On the wedding day, my wife was abnormal

"I have a captain under my command named Li Dazhuang. He is brave but lacks strategy, but he is extremely loyal and fearless. He is the perfect choice to lead this force, disguised as a rough and tumble grain guard. His men have all crawled out of piles of corpses with him, so they are absolutely reliable!"

"Okay, he's the one." Lin Zhen nodded.

"As for the actual ambush, it will be led by Zhao Polu and Li Gan. Zhao Polu's elite cavalry, numbering five thousand, will be ambushed in the dense forest on the east side of Eagle's Beak Cliff, where the terrain is higher and easier for cavalry to charge. Li Gan's Tiger Guards, numbering five thousand, will be ambushed behind the rocky slope on the west side. The Divine Machine Battalion's thunderbolts will be planted on both sides of the valley below Eagle's Beak Cliff. Once the enemy enters the valley, at the signal, thunderbolts will be used to bombard their front and rear, causing them confusion. Then Zhao and Li will advance from the east and west, cutting them off in the middle and annihilating them in one fell swoop!"

"Your Highness is wise!" Zheng Jiao felt his blood boiling. He could almost see the scene of the northern cavalrymen falling and blood flowing like a river at the foot of Eagle Beak Cliff.

“Go,” Lin Zhen waved his hand. “This matter must be kept absolutely secret. Only the two of us and a few core generals should know about it. Issue the order tonight: the decoy force must set off by tomorrow morning. Remember, tell them to move slowly and conspicuously, so that Uvi’s spies can see everything clearly.”

"Your subordinate obeys!" Zheng Jiao clasped his hands in acceptance of the order, turned around, and strode out of the command tent.

Silence returned to the tent, leaving only Lin Zhen alone.

He did not rest immediately, but walked back to the long table, spread out a blank sheet of Xuan paper, picked up the brush, and dipped it in thick ink.

He wasn't writing a military order; he was writing a letter to Murong Yan, who was far away in Chang'an.

The days of military service, enduring wind and rain, had etched a weathered and resolute look onto his once handsome face, and stubble had appeared on his chin. He missed her.

I miss her in Qifeng Pavilion, wearing that dark gold phoenix descending to earth dress, nestled in my arms, acting all coquettish; I miss the wisdom that shone in her phoenix eyes as she handled state affairs; I miss the warmth of her fingertips, the fragrance of her hair…

In this cold and desolate northern battlefield, the warmth from Chang'an was the softest comfort in his heart and the strongest source of his strength.

"Yan'er, seeing this letter is like seeing you in person..." As he wrote, what he wrote was no longer about war and battles, but rather a page full of tenderness and longing.

He told her that the situation on the front lines was under control and that she didn't need to worry too much, but should eat on time and take care of herself.

He wrote down some amusing anecdotes from the military camp, hoping to bring a smile to her face. As he finished writing, he paused slightly, his gaze piercing through the tent flaps, looking towards the dark night sky, as if he could see the direction of Chang'an.

"Once this battle is won, I will return soon to enjoy the spring scenery of Chang'an with you. Do not worry."

After finishing the letter, he carefully folded it, placed it in a specially made waterproof wax pellet, summoned his personal guards, and ordered them to send it to the capital as quickly as possible through the "Night Owl's" secret channels.

Only after doing all this did he feel a little relieved. He walked to the tent entrance, lifted the heavy curtain, and a gust of cold wind mixed with sand and dust immediately rushed in, invigorating him.

He looked up towards the east, where Chang'an lay, where his wife was, and where his entire world lay.

Meanwhile, in the Northern Desert Royal Court.

Inside Kong Zhiqian's tent, the light from the tallow lamp was dim and flickering. He sat alone on the cold wolf-skin rug, using a rough whetstone to polish the jewel-encrusted dagger that Uvi had given him, over and over again.

The blade of the dagger had been sharpened to an unparalleled edge, gleaming with a chilling light under the lamp, reflecting his young but lifeless face, filled only with hatred.

Outside the tent, the wind howled mournfully, like the wailing of countless wronged souls. This sound always reminded him of the night the Confucius Mansion in Qufu was engulfed in flames, and the tragic screams of his clansmen before their deaths.

Each memory is like a knife, repeatedly cutting into his heart, making the flames of hatred burn even more fiercely.

He no longer thinks about home. Because longing brings pain, and pain weakens a person. His only goal now is to become stronger, stronger by any means necessary.

During this time, he followed the old centurion named Batel and learned how to navigate in the wind and snow, how to judge the enemy's movements from the slightest traces, and how to survive in the wild in the simplest way.

He also followed the warriors sent by Uwe, practicing wrestling and swordsmanship desperately, and getting bruises all over his body was already a daily occurrence.

He ate the coarsest food, drank icy snow water, and wore a heavy, pungent fur robe, completely transforming himself into a man from the northern desert.

He wanted to forget that he was once the eldest grandson of the Confucius family, forget those sacred books, and forget those tender memories of the past.

Because only by becoming a real wolf can he take revenge on the man and woman who took everything from him.

“Murong Yan…Lin Zhen…” He stopped what he was doing and chewed on the two names in a voice that only he could hear, his eyes filled with hatred as cold as poisoned ice.

Just then, the tent flap was suddenly flung open, and a gust of cold wind carrying snowflakes rushed in.

Princess Saren rushed in like a gust of wind, her little face full of excitement, holding a skewer of golden-brown roasted meat in her hand.

"Brother Kong! Look what I brought you! Dad hunted a yellow sheep today, it's so fat! I secretly saved this for you!" The little girl chattered excitedly, presenting the meat skewers to him like a treasure.

The meat skewers were still steaming, and their rich aroma filled the cold tent.

Looking into her clear, innocent eyes, Kong Zhiqian felt a faint, untimely tremor in the icy field of hatred that had frozen his heart. But he immediately extinguished this emotion.

He forced a stiff smile, took the skewer of meat, and said in broken northern Mongolian, "Thank you, Princess."

He knew this might also be a test, a way of winning him over, by Uvi. In this land surrounded by wolves, any glimmer of warmth could be deadly poison.

He must remain vigilant at all times and always remember his hatred.

This hatred was the only reason he lived.

......

Three days later, the weather on the northern grasslands finally cleared up. The raging snowstorm that had lasted for several days had subsided, and the sky was a high and clear blue. The sun shone brightly on the vast grasslands without any obstruction, and the snow began to melt, revealing the withered yellow grass roots and the moist black soil underneath. The air was filled with the unique, fresh, earthy smell of melting snow.

A large grain transport team is traveling on the official road leading to the Yanran Protectorate.

Hundreds of creaking wagons formed a long line, their wheels leaving deep ruts in the muddy road. The wagons were piled high with "grain and fodder," tightly covered with tarpaulins, looking quite heavy. Thousands of laborers, their clothes disheveled and faces weary, pushed and pulled these heavy vehicles, occasionally slipping and falling into the mud, eliciting laughter and shouts from the overseers.

Around three thousand "soldiers" guarded the flanks and front and rear of the column. Most of them wore ordinary infantry armor, outdated in style, with many helmets rusted and damaged. Their weapons were also varied, including spears, broadswords, and bows and arrows, suggesting they were not well-equipped. The soldiers huddled together in twos and threes, chatting idly as they marched, their formation loose and showing no signs of being an elite force.

The commander of this unit was a captain named Li Dazhuang. He was tall and burly, with a fierce face, and a large ring-pommel sword at his waist. He rode a tall horse from Hexi and was loudly reprimanding a soldier who had fallen behind. He spoke rudely and had a violent expression; he looked like a typical, brainless, and rude brute.

"Damn it! All of you hurry up! If you don't reach the beacon tower before dark, you're all skipping dinner!" Li Dazhuang's roar echoed across the wilderness.

This seemingly bloated, slow-moving, and undisciplined team, like a plump and unsuspecting piece of meat, swaggered through the area where scouts were frequently active in the northern desert, exuding an alluring aura.

Thirty miles away from the grain transport team, on a high slope, two scouts from the northern desert were lying in the melting snow and grass, carefully observing the team with a monocular telescope.

"Boss, look! It's a grain transport team from the South! And it's quite large!" a young scout exclaimed excitedly.

“Hmm,” said the one called the leader, an experienced old scout. He squinted and observed carefully for a while before saying in a deep voice, “Judging from the depth of these wheel ruts, the carts are loaded with real grain. The guards… about three thousand men, all ragtag soldiers, utterly useless! That fat general leading them looks like a stupid pig.”