ground and rushed over, prying Wu Shunzi’s arms away. Fortunately, the Marquis had lost his mind and forgotten his martial skills—otherwise, the three of them together wouldn’t be a match for even one of his fingers.
Normally, the three of them could restrain the Commander with ease, but tonight it was unusually difficult. Ah Da and the others wrestled with Xing Muzheng, but still couldn’t stop him from smashing his head against the wall.
With a muffled grunt, the Marquis struck the wall—yet the warm softness against his forehead didn’t bring pain. Jiaoniang’s figure appeared before him. She had rushed forward to block him, pressing her hand against his forehead—but it was her hand that slammed into the wall.
Why did she come in front of him? Did she not realize that in his current state he could crush her with barely a thought?
“Marquis, you are Xing Muzheng—the Xing Muzheng who never admits defeat! Don’t lose to yourself,” Jiaoniang said softly, her eyes shining even in the dim light.
Her words were like a bucket of cold water poured over his head.
Yes—how could he lose to ghosts and demons? Xing Muzheng forced himself to calm down. The ghost-thing deflated and collapsed onto the ground, sitting there and wailing, touching his bloodied face as he sobbed like a child.
Qian Jiaoniang rubbed the back of her burning hand. “It’s all right, it’s all right—I know your head hurts. I’ll treat it right away.”
The three men—Ah Da, Wang Yong, and Wu Shunzi—were already exhausted. Panting heavily, they helped the Marquis back to his feet.
“Things really got wild tonight,” Qingya said, holding up a lantern to illuminate the chaos in the main hall, along with bloodstains splattered on the wall.
Jiaoniang looked around and sighed. “Let’s go in. The Marquis is injured.”
She fetched a basin of clean water and entered the inner room. The Marquis was still sobbing. Wu Shunzi, who had picked up some medical knowledge from Doctor Jian, checked the wound on Xing Muzheng’s forehead and let out a breath. “It’s just a surface wound, but we should still have Doctor Jian come by tomorrow to take a look.”
“Madam, we’d better have a few more people stand guard here tonight,” Wang Yong said, rubbing his sore arm. He was truly shaken.
“Tomorrow, send for Lord Li first,” Jiaoniang said, dipping a clean white cloth into the water. “We need to ask him—hiss—”
Suddenly, she withdrew her hand in pain. Qingya looked down and gasped, her expression changing. “Jiaoniang—your hand, what happened?!”
Xing Muzheng heard the startled cry and knew that when she’d blocked him earlier, she must’ve gotten hurt. For the girl to react like that—it might even be a bone injury? Xing Muzheng wanted to turn and check her condition, but his body remained completely still—not even a flick of his brow.
B*stard! Xing Muzheng was furious, and the ghost-thing sprang up with a wild scream. Everyone was startled, thinking he was about to lose control again.
Xing Muzheng forced the rage down, and the ghost-thing once again flopped down weakly. Jiaoniang quickly stepped over and held his head still, peering closely at his forehead. “What’s wrong?” Her eyes weren’t sharp, and she couldn’t see well at a distance. Was the injury worse than she thought?
Her face appeared just inches from his. Xing Muzheng had the sudden urge to retreat—but the ghost-thing didn’t move. He could only stare at her lips opening and closing in front of him, even catching glimpses of her soft little tongue.
Jiaoniang carefully examined the wound, then gently blew on it twice like coaxing a child. “There, it’s nothing serious. You’ll be fine by tomorrow.”
As she pulled back, Xing Muzheng finally caught a glimpse of her hand—the back of it was red, swollen, and lightly bleeding. Though the bone seemed intact, the surface injury was severe.
Why had she rushed up to act brave like that? Xing Muzheng felt annoyed.
“The Commander probably jumped from the pain,” Ah Da said.
Qingya came over. “Jiaoniang, let me wrap your hand.”
Jiaoniang waved it off lightly. “It’s nothing, just a scratch.” She looked up at Ah Da while rubbing her hand. “Quick, treat the Marquis’s wound. Tomorrow, make sure both Lord Li and Doctor Jian come.”
***
Li Qingquan rushed into the room, and the first thing he saw was the bandage on Xing Muzheng’s forehead—and then the one on Qian Jiaoniang’s right hand. He stared wide-eyed. “Madam, why are both you and the Commander injured?”
Jiaoniang sat on a round stool. Dingxi Marquis lay in a rocking chair beside her. She motioned for Li Qingquan to sit, tugged at the bandage on her hand, and didn’t bother to hide the truth. “Early this morning the Marquis had a violent episode—slammed his own head into the wall.”
“This…” Li Qingquan hurried over to the Marquis and stared at the bandaged head, his anxiety plain. “Is the Marquis seriously hurt?”
Doctor Jian stepped forward and gestured for Ah Da to remove the Marquis’s bandage so he could examine it more carefully.
“No major injuries, just the minor one you’re seeing now,” Jiaoniang said. The bandage on her hand had been applied by Qingya, who insisted on wrapping it in medicinal paste. But she found it hot and was trying to sneak it off.
Xing Muzheng noticed and was displeased. Her hand was that swollen, and she still wouldn’t sit still?
The ghost-thing let out a loud roar, scaring Li Qingquan and successfully stopping Jiaoniang from removing the wrap.
Qingya came in from outside, lifting the curtain with a round fan partially covering her face. She walked lightly to Jiaoniang’s side and whispered, “Madam, Steward Ding is outside asking to see you. He says Zhou Mu confessed—he took a total of 361 taels of silver from the estate, falsified the books, and hadn’t yet claimed another 950 taels.”
Jiaoniang frowned. That Zhou Mu—what a thief! This was more profitable than robbery. If she’d known earlier, she would’ve competed for the steward’s position herself.
“Zhou Mu embezzled estate funds? That actually happened?” Li Qingquan was still recovering from the Commander’s outburst, and now his eyes popped even wider.
“It’s fine. It’s already dealt with,” Jiaoniang said, waving it off. After a moment of thought, she beckoned to Qingya. “You’d better go with Steward Ding. Bring Zhou Mu’s confession and go through the accounts carefully. And take a good look at the old records too.”
Qingya raised her eyebrows, looking at her with a half-smile that wasn’t quite a smile. Qian Jiaoniang grew uncomfortable under her gaze and barked, “What are you looking at?”
“Hmph, all bark and no bite,” Qingya tossed out that cryptic comment, then supported herself with the fan and strolled out gracefully.
Being teased by a maid, Qian Jiaoniang seemed a little embarrassed. She cleared her throat and tried to recover her bearing. “Where were we… oh, right. If it’s not a big problem, it’s still a small one. In short, your Commander’s condition seems pretty serious. I wanted to ask—any good news from the people you sent out?”
Li Qingquan let out a heavy sigh. “Madam, this subordinate has already sent people everywhere to seek out miracle doctors, but the world is vast—and true miracle doctors are hard to find.”
“What about the Marquis’s enemies? Any leads on that front?”
Li Qingquan paused in surprise. “Enemies? The Commander has no enemies. He’s always been fair and impartial, treats people justly, and he’s been stationed at the border defending the nation. After receiving his reward, he took off his armor and returned here to Yuzhou. Where would he have gotten enemies?”
“What about the Western Li Kingdom?”
“The current king of Western Li is the tenth son of the former king. He was willing to surrender to our dynasty, and the Marquis helped him ascend the throne.”
Xing Muzheng sighed inwardly. Li Qingquan, though a highly skilled and loyal soldier, was still a bit slow on the uptake.
Qian Jiaoniang rubbed her temples. Then she looked up and asked sincerely, “Forgive me for being blunt, Lord Li, but who usually gives you… strategic advice in the military?”
“We used to have a military adviser named Huang Gong,” Li Qingquan replied honestly. “He used to give suggestions to the Commander from time to time, but the Commander left him in the capital to serve in office and didn’t bring him to Yuzhou. All the major and minor matters in Yuzhou’s military camp have always been decided by the Marshal himself. We just follow orders.”
So the only backbone left… was the now mentally incapacitated Marquis?
Qian Jiaoniang glanced at the Marquis, who was pulling hard at the gauze on his forehead. She swatted his hands away and fanned him gently with a palm fan, and only then did he settle down.
Xing Muzheng had to admit he’d been negligent. He left all his strategists behind in the capital to allow them to thrive, but never considered that he might end up in such a state himself—leaving Yuzhou with no one to advise or plan.
“Lord Li, I have an idea. Would you hear it?”
“Please, Madam, go ahead.”
Jiaoniang slowly waved the fan. “We all know the Marquis has always been strong and exceptionally resilient. There’s no reason he would suddenly become like this. Back where I’m from, the first thing we’d suspect is whether someone’s been possessed. I heard Miss Feng had once hired someone to drive out evil spirits for the Marquis, but it didn’t help. Still, if this isn’t some kind of spiritual disturbance—then what is? If you want to tell me this is just some freak incident, that he suddenly lost his wits out of nowhere, I’m the first one not buying it. The Marquis has walked through fire and blood and come out alive—his fate is too strong for that. Don’t you agree?”
Li Qingquan nodded. The Commander’s luck really was unshakable—he had escaped death countless times.
“If it wasn’t a freak accident, then someone must’ve plotted against him,” Jiaoniang said, enunciating each word as she fixed her gaze on Li Qingquan. “Whoever schemed against him is the Marquis’s enemy. Who hates the Marquis enough to want him dead, and who has the means to do this? Do you… have any suspects?”
Li Qingquan clenched his fists. “This subordinate has heard that the Western Li people are skilled in sorcery. I’ve never seen it with my own eyes, but if anyone resented the Marshal the most, it’d be the other princes of Western Li—especially Mongli. He was the former crown prince and the one who fought the Commander the most. He even publicly vowed to eat the Commander’s flesh raw. But the Commander already cut him down in battle. The others are either dead or seriously wounded—how could they still stir up trouble?”
Jiaoniang said, “Even if they can’t, it’s still a lead. You say the Western Li people are skilled in sorcery—well, we don’t need to track them down specifically. Can you find someone who’s well-versed in Western Li sorcery to come take a look at the Marquis?”
Li Qingquan slapped his forehead and cupped his hands. “This subordinate will get right on it.”
Just as he turned to leave, Jiaoniang called after him, “Wait, Lord Li—be sure not to let the Western Li people learn of the Marquis’s illness. Also, have someone secretly investigate the Western Li king and his remaining brothers. See if there’s anything suspicious going on.”
“This subordinate understands,” Li Qingquan said as he reached the doorway.
Jiaoniang watched his figure disappear, shaking her head with a smile. “What a hothead.”
Xing Muzheng had been listening the whole time. He had been trying to figure out how to get Li Qingquan to bring Huang Gong to Yuzhou to help—but who would’ve thought this wife of his, this countryside-born wife of his, would so smoothly and methodically work it all out?
This woman… just how many more surprises did she have in store?
Doctor Jian reapplied medicine and wrapped the Marquis’s gauze again, then prescribed two doses of medicine and instructed Ah Da to prepare them for the Marquis. After finishing, he took his leave.
Qian Jiaoniang fanned the Marquis quietly, gazing at him. After a long pause, she said softly, “You’ll get better, Xing Muzheng.”
