Chapter Three: In Truth, You Are Not Cruel!

Sangkun and Jamukha, hoping for a decisive blow in this campaign, had mobilized nearly all their main forces, gathering them outside the camp. Aside from the sentries patrolling the perimeter, only a few scattered soldiers, women, and children remained behind to guard the livestock and treasures. As Cheng Lingsu and her companions were tucked away in a remote corner of the camp, no one paid much attention to what was happening there.

Cheng Lingsu’s brows knitted in quiet suspicion. If Jamukha truly meant to keep Tolui as his final trump card, why would he only assign two guards to watch over him?

Ouyang Ke seemed to guess her thoughts. “With me here, what need is there for anyone else?” he said.

There was truth in his words. Guarding hostages wasn’t a matter of numbers—one more man on guard was one less on the battlefield. And with a martial arts master like Ouyang Ke, while he might not sway the tides of a large-scale battle, he could easily keep a hostage under his watch. Even if he dozed, unless faced with a peerless expert, no one would spirit the hostage away from under his nose.

The previous night, he had recognized Tolui as the one who had spoken with Cheng Lingsu outside the tent. Expecting she would try to rescue him, Ouyang Ke had volunteered to guard the hostages and found an excuse to send away the remaining soldiers, deliberately drawing Cheng Lingsu out.

Yet Cheng Lingsu heard something else in his words. “You serve Wanyan Honglie, don’t you?” she asked.

Ouyang Ke started, then broke into laughter, flicking his folding fan. “You are indeed clever, Miss. You see through things at a glance. I have been handsomely hired by the Sixth Prince of Great Jin. When I first journeyed east from the Western Regions, I imagined I was coming to a wild and barren place. Never did I expect to meet such a bright and spirited young lady on my very first day. My trip has been well worth it.”

With a few words, he circled the conversation back to Cheng Lingsu, showering her with flattery. Cheng Lingsu, however, pressed her lips together and gave no reply.

“So? This time you’ve run into me. But is Mei Chaofeng here to help you?” Ouyang Ke acted as if Tolui, standing between them, was invisible. He paced a few steps to the side, hinting at something. “Shall I offer you some advice?”

“Are you going to ask me to take you as my master again?” Cheng Lingsu replied coldly, her gaze scornful. In her past life, she had studied under the Poison-Handed Medicine King, whom she deeply respected for his guidance and care. Even though she’d been reborn inexplicably, she still considered herself his disciple. Her lineage, no matter how much else had changed, was something she would never forsake—especially not for someone like Ouyang Ke, whose frivolous manner and wanton eyes betrayed his ill intentions. This talk of apprenticeship, she knew, was far from innocent.

“What’s wrong with apprenticing yourself to me? With me, you’d live in luxury. At White Camel Mountain, everything you could wish for is yours. Isn’t that better than braving the winds of this desert?”

Cheng Lingsu’s face darkened, refusing to banter further. She patted Tolui on the shoulder, stepped out from behind him, and gazed intently, saying nothing.

Since coming of age, Ouyang Ke had surrounded himself with countless concubines. Besides teaching them martial arts for their own safety in the martial world, he also indulged their whims. The title “Young Master and Master” was a playful concoction of theirs, meant to please him—half affection, half jest.

With his striking martial skill, handsome looks, and charm, not to mention his status as heir to White Camel Mountain, many women—some even abducted from distant lands—eventually fell under his spell and willingly became his concubines. He had seen countless women plotting to win his favor, but none with Cheng Lingsu’s cool, distant nature at such a young age. Rarer still was her mastery of poisons. This only stirred his competitive spirit—he was all the more determined to bring this girl back to White Camel Mountain.

Now, seeing Cheng Lingsu bracing herself for a hopeless fight, Ouyang Ke quickly shook his head with a smile. “I, Ouyang Ke, never force my will. If you don’t wish to be my disciple, so be it. Let’s make a trade instead, shall we?”

“What sort of trade?” Cheng Lingsu asked warily.

“We’ve known each other some time, yet I still don’t know your name,” said Ouyang Ke, folding his fan and taking a step closer, gesturing toward Tolui. “Tell me your name, and I’ll pretend I never saw him.”

“My name?” Cheng Lingsu blinked in surprise.

She hadn’t expected Ouyang Ke, given such a golden opportunity to threaten her, would set such an easy condition. But Ouyang Ke, seasoned in the ways of seduction, knew well the art of playing hard to get. Had he demanded too much, he would only provoke fierce resistance. Better to gently warm the water, lulling her into letting down her guard.

“What do you think?” Ouyang Ke winked at her.

Cheng Lingsu arched her brows and switched to Mongolian. “Huazheng,” she replied.

Ouyang Ke didn’t understand a word of Mongolian, but he remembered hearing Tolui call that name outside Cheng Lingsu’s tent the night before. It must be her name, he reasoned. Mimicking her pronunciation, he repeated softly, “Huazheng… Huazheng…” For the first time, he spoke Mongolian, his accent near perfect, the syllables in precise order.

His lips, opening and closing over that name, still held a faint smile, but the levity in his expression faded. As he rolled the name over his tongue, there was no hint of disrespect—only solemnity, as if a devout herdsman were chanting a sacred prayer to the heavens.

Even though Cheng Lingsu had intentionally used this Mongolian name, which was not truly hers, she had carried it for ten years. Despite herself, a faint blush crept over her face.

Tolui was baffled. He did not understand Chinese, unaware of the exchange between Cheng Lingsu and Ouyang Ke—how this Han stranger, who clearly meant them ill, had been coaxed into speaking Mongolian, repeating “Huazheng” over and over. As for Cheng Lingsu speaking Chinese, he was momentarily surprised, but then recalled how close she’d always been with Guo Jing since childhood. He simply assumed she’d learned the language from Guo Jing.

His mind weighed down by the plot against Temujin, Tolui caught sight of a few men in the distance—soldiers, perhaps—watching them closely. Not wishing to delay, he bent to pick up the fallen saber from the unconscious guard, gripped Cheng Lingsu’s hand, and shook it firmly. “I’ll hold him off—go! Tell Father not to go to Wang Khan’s camp, no matter what.”

“Is he telling you to run?” Ouyang Ke, though he didn’t understand Tolui’s words, could guess his meaning from his actions. His gaze lingered on the hands clasped together, the smile on his face chilling slightly, a flicker of insolence in his eyes. He moved in a flash—Tolui saw only a blur of white before something struck the back of his saber. A surge of force jolted up the blade, wrenching it from his grasp. The weapon spun through the air, its cold edge flashing in the early sunlight, and landed point-first in the earth beside them, quivering.

Tolui’s right hand was torn at the webbing, blood pouring freely. At that same instant, a numbness crept over his shoulder, and his grip on Cheng Lingsu’s hand loosened.

Cheng Lingsu had been on guard for Ouyang Ke’s attack, but she had not expected such speed. She saw only a flicker of white; by the time she could react, it was too late. She could only flip her wrist, readying a silver needle—the same she’d used to incapacitate the two guards earlier.

Ouyang Ke, having stunned Tolui, intended next to seize Cheng Lingsu and pull her into his arms. But she anticipated him, pressing the needle to her own wrist. Had he grabbed her, he would have driven his own palm onto the needle’s tip.

With Ouyang Ke’s skill, he could have detained the siblings with ease. But he prided himself on his charm and was used to savoring the pursuit, toying with his prey like a cat with a mouse—never rushing the capture. He wanted to see Cheng Lingsu’s face change, to savor her panic. But just as his fingers were about to close on her wrist, he felt a sharp sting and glimpsed a flash of silver. Only then did he spot the needle.

Fortunately, he had meant only to tease, not to truly harm. He had not used his full strength, so he was able to withdraw his hand in time, pushing off with his toes and retreating lightly.

“So this is what you meant by pretending you never saw him?” Cheng Lingsu pulled back the just-restrained Tolui, her clear voice ringing with suppressed anger. Her pale, delicate features flushed with a vivid hue, like a piece of fine red jade.

Even at her angriest, Cheng Lingsu’s demeanor remained composed—a faint hint of displeasure, but seldom more. Ouyang Ke had seen aloof, reserved women before, but he had not known Cheng Lingsu long, and already she seemed to hold the world at a distance, as if born with a natural detachment. This was not merely the calm of one brave and skilled; it was something deeper, an innate remoteness.

Ouyang Ke had assumed it was simply her nature. He did not expect that, driven to sudden fury, she would reveal such lively emotion—like a masterful ink painting suddenly blooming with brilliant color. Though young, her eyes flashed as she questioned him, her presence commanding.

In truth, not even Tolui, who had grown up alongside her, had ever seen her like this. He was startled, frozen in place, his earlier urge to fight Ouyang Ke entirely forgotten.