Chapter Fifty-Five: Shedding the Golden Cicada's Shell

The young soldier suddenly reached out, grabbing the reins of the warhorse. The beast, tamed to his hand, halted at once. Kaiming looked at him, puzzled.

“I’m not called ‘Little Thing’, and I’m not ‘Little Spy’,” the young soldier said earnestly, tilting his face up to her. “I have a name. It’s Zhaoming.”

“Zhaoming?” Kaiming couldn’t suppress a smile, leaning down from horseback towards him. “Could you be my long-lost brother?” Upon closer inspection, beneath the dust that masked his true face, his skin was pale and delicate, his features quite refined.

Now it was the young soldier’s turn to be confused.

Kaiming burst out laughing. “Your name differs from mine by just one character. I’m Kaiming, you’re Zhaoming. If we’re not siblings, what are the odds of such a coincidence?”

The young soldier chuckled, too. “You’re really stretching it, sister. I’ve been calling you sister from the start—you’ve no choice but to accept it now.”

“My adorable brother Zhaoming, let go of my hand, will you? If you don’t, the pursuing soldiers will catch up, and you’ll never hear my sweet voice again.” Still smiling, Kaiming turned to glance behind. At the gate, two riders raised clouds of dust, one in red and one in white—weren’t they Sikong and Qingyun?

She quickly shed her playful mood. Zhaoming followed her gaze, his expression darkening. He spoke in a low voice, “Why have even the strategist and commander been stirred?”

“Just those two harbingers of misfortune,” Kaiming tugged at the reins, but Zhaoming wouldn’t let go, only watching her intently. “There’s been a lot of gossip in the camp these days. The woman the strategist brought back from the Central Palace battlefield—is that you?”

“I’m a captured soldier, not just some woman!” Her brows knitted in anxiety; the pursuers would soon be upon them, and Zhaoming was still dawdling.

“Are you the strategist’s lover?” he finally blurted out, just as her simmering rage threatened to ignite.

Without thinking, she lashed him with her whip—not intending to hit, only to scare him. But Zhaoming refused to let go, and she couldn’t pull back in time. The whip landed hard across his right forearm, from wrist to upper arm; the skin split open, blood blooming in a vivid streak.

Caught off guard, Zhaoming snatched his hand back, gritting his teeth and clutching his arm, but uttered not a sound, as though he were suppressing the pain.

Released from his grip, the horse reared, letting out a piercing whinny and raising its hooves. She clung to the horse’s neck in fright, but still glared fiercely at him. “You rascal! Always believing others’ nonsense. If I were his lover, would I be fleeing in such misery?”

“That’s true,” Zhaoming replied, quickly regaining composure and taking control of the agitated horse. “It’s my fault, sister.”

“Does it hurt?” Seeing the blood seeping from his arm, Kaiming realized her blow had been too harsh. Guilt and regret filled her heart. “I didn’t mean to. I’m sorry.”

Zhaoming gave her a warm smile, glancing at his own hand. “Compared to the carnage of the battlefield, this is nothing.”

“If I get the chance, I’ll make it up to you,” she said, unable to resist reaching out to smooth his messy hair. “Consider your sister indebted to you.”

At her words, Zhaoming’s eyes lit up like a comforted puppy, his face breaking into a radiant smile. “Sister, you said it—you owe me a favor!” Without waiting for her reply, he slapped the horse’s flank. “Go!”

Kaiming hastily straightened in the saddle, gripping the reins with trembling hands. She’d never been skilled at riding, especially at speed. Watching her sway precariously atop the horse, Zhaoming shook his head in resignation. With such poor riding, escaping Sikong and Qingyun’s pursuit was nothing short of wishful thinking.

Just as he thought this, two gusts of wind swept past—a red and a white rider raced ahead, kicking up clouds of dust. Behind them, two squads of soldiers followed, weapons at the ready.

Zhaoming turned his body aside, avoiding the soldiers’ advance, his eyes scanning the distance. Pain throbbed in his arm, and a shadow crept across his youthful face. He raised his hand, licking the wound, a fierce glint kindling in his eyes. “What you owe me—I’ll remember it, Kaiming.”

Sadly, Kaiming was too busy fleeing for her life to hear his silent vow. Had she known, she would never have so lightly promised him a favor.

The pursuit behind grew ever closer; the pounding of hooves was now audible. Suddenly, two paths appeared ahead. She pulled the horse up, circling in place, uncertain which way to go.

Seeing the hoofprints left in the mud, inspiration struck. She dismounted at once, swinging her whip hard. The horse, startled and stung, reared and bolted forward at a frenzied pace.

As the horse galloped left, Kaiming sprinted to the right. She’d barely taken a few steps when shouts and commands echoed behind: “Everyone stop!”

She quickly rolled behind a roadside boulder, hiding herself and listening intently to their conversation.

She heard Sikong’s voice: “Two roads—shall we each take one?”

Qingyun was silent for several moments, then laughed, “Commander, please take the right path.”

Sikong snorted, “Anyone can see the messy hoofprints all lead left. You’re generous, urging me to go right.”

Qingyun laughed again. “If that’s the case, why ask me to choose at all?”

Sikong’s voice grew impatient. “No more nonsense. When I catch that thief, we’ll see who’s smug!” With a shout, he led his troops left.

Qingyun’s horse followed.

Kaiming smiled to herself—no matter how clever, everyone is prone to mistakes. But on foot she wouldn’t get far; Sikong and Qingyun were both sharp, and would soon realize the trick. She’d better find somewhere to hide. Her eyes landed on the dense woods nearby, and her mind stirred.

Sikong and Qingyun followed the hoofprints, leaving the main road for a dirt slope, confused. There, they saw the warhorse grazing peacefully, saddle intact—but no one in sight.

“What’s going on?” Sikong said, astonished. “Why only an empty horse?”

Qingyun recalled the chaotic hoofprints at the fork and pondered, “Could it be... Quickly, backtrack!” He jerked the reins, leading his team back.

Now Sikong fell behind.

Qingyun reached the fork, dismounted, and inspected the footprints. At last, he saw a faint trail heading right. A smile crept onto his face. “You truly live up to your reputation as a fox.”

Sikong looked at him, puzzled. Qingyun confided, “She used the Golden Cicada Shedding its Shell trick—led us left with the empty horse, while she ran right.”

Sikong’s expression soured. “Such a cunning thief—she won’t get away easily!”

“Indeed, we mustn’t let her escape,” Qingyun’s eyes flashed, his smile tinged with admiration.

“She’s abandoned her horse, so she can’t get far. The tricks of the desperate—let’s see what she tries next!”

For the fourth time, Kaiming entered the forest, feeling a strange destiny binding her to these woods. Still, it was better than getting caught on the open road. At least, after several ventures, she was somewhat familiar with this place.

Sikong’s search parties would soon arrive; she knew what to do next—buy time until nightfall, and hopefully find a horse. The vision of the red and white steeds haunted her; only Qingyun’s horse remained as an option.

Calculating her chances, she wandered through the woods, when she happened upon a pile of dry grass. Memories of her first capture surfaced—why not make use of the scattered traps in the forest?

Carefully, she dismantled a repeating crossbow trap and set it neatly at the entrance, stretching the trigger string, burying it, and covering it with fallen leaves. Seeing her handiwork, she felt a rush of satisfaction.

She searched the woods for other traps, relocating and modifying them. Nangong had originally set these to catch fugitives from the Central Palace. Well, now they’d be repaid in full—let them see that even a stray soldier could drive them into disarray.

After working for some time, her stomach growled. She reached into her breast for the old cloth pouch holding food, courtesy of Gouzi—he’d taught her well, to save rice for emergencies.

She stuffed a few cold rice balls into her mouth, sating her hunger. Before she could plan further, cries erupted at the entrance, followed by the sound of repeating crossbows firing, toppling several men.

Chaos ensued, with shouts: “Ambush! Ambush!” Sikong’s furious voice thundered from behind.

They were here. She quickly stuffed the pouch back in her clothes, brushed off rice crumbs, wiped her mouth, and crept forward, using the branches for cover, peering ahead.

Shadowy figures flitted through the trees; Qingyun’s voice rang out, “You set the traps yourself—how could you not know them?”

A timid reply from the young soldier: “But… they weren’t here before!”

Qingyun inhaled deeply, raising his face to address those present: “Be careful. Someone has moved the trap locations. All searches must be conducted in groups of two or three—do not stray alone!”

The soldiers responded as one.

Qingyun led his horse into the woods, followed by his squad. Sikong lingered outside, his face dark.

From afar, hoofbeats sounded—a black dot appeared on the horizon. Before he arrived, his voice rang out, “Commander! Strategist! Strategist! Commander!”

“Stop your shouting!” Sikong snapped, growing ever more irritable.

The black dot drew near—a dusty soldier. He dismounted hurriedly, barely pausing for breath, and delivered his message: “Commander, the general orders an immediate withdrawal—please return to the camp with the strategist!”

Sikong didn’t even think, retorting, “Let the general return to Nangong first!”

The soldier stood dumbfounded, urgently protesting, “Commander, you can’t! The general anticipated your response and said that if you don’t return, you’ll be dealt with according to military law!”

“Then let it be military law!” Sikong sneered coldly. “But not until I’ve caught that thief.”

“Commander!”

Sikong ignored him, spurring his horse into the woods, his troops following.

The messenger hesitated for a few seconds, then climbed back onto his horse and rode away to deliver his report.