6kv Chapter 8 A letter from the Northern Rong: He wants to steal my sister-in-law!
Chapter 8 A letter from the Northern Rong: He wants to steal my sister-in-law!
Liu Jingshuang sized him up for a few seconds.
My gaze slid from his face to his shoulders, and then to his arms.
Yesterday, he was as thin as a sheet of paper, but today he looks much stronger—his shoulders are broader, and his posture is more stable than a few days ago.
She thought of how energetic her young husband had been last night.
It doesn't seem like the energy someone who has been sick for fifteen years should have.
Liu Jingshuang's ears felt slightly hot again, and she quickly suppressed the thought.
"After years of recuperation in the Taoist temple, my health has indeed recovered."
She muttered something to herself, which served as a reasonable explanation for herself.
Then he threw out a sentence:
"Stand still."
She turned around, grabbed another white wax spear from the wall, weighed it in her hand, and tossed it to Wei Zhao.
Wei Zhao reached out and caught it.
He picked it up and found it was heavy—the pole was heavier than he had expected.
"The Wei Family Spear Technique"
Liu Jingshuang stood in front of him, her voice regaining its crisp, military quality:
"No frills, no empty gestures."
"There are twelve moves in total, each one honed through countless battles. Once you learn them, you can go into battle and kill people."
She turned slightly to the side, the gun barrel held horizontally in front of her.
"The first move, the Central Horizontal Spear, is the mother of all spear techniques."
The spear tip points straight ahead, perfectly aligned with the throat.
"Grip the gun."
She walked behind Wei Zhao and reached out to adjust his grip on the gun.
Left hand in front, right hand behind, front hand gliding and back hand clenching tightly.
She placed her hand on the back of his hand and adjusted the angle of his thumb and forefinger.
"The tiger's mouth is too tight; once the spear is thrust out, it can't be pulled back."
"Loosen up a bit, leave some room for maneuver, and once you've made your move, you need to be able to twist, pull out, and change tactics."
The calluses on his fingertips brushed against the skin on the back of his hand; the rough texture was completely different from last night.
Wei Zhao smiled.
"What's wrong?"
Liu Jingshuang's tone turned cold.
"It's nothing."
Wei Zhao suppressed his smile and adjusted his grip as instructed. The gun barrel became much more stable.
Liu Jingshuang kicked his leg again:
"Feet apart, shoulder-width apart. Toes pointing forward, back foot turned out at a 45-degree angle."
"Turn your body to the side—if you face the enemy head-on, you expose too much area; turning to the side will save you from taking a hit."
Wei Zhao did as instructed.
"prick."
He thrust his spear forward.
The gun barrel emitted a whooshing sound as it cut through the air, and the tip of the gun tilted slightly upwards.
Liu Jingshuang reached out and slapped the gun barrel, flattening the upturned tip, while pressing down on his front shoulder with her other hand.
"Sink your shoulders! You're strong, but it's all concentrated in your arms and doesn't reach the tip of the spear."
"The power originates from the soles of the feet, passes through the waist, over the shoulders, and down the arms—it is only when it reaches the tip of the spear that it kills."
As she spoke, she pointed with her finger at the points of force he exerted, from the heel of his foot as he took a step all the way down to the forefoot of the hand holding the gun.
"Again."
Wei Zhao lowered his shoulders, turned his waist, and thrust his spear.
This time it was better.
The spear tip traveled in a straight line, without curving upwards, and the sound of it cutting through the air was crisper.
"Again."
Another shot.
"Not enough. The strength has dissipated."
Another shot.
"This shot is barely usable."
Liu Jingshuang said "barely usable" expressionlessly, but when she took a step back and re-examined Wei Zhao's gun-holding posture, something more appeared in her eyes.
It wasn't admiration, but at least it wasn't disappointment.
Outside the courtyard, several pairs of eyes appeared out of nowhere.
Several veterans of the Wei family army who were passing by peeked through the cracks in the dilapidated courtyard wall and saw the young commander practicing his horse stance and spear thrusting, his head covered in sweat. The one teaching him was General Liu, who exuded a murderous aura.
"Hey, the coach is practicing his shooting."
"They practice the Wei family spear technique."
The two veterans exchanged a glance, said nothing more, and turned to leave.
My steps were a little lighter than when I came.
In the courtyard, Wei Zhao thrust out another spear.
Sweat dripped from his chin onto the frozen ground, where it shattered into pieces.
……
The next ten days.
Every day before dawn, he is awakened by the sound of something cutting through the air in the yard.
Liu Jingshuang practiced her spear at that exact time without fail, executing a full set of spear techniques from beginning to end, and then tossed him a white wax spear.
"Stand still."
Two words, exactly the same as what I said on the first day.
Wei Zhao caught the spear, assumed a horse stance, and thrust.
They kept thrusting, one shot after another, from the first light of dawn until the sun rose.
The spear tip went from being crooked and twisted at first, to eventually being able to walk in a barely acceptable straight line.
Liu Jingshuang never praised him.
But I'm correcting his movements less often, and I occasionally glance at him a couple more times.
Daytime hours are for military affairs.
The matriarch, sitting in the central command, coordinated resources, arranged scouts, and reinforced city defenses, managing every single matter meticulously.
Wei Zhao listened from the side, unable to get involved, but he remembered everything.
Which sections of the city wall are weakest? How deep were the horse traps dug in the barbican? Are there any blind spots in the firing arc between the arrow towers?
He had never even heard of these things before, but now they were being forced into his brain.
Evening time...
Wei Zhao touched his nose.
For the first few days, Liu Jingshuang was really awkward.
As soon as the lights went out, I tensed up like a bowstring, not knowing where to put my hands and feet, and my breathing became erratic as if I had just finished a battle.
Wei Zhao even suspected that she might be treating this as simply following a military order—
When the old lady said she wanted to leave an heir, she gritted her teeth and carried it out, just like conquering a city.
But people are still people, not stones.
By the fourth day, her hands had stopped trembling.
By the sixth day, she would take off her outer garment and fold it neatly before turning off the lights, her movements much more relaxed than in the previous days.
On the eighth night, just as Wei Zhao was about to reach out to cover the lamp, a hand with calloused skin extinguished the wick before he could.
In the darkness, Liu Jingshuang's voice was muffled:
"Don't move, I'll do it."
Wei Zhao was taken aback.
Then he laughed.
Liu Jingshuang heard the laughter, and a soft, sharp sound of flesh being twisted came from the darkness, making him gasp in pain.
"What are you laughing at?"
"I didn't laugh."
"……Shut up."
The old lady was not surprised at all.
The next morning, when Wei Zhao went to pay his respects, he noticed that the old lady looked at him with a hint of satisfaction.
That kind of satisfaction isn't the praise an elder gives to a younger person; it's more like a chess player seeing a piece on the board placed where it should be.
The Wei family needs an heir.
This is not about romantic love; it's about life and death.
Wei Zhao understood this principle, and so did Liu Jingshuang.
So the two of them practiced shooting and discussed business during the day, and neither of them mentioned what would happen at night.
They had such a great understanding, like partners who had been working together for ten years.
—The tenth day since the main force of the Wei family army entered Yanmen Pass!
Inside the council chamber, a scout covered in mud knelt on one knee, presenting a letter with both hands.
"Reporting to the Old Madam, it was shot from the Northern Rong camp."
The old lady sat in the main seat and reached out to take it.
The envelope was covered with a layer of dried horse blood, and the smell was pungent.
She tore open the seal, unfolded the letter, and scanned it from top to bottom.
There was no change in expression.
Not a single one.
She handed the letter to Wei Zhao.
Wei Zhao took it and looked down at it.
The letter was written in Chinese characters, crooked and messy, like a dog's scratch. But every character was legible.
The very first sentence—
"Old widow of the Wei family, all nine of your sons have died by my blade. There's a saying in Wei: sons pay for their fathers' debts. The debt is now cleared, so why struggle on?"
Wei Zhao's brow twitched, and he continued reading.
"I've heard that your tenth son is a sickly, useless man, unable to get up at night or walk during the day, leaving his nine beautiful sisters-in-law to live alone in an empty bedchamber. Isn't that pitiful?"
"This humble servant, Fang Mao, is willing to serve in your stead, ensuring that the sisters-in-law sing with joy every night."
The last paragraph is even more amazing.
"If the Old Madam also wishes to have this, even though I am not talented, I am willing to give it a try and help you have another son, making a total of eleven!"