Chapter Seventy-Five: The Assassin

“Treat the wounded guards at once, and take him to the Eagle Tent. I want to interrogate him there,” Lu Hu commanded Yakshi, whose face was filled with guilt.

“Trouble!” Yakshi dragged the man in black along, following the White-headed Eagle King into the tent.

“What are you all running out here for? From now on, if anything like this happens, don’t come out. Do you hear me?” Lu Hu put on a fierce face, scolding them half-seriously, half-jokingly.

“Trouble!” Ma Lihong and Zhu Xiaoying hurriedly knelt down.

Zhu Xiaoying clutched a feather duster, Ma Lihong gripped a door bar.

Quan Meiyu, more ruthless, held a chamber pot in her hand—who knew if there was anything inside.

Quan Zhenzhu was even fiercer, pinching a boot in one hand.

It was one of her own exquisite knee-high riding boots.

The four tough women were all disheveled, clearly roused by the shouting, worried for their lord, hastily pulling on whatever clothes they could and grabbing whatever was at hand to rush out and help Lu Hu in the fight.

It was obvious they had never faced such a situation before, utterly inexperienced.

Only Little Guanyin was fully equipped, both hands gripping a heavy longsword.

The sword was the kind used by barbarian heavy cavalry, difficult to wield even for men of slight strength, let alone women.

At the time, even the elite soldiers couldn’t get close, so they could only watch from the sidelines.

Their hearts were in their throats, silently cheering for their lord, not daring to call out lest they distract him.

Each of them shivered, their teeth chattering, trembling from head to toe.

Little Guanyin, however, wasn’t trembling; she had broken into a sweat instead. She swung her sword about, searching for an opening to dash forward and help her son-in-law strike the man in black, but never found one.

On the ground, two dazzlingly white objects stood out against the snow.

Lu Hu glanced down to see Quan Zhenzhu’s bare, delicate feet, pure as jade, trembling as she stood in the snow.

How long had she been standing barefoot in the snow…

Little darling, are you stabbing my heart with a knife?

“You four, immediately, right now, run back to the main tent!” Lu Hu’s sword-like brows stood upright.

Little Guanyin turned then, seeing her precious daughter’s sorry state, unable to stifle her gasp.

Lu Hu, after shouting, slid his electric baton into his belt, bit the handle of the charging block, then scooped up Quan Zhenzhu in his arms and strode swiftly toward the main tent.

Quan Meiyu jogged alongside, snatching the boot from Quan Zhenzhu’s hand and helping her pull it on as they ran.

Little Guanyin dragged her great sword, flustered and clumsy, trying to help but only getting in the way.

“Go, quickly bring a basin of snow from outside,” Lu Hu ordered Ma Lihong and Zhu Xiaoying as soon as he entered the tent.

He was afraid Quan Zhenzhu’s exquisite feet would suffer from the cold.

He knew from his previous life: if skin is frozen for too long, it must be warmed gradually indoors, preferably by rubbing it with snow.

If you washed it with hot water or warmed it by fire right away, frostbite would set in, even ulceration.

He placed Quan Zhenzhu on the bed, wrapped her tightly in a fox-fur cloak, and pulled her into his arms.

Quan Zhenzhu was so cold her lips were purple, her whole body trembling, unable to speak.

Huahua had already awoken, her innocent big eyes wide, shivering on the bed.

When the snow was brought in, Lu Hu had Quan Meiyu rub Quan Zhenzhu’s hands with it, while he and Little Guanyin rubbed her feet.

Huahua leaned against Quan Zhenzhu, watching curiously.

They rubbed for a good while, and finally Quan Zhenzhu’s icy hands and feet began to warm.

Her complexion gradually turned rosy, and at last she recovered.

“Brother…” Quan Zhenzhu called softly, pitifully, her starry eyes full of a thousand unspoken words.

“If these little feet were ruined by frost, how would you walk in the future?” Lu Hu chided gently, keeping his tone as calm as possible.

“If brother met danger, then I wouldn’t live, so what use would walking be?” Quan Zhenzhu replied in a faint voice.

Quan Meiyu also glared at Lu Hu, her peach blossom eyes full of reproach.

“I have a divine weapon to protect myself—you all saw it just now—even death itself avoids me. But you, if the enemy came and I couldn’t protect you in time, if even one of you were hurt, that would be the greatest danger to me.” Lu Hu spoke as he looked at each of their faces one by one.

At such times, he couldn’t show favoritism. All five women, driven by instinct, risked their lives to protect him; if any of them felt neglected, it would wound their hearts.

“You four, wash up, get into bed, warm yourselves together. Don’t catch cold. I’m going to interrogate the assassin.”

“Trouble!” The four little tiger cubs answered in unison.

“Mother…” Lu Hu blurted to Little Guanyin, instantly blushing.

It was as if he’d done something to her daughter, hadn’t even slaughtered a chicken for her yet, and was already calling her mother—how embarrassing.

But in his heart, he truly felt closer to Little Guanyin than to his birth mother, Sun Guiying.

“Your Majesty, go rest. Taking care of the Emperor is important. There’s nothing to worry about here,” Lu Hu said, wondering why his father-in-law hadn’t appeared at such a critical moment.

“Good child, you should rest early too. Mom… I’ll go now.” Little Guanyin realized she’d misspoken, glanced at Lu Hu with shy embarrassment, and turned to leave.

Lu Hu added charcoal to the six stoves in the tent, checked on the little white dog sleeping belly-up on the bed, then gently picked him up and handed him to Lingding Xiao Wu, finally leaving the main tent feeling reassured.

Outside the tent.

Shi Zhenxiang and her generals stood at attention, and when Lu Hu emerged, they all knelt.

“Zhenxiang and the guards failed in their duty. Please, Lord, grant us punishment.”

“Rise. It’s not your fault. That assassin is skilled in light-footed arts; even patrols wouldn’t have noticed. No one imagined he’d sneak in.”

“Thank you, Lord. Zhenxiang has already ordered the soldiers to strengthen patrols and defenses. Such an incident will not happen again.”

“Good. Go rest. Tomorrow we have hunting and soldier training. Don’t let a mere assassin disrupt our important business.”

“Trouble!” Shi Zhenxiang and the generals scrambled to their feet and departed.

Lu Hu looked up at the sky. The night was pitch-black, thick clouds blanketing the moon and stars.

The cold wind howled, raging across the night sky.

This cursed weather—a snowstorm could descend at any moment.

And there was no weather forecast to warn them.

In his previous life there had been forecasts. Every city had a meteorological bureau, apparently filled with people who seemed to predict the weather as if it were serious business.

There were weather forecasts on his phone too, but sometimes they were hilarious: even when rain poured outside, the forecast would show bright sunshine.

Lu Hu recalled a joke from his past life, perhaps a true story: the weather announcer was reporting, “Today, clear, sometimes cloudy, southeast wind…” when suddenly a thunderclap shook the air and rain poured down.

The announcer quickly adapted: “A thunderclap splits the sky, and the rain comes without warning. Please everyone carry umbrellas…”

Lu Hu chuckled quietly at the memory, lifted the tent flap, and entered the Eagle Tent.

The man in black had just recovered his senses, the black cloth covering his face already pulled away by Yakshi.

“It’s you?!” Seeing the assassin’s face, Lu Hu was utterly shocked…