General Gao Zian carried her back to the army camp, cradling her with a care that belied his hardened exterior. Instead of arranging a spare tent—as he easily could have—he brought her into his own. Not just that, he laid her on his bed. He couldn't even explain to himself why he did it. But his eyes said everything. They burned with a silent declaration: he couldn't trust anyone else with her. Not when it came to her. Not even for a moment. He couldn't let her out of his sight.
Wang Heng had followed General Gao Zian from the forest all the way back to the army camp, confusion and curiosity trailing him like a shadow. He came to a halt just outside the general's tent, panting slightly, when Yan Zhu appeared beside him.
"What's going on?" she asked, squinting toward the tent flap. "Who was that woman the general was carrying like some heroic prince from a bedtime story?"
Wang Heng ran a hand through his hair. "I have no idea. All I know is she's badly injured—like, barely-alive kind of injured. Her chances of survival? Not great."
"And where's she from?" Yan Zhu pressed.
"We don't know," he said, lowering his voice. "But judging by her clothes and the amount of gold she was wearing, she's probably from the Mao Kingdom. Upper class. Maybe even a noble."
Yan Zhu raised an eyebrow. "Then why is our general—the famously cold and terrifying Gao Zian—carrying her into his own tent? He owns half the camp and he chooses to stash a stranger in his bed?"
Wang Heng blinked. "Beats me. I've known him for years, and I've never seen him so much as touch someone without a reason. Today he looked like he was rescuing a national treasure."
"Maybe someone hit him on the head," Yan Zhu muttered.
Wang Heng gave a short laugh. "Maybe he's in love."
Yan Zhu turned to him slowly, eyes narrowing like he was trying to determine if he'd lost his mind.
"Are you serious? Gao Zian? Love? The man treats emotions like they're contagious. He once yelled at a bird for chirping too loudly."
Wang Heng shrugged. "Hey, people change. Maybe he took one look at her and thought, Ah yes, near-death mystery lady in fancy clothes, perfect wife material."
Yan Zhu stared at him. "You're hopeless."
Wang Heng grinned. "And yet here I am—alive and hilarious."
Wang Heng had just flashed a triumphant grin at Yan Zhu when a sharp voice cut through their banter like a sword through silence.
"Wang Heng. Yan Zhu. Inside. Now."
They both flinched.
"Well," Wang Heng muttered under his breath, "there goes my undefeated streak of not being yelled at today."
They entered the tent quickly, straightening themselves like guilty students summoned by a very angry headmaster. Inside, General Gao Zian sat at the edge of his bed—his bed—next to the mysterious woman, who now lay unconscious, looking even paler under the flickering lamplight.
Zian didn't even look at them when he spoke. "Where are the army physicians?" His voice was low but edged with fury.
Heng and Yan Zhu glanced at each other like two kids who just realized they forgot to turn in their homework.
"You didn't call them," Zian said flatly, reading their expressions before either of them could speak. His tone rose. "You didn't even think to send for a physician? She's barely breathing!"
"I—" Wang Heng began, lifting a hand.
"Don't waste time with excuses," Zian snapped, cutting him off. "Go. Now. Call them. Immediately."
Wang Heng nodded so fast his neck cracked. "Yes, General!"
He and Yan Zhu rushed out, nearly colliding at the tent flap in their hurry.
Left alone again, Zian exhaled slowly. His gaze returned to the woman lying before him. Gently, he reached out and brushed a few strands of hair from her face, tucking them carefully behind her ear—his calloused fingers unexpectedly tender.
"You've really turned my world upside down, haven't you?" he murmured, more to himself than to her.