Xiao Lin and Mu Chen had barely cleared the perimeter of the Jia Ma military camp when Xiao Lin abruptly reined in his horse.
The thirty Da Dou Shi elites stopped instantly. As common soldiers, they had no right to question a superior officer's whim, but Mu Chen was different. He pulled his mount alongside Xiao Lin, his eyes scanning the horizon for a threat he might have missed.
"What is it, Brother Xiao? Why the sudden halt?"
For a fleeting second, a dark thought crossed Mu Chen's mind: Is he planning to desert? But he immediately suppressed it. Given Xiao Lin's bond with Nalan Jie and the unshakable resolve he had shown over the last few days, desertion was out of the question.
Xiao Lin didn't answer immediately. His gaze swept over the thirty soldiers—the Marshal's "gift"—before he gestured for Mu Chen to follow him to a secluded ridge nearby.
Mu Chen's expression sharpened. He signaled the troops to remain on standby and followed Xiao Lin. Once they were out of earshot of the soldiers, Xiao Lin turned, his face carved with a terrifying gravity.
"Brother Mu, regarding this rescue mission for Nalan Jie... I have a specific plan. I need your absolute cooperation."
"Brother Xiao, what are you saying?" Mu Chen replied, his tone equally solemn. "This operation was always yours to lead. I told you before: if you need my help, you need only ask. Our lives are on the line here; a sloppy plan is just a death sentence in disguise. Speak your mind."
Mu Chen expected a tactical discussion—flanking maneuvers, distraction points, or perhaps a nighttime raid. What he got instead was a question that felt like a bucket of ice water.
"Before we discuss the plan, Mu Chen... tell me. Do you not find the Great Marshal... problematic?"
The Mask of Internal Strife
Mu Chen blinked, visibly taken aback. "The Marshal? Problematic?"
He went quiet, his mind retracing every interaction with Intel Moyai over the last few days. "If you mean his blatant targeting of us, then yes, it's 'problematic.' But it's also predictable."
Mu Chen leaned in, lowering his voice as if the wind itself might carry his words back to the camp.
"The capital is changing, Xiao Lin. Everyone sees it. Between you, Nalan Jie, and myself, the younger generation is flourishing. People are already whispering that the Xiao, Nalan, and Mu families will soon become 'King-class' families. If that happens, the old status quo is dead. The Intel Clan is already struggling to keep pace with the Mittel Clan; they can't afford three more Dou Wang families breathing down their necks, carving up their influence and trade routes."
Mu Chen let out a dry, cynical laugh. "Moyai is a Dou Wang and the head of an old-money clan. Of course he wants to suppress us. He wants to grind our clans down so the Intel family remains the dominant military power. It's dirty, but it's standard imperial politics. Even if we fail this mission, he likely expects us to be captured. In these wars, heirs are usually kept as bargaining chips for ransom. The Emperor usually ignores this kind of infighting as long as it doesn't cross the line into treason."
To Mu Chen, Moyai's "oddness" was just a veteran politician trying to protect his family's slice of the pie. It was a calculated, selfish move, but it was internal.
Xiao Lin listened, his expression unreadable, before slowly shaking his head.
With his Heavenly State Soul, Xiao Lin's perception was tuned to a frequency far beyond Mu Chen's. He had tasted the subtle, jagged edges of Moyai's killing intent in the tent—a darkness that didn't smell of "political suppression," but of absolute, blood-soaked betrayal.
"The water is deeper than you think, Mu Chen," Xiao Lin whispered. "And the only way to prove it is for me to check the pulse of the enemy camp myself."
"What?" Mu Chen's eyes widened.
"I need to verify a suspicion that concerns the very survival of this mission—and the Empire. I need you to cover for me. I'm leaving the group for a period of time."
Xiao Lin then leaned in and whispered his true theory into Mu Chen's ear.
"This is impossible! It's madness!" Mu Chen recoiled, his head shaking like a rattle. "Marshal Moyai has served the Jia Ma Empire for decades! He has bled for this crown! How could he possibly commit such an atrocity? How could he betray us to Chu Yun?"
To Mu Chen, accusing the Great Marshal of treason was like accusing the sun of being cold. It defied every logic he had ever been taught about loyalty and the structure of the Empire.
Xiao Lin simply stared at him, his gaze as cold and vast as the starry sky he drew his power from. "Decades of service can be erased by a single moment of desperation, Mu Chen. He wants to be a Dou Huang. And if the Emperor won't give him the path... he'll find someone who will."