Chapter 117: He's Dead!

Shen Miao drank her tea slowly. Outside the wind rose loud; she sat in a corner of the hall, holding the cup Jingzhe had brought, sipping hot tea with unhurried grace—as if she were truly an innocent young lady waiting only for the kitchen's lamb slices, ready to gather round the boiling pot in ease.
Luo Ling's face grew grave. Luo Sa noticed and followed his brother's gaze to Shen Miao. His own expression darkened. "What happened?"
Luo Ling ignored him. He did not tell the guard what to do. He stood and walked to Shen Miao. "Little Cousin—a word in private."
"Cousin Ling, say it here." Shen Miao set her cup aside and smiled at him. "If something truly happened, it cannot be hidden."
Luo Qian and Luo Tan came over. The stir drew Madam Ma and Madam Yu—they thought Luo Ling and Shen Miao were quarreling and naturally sided with the girl. Madam Yu approached, glanced at Luo Ling disapprovingly, and said: "Ling'er—don't frighten Jiaojiao."
Luo Sa sneered. "Who's frightening whom?"
"Eldest Brother—what is it?" Luo Qian, youngest and least filtered, blurted his doubt.
Luo Ling looked at Shen Miao. She smiled at him faintly, as if she already knew what he would say. That composure—command of everything—made Luo Ling pause. After a moment he sighed, helpless. "Word from the garrison—the Turks… seem to be entering the city."
"What?" Luo Tan cried—then clapped a hand over her mouth. They spoke apart; distant maids had not heard clearly. Yet nothing harms an army like shaken hearts. They had gathered to escape hail; if word spread that Turks were inside, panic might follow. With Luo Ling and Luo Sa present it might not collapse—but fear would spread.
Madam Yu and Madam Ma were ordinary women without means of self-defense. They froze. Madam Ma said at once: "Tan'er, Sa'er—protect Jiaojiao and the young ones first. How long can our Luo house hold? When will your fathers return?"
Even the cleverest matron loses composure in such a scene. Her words tangled. Madam Yu was more lost—but instinctively said: "Should we hide somewhere first?"
Luo Tan and Luo Qian went pale. They had lived in Xiaochun since birth. Grandfather's battlefield tales felt far away. Turks never entered the city—but storybooks told what invasion meant. Even Ming Qi's own soldiers sometimes massacred a taken town. Turks were fiercer by reputation.
"Little Cousin… she was right…" Luo Qian murmured.
Madam Ma and Madam Yu started. Madam Yu looked at Shen Miao. "Jiaojiao… you called it?"
"Cousin raised the possibility Turks might storm the city," Luo Ling said, a flicker of unreadable light in his eyes. "Little Cousin surely has a plan. If you don't mind—tell us. This is life and death."
Luo Ling's posture was very low—or rather, the Luos did not carry other houses' habit of airs. By rank and age he need not beg counsel from a young girl.
To Madam Ma and the rest it was astonishing. Luo Ling was the finest of the Luo young—yet he asked Shen Miao?
Shen Miao said: "Cousin Ling hasn't told me the situation."
Luo Ling waved the guard forward. The man was surprised to see Luo Ling consult a strange girl—but answered honestly. "Miss—garrison men saw Turks gathering at the gate. The general isn't back. Too few guards…" Shame choked his last words.
Shen Miao had no patience for his embarrassment. "Many or few? Turks scattered or massed?"
Luo Sa's gaze burned into her. The guard thought. "Very many. Scattered—but horse sounds. Likely reinforcements."
Several drew cold breath. Luo Ling and Luo Sa went ashen. Any last hope died. Horses meant an army. The force that usually matched Turks was on the steppe. Xiaochun now had almost no real troops—yet another Turk army had come.
Shen Miao had been right. Lure the tiger from the mountain. These Turks had grown cunning—even raised a second force in secret. It might not match Shen Xin's pursuers—but to blood-wash Xiaochun was more than enough.
Madam Ma and Madam Yu saw the danger. Madam Ma said: "Recall every able hand… protect you young ones first."
In crisis the Luo tradition: young go first—old sacrifice, hope to the new generation. Luo Tan's eyes reddened. She clutched Madam Ma's sleeve. "Mother—I won't go!"
"If it comes to it—we fight!" Luo Qian gritted his teeth, fire in his eyes. "We have general's blood in our bones. Why fear savages? Take a sword—fish die, net breaks!"
"Qian'er!" Madam Ma raged. "Nonsense! Going out now is suicide!"
"If we must, Eldest Brother and I will cover your escape," Luo Sa said heavily. "There are carriages. Leave by the rear gate—mountain paths—hide and they won't find you."
"No." Shen Miao cut across them.
Luo Sa looked at her. "You have a plan?"
Shen Miao shook her head.
Disappointment flashed on Luo Qian and Luo Tan. Somehow they had felt Shen Miao held great power—delicate skin, pampered look—yet each talk with her brought a pillar-like calm. Now even she had nothing—they despaired.
"Then do as Second Brother says," Luo Ling said. "Get you on the carriages first. All house guards go with you. Only Second Brother and I stay—we'll join the garrison."
Brothers sacrificing themselves for time. Madam Yu's tears fell. She nearly fainted gripping Luo Ling's hand.
"How can only you two remain?" Madam Ma shook her head. "We're one family—go together or not at all!"
While they stalled, Shen Miao shook her head again. "No."
"Little Cousin—what 'no'?" Luo Qian burst out.
Shen Miao swept the room with her eyes. "In Xiaochun the greatest force is the Luo house. Cousin Ling and Cousin Sa lead the garrison. Turks know that. If they truly enter, to raise their own morale they'll strike the Luos first. Destroy the Luos and the town loses heart and surrenders. Catch the king to catch the band. If I were Turk, I'd spend every means to hit the Luo house first. The Luos cannot escape whole."
She laid the terrible truth bare. Luo Tan shivered and looked at Luo Ling. "Brother—is she right?"
Luo Ling stared at Shen Miao. "Yes."
Luo Sa flared again. "This won't do, that won't do—we can't flee, Turks brought troops—so we fight? Our Luo house never bred cowards. Why fear them?"
"Don't rush." Shen Miao spoke suddenly.
Silence. Luo Ling looked at her softly. "Cousin—have a stratagem?"
"Hardly a stratagem." Shen Miao's brows were calm. She was delicate and pretty; among their anxiety only she stayed level. They realized—from the start Shen Miao had shown no other mood. A frontier town facing sudden Turk entry would panic—yet this pampered Ding miss acted as if it were ordinary.
"The Turks brought soldiers yet hesitate to enter. Clearly they doubt and fear. These years the Luo army scattered—but renown still lingers, enough to awe them somewhat. Their hesitation, probing without advancing—even their commander is unsure. That can be used."
Madam Ma and Madam Yu did not follow the military logic—but felt she spoke sense and listened quietly. Luo Sa frowned. "How?"
"Buy time." Shen Miao answered lightly. "My parents, grandfather, uncles are no fools. They'll soon sense something wrong and hurry back. Until then—only slow this side's feet."
"But how?" Impatient Luo Tan asked. "By your account Turks are clever. They know time is short. They'll attack fast."
"Show them what they fear." Shen Miao smiled. "They fear the Luo army still has strength—then let them see Luo strength."
"Little Cousin," Luo Qian said urgently, "where do we get a Luo army now?"
Shen Miao smiled. "That needs everyone's cooperation. But first… do both Cousins trust me?" She looked at Luo Ling and Luo Sa—gentle, humble—yet a trace of sharpness beneath.
Luo Ling said seriously: "I trust you."
……
Outside Xiaochun's walls the gate tower was old—years of dust and soil, marks of time. Generations had stood here; hero after hero had kept the town's peace.
Like cracks in the brick, the once impregnable gate had rotted. Few garrison men paced the wall, staring at the sharpening hoofbeats and torches in the rain. Sweat rolled down their faces.
Turks were cruel by nature. These guards, slack for years, could not match them. And by the sound, many were coming. Fear fed fear; even their footsteps grew heavy.
As the enemy stirred, someone in the garrison shouted: "What's that?"
Rain could not hide the shock in his voice. They turned—and inside Xiaochun, torches large and small had appeared from nowhere, dense as stars, with thunderous noise—listen closely—horses.
In a standoff, scouts climb high. Garrison men on the gate saw; Turk scouts outside saw too. Those sudden lights in the storm were vivid; roaring cries, hooves on earth, wind and rain together—like ten thousand horses unstoppable.
"The Luo army! The Luo army!" a garrison man cried, almost dropping to his knees in joy. "The Luo army shines again!"
The century-old martial Luo house had declined for years. What remained were scattered men. One shout recalled Luo Sui's unstoppable years past—new hope; morale surged in an instant. The thin garrison drew swords, blood and heat in their bones ignited, cries rolling with the phantom host inside—as if striking the Milky Way.
First drum, courage peaks; second, it fades; third, it breaks. This sudden morale and extra force under the name "Luo army" stunned the Turks. Below the wall they raged in conference; their mass hesitated, dared not press close. An hour passed in stalemate. When Turks perhaps sensed something wrong, real shouts rose outside the tower—true troops. Shen Xin had returned.
Turk horses were fierce—but they could not match Luo Sui and Shen Xin in formation. They were broken quickly.
At the Luo gate Luo Ling heard the runner's report and exhaled. He bowed respectfully to Shen Miao. "This time we owe Cousin everything."
"Little Cousin is so clever!" Luo Qian marveled. "To think of such a thing!"
Shen Miao had Shen Xin gather every able man in the house, then rally townsfolk in the streets—every torch lit, two per person; smiths beat horseshoes on stone to mimic hooves. The people knew it was crisis; their soldier-cries were convincing. With this night's storm, deceiving the Turks outside was enough.
So many torches—they would assume so many men. Hooves, shouts, fear of the Luo name—they would think part of the Luo army still guarded Xiaochun. Hesitation, probing, delay—until Shen Xin returned, he could finish it.
It looked simple—but in crisis minds scatter; who would think of this?
Luo Sa's view of Shen Miao shifted. "We owe you."
Since her plan, Luo Tan worshipped her. Now that it worked she clung to Shen Miao's arm. "Little Cousin, confess—did you secretly read military books? Grandfather's study—wasn't it just like this?"
Shen Miao smiled. "A cheap trick, nothing more."
"Jiaojiao, don't be modest," Madam Ma said warmly. "Without you today we'd all be in trouble. You saved our house and Xiaochun's people. Thank you."
Shen Miao laughed inwardly. She was not being modest—it was a cheap trick. In her last life this had happened too. She forgot the exact date—only that it was a hail night. Turks entered Xiaochun. Luo Sui returned with troops and saved the town—but at brutal cost. Townsfolk died in masses, miserably.
Then she had been courting Fu Xiuyi's favor and studied military arts. She had asked Pei Lang about this very event. Pei Lang had answered: "Turks have scruples—they won't rush in blindly. Hard fight gains little; flight loses heart. Better an empty-city ruse to confuse them. Hold until reinforcements—then all resolves."
She had recorded those words in her notes. Now they were clear. Shen Miao knew she had no gift for strategy herself. She trusted Pei Lang. In the harem years, to please Fu Xiuyi she had debated his advisers—and gained unexpected chips.
Those were gifts Fu Xiuyi had given her.
"Little Cousin is too wicked," Luo Qian said, hearing good news from the guards, last fear gone, teasing Shen Miao. "You had it all along yet scared us so—we really thought it was that bad. You terrified me."
Luo Tan slapped his head. "Shameful! Worse than a little girl!"
"You're the same!" Luo Qian shot back.
Shen Miao smiled and did not argue. She knew it would resolve—but she had made it seem dire on purpose, so the Luos would see: remnant Luo force could barely protect the house, let alone the town. Without enough strength you cannot shield those you love. Turks watched hungrily. One day they would return. What would the Luos do then?
Only real crisis would tighten them. Luo youth, Luo Lianying and Luo Liantai, even Madam Ma and Madam Yu would urge Luo Sui to rebuild. Luo Sui had eyes and ears—the scale in his heart would tilt in time.
One girl could not persuade stubborn Luo Sui alone—and her identity would make him hesitate. The Luo family was different.
Sometimes the direct path fails. Be indirect. In her past life she had wanted, spoken, acted directly—and lost everything. Lady Mei had wielded indirection brilliantly. Shen Miao hated Lady Mei—and learned from her what she lacked.
At dawn the next day Xiaochun finally calmed.
The Turks lost miserably. Shen Miao's empty-city trick left them doubting; Shen Xin and Shen Qiu's ferocity inflicted wounds they had rarely suffered. They retreated deep into the steppe. For a long while they would lack strength to return.
Victory—but the town was not light. Especially the Luo house. This raid proved Shen Miao's grim guesses real. With such a neighbor watching, who could sleep easy?
Learning the ruse was Shen Miao's, Luo Sui thought higher of her. Shen Xin swelled with pride—his daughter surpassed many sons.
Two days later Luo Sui announced before the clan: the Luo army would be rebuilt.
Xiaochun cheered and spread the word. Luo youth thrilled. Only Shen Miao stayed calm—she had expected it. That night would push Luo Sui. Better rise while young than be chased in ruin.
Silver—Luo Xueyan had savings. Training men—Shen Qiu and Shen Xin, idle and eager, took the work gladly. Calling back veterans who had returned to farming was no light task—but the Luo house were tigers. Once decided, they committed. Xiaochun grew busy.
Days passed peaceful and full.
One day Shen Miao sat reading. Luo Tan rushed in, nearly overturning a chair by the door. Guyu jumped. Shen Miao looked up—Luo Tan panting, hand on her chest. "Cousin—have you heard?"
"Heard what?" Shen Miao asked.
"The Young Marquis of the Xie house!" Luo Tan gestured wildly. "The one I told you about—famous as Cousin Qiu—didn't he request command and go north against the enemy?"
Shen Miao's heart jolted. She looked at Luo Tan and nodded slowly. "I know."
"You heard the news before—Young Marquis winning every day, driving the Huns to the desert edge." Luo Tan said. "Everyone says when he returns to the capital his merit may exceed Lin'an Marquis. His Majesty will surely give him a great office."
That was true. Not long after Shen Miao reached Xiaochun, Xie Jingxing had led the Xie army north. On the field he amazed all—deployment or single combat with enemy chiefs, fierce and cold, enemies fled at his name. Many thought he could not master the Xie army; instead under him they won again and again until the last doubt died. They said he would be Ming Qi's finest man, surpassing Lin'an Marquis. Shen Xin and Luo Sui sometimes praised him as a wonder of the age. Shen Miao, knowing his skill from her past life, was less surprised.
She listened patiently. Luo Tan's eyes reddened. A bad feeling pressed her heart. She asked softly: "What's wrong?"
"Dead." Luo Tan could not hold it. Tears fell. "The Young Marquis is dead!"
In Luo Tan's heart he was a hero like Shen Qiu. She worshipped him. Now tears would not stop. "Yesterday the enemy circled behind. Ten thousand arrows through his body. They hung his corpse on the wall—flayed for display." Luo Tan wept. "Little Cousin—he's dead!"
He's dead!
Jingzhe's teacup crashed to the floor. She looked at Shen Miao in panic. Shen Miao and Xie Jingxing had some tie—if he was dead, what would she do?
What would Shen Miao do?
Shen Miao sat at the desk, watching weeping Luo Tan. Her face was terrifyingly still—as if Luo Tan spoke not of wonder and horror but of fine weather and blooming flowers. The calmer her brows, the tighter her fingers clenched the book's pages.
Was Xie Jingxing dead?
Ten thousand arrows. Flayed and wind-dried. Hung on the wall for display. The same end as her past life. Truly him?
Shen Miao thought hazily, trying to tell jest from truth. What rose in her mind was that day in Guangwen Hall's courtyard—the glutinous dumpling luring her out to talk, then from behind the trees a tall youth stepping forth. Ivory-white brocade trimmed with silver thread, handsome and proud, walking toward her with grace.
His lips curved in a roguish smile. Peach-blossom eyes half-smiling, half-probing, drunk-making—three parts flippant, six parts test, one part countless youthful charm.
"So it was you," he said.