Chapter Fifty-One: The Counter-Plot

Kaimei watched Sikong, struggling to mask her delight, but the smug glow in her eyes betrayed her. She smiled inwardly; the enmity between these two ran deep, which suited her perfectly, making her task far easier.

As Qingyun strode out of the tent, Sikong, who had his back turned to her, suddenly spun around, revealing half his face in the candlelight, his eyes flickering with cunning. “You, spy from the Central Palace, what exactly are your intentions?”

Kaimei kept her composure. “What do you mean by that, Commander?”

“Don’t play dumb.” He stepped closer, ice in his voice. “What is your purpose in seducing Qingyun?”

Relieved, Kaimei realized he referred to this and forced a smile. “The military intelligence I wished to report to you is tied to this very matter.”

Sikong arched an eyebrow, uncertain.

She rubbed her wrist, sat cross-legged on the bed, and spoke steadily. “I’ve heard the Emperor of the Southern Palace is a wise ruler, skilled at employing talented advisors. In truth, the Emperor of the Central Palace is equally enamored of gifted individuals. Someone as exceptional as Qingyun would surely be coveted by all the palace emperors.”

Sikong sneered. “Are you telling me you’re approaching Qingyun under orders from the Central Palace’s Emperor?”

Kaimei smiled faintly. “Commander, you’re sharp indeed.”

A gleam flashed in Sikong’s eyes. “Do you realize, for what you just said, I could have you executed a thousand times over?”

“You wouldn’t do such a foolish thing.” Kaimei spoke with absolute conviction.

Sikong drew nearer, voice low. “Why are you so sure I won’t kill you?”

“Because,” Kaimei said calmly, “you want the strategist gone.” Sikong drew a sharp breath. She watched his expression closely. “And I can make that happen for you.”

Sikong paced before her, scrutinizing this unremarkable soldier, a mocking smile playing on his lips. “Go on, then. How would you make him disappear?”

“That’s simple. Now is the perfect opportunity,” Kaimei’s eyes tracked his movements. “Leaders always fear internal betrayal, especially from those who seem friendly but are disloyal at heart. You could go straight to the top and report that the strategist is associating too closely with female soldiers from the Central Palace, raising suspicions…”

Sikong cut her off with a cold snort. “I was already thinking along those lines.”

Kaimei smiled slyly. “But the leader won’t trust your word alone. If it’s known you and the strategist are at odds, your testimony would be suspect. That’s where a witness comes in.”

“You’re willing to testify?” Sikong’s eyes narrowed. “Aren’t you two infatuated? Why betray Qingyun?”

“What one sees isn’t always the truth, is it, Commander?” She smiled still.

“I considered using you as a witness,” Sikong said, skeptical, “but why? What do you gain from it?”

“Nothing for myself,” she answered coolly. “I merely fulfill the wish of the Central Palace’s Emperor.”

“The Central Palace wants Qingyun?” Sikong said coldly. “If the charge of treason sticks, Qingyun may never make it out of the Southern Palace.”

“That’s not our concern as subordinates.” As soon as the words left her lips, Sikong shot her a glare, and she realized her slip—speaking as if she belonged among his ranks. The proud Sikong would never deign to associate with her.

She laughed at herself. “If Qingyun can’t serve the Central Palace, he’s unnecessary. Letting the Southern Palace do the job would be ideal.”

Sikong’s gaze grew stranger. “Telling me all this—aren’t you afraid Qingyun will find out? Aren’t you afraid for your life?”

“I am very afraid,” Kaimei dropped her smile and donned a mask of loyal resolve. “But one must serve the lord who feeds them, and loyalty is not a matter of choice.” She thought the old saying was perfectly apt.

Sikong resumed his pacing, lost in a momentary confusion, weighing the truth and gravity of this female soldier’s words.

Seeing his indecision, Kaimei sought to prod him further, sighing dramatically. “So the commander I admire is actually so timid, content to always be compared with another, willing to let someone else ride roughshod over him. Seems I’ve chosen the wrong person.”

He snorted, halting his steps, and his chilly gaze swept over her. “Qingyun says you’re cunning, and I see it’s true!”

“Why say that, Commander?” Kaimei feigned innocence. “If I weren’t a little clever, I’d have been one of the countless fallen soldiers by now. I’m merely striving to survive.”

Sikong had nothing more to say.

Kaimei hopped off the bed and stood before him, bowing low. “If you have so many reservations about me, I’ll take my leave and seek out someone else with courage and vision.”

“Are you insulting me in a roundabout way?” Sikong caught the undertone, his face souring.

“Not at all.” She bowed. “I’m sure there are others in the Southern Palace besides you who would be interested in my scheme.”

Hearing this, Sikong abandoned any thought of punishing her for her words, now intrigued. “What’s this scheme? Tell me. If it’s sound, I might adopt it. Besides, do you think I’d let you walk free from this tent so easily?”

Slowly, the trap was closing. Kaimei smiled inwardly, straightened her posture, and met Sikong’s gaze boldly. He looked at her expectantly.

“A mere collusion between commander and soldier isn’t enough. In the end, a thorough investigation might turn the blame on you. At that point, we need a little evidence.”

“Evidence? You have evidence?” Sikong’s eyes brightened. Qingyun was careful never to leave any leverage in others’ hands—could this woman have something because of her intimacy with him?

“There’s no ready proof of treason.” Seeing Sikong’s eyes darken, anger flickering within, Kaimei was amused. Sikong, so transparent in his emotions, reminded her of Chang Geng.

“But we can fabricate it,” she said lazily.

“Fabricate?” Sikong finally suppressed his last bit of anger.

“For example…” She reached into her clothing, rummaging for a long while before pulling out a crumpled piece of white paper. She sighed in relief. “Good, I didn’t lose it.”

“What’s this?” Sikong frowned.

She walked to the table, spread out the paper, smoothed its creases, and beckoned him over. “Come here!”

Though confused, Sikong stepped forward.

In the lamplight, elegant script met Sikong’s eyes. He stared in surprise. “Isn’t this Qingyun’s handwriting?” He looked at her suspiciously. “You stole his writing—what for?”

“Not stolen,” she grinned. “He gave it to me.” Sikong rolled his eyes, unimpressed.

“Now, to the point.” Kaimei smiled. “Look closely—what does the paper say?”

Sikong glanced over it quickly, cheeks tinged with red. “It’s a poem—a man yearning for a woman.”

Kaimei watched him with a mischievous grin. This fellow could blush over a few verses. The commander, for all his experience, was still just a man.

“A simple love poem is harmless. But with a little alteration,” her eyes gleamed, “it can become a weapon of tremendous power.”

“Turn a love poem into a weapon? Alter it?” Sikong’s eyes shone even brighter, realizing her intent.

Kaimei picked up a brush from the inkstone, dipped it in the leftover ink, and poised it over the paper, smiling at him. “Commander, if you alter a letter supposedly sent by an enemy nation and can’t provide a reasonable explanation, what crime would that constitute?”

Sikong understood completely now, his eyes glowing, and he clapped his hands. “Brilliant strategy!”

“As for which crucial parts to modify, that’s for you to decide.” She handed him the brush, which Sikong took without hesitation, and with a few swift strokes, black lines covered the page, rendering it unrecognizable.

Kaimei watched Sikong with a smile as he blew on the paper, folded it carefully, stowed it in his robe, and turned to her. “I’ll handle what comes next. Tomorrow, when the general summons you, repeat what you told me just now.”

“I understand,” Kaimei bowed, inwardly elated. Qingyun, you wanted a return gift—here’s a grand one.

Sikong gave her a long, complex look before turning away. Kaimei knew he must be wondering how she devised such a plan. It wasn’t that she was exceptionally cunning—she’d seen this counter-intelligence trick in a war drama, once employed by Cao Cao in the Three Kingdoms. It was timeless, always effective. She simply adapted it to the moment.

Watching his retreating figure, Kaimei remembered something and called out, “Commander.”

Sikong turned his head. “What is it?”

“If, just if, the leader hesitates,” she said with a sly grin, “I recall Qingyun once carried a map-like object, said to be a topographical chart of the Southern Palace, meant as a gift for the Central Palace’s Emperor. You understand my meaning?”

“A last resort?” Sikong snorted. “You’ve thought of everything. For a mere soldier, you’re wasted on the ranks.”

“I dare not presume,” she replied humbly, wondering if Sikong was jealous of her as well.

Sikong said no more, brushed aside the tent flaps, and strode out.

In the icy night wind, Qingyun, clad in a simple robe, stood calmly outside the tent, smiling faintly as Sikong approached.

Sikong came up beside him, shot him a mocking glance, and said in a tone dripping with sarcasm, “Strategist, you certainly have an eye for women.” Without waiting for a reply, he left.

Qingyun’s polite smile faded, his expression clouded. Whatever that woman had said to him, it had not only dispelled his anger, but brought him joy; even his taunts carried a hint of satisfaction impossible to hide.

What could have caused Sikong, so competitive, to shift so abruptly in attitude?

Troubled and uncertain, Qingyun glanced at the tent, knowing the answer lay within.

Kaimei was reveling in her triumph—not only had she dealt with Qingyun, she’d managed to put Sikong in his place, and amidst the confusion, planned to slip out of the Southern Palace camp. A flawless scheme, an achievement worth threefold.

“What has you so cheerful?” Qingyun lifted the tent flap, catching her in the midst of her foolish grin.