10. Birds of a feather

“Heart’s Intent Pill?”

Su Zhiqiu’s delicate brows furrowed slightly as she pressed her lips together. She hadn’t heard of such a pill before; it didn’t even sound like poison.

Pei Xiunian hadn’t heard of it either, for he had just made it up on the spot. The bottle of pills in his hand was something he’d lifted from the Third Prince, and he didn’t even know its exact effects—only that it was, at the very least, not fatal.

But the real point wasn’t whether Su Zhiqiu would actually be affected after swallowing the pill. To control a long princess of a hostile nation holding military power, all from across two countries’ distance? That was simply a fantasy.

His sole objective was to force the Qingtails to retreat, allowing Great Zhou to recover its lost territory. To put it bluntly: he would create a desperate situation, then “release” Qingtails.

From the moment he replaced the Third Prince, every step of his plan had led to this. Only by doing so could he extricate himself from this unprecedented impeachment. As for Su Zhiqiu? Once he deceived her into returning to Qingtails, what future could there be between them?

They would part ways, each going their own path, never to cross again.

Pei Xiunian maintained his air of calm composure, as though victory was already his, and spoke:

“That’s right. This pill is a secret formula of the Great Zhou imperial family. If Your Highness swallows it, you’ll find yourself unable to resist any command I give, as if branded with a slave’s mark.”

Time was short, and Pei Xiunian couldn’t fabricate any plausible explanation for the principle behind it. Making up a convoluted story would only expose flaws, so he simply skipped the details.

After all, this was the cultivation realm; the differences between domains were vast beyond imagining.

Just as the demons could never understand how the Mechanized Corps of Great Zhou could animate constructs built only from jade to such devastating power, so too did humans struggle to comprehend how the demonfolk could consume flesh or mystical plants whole and refine them with such remarkable efficiency.

A flicker of panic flashed in the Qingtails princess’s eyes. She instinctively stepped back, bare feet shifting on the floor. But when she met Pei Xiunian’s slightly mocking gaze, her fear transformed into anger and humiliation.

Such a pill’s effect was fitting: outside the borders of both nations, if he intended to release her, there was no point in using a poison that would kill her for lack of antidote. This scoundrel was even more cunning—he wished to control Qingtails from the shadows, for once she swallowed the pill, her standing in Qingtails would be his as well.

Su Zhiqiu clenched her fists tightly, her eyes blazing with fury.

“Li Xiunian! How brazen you are—to think you’d make me your pawn! Do you believe I won’t kill you right here and now?”

“Let me tell you, even if you’ve cut off my army’s supplies, I still command over two hundred thousand soldiers. If you force me to fight to the bitter end, your mere eighty thousand Xiliang troops cannot hope to devour my forces.”

“You come to me today—I can easily take you hostage and command the Great Zhou’s garrisons. Should their courage fail and my army takes Hangzhou, your emperor will pay with his life!”

The fox-eared princess before him bristled, her chest heaving with rage.

“But you have no choice.”

Pei Xiunian smiled faintly as he drew out a secret letter long prepared—a replica of the one Su Zhiqiu had already read, bearing the same seal, ordering the armies north and south of the Weishui to advance and encircle Qingtails in a pincer.

This was precisely why he’d had Xiao Qin copy it out twice days before.

Subtle as the faintest thread, the scheme had lain hidden all along.

Pei Xiunian clasped his hands behind his back and continued calmly, “You can’t use me as a bargaining chip. Before entering the commandery, I’d already returned the tiger tally to General Chu Ye.”

Su Zhiqiu’s gaze fell upon the secret letter. Last time she’d seen it, she had scoffed; now, on this identical paper, she felt a chill to the bone.

With the Qingtails army’s supplies now cut off, this once trivial letter became a spear poised to run her through.

“We Qingtails foxes, unlike your Great Zhou’s imperial bloodline, do not suffer suppression in cultivation. We are all martial masters.”

A faint current of clear energy drifted from her lips, passing through Pei Xiunian and fading beyond. A hint of surprise flickered in her eyes as she said, “And you, in the imperial line, are especially frail with blocked meridians. If I wanted to kill you, do you think you could escape?”

Su Zhiqiu narrowed her foxy eyes, all charm withdrawn, and slammed her hands onto the table, sending tea flying. “Li Xiunian, are you truly unafraid of death?”

“You won’t kill me.”

Pei Xiunian stepped forward, his words falling like a chess piece striking the board.

“If you kill me, once the imperial decree arrives, the two regional armies and the Xiliang cavalry will trap your two hundred thousand men in Xiangyang. This place is far from Qingtails—can your demon queen raise another army in time to rescue you?”

“If she tries, the Jinxia’s iron hawks will soon break through your weakened front lines. Of your two hundred thousand, not one in ten will survive. The Qingtails’ great cause will be lost—such a pity.”

If Su Zhiqiu wished to kill Pei Xiunian, it would take less than a heartbeat. Yet her flexed, bare toes could no longer take that final step.

The dignified Third Prince before her had calculated everything; from the moment she’d received that letter, Qingtails had been doomed.

She had once laughed at his petty tricks; now, the irony was bitter indeed.

Su Zhiqiu sighed. Losing to such a man left little room for complaint. Her tone softened.

“I truly won’t kill you. But how can you guarantee my army’s safe withdrawal from Great Zhou? And why let us go?”

At last, Pei Xiunian’s tension eased. Lu Xun once said, “If you wish to open a window, first speak of removing the roof”—how true.

As commander-in-chief, Su Zhiqiu would never throw two hundred thousand men away in a fit of rage.

There’s a saying in the Art of War: ‘A retreating army must not be pursued; a besieged army must leave a gap.’ Pei Xiunian felt it suited the present moment perfectly.

The Qingtails army seemed trapped, but as long as there was the slimmest chance, Su Zhiqiu would cling desperately to that long, thick lifeline.

He knew he was bluffing—there was no edict, no regional garrisons.

If he pressed her too hard, she might launch a suicidal assault on Hangzhou, trading blood for blood, life for life, and truly threaten Great Zhou’s heartland.

So he could neither push too hard nor too little—this required a certain measured tension.

Only then could he have her at his mercy.

Pei Xiunian clasped his hands behind his back and moved to the window, breathing evenly. The flames outside flickered in the waning night. He turned, looking down at Su Zhiqiu beside the desk.

“There are two reasons for letting you go.”

He raised one finger.

“First, you still have supplies in Xiangyang—enough to last a while. Starving out your forces would take time and troops, and your final desperate assault is not something Great Zhou wishes to see. Both sides would suffer, and a pack of wolves would benefit.”

This was obvious—Su Zhiqiu was well aware, even without him saying so.

Though her Qingtails army, deep within Great Zhou, was now cut off and powerless to turn the tide, it still retained the strength for one last desperate battle—a battle that would be savage indeed.

She was about to speak when Pei Xiunian raised a second finger and said coldly:

“Don’t you want to know how I learned the locations and supply routes of your Qingtails granaries?”

Su Zhiqiu’s beautiful eyes widened; her whole body trembled—not with fear, but with a kind of fierce excitement. She blurted out, “Who was it?”

The cutting of their supply lines had come as a complete shock. Without that, Pei Xiunian would never have had the leverage to sit here and negotiate with her.

The locations of the Qingtails granaries were so well hidden that even her own sub-commanders might not know them all, yet Pei Xiunian’s insurgent forces had struck with unerring precision.

There was a traitor!

Seeing the prince’s half-smile, she knew it—there must be a traitor!

But who? How could she know? Pei Xiunian merely shrugged inwardly and replied calmly,

“Perhaps Your Highness should consider who at court wishes you dead. After such a defeat, even if you escape Great Zhou, you’ll surely be stripped of command.”

When he saw her clench her fist and furrow her brows, he knew she already had someone in mind. He gave a sardonic smile.

“It seems the battle for succession in Qingtails is no different from our own in Great Zhou. Birds of a feather, all the same.”

Su Zhiqiu lifted her gaze, the candlelight reflected in her beguiling, seductive eyes. She frowned.

“I’ll take the pill. I know what you want: you wish to sow chaos in the court of Qingtails. You need not say it; I too will fight for succession.”

“But even if you let me go, once I return to Qingtails, I’ll be removed from command all the same. If my army returns largely unscathed, the charges of collusion will only grow.”

Pei Xiunian laughed freely. “Which is why I have one more gift for Your Highness today.”

He looked out at the white horse beneath the tower and called out loudly, “Miss Jiang, please bring up the tribute.”