Yan Xiaohan smiled without speaking, pulling him inside. Soon the full view emerged: a mountain-built estate with pavilions and buildings arranged beautifully, green trees and flowers intertwined, with flowing water surrounding it. At a glance, it covered at least a thousand mu.
“This mountain is called Shuangbai Mountain, with many hot springs,” Yan Xiaohan led Fu Shen through the corridor, past the main house, to a misty hot spring in the back, “This estate was my adoptive father’s private property. After he passed, it became mine. The hot springs are good for health. I’ve always wanted to bring you here but never found the time. Fortunately, I can fulfill my wish now. My lord, are you satisfied?”
“Comparing people really is infuriating,” Fu Shen sighed, “Look at your father, leaving you a hot spring estate. Look at my father, leaving me a group of burly men.”
Yan Xiaohan embraced him from behind, smiling: “It’s okay. The estate and the people are all yours.”
Fu Shen raised an eyebrow: “Such a good deal?”
Yan Xiaohan’s hands began to mischievously untie his clothing, kissing his face and boldly saying: “Last time we talked about a proper marriage, so why don’t we… do something that can only be done after a proper marriage, my lord?”
Chapter 69: Reversal | Though This Place is Good, It is Not My Hometown
What hot spring to relax muscles, it’s all nonsense. After soaking, Fu Shen not only didn’t improve his legs, but his waist was almost ruined. Exhausted, he retreated far to the other side of the pool, pointing at the satisfied culprit and said: “Don’t come over. Stay away from me.”
Yan Xiaohan sincerely and innocently said: “Let me massage your waist? Nothing else.”
Fu Shen: “No need, go away.”
Yan Xiaohan fell silent. Fu Shen closed his eyes to rest for a moment. Hearing no movement, he suddenly felt uneasy, suspecting he had spoken too harshly. To make amends, he quietly prepared to coax him.
As soon as he opened his eyes, he discovered Yan Xiaohan had somehow “drifted” from directly opposite to his side. If he hesitated a moment longer, this person might succeed in a sneak attack.
Yan Xiaohan: “…Why don’t you close your eyes and sleep a bit more?”
Fu Shen: “…”
“How disobedient,” Fu Shen said helplessly, “I’m raising you for entertainment?”
I might as well stew you in a pot.”
Yan Xiaohan smiled ingratiatingly without a sound.
The water shimmered, ripples dancing. His eyebrows were wet, features more distinct, black long hair floating beside him. That smile was dazzlingly charming, causing Fu Shen to lower his eyes and furrow his brows, feeling that if he continued looking, he might not be able to restrain himself from igniting a fire.
Growing up on the same earth, Yan Xiaohan hadn’t absorbed more spiritual energy than others.
Seeing Fu Shen close his eyes like a monk seduced by a demon, Yan Xiaohan knew he had tacitly agreed. He smiled and carefully drew him into his embrace: “Jing Yuan.”
Fu Shen hummed in response.
“Nothing, just wanted to call you,” Yan Xiaohan said, “It’s so perfect, I’m afraid it’s just a dream.”
Perhaps from fear, even now remembering makes his heart palpitate. Even holding the greatest completeness of his life, he still anxiously recalls the taste of lonely sleepless nights.
His worries were not unfounded. Regardless of heaven’s will, after Chang’an’s recapture, Zhao Xicheng would remain to await imperial orders, while the Northern Yan cavalry would continue eastward. Separation was almost imminent, and saying goodbye now would be like directly carving a piece of flesh from Yan Xiaohan.
Fu Shen took his hand from the water and played with it, suddenly saying: “I wonder how our home is doing now.”
“Hmm?”
“Though this place is good, it’s not our homeland,” Fu Shen said lazily. “You can put aside that ‘perfection’ and wait to reminisce after recapturing the capital.”
Yan Xiaohan couldn’t help but laugh, leaning close to his ear and lowering his voice: “You mean… after returning to Beijing, we can do this in our home’s pool too… umph!”
Fu Shen elbowed him, splashing water: “Shameless.”
Yan Xiaohan wrapped him in his arms, maintaining a serious demeanor: “Alright, stop playing. Let’s talk seriously. After things settle here, I plan to go to Shu.”
Fu Shen frowned: “Planning to see the Grand Emperor?”
“Yes,” Yan Xiaohan said, “After the capital incident, the Flying Dragon Guard and most of the imperial guards, along with half the capital’s troops, followed the Grand Emperor westward. You’ve seen it. In the new court, I can barely speak, and compared to the deeply rooted Jiangnan families, I’m too shallow. I have too few reliable people. This can’t continue.”
“So you want to reclaim your old subordinates from the Grand Emperor?” Fu Shen asked. “Why would he agree?”
Yan Xiaohan just smiled mysteriously: “I have my methods.”
“Fine,” Fu Shen said, “Do what you think is best. What do you need me to do?”
Yan Xiaohan casually joked: “Feed me until I’m full before I go?”
“Fu Shen pushed his head underwater.
Emperor Changzhi was ambitious yet indecisive, and although he often lacked conviction, he was not without ambition. Having experienced prosperous times, he was ultimately unwilling to remain confined to a corner of Jiangnan and still yearned to return to the Central Plains and unify the realm.
Yan Xiaohang was originally tasked with building the imperial court’s independent army, separate from local military governors. He had once pointed out two paths for Emperor Changzhi. One was overt: reorganizing the remnants of defeated troops and recruiting new soldiers, which was now the army commanded by Zhao Xicheng. The Jiangnan military was uneven in personnel, with low combat effectiveness, purely a hastily assembled mixed force, but sufficient for show. The other path was covert and his most important mission upon leaving Jinling.
The Tianfu Army composed of these two forces was the true core army that Emperor Changzhi and the future new dynasty could rely on.”
While Xue Shang thought he was struggling on the front lines, Yan Xiaohang had already reorganized the Tianfu Army in Shu; by the time Xue Shang finally realized he had been outmaneuvered again, Yan Xiaohang had already led these elite troops to the battlefield, joining forces with the Northern Yan cavalry that had just captured Luoyang.
At this point, the Jiangnan gentry had completely fallen into a disadvantageous position. Recovering the Central Plains and unifying the north was inevitable. Even if they were to remove Emperor Changzhi from the throne now, they could not stop the successive local armies sprouting like bamboo shoots after rain, nor could they halt the iron hooves of the Northern Yan army and Tianfu Army marching northward.
By year’s end, victory reports came frequently. The entire area south of the lower Yellow River was recovered. The Northern Yan cavalry and Tianfu Army successively captured five locations including Qingling and Luzhou, directly threatening the major stronghold of the Zhe and Bohai tribes in Yuanzhou. By the year’s end, the Jiangnan court even sent large quantities of grain and military supplies, generously rewarding the Tianfu Army, with a personal imperial letter from the Emperor addressed to the Jingning Marquis.
When Fu Shen returned to camp in the evening, his hands were numb from the cold. As he lifted the tent flap, a warm fragrance enveloped him.
The normally dark and empty commander’s tent was brightly lit. The “dove” occupying the magpie’s nest was leaning against the bed reading military reports. Hearing the movement, he looked up with a smile and reached out his hand.
With this person present, the simple tent seemed to transform into an immortal palace.
