MFMH C97

Chapter 97 — Rewarding the Three Armies

“Lord Shen… Shen Darén?” The cook stood aside, watching as Shen Yanbei stretched and slapped the dough, pulling it long like a juggler at play. His hands rubbed together, his heart feeling as though trampled by ten thousand barbarian warhorses.

Though only a camp cook, charged with great cauldrons and sometimes preparing private meals for generals, he had wielded a ladle for years. Yet in front of Shen Yanbei, he felt like an apprentice on his first day. Such fluid movements, like flowing clouds and water — had anyone ever said this man was once an imperial chef?

He thought of that time Shen Yanbei had brought a plant called chili and cooked two dishes with it, and his doubt grew even greater.

Had scholars now become so learned? Able not only to compose refined essays, cultivate high-yield crops, but also cook with such skill that others could only bow in shame?

Seeing the cook standing uncertainly, Shen Yanbei realized he had overstepped into another’s place. He gave a sheepish smile. “The heir has not eaten well these past days. I wanted to make him something easy to eat.” He had no plan for anything complicated, only minced pork sauce noodles.

The cook snapped awake and said eagerly, “Tell me what you need, and I’ll fetch it at once!”

“Please dice some scallions and carrots.”

“Right away!” The cook answered loudly and hurried to gather the ingredients.

Shen Yanbei tipped the minced pork into a hot pan of oil, stirring as it sizzled. When about a third cooked, he added chopped ginger, his gaze sharp and intent as if weighing where to place the brush in a piece of writing. The cook’s feelings turned increasingly complicated.

The camp was filled with rumors that Shen Darén admired the heir. At first, he had not believed it. But now, seeing a former top scholar humbling himself in the kitchen just to make noodles for the one he loved, all his ideas of the world seemed overturned.

Bit by bit, Shen Yanbei added seasonings, then prepared a separate pot of clear water for the broth. When it boiled, he poured in the fragrant pork sauce and waited calmly for it to bubble again.

The fire crackled. In the glow, the young man’s gaze was gentle, his face handsome under the bright light of the flames. It made the heart stir.

A year of hardship had toughened him, lent his eyes a sharper edge. Yet no matter how heavy the air of command upon him, when gazed upon, all one felt was warmth.

Gu Changfeng leaned lazily against the doorframe, watching as he added softened carrots and pieces of egg pancake to the broth. His heart burned like the steaming pot, his eyes aflame like a hearth, blazing fierce and high.

As Shen Yanbei reached for the cooled noodles to drop them into the soup, he suddenly felt a presence. He turned, and without guard, fell into a pair of dark, fathomless eyes.

The man who owned them, usually so reserved, leaned there with a heat in his gaze he had never shown before — naked, intense, as though declaring ownership. The moment their eyes met, he quickly masked it.

Shen Yanbei’s lips curved. “Why are you up?”

Gu Changfeng had never worn emotion so openly. To be seen like that — it was delightful.

The cook startled. “Lord Heir!”

Gu Changfeng gave a nod and stepped inside.

These nights, he had grown used to waking at the faintest stir, rarely sleeping deeply. Only when the youth lay close did he find peace. But the moment Shen Yanbei rose, that fragile sense of safety had shattered, and he had woken at once.

He had searched the tent, but no youth was there. The sandglass already marked midnight. Where had he gone in the dead of night? He had dressed and followed instinct to the cookhouse.

And there, indeed, Shen Yanbei was, arranging food with care.

The youth was always so thoughtful toward him.

“Hungry? It’s almost ready.” Shen Yanbei turned back, slipping the noodles into the soup and sprinkling bright scallions. The steaming noodle soup was done.

The cookhouse was for the generals, with tables and benches like a mess hall. Shen Yanbei ladled the noodles into two large porcelain bowls and placed them on the table, waving Gu Changfeng over.

The cook, smelling the rich aroma and glancing at the two seated opposite one another, felt himself painfully out of place. He slipped away quickly.

Outside, the wind howled. Inside, it was warm as spring. For once, the two could sit together in peace, savoring food. Shen Yanbei handed over chopsticks. “Eat.”

It had been long since Gu Changfeng last ate noodles made by his hand. The broth gleamed, oil and scallions floating on top. He sipped a mouthful — the warmth slipped down his throat, spreading from stomach to heart.

His appetite stirred, he quickly finished every noodle, even draining the soup.

Seeing this, Shen Yanbei smiled. “What do you want tomorrow? I’ll make it.” The battle was done, and he no longer needed to sneak his affections.

“Fried locusts,” Gu Changfeng said seriously.

Shen Yanbei blinked, thinking he misheard. But Gu Changfeng’s eyes were earnest.

Anyone else might take it as mockery — where in this frozen borderland could one find locusts? This was no famine-struck county.

But Shen Yanbei only sighed helplessly. “Be good. You’re recovering and cannot eat heavy food. When we return to the capital, I’ll make it for you.”

Gu Changfeng remained silent, simply watching. Shen Yanbei seized his hand and strode boldly out. “It’s settled. When time allows, I’ll take you to Shangrao. It’s poor, but the scenery is fine.”

Gu Changfeng’s eyes lit, and he nodded. “Alright.”

Shen Yanbei gripped his callused, warm hand, eyes brimming with joy.

He wanted to see the places he had seen, taste the foods he had tasted, know what had occupied him when they were apart.

“Lord Heir, Lord Shen…” A patrol passed, staring at the two walking hand in hand.

Shen Yanbei beamed. “Brothers, you’ve worked hard.”

Flustered, they hurriedly replied, “Not at all!” and scurried away.

From behind came whispers. “Did you see? Lord Shen and the heir… are they together?”

“Looks like it! At last, Lord Shen’s patience has been rewarded!”

“Hah, I’d better hurry home and find a wife!” one joked.

By dusk, General Chen returned with the remaining troops, bringing horses and barbarian prisoners. Victory was theirs, joy filling the camp, soldiers relaxed enough to chatter freely.

But Tai Qigang felt no such ease. By now, the left and center armies should have returned, but no scouts brought word.

Where were they?

The answer came on the third day.

“Great General! The left and center have returned!” cried a messenger. “Generals Wang and Ma stormed the barbarian royal court and captured their royal family!”

Tai Qigang’s delight knew no bounds. He led the officers to greet them.

As Ma dismounted, he sighed to Wang, “We thought we had won the highest merit, but the heir captured Uso alive. Truly, the young outshine us.”

Tai Qigang laughed heartily. “Nonsense! Ginger is spicier when old. Who knew you two would circle around to their lair!”

“Merely icing on the cake.” Ma smiled.

Now, with the barbarian army destroyed and their royal family seized, the threat to Qi was ended.

What all thought would be a grinding war of years had ended in half. It was sobering.

Thinking of the soldiers’ blood and sweat, Tai Qigang ordered rewards for the entire army.

The camp erupted in cheers.

That night, most soldiers drank themselves into laughter and stupor. In the new recruits’ camp, however, many wept aloud.

The war was over. They could go home.

From fifty thousand, fewer than thirty thousand remained.

“Lord Heir, a toast to you!” A soldier, eyes red, bravely offered his cup.

Gu Changfeng glanced at him, then drank silently.

He remembered the man — he had once saved him from a barbarian blade.

“Lord Heir, a toast from me too!” More pressed forward.

Some he had rescued, others admired him. Gu Changfeng drank each cup, and they relaxed, hearts eased.

“My husband is a general honored by all — truly the finest!” Shen Yanbei whispered with a smile as he poured his wine.

Gu Changfeng gave a soft “Mm,” though little smile touched his face.

Shen Yanbei, as overseer, must return to the capital first to report. Only when the emperor’s decree arrived could Gu Changfeng lead the army home.

The road was harsh. Shen Yanbei would depart tomorrow…