Huo Zhao · Chat

When the imperial decree arrived, Huo Zhao was brushing down her horse. It was an old warhorse, its coat already dull and its left hind leg lame. It had followed her for nine years, from Yanmen to Juyan, and from Juyan to Mount Langjuxu. Across its flank ran seventeen scars, every single one taken in her stead. She dipped the bristle brush in water, smoothing down the horse’s spine stroke by stroke. The old horse gave a contented snort and nudged her shoulder affectionately. "General! General—!" The messenger ran into the camp, his face flushed red. "An imperial decree! Envoys have arrived from the capital! They demand you receive the decree at once!" Huo Zhao didn't look up, her hands never faltering. "Understood." She finished grooming the old steed, fed it another handful of black beans, and only then took her time washing her hands. She changed into her faded tunic—not armor, but a cotton over-robe embroidered with a faded tiger crest across the chest. Inside the central command tent, the eunuch bearing the decree had already been waiting for the better part of an hour, his expression sour. Huo Zhao dropped to one knee. "By the grace of Heaven, the Emperor decrees: General Zhenbei, Huo Zhao, is commendable in loyalty and valor, having rendered great service to the state. Now that peace reigns across the four seas and the border threats are pacified, her military command is hereby relieved, her female identity restored, and she is bestowed the title of Lady Zhongyong. She is granted in marriage to Gu Yanzhi, the Marquis of Weiyuan, and shall return to the capital forthwith for the wedding. Respect this." The eunuch's shrill voice pierced her eardrums like a needle. A dead silence fell over the tent. Her lieutenants knelt across the ground, none daring to lift their heads. Someone clenched their fists until their knuckles turned white. Huo Zhao remained kneeling, motionless. Her gaze settled upon the yellow silk scroll before her, its brilliant hue glaring under the sunlight. "General Huo?" the eunuch urged. "Accept the decree." She lifted her hands and accepted the imperial decree. The light calluses on her palms scraped against the smooth silk, stirring a strange sense of discord. "This subject... accepts the decree." On the journey back to the capital, Huo Zhao did not ride horseback; she sat inside a carriage. It was the first time in her life she had ever ridden in a carriage. She was motion-sick. The curtain lifted, and her deputy general, Zhou Ping, rode up beside the window, his voice hushed. "General, the brothers have talked it over. Just say the word, and we—" "Why are you calling me General?" Huo Zhao kept her eyes closed, her face pale. "From now on, call me Madam." Zhou Ping's eyes reddened. "Are you truly resigned to this?" Huo Zhao didn't answer. She remembered the year she turned fifteen, when she took her elder brother's place to enlist. The conscription officer had looked her up and down and asked, "A bit scrawny, aren't you? Can you endure the hardships?" She said, "I can." Only later did she learn that less than thirty percent of that year's recruits survived. She survived. Not only did she survive, she rose through the ranks. From mess-hall cook to centurion, from centurion to commander, from commander to general. She had killed, and she had saved lives. She had lost brothers in arms, and she had buried them. She had thought she would live out her days and die in an army camp, wrapped in horsehide, her bones buried in green hills. The imperial decree declared otherwise. The carriage came to a halt. "Madam, we have arrived," the maidservant Chuncao called from outside. Chuncao had been sent from the capital, supposedly to "serve" her. Huo Zhao had taken one look at her delicate fingers, untouched even by the task of hauling water, wondering what on earth she could possibly serve. The grand gates of the marquisate estate were thrown wide open, hung with crimson silks, and paper-cut "double happiness" characters lined the path. Huo Zhao stood at the entrance, glancing up at the plaque—"Estate of the Marquis of Weiyuan." *Weiyuan—Awe Inspiring in the Distant Lands.* For eleven years she had guarded the frontier, guarding those very words. Now, those words hung above the threshold of her "home." The bridal chamber. Red candles, red drapes, red quilts, red bedding. Dressed in the elaborate phoenix coronet and bridal robes, Huo Zhao felt completely out of her element. The collar was too tight, the sleeves too wide, and the hem too long; every step felt like treading on clouds. Chuncao paced anxiously beside her. "Madam, please don't move around so much! The veil cannot be lifted—" Huo Zhao tore the veil off in one swift motion and tossed it onto the table. "When is he coming?" "The Marquis is out front entertaining guests. It will likely be another hour—" "Then I'll sleep first." "Madam!" Chuncao gasped in horror. "You cannot sleep! The bride must wait for the groom to lift the veil and share the nuptial wine—" Huo Zhao cast her a glance. That gaze was as calm as stagnant water, yet it struck Chuncao into immediate silence. "I slept on hard wooden boards for eleven years. Today is the first time I've ever slept on a soft daybed. Let me lie down a while longer." Fully dressed, she lay down, her eyes fixed on the mandarin ducks embroidered upon the canopy. An hour later. The door was pushed open. Huo Zhao had not fallen asleep. Footsteps echoed from the outer chamber, steady and unhurried. They were not the steps of a martial man—lacking brute force, but carrying an unruffled composure. The footsteps stopped three paces before the bed. Silence. Huo Zhao opened her eyes and turned her head to look. A young man stood there, clad in scarlet wedding robes, his features refined and his brow gentle. His gaze rested on her face, drifting from the scar at the corner of her brow to the calluses on her palms, before returning to meet her eyes. "General." He spoke, his voice neither loud nor soft, like a breeze in spring. "You have endured much." Huo Zhao sat up. "Are you Gu Yanzhi?" "I am." He cupped his hands in a civil official's salute. "I have long revered your renowned name, General." Huo Zhao watched him, offering no reply. Gu Yanzhi did not wait for her answer either. He turned, walked over to the vanity, bent down, and drew a long saber from a hidden compartment. Huo Zhao recognized the blade. It was her personal saber, the one that had followed her through countless battles from Mount Langjuxu all the way back to Yanmen Pass. "Your blade—I had it placed here." He set the saber back into the compartment and took a step back. "In this room, your word is law." Huo Zhao stared at him for a long time. "Are you afraid of me?" Gu Yanzhi paused in thought, then said, "I respect you." He took another step back, coming to stand by the door. "Rest early, Madam. I shall retire to the study." The door shut softly. The sound of his footsteps gradually faded away. Sitting on the wedding bed, Huo Zhao suddenly found it somewhat amusing. She looked down at her hands. The calluses were still there, and her blade remained within three paces. Yet there was no sand table beside her hand, no sentries outside the tent, and no beacon fires in the distance. She suddenly realized that she did not know what to do when she woke tomorrow. Outside the window, someone was playing a flute. The tune was ancient—a folk ballad from the northern frontier, singing: *"At fifteen I marched off to war, at eighty I returned home at last."* She closed her eyes. The night passed without dreams.