Chapter XXVII – Ta Shu

The Wen estate had become a hollow shell. The hallways, once filled with laughter and the scent of incense and jasmine tea, now held only distant whispers of a past Meixin no longer wished to inhabit. Her footsteps echoed against the wooden floors as she walked for the last time through the main gallery, where portraits of her ancestors hung, watching her with mute solemnity.

—Close everything,— she said firmly, though her voice was subdued. —There is no reason to remain here.

Her oldest servant looked at her with sorrow. He held her gaze for a moment before nodding.

—Are you sure about this, Meixin?

—More than ever,— she replied. Her eyes turned toward the horizon. —If I'm to be reborn, it will be in the heat of battle, not within these walls where I bled in silence.

Soon after, she departed for the northern camp with General Wei.

One morning, Meixin wore simple training clothes: dark linen trousers, a gray tunic tied at the waist with a sash, and her hair pulled up in a high ponytail like a warrior. Her beauty remained intact, but she was no longer the greenhouse flower she had once been. Beneath the reddish dawn sky, she looked like a sword in the making—still unpolished, but resolute.

When Wei saw her arrive, he frowned.

—You? Here?

—I didn't come to watch. I came to fight,— Meixin replied, her head held high.

The general studied her. His dark-scaled armor gleamed under the sun, and his voice rumbled like restrained thunder.

—There is no truce here, young lady. Only pain, mud… and death.

—Then I'm in the right place.

Wei said no more. The next day, her training began. Meixin fell, bled, and stood back up. Under the scorching sun or freezing rain, she wielded spears, learned to disarm enemies, to read the horizon's line. She learned not just to survive, but to read the art of war like a violent poem. Her body toughened. Her spirit, too.

Meanwhile, hundreds of li away, word reached Zhang Yun. In his capital residence, he dropped a wine cup that shattered against the floor upon hearing the report.

—What did you say?— he growled.

—Miss Meixin left for the front… under General Wei's command.

At once, he closed the Zhang estate and dismissed the few remaining servants. Wearing his formal robes, Yun mounted his horse and rode like a man possessed, his heart pounding against his chest as if it knew it was about to break.

When he found her, the air was thick with the scent of iron and sweat. Meixin was training with soldiers in a clearing at the edge of the camp. Her face, hardened by discipline, only turned toward him when she sensed his presence.

Yun dismounted, his steps unsteady, his face covered in dust, hair loose in the wind from the long journey.

—Meixin,— he whispered, approaching her. —Please… listen to me this time…

She turned on her heel, her face impassive, ready to walk away without a word.

—Wait!— he cried, grabbing her arm.

A sharp scream tore from her throat. Yun recoiled as if burned. Seeing her expression of pain, he slowly stepped forward again.

—Let me see… please…

She hesitated. He gently took her forearm. Beneath the worn fabric, a reddish scar curled like a serpent. He touched it with trembling fingers.

—Was this…?

—The Zhangs did this to me,— she said coldly. —Do you remember?

He was speechless. She walked away without looking back, leaving the bitter scent of reproach in the air.

That night, when the camp was asleep, Yun wandered to a clearing where the sky felt closer. The stars shone like eternal lanterns in the dark firmament.

He knelt, driving his fists into the damp earth.

—Meixin… for every wound I caused you, for every moment I failed to protect you… I swear to shield you, even if it costs me my life. From this day on… I am no longer Zhang Yun.

He removed his silk tunic, the golden clasps, the nobleman's boots. Bare-chested against the wind, he felt, for the first time, stripped of everything.

—From this day on… my name is Ta Shu.

He returned to the camp in silence and enlisted as a common soldier. The officers eyed him strangely but asked no questions. In war, it did not matter who you once were—only whether you could wield a weapon.

From that day on, he became her silent shadow. He followed her unnoticed, ensured no one approached her with ill intent, intercepted dangers before they reached her.

Until one day, Meixin saw him. The sun was descending, painting the sky in shades of orange and purple. He stood a few steps away, wearing the plain armor of low-ranking guards—no insignia, no past.

—I told you to stay away,—she snapped, her eyes blazing.

—And I swore never to do so again,— he said, his voice steady but gentle. —Not to beg for love… but to protect you. Until I die… or until you allow me to.

She said nothing. She turned, back straight. But her steps were slower. He watched her go, heart steady in his resolve.

Because there, amid the mud, steel, and war—where only the strong survived—Ta Shu had been born.

And the man who had once been Zhang Yun no longer existed.

Months passed. 

The northern camp, initially hostile to her presence, began to see in Meixin more than just a noblewoman sent to suffer the whims of fate. Under General Wei's watchful eye, her progress was swift and striking. She was neither the strongest nor the fastest, but she possessed a rare gift: clarity of thought amid chaos. 

During training, she learned at an unsettling pace. Where others saw only brute force, she saw lines of attack. Where there was disorder, she charted routes. She could anticipate enemy movements with an almost prophetic sharpness, as if she read war not with her eyes, but with her soul. 

Her strategies began to be tested in real skirmishes. And they worked. Each victory, however small, cemented the men's respect. Soon, she was not just part of the camp—she became a key figure in tactical meetings. Standing over the map unfurled in the war tent, her finger pointed to invisible paths, hidden routes to victory tucked between folds of terrain and the enemy's mind. 

But not everyone shared that admiration. 

General Xu Tian, hardened by decades of battle, watched her with disdain. He was a rigid man, with a stern gaze and a voice rough like rusted metal. To him, the battlefield was no place for a woman—least of all one with delicate features and hands once wrapped in silk. 

—This is absurd,— he spat one night during a commanders' meeting, slamming his fist on the table. —Are we now letting a flower decide the course of our battles? 

The tent fell silent. Meixin said nothing. Not a word. She only lowered her gaze to the map, where her strategic notes were clearly outlined. 

General Wei stepped forward. With his armor gleaming under the dim light of oil lamps, his voice thundered with calm authority. 

—That flower, as you call her, has saved more men in a week than many of us in months. Do you know why, Xu Tian? Because she isn't blinded by ego, or pride, or contempt.

Xu Tian glared, his lips tight. 

—A battle isn't won with paper and ink.

—No,— Wei replied, —it's won with a clear mind—and she has it. While you scorn her presence, she honors this place with her talent.

The other commanders exchanged glances in silence. Meixin, steady, shifted her gaze slightly toward Xu Tian. 

—I don't need your approval, General,— she said without raising her voice. —Only results. And I have them.

Xu Tian clenched his teeth, but said no more. 

From that moment on, though the tension never fully faded, no one dared to question her place. Because every time a tactic devised by Meixin led to victory, history silenced prejudice. 

Her name began to spread among the soldiers like a talisman. She was no longer just the lady who had abandoned a life of luxury—she was the mind that could mean the difference between life and death. 

And in the heat of war, that was worth more than any lineage.